THE FOLLY OF IGNORANCE:
"Good morning," Professor Dumbledore quietly greeted Harry.
Harry came to and extricated himself from the sleeping redhead at his side. He counted himself lucky that it was Professor Dumbledore and not one of the twins, or worse, Ron that found him sleeping next to their only sister.
Without a word he followed Professor Dumbledore's 'come hither' gesture and left the sitting room behind. Eventually they made it to the kitchen of Sirius' home, but not without hearty hellos and suspicious glances being thrown around by all the Order members present on this morning.
Professor Dumbledore took a seat at the kitchen table and opened both of his hands in an effort to let Harry know that he had the floor.
The incessant twinkling in his headmaster's eyes was starting to annoy Harry.
Harry put a hand behind his head and ran his fingers through his sleep-disheveled hair while he thought of what he was going to use as leverage to stay. Truthfully, he had no inclination to stay at Grimmauld Place, but anything was better than the Dursley's and this happened to be where all the information was. Professor Dumbledore waited calmly for Harry to begin and conjured them both a cup of breakfast tea; he amused himself by wondering where Molly was and why breakfast wasn't in full swing.
"I don't want to go back to the Dursley's," Harry said simply, purposely dropping the childishly obligatory 'and you can't make me'.
Professor Dumbledore remained silent for a reason Harry couldn't fathom; as what he had just said pretty much covered everything. He slowly moved his hands in a deceptive manner to reach his tea and to observe what Harry's reaction would be. Albus Dumbledore was not at all surprised to see the boy instantly go for his own wand.
"Well then," the older wizard began and noted that Harry didn't drop his guard, "plans proceed as they were."
Harry's eyebrows came together in a curious fashion.
Professor Dumbledore finished his tea before satisfying Harry's burning curiosity, "You were to be picked up this afternoon and relocated to a secondary secure location, however, your intervention has progressed the events of the day by no more than a few hours. Thus, plans proceed as previously arranged."
There was an amused lilt in the headmaster's voice and Harry was dumbfounded to know that he would have been away from the Dursley's today... so, he eloquently replied, "huh?"
"Miss Granger and her parents have been so kind as to extend their hospitality to you for the remainder of your holiday," Professor Dumbledore explained partially; Harry didn't need to know the full reasons for the Granger's taking him in.
Harry drained his tea in one shot, "Why the Granger's? Why not the Burrow with the Weasley's?"
Before Professor Dumbledore could respond Harry decided to cut him off, "do I want to know?"
"I presumed not," Professor Dumbledore answered, interested in Harry's new thought process.
Harry's small mug refilled itself and he idly turned it around in his palms, "so, why the Granger's? Bit of a risk with them being muggles, isn't it?"
"I imagined you would have preferred to be much closer to the stadium, Harry," Professor Dumbledore replied, masking his confusion.
"What stadium?" Harry asked, and leaned back on the stool he was seated on.
There was something afoot and both of them knew that neither was fully aware of what exactly that 'something' happened to be. Harry wore his confusion on his face for all to see, though he did his best to try and appear as affable as the man seated across from him. Professor Dumbledore on the other hand hid his fear and his anger at missing something; so well so, that when Molly finally did enter the kitchen she thought she walked in on a pleasant conversation.
"If you'll excuse me, Harry, Molly," Professor Dumbledore excused with a nod to each of them and swept out of the kitchen far quicker than a man his age should have been able to move.
Harry repeated his question at a louder level to Professor Dumbledore's disappearing presence, "What stadium?"
Molly Weasley looked back and forth between the swinging door of the kitchen Albus had just left through, and a worried Harry Potter sitting at the breakfast table.
"Do you know what he's talking about, Mrs. Weasley?" Harry asked, finally taking note that she was in the room and bustling about.
"About what, dear?" Molly asked in return, casting numerous charms around the kitchen to get the first meal of the day started.
Harry frowned and turned away from Mrs. Weasley muttering, "something about a stadium?"
Molly was cracking eggs by hand over the charmed heated skillet when she answered absently, "he must have been talking about your invitation to the tryouts for the England team. Ron's been in a right state about it, when he's here that is, 'Harry's so lucky, Harry'll cream Vicky'. You really should talk to him when he gets home from work, he'll be so glad to see you..."
Harry interrupted Mrs. Weasley's explanation of Ron's enthusiasm for him, "what invitation?"
"The one," Mrs. Weasley began and turned away from the stove to look at Harry, "... you really don't know, do you?"
Harry shook his head. Hadn't he gotten that across when he kept asking questions?
"But you received the letter," Mrs. Weasley told him.
"What letter?" Harry asked, growing increasingly incensed that the Order had seriously buggered up his mail. "I haven't received any post about Quidditch (as he assumed this was all in regards to when Mrs. Weasley mentioned Ron and Victor Krum in the same sentence) other than Ron's blip about a friendly."
"Harry, dear, don't play games," Mrs. Weasley chided and received a baleful glare from the young man opposite her. "The Order passed on your mail after they cleared it, you must have received it."
Harry got up from his seat and stormed out of the kitchen ignoring Mrs. Weasley's words. There was definitely something going on that just wasn't right.
'If Professor Dumbledore just found out that I didn't know, then someone else is messing with the post... shite, Voldemort!' Harry deduced.
"Harry!" Hermione yelled from the stairs.
Harry ceased his march to turn and see who had called out to him this time. He was surprised to see it was Hermione descending the stairs this time.
"You're here early," she told him, "we won't be leaving for another few hours yet."
"Yeah, I uhm, er...," Harry replied, not really wanting to talk to Hermione and wanting to find Professor Dumbledore. "Listen, have you seen Professor Dumbledore?"
Hermione eyed Harry queerly, "no."
"Bugger," Harry cursed.
"Mr. Potter," a silky voice hissed in an all too familiar tone.
Harry spun on the spot and swung a right hook in the direction of the voice. Severus caught his fist but did not anticipate the front kick that followed and doubled over from the force of the blow.
Harry followed up with his left fist connecting with Snape's right cheek and knocking the man to the floor.
Severus rolled away from where he was knocked to the ground, avoiding a foot that was intent on stomping his chest in. He drew his wand while in the roll and brought himself to his feet with little effort and feigned grace.
Harry already had his wand drawn and was waiting for Snape to make his move. He wanted to enjoy beating this man... enjoy repaying the pain. He wanted to exercise every ounce of rage he felt at the thought of the consequence his... lack... of action had caused.
Neither Harry nor Severus spoke a word as they launched into their impromptu duel with such loathing for the other that Hermione could almost feel it herself.
In the space of time that seemed like an eternity where Hermione stood watching her friend and her Potions Master duel, but what truly only a tenth of a minute, she was unnaturally dumbfounded. Then, when her senses returned to her she took the initiative and pushed Harry to the ground when he was focused on Professor Snape and nothing else.
"HARRY! WHAT ARE YOU THINKING? YOU'LL BE EXPELLED!" Hermione shouted, and gave her Potions Master a gaping opening.
Truly, Severus was quite impressed with the whelps new found appreciation for dueling; and quite enjoyed dragging out the menial duel to see what Potter had learned. There were several points where he could have ended this tiff, but he could use this encounter to his advantage at a more convenient time.
Harry's attention was diverted only for a split second onto Hermione and her scream about his expulsion. In that split second, Snape was able to disarm him and had him hanging in the air upside down by the foot as if on some invisible hook.
Severus was near panting when he approached the two children, "Indeed you will be, Mr. Potter."
"Put me down, Snivellus," Harry demanded simply.
Hermione watched the dialogue in what she could only think of as insane shock. She was absolutely sure that Harry had gone mad; he had used magic outside of Hogwarts while he was still underage and attacked a member of that same school's staff... Voldemort must have possessed him.
"Professor," Hermione spoke up, "he might be..."
Severus kept careful aim on Harry's upper torso with his wand and cut Hermione's excuse off, "he... is not possessed by the Dark Lord."
"But Professor, why would he...," Hermione began to question and she saw Professor Snape take his eyes off of Harry, sure that he wasn't going anywhere.
Harry reached up with his hands, grabbed his foot that was suspended in the air, spun his body around and lunged for Snape. His fingertips had grazed the man's robes when Professor Dumbledore had coincidentally turned down this hallway.
Professor Dumbledore had him frozen in midair and yet the look of horror on Snape's face when he turned back to see what had happened was worth the further suspension of conflict.
Severus backed away from Harry, convinced now that the boy was indeed possessed if he could break that spell and... look as he did now.
Harry's face was contorted in raw anger. His rage was all too visible for his headmaster, his Potions Master and his friend to see. It was with great effort that he turned his head to the left to face his headmaster, "release me."
Professor Dumbledore kept his wand trained on Harry and held him suspended in mid-air. He was astounded that Harry had even been able to turn his head, let alone speak, as there was only one way to work around the spell being used against him. And, seeing as how the spell being used on Harry was developed by Nicolas and himself there was no way for Harry to know how to counter the magic being used against him.
"RELEASE ME!" Harry roared and turned to face Snape again, desperately trying to get to the man who took away his godfather.
"Not until you calm yourself," Professor Dumbledore tranquilly ordered.
Hermione back up against the wall and bumped into a table. This was something she had never thought she would see. Harry was... Harry was fighting Professor Dumbledore's magic. She could see her headmaster's forehead beginning to bead with sweat... and that, she thought, was oddly remarkably fascinating.
"Severus," Professor Dumbledore called out to the man, "I suggest you return to the castle."
Severus nodded, but before he left he strode up to where Potter was suspended and looked him in the eye, "This isn't finished, Potter."
Harry's rage overcame him and his right hand started to move slowly against the magic binding him to grasp the man's neck and throttle the life out of him.
Severus schooled his expression, snorted at Potter and made his exit. This had been... enlightening from his perspective.
"Let me go, Professor," Harry called to his headmaster after several minutes of waiting to be released. Whatever it was that fueled him to fight against Professor Dumbledore's magic was now gone.
Professor Dumbledore, after ensuring that Severus was out of Grimmauld Place, finally lowered his wand and let Harry down. Harry tucked his right shoulder in and rolled into his fall and into a standing position.
Hermione rushed to Harry and dusted off his shoulders, though there was no dust. Her eyes asked volumes of questions and secretly she was overjoyed at the prospect of the research this would amount to. Instead of voicing her questions aloud though, Professor Dumbledore escorted Harry away so that they could discuss the events that had just transpired.
In the library of 12 Grimmauld Place, Harry Potter and Albus Dumbledore sat across from one another for a second time that day. This time however, they each wanted the other to begin.
"I," they both said at the same time and then gestured identically for the other to say his piece.
Harry sighed and said, "bollocks! What's going on with me?"
"I do not know, Harry," Professor Dumbledore answered honestly, although he had a suspicion he didn't share. "Would you care to explain why you attacked a senior member of the Hogwarts staff?"
The look Harry gave Albus said it all.
"Would you care to explain your theory about who was acting secondary monitor on my post?" Harry mocked.
Professor Dumbledore ignored his tone, "I am glad to hear you have come to the same conclusion I have. Tell me, Harry, what do I not know?"
Harry leaned back in the leather wing back chair and tented his fingers, "What... do you know?"
Professor Dumbledore mimicked his motions, "It is not proper to answer a question with another question, Mr. Potter."
"You're joking right?" Harry asked with a small snort of derision. "You do it all the time."
"I," Professor Dumbledore started, "I suppose you are correct."
"The question still stands professor," Harry said, "I can't tell you what you don't know without you telling me what you do know."
"You could always allow me access into...," Professor Dumbledore alluded.
"You could certainly try," Harry challenged.
"My boy, that is a substantial implication you've just made?" Professor Dumbledore stated. He had held the belief from his previous encounters with the boy that Severus had done more harm that good.
With equanimity, Harry played an angle he knew well enough not to be become entangled in and answered, "that man taught me nothing."
Harry said no more on the matter and was proud for not giving away too much and interested that Professor Dumbledore hadn't already tried to invade his thoughts and memories. Or had he? The growing suspicion that he would be unable to tell if a true master was intent on gaining clandestine entry into his mind almost completely diverted his attention to that matter.
"So what about this invitation?" Harry inquired, skirting the real issue.
"Ah, yes, Mr. Bagman is most intent on having you play for the national team," Professor Dumbledore answered, a twinkle in his right eye.
"Then, someone didn't want me to play?" Harry asked himself more than Professor Dumbledore.
Professor Dumbledore made himself a part of Harry's personal dialogue, "Or they did not want you to be aware at all."
"Why would they want that?" Harry asked, trying to come up with his own answer before Professor Dumbledore supplied him with the one he had no doubt already found.
"I do not know," Professor Dumbledore shocked Harry.
"This ties in with the magic somehow," Harry added, thinking of his actual use rather than the remarkable things he had done with it so far this summer.
Professor Dumbledore incorrectly assumed that Harry was referring to his ability to do things with magic that no normal witch or wizard was capable of.
"Possibly," Professor Dumbledore agreed vocally with Harry.
Harry assumed that Professor Dumbledore knew about his use of magic while at number 4 and when he agreed it only served to solidify that assumption as belief.
"That still leaves us without the why," Harry summarized.
"And without the who as well," Professor Dumbledore reminded him.
"Oh, yeah, right," Harry agreed, though he was pretty sure he knew who was behind this, and that Professor Dumbledore thought along the same lines.
"The Granger's then?" Harry asked, seeking to put a close to this conversation as it was all basic extrapolation and nothing solid or Professor Dumbledore was unwilling to share any substantial evidence for him to work with.
"Yes, Harry, the Granger's," Professor Dumbledore repeated.
"Where do they live?" Harry interrogated further.
Professor Dumbledore stood from his seat, "Chelsea."
Harry remained seated, he had a lot to think about just now.
Professor Dumbledore was at the entrance to the library when Harry called out, "Thanks, professor."
"Whatever for, Mr. Potter?" Professor Dumbledore wondered and turned away from the doors.
"For not, you know," Harry said and tapped his head with his fingers, "barging in."
"Not all, Mr. Potter," Professor Dumbledore bowed and swept out of the library with his majestic blue robes billowing behind him. No one knew just how enraged he was with the turn of events.
A tentative knock came from the door to the library where Harry was still seated several hours later. He had come up with a possible explanation of why someone had done what they had done while he was at number 4, but he was unsure as to whether he was grasping at straws and thought he should ask Professor Dumbledore for his opinion.
The knock roused Harry from his thoughts and he saw Hermione coming in to the library. Her trunk was just past the threshold with his and he assumed that it was time to go.
"Ready?" Harry asked before Hermione could.
"Yeah, it'll be nice to go home," Hermione explained and Harry followed her to her trunk where he decided in an act of chivalry to carry it for her.
"Why thank you, good sir," Hermione mimicked an Elizabethan accent and tilted her head ever so slightly. "I'm afraid I have no token for you."
"No worries, madam," Harry replied and wrapped his arm around Hermione's waist, "I'll just take you."
Hermione and Harry laughed their way down the stairs to the front entrance of number 12 Grimmauld Place to find Tonks, Emma and Dedalus waiting for them. They assumed this was the Order escort to take them to Hermione's home in upper Chelsea.
"Wotcher, Harry," Tonks greeted and lightly punched him in the shoulder. "You ready to go?"
Harry turned around and faced the stairs and pointed his wand in the direction of the sitting room he had slept in this morning, "accio trunk."
Hermione grabbed his forearm and pushed it down to his side, "Harry, you can't do magic outside of..."
Harry's trunk glided down the stairs and came to a rest at his side, "Yep, ready to go."
He flashed Hermione a cheeky grin, "I'll tell you later."
Harry interpreted the glare Hermione shot him as, 'you'd better.'
"Right, then," Dedalus broke in, "disillusionments all around."
Tonks however morphed into Hermione and out of nowhere a Harry Potter look alike appeared from around the corner and followed Tonks out the front door.
"Decoys?" Harry asked Emma.
Emma only nodded and disillusioned herself with a tap of the wand on the crown of her head.
Dedalus disillusioned Hermione and when he came to Harry he found the boy had already hidden himself.
Harry shrugged, but the effect was lost on everyone, "I found something that worked better."
"I've seen Mad-Eye use something similar before, I have," Dedalus said, suppressing how much he was impressed.
"Let's go," Emma ordered and Harry and Hermione made for the door.
An invisible hand stopped them from leaving though, "hold on a moment, where do you two think you're going?"
"Outside?" Harry and Hermione said speculatively.
"And just what in the name of Merlin's beard are you gonna do to get to Chelsea once you're out there for the Death Eaters to take pot shots at ya'?" Emma asked.
"Right," Harry said, trying to hide the fact that he hadn't thought that far ahead and made a quick assumption, "portkey it is?"
"Not the quickest, but he gets there," Emma joked of Harry, and Hermione was silently berating herself.
A trophy was picked up off the table in the foyer and hovered in midair where Dedalus was holding on, "Everybody grab a'hold."
Harry and Hermione didn't see Dedalus watching the clock above the door while he counted, "three.. two... one..."
That familiar sickening feeling of being hooked behind the navel took root in Harry's center and yanked him away from downtown London and all the way to posh-side Chelsea.
Harry landed on his bum and alongside a warm body he believed to be Hermione's. Her breath on his neck was to say the least... distracting.
"Stay hidden until we sweep the place," Dedalus instructed at a whisper.
"Harry?" Hermione asked against his neck, and placed her palm on his chest for further confirmation.
Shivers ran up Harry's spine at the sensation caused by Hermione breathing on him like that. He wondered why he hadn't ever felt something like this with Cho and why... for his first time, it had to be with his best friend.
"Yeah." Harry confirmed.
Hermione's palm slid across his chest and came to a rest on his right shoulder, "just checking."
'Keep checking,' Harry wanted to say.
"ALL CLEAR!" Dedalus shouted from upstairs at the same moment that Emma completed her sweep of the ground floor.
"Bloody idiot," Harry and Hermione heard Emma curse under her breath and lift her own disillusionment.
Harry reappeared and pulled an invisible Hermione to her feet where Emma cancelled her disillusionment charm.
Dedalus came trudging down the stairs, "Right nice place you have here Miss Granger."
"Thank you," Hermione replied, wondering when her parents would be closing up the surgery and returning home.
"Where are your parents?" Harry asked, looking around and taking stock of Hermione's living room.
"At work," Hermione answered.
"You kid's going to be alright?" Emma asked.
"You bet," Harry said, knowing that they weren't really going to leave them without supervision.
"Right, well, we'll be on post," Dedalus informed Harry and Hermione, and he and Emma went their separate ways to secure the house from the outside.
"This isn't Professor Dumbledore's brightest idea," Harry announced, walking around the living room and getting a feel for the home.
Hermione smiled, glad that Harry wasn't being thick and concentrating solely on Quidditch. "What do you think he's up to?"
"Probably trying to flush someone out," Harry answered absently, more interested in the books the Granger's had amassed on display than what Professor Dumbledore was trying to accomplish by using him and the Granger clan for bait.
"That sounds dreadfully callous, Harry," Hermione chided.
"I know," Harry replied in a singsong tone.
Hermione was definitely worried about Harry's state of mind now. He was no boy and he was no man, but he was something else entirely now. She wasn't sure that she liked who he was like this.
"Where do I sleep?" Harry asked, his mind on other things than Hermione's worries.
*******************************************************************************
"Welcome," the cheerful witch greeted and held out her hand, "passes, please."
Hermione handed the ticket witch two passes and she and her father walked through the turnstile, and waited for Harry to join them.
Harry shifted his weight on either foot nervously and looked over his shoulder to where he knew an Order member was standing guard under some spell designed to hide them from sight. He wasn't sure exactly where he was supposed to go or what he was supposed to.
"Er... I'm here for the tryouts," he said to the ticket-collecting witch.
"Tryouts?" she asked confused and then smiled sympathetically. "I'm sorry dear, but tryouts were a month past."
He dug around in his bag for the letter Ron had made a copy of for him, "Ludo Bagman told me to be here this morning."
"Did you say Mr. Bagman? Mr. Ludo Bagman?" she looked at him even more perplexed now; until, recognition dawned in her eyes and she exclaimed, "You're Harry Potter!"
"Yeah, I am," he confirmed quietly.
Harry looked around, hoping no one heard her. Mr. Granger had an incredulous look on his face, as if suddenly realizing that Harry was some sort of celebrity when he had been the one to ask Harry personally about all of his exploits.
"Oh, I'm dreadfully sorry about this. Right you are, right you are," she apologized, her eyes flicking upwards for a brief glimpse at the scar hiding behind his fringe. "This way, please."
The ticket witch abandoned her post and motioned for Harry to follow. As he followed her, he paused and waved at Hermione and her father.
"I'll see you afterwards!" he called out.
"Good luck, Harry!" cried Hermione with a tad more enthusiasm than was necessary.
Her father smiled inwardly and Hermione checked herself, looking around a bit self-consciously.
Harry was taken through a door that the stadium used for the home team's dressing rooms. As he entered nervously, he realized he was late. The coaching staff, Quidditch players and in the centre drawing most of the attention, Ludo Bagman stood, and they were all staring at him.
"Ah, there ye are!" Ludo beamed, clapping him on the shoulder. "We were waiting a bit for you to come. Only a few minutes though."
"Ahem," Bagman grunted, drawing the attention of all the players whispering behind their hands. "Well, you know why we're gathered. Some of you have featured throughout last year and are now settled in. The rest of you, however," he glanced at Harry and a few other players new to the line-up, "need to pay close attention. This is our first friendly of the season and we need to rally the support of our fans for the match against Krum and Bulgaria."
Harry snorted at the name. He smiled instantly after though, remembering that little crack at the end of Ron's letter when he called him 'Vicky'.
"We'll do a few basic warm ups, some formation flying and a little of getting familiar with the stadium and conditions. For those newcomers, I'm sure you'll fit in smoothly." Ludo informed them all and winked at Harry. "What we're really here for is to win the crowd and their support... and also a bit of advertising and ticket sales won't hurt either. As you know, we'll be playing against the Cannons today..."
There was now a buzz going around the room and Harry's eyed widened.
"There will be two halves basically. We'll put on the starting line-up for the Bulgaria match first, and that'll be: Wood in goal, Jackson and Briggs beaters, Gareth, Charles and Rooney are the chasers and Cantonma is seeker in absence of Hortone," Ludo paused and made sure everyone was there and accounted for.
"We have unlimited substitutions and may introduce the reserves. We'll then play the Cannons reserves with our reserves and see how things work."
Ludo stopped talking and took his time just staring at the lot of them. "Well? What are you blokes still gaping around for? Get your sorry arses out there!"
They grabbed their training kit robes and donned them as they ran through the corridors, making sure they had their gear ready as they congregated at the players' exit to the pitch.
Harry gasped at the gigantic expanse of the stadium. The seats rose stories high into the air and there was a respectable amount of spectators filling them. It was nowhere near full, but the people present still made the Hogwarts crowd look relatively small by comparison.
The players walked onto the field, and all of them waved to the fans; with the exception of Harry, who was still too dumbstruck to move. There was a polite applause ringing around the stadium, and the flashes of numerous omnioculars capturing the moment. He finally caught himself and gave a half-hearted wave to the people in the east stands.
"OI! Potter!" Oliver Wood called out to Harry for him to wait up. "Hey, Harry. It'll be like old times, eh?"
"Yeah, if I get to play," Harry admitted with a shrug.
"Bloody hell mate, Bagman knows you're better than Cantonma but can't just replace him. You just do what you do best and I bet you ten galleons you're on the squad," Oliver grinned at him and ran down to meet the others.
Heartened by that pep talk, Harry walked to the dugout and took his spot next to Morrison on the bench. The drums and horns were now picking up a rhythm in the crowd. The chanting rose to a crescendo at the sound of the referee's whistle signaling the start of the match.
"And theyyyrrrre off! Cannons in possession!" Bagman's voice carried over the crowd from the commentators' booth. "Hurley, to Hughes, now to Thompson. Tricky piece of skill there by Thompson, who narrowly misses that bludger. Passes to Kingsley, no... intercepted by Gareth! England in Possession!"
And so it went, Cannons eventually getting 120 points to England's 90 at the end of the first half of the match.
"England substitutes; Morrison and Gramble on for Briggs and Gareth," the second commentator the match called out.
The snitch was exceptionally fast and Harry only spotted it twice before it darted behind some player, and then out of his line of sight. Their coach approached the team, a marker board in his hands and an unreadable expression on his face.
"Alright lads, the defensive work needs some tuning, but we'll be ready for Bulgaria for sure with some more practice. Okay, it's now Forrester in goal, Morrison, Nickolai as beaters, Chane, Gramble and Jemson chasers and we'll keep Cantonma for now. Now show those Irishmen what England's made of!"
Harry joined Wood on the bench, feeling disappointed. He had hoped his chance would come before the Cannons' seeker got the snitch. But the way Cantonma was flying it would take forever for him to find it.
"Don't fret, Harry. You'll come on any time now," Oliver said. But ten minutes later it seemed that coach Ryan wasn't having any intentions to follow that part of the plan.
"Chane! Forrester!" coach summoned them imperiously after calling for substitutions. "What are you doing? Letting them win? Forrester, that's eight unanswered they've gotten behind you! You see that score line? What does it say?"
Forrester opened his mouth, but wasn't even allowed to retort.
"It says 200 to 90! Wood, get in there! Gareth! Where's Gareth!" the coach bellowed and Gareth stood up from the bench. "Replace Chane!"
Coach looked at her and sneered, "What we do not need right now is another pretty face!"
Chane looked absolutely destroyed, her face already setting up for the torrents.
"Seems that Gareth and Wood are back on the pitch with Chane and Forrester out...," Bagman announced. "Cannons once again on the attack... great save by Wood! Quick release now on to Jemson, gives to Gramble... GRAMBLE SCORES!"
Harry was fascinated. The Cannons had already analyzed the basic strengths and weaknesses of his inexperienced squad and were taking full advantage. Wood was under constant pressure and once again the Cannons were dominating the match.
"Excellent! Once again from Wood! That's four consecutive saves! How long can it last?!" screamed Ludo.
As he said it the Cannons scored twice in succession, putting the score now at 220 to 100.
Harry knew that unless something drastic happened The Cannons were going to win and he wasn't even going to feature. At that second, something flew past his field of vision. It was the snitch! It zoomed some ten feet off the pitch and Cantonma and Kelly were furiously battling each other for an advantage in the sprint to catch it. They were flying very low, jostling each other shoulder-to-shoulder. Cantonma, lacking some of the experience of his opponent, lapsed in concentration and a bludger aimed for him, hit him square on the back pitching him forward and forcing him into a few spectacular tumbles before coming to a painful halt on the pitch. The crowd moaned in concern and sympathy. The referee blew his whistle to stop play and the medi-wizards apparated onto the pitch to take Cantonma off for treatment. Then the referee signaled to Coach Ryan for a substitution.
"Potter, you're on. Get me that snitch!" Coach Ryan bellowed, not taking his eyes off of Cantonma as he was carried away.
Harry nodded grimly, "I will."
"Injury to Cantonma. Substitution: Potter," announced Bagman.
The crowd was still preoccupied with news of the injury that the announcement went unnoticed. England and The Cannons took positions again, and the referee restarted the play with another throw of the quaffle. Harry was finally in his element, and the wind blew his hair in waves away from his face.
"The Cannons once again in possession... It's McKinnon one on one with Wood! Great reflex save! Oh wait, Keane recovers the quaffle... and finishes! 230 to 100!"
Harry looked down at his skipper from his observational flying altitude; Oliver's face flushed red with embarrassment.
'Keep it together, Ollie,' Harry silently willed.
"Jemson with the quaffle... he's streaking down the middle... wait... Kelly has burst forward. Has he…? YES! He's seen the snitch!" Ludo roared over the speaker system.
Harry saw it as well as it streaked between him and Kelly. His opponent had an obvious head start so he accelerated insanely, weaving through the players with his eyes trained on the golden target. He was closing the distance to the snitch, but Kelly had the better angle and faster trajectory. Harry angled himself to get the fastest line only to realize that if they continued on this direction, they would collide head on. He bent over even lower unto his Firebolt and pushed it as fast as he could go... daring his opponent to back off. Kelly, the more experienced payer did not falter nor sway and continued steadily on.
Two blurs, one of red and the other golden orange, arrived at the snitch at the same time. They both catapulted forwards off their broomsticks after the seemingly disastrous collision and each player landed hard on the pitch, rolling and tumbling a few times before coming to their painful stop fifty meters apart.
The referee blew his whistle... the snitch was no longer in play!
"DID YOU SEE THAT? AMAZING! LET'S VIEW THE REPLAY!" cheered Bagman, jumping up and down in the announcer's booth.
The muggle advertising board enchanted to show the score morphed to play a slow motion breakdown of the collision.
"It seems that Kelly was about ten feet away from the snitch when Potter... what is that?" Ludo asked himself and the crowd as they tried to figure out what Harry had done. "He hooked his right foot on the underside of the broom, braced his left on the tail and simultaneously angled the nose to a sharp angle downwards, propelling him forward through the air... ah, yes... we can see very clearly the collision shortly afterwards."
At the moment of collision replay, the crowd groaned in pity.
Harry couldn't breathe. His head was spinning and it felt as if one of his legs was broken. He squinted against the midday sun, spitting out some blood from his bleeding lip. The sun was directly overhead now, and it burned his eyes to open them. But he felt it in his
grasp. Knowing that he was triumphant fuelled him.
Slowly and unsteadily, he got to his feet. Almost topping backwards, he sucked in his breath and punched his right fist into the air with the snitch gleaming in the sun. The crowd went berserk as he cried out in victory. The slow motion highlight reel on the big screen provided an impressive backdrop of the events happening in real time. The replay zoomed in on his face, a fierce battle cry emanating from the newborn Quidditch warrior.
"POTTER HAS DONE IT! IT'S ALL OVER! IT'S ALL OVER!" Ludo crowed. "ENGLAND DO IT AT THE DEATH TO WIN 230 TO 250! WHAT A PLAY!"
Harry finally tumbled backwards, and landed flat on his back on the soft grass. He basked in the moment, his limbs extended in a large X. The next thing he knew there was a mass of black hair blocking his vision and some beautiful bird was flush on top of him and screaming in his face.
"Harry you did it. We won!" she congratulated loudly.
He grinned stupidly, savoring the sensation of the snitch still in his grasp. She swooped down on him and snogged him right there in the grass, all encompassing and wet. He was stunned... too surprised to even break the kiss. She drew back, her hands framing his face.
She smiled tenderly at him, gave him a mock cuff on his chin, then jumped off and allowed him to be carried away by the English players. He was being slapped hard on the back, his messy his hair being ruffled by numerous hands and he wished they would stop hitting him on the shoulder; which was hurting badly now from the fall. As they walked off the pitch, Harry reflexively looked up to the right of the tunnel. Hermione and Ron were glaring at him with stony expressions on their faces. He did not get a chance to talk to them since he was being dragged along to the dressing rooms. Hermione waited until Harry disappeared to really let loose.
"Ron! Can you believe him? Kissing that Chane strumpet in front of all these people!" Hermione screeched.
"Who wouldn't?" Ron asked dumbly. "She's hot!"
This seemed to infuriate Hermione even more.
"What I don't understand firstly, is why is he staying with you and secondly, playing for England against The Cannons? The Cannons, Hermione! He ruddy well knows they're my favourite team; look I even brought the Cap he gave me!" Ron ranted. "He's supposed to be my best friend, not a supporter of the enemy!"
"Let's find him," Hermione suggested.
"Good idea," Ron seconded and they set off together to find their best friend. Both of them left behind Mr. Granger, who was engaged in a deep conversation regarding how the game functioned with a fellow muggle-parent couple.
Harry was gearing down in the dressing room. There was a stupid grin on each of the player's faces, all except Harry.
He was pondering on why his best friends had looked like they wanted him to crash into the pitch for a second time. This thought had his line of sight focused on a spot on the clubhouse floor.
"...at that time tomorrow. Right, Potter? POTTER!" a voice boomed and finally got through to Harry.
"Huh? What?" Harry asked and finished taking off his boot.
"I said we'd have a closed practice tomorrow at eight a.m. We're going to do some reshuffling and reorganize our strategy. We've got... let's see, around a month and a half to get it right. So, from tomorrow, every Monday, Thursday and Saturday we have training. You want a spot on this team then you better be there. And that goes for everyone!" Bagman announced and reached for the handle to the door. "Oh, and guys and gals, there may be reporters for The Prophet waiting for you. I advise you to avoid them, however, if you do answer them, don't embarrass us."
Ludo left with a parting glare of warning.
Harry was fed up of hearing of himself in the papers. Someone had leaked about what had happened in the Department of Mysteries and now there was rampant speculation about what the prophecy was that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Name wanted and what it had to do with Harry Potter; they had even started to call him 'The Chosen One' of all things.
In the showers he let the warm water ease his aching shoulder and knee. His blasted shoulder was starting to really bother him and unfortunately he didn't know any spells that would heal an injury like the ones he had just acquired. Now that the adrenaline had worn off, he felt all the pains from that fall catching up with him and his body felt battered. He wrapped a towel around his waist and went into the now empty locker room and opened his gym bag He put on a pair of denims Hermione and her mum had bought for him and t-shirt.
There was a soft knock on the door and thinking it was Oliver and another one of his post match analyses, he called out, "Yeah, it's open."
"THERE YOU ARE, HARRY! You've got some answers to cough up mate," Ron bellowed as he came steaming into the locker room. "You've got Errol completely burnt out on the hunt for you and then today, TODAY, I find out you're staying with Hermione for whatever barmy reason Dumbledore has cocked up! AND WHY DID YOU FORGET TO MENTION A LITTLE THING TO ME ABOUT PLAYING FOR BLOODY ENGLAND! FRED AND GEORGE DIDN'T MENTION ANYTHING ABOUT A NATIONAL TEAM!"
Harry stood stock-still and took in both appearances on his best friends faces. He wasn't sure that Ron was done ranting and Hermione was looking positively livid... he didn't know what to say.
"I believe you owe me an explanation," Ron declared and turned to look at Hermione. "Right, Hermione?"
"Hermione?" Ron enquired when Hermione failed to back him up.
Hermione however, had not been listening to Ron's rant. She had her attention focused solely on Harry and his openly gaping mouth trying desperately to form a response to Ron.
Ron waved his hands in front of Hermione face, "Hermione? Earth to Hermione?"
Hermione awoke from her daze and responded appropriately according to Ron, "Oh, yes. Definitely owes us an explanation."
"Really?" Harry asked disbelievingly. "Sounds a bit familiar. Nice to see you as well, mate. Glad you could make it out."
Harry grasped Ron's hand and each of the young men dropped their irate masks. Ron grinned back at his best friend, this was all a machination of the twins and good on Harry if he made the under 21 England team. He had recently been trying to come up with a solution as to how to handle the coming Gryffindor Quidditch season and lineup and this happened to solve his problems quite adequately.
Hermione watched the moving moment of friendship from the sidelines. She was of the thought that what their shared loyalty and inseparable friendship was something that she would never have with either of them. But she was content that they both always seemed to need her and Hermione knew that she would always be there to help them. The moment was captured in her memory; Ron's red hair pointing in every which way making him look more flash than he believed himself to be, and Harry's damp hair clinging to his head and neck with his naked upper torso fueling her conflicting emotions of interest and concern.
"Ron! There you are!" Ginny shouted as she came panting through the door of the locker-room. "Fred says to hurry, uh..."
The youngest member of the Weasley clan and the only daughter was struck dumb at the sight of a slightly damp, and bareback Harry Potter. Her face blushed furiously close to matching her hair and her left hand came up to cover her mouth as a precaution.
Harry, who hadn't a clue about the opposite sex, smiled good-naturedly at her. "'Lo, Ginny."
Ginny's freckles disappeared completely.
"R-Ron," Ginny stammered and dropped the hand covering her mouth. "Fred says that they're waiting at the general audience Floo for you. Mum'll flay them if they left you behind and they have be back in time for the after-match rush and uh, they also need you to do some packing. So..."
Ginny shook her head to try and clear her thoughts. "So come on. We've got to go!"
"Crap," Ron said to himself more than to anyone listening. He turned away from his imposing sister to face Harry. "By the way, great game, mate. You'll fill me in on the details later."
Harry heard an order and not a request. He grinned back at his friend.
Ron departed after giving him a friendly hit on his damaged shoulder. Harry did his best to hide a grimace.
"Yeah, I'll send Hedwig out as soon as I get back."
Ron waved his hand absentmindedly as he walked out of the locker-room without looking back, practically being drug by his baby sister.
As soon as Ron was gone he realized that Hermione had been staring at his back and arms with a strange almost calculating look. "What?"
"You're banged up all over," Hermione said sympathetically. "I never... never knew to such an extent."
"Oh this?" Harry asked, visually checking himself for the first time. "Normal Quidditch bruises, nothing too serious. Usually we're at school so a little magic fixes me right up, but we're not there."
Harry gave a little shrug. He wasn't too preoccupied with the superficial injuries anyway; they'd heal soon enough on their own.
Hermione looked even more puzzled after listening to how insouciant Harry was regarding his health. She looked around the locker-room for a moment before spotting what she needed in the trainer's open office. "Wait here for a moment."
Harry watched Hermione dash off into the trainer's office and return with a small crock of 'Madam Nightingales Soothing Salve'. She removed the lid and imperiously ordered him to take a seat. So, he did and straddled the bench.
Hermione took a seat in front of him. She gathered a healthy amount of the salve on her fingers and gently began to apply the concoction to Harry's cheek. His eyelids dropped and his body began to tingle all over. Her touch was relaxing and he had never had anyone touch him this way before, he felt absolutely wonderful.
Harry didn't see it but Hermione was all smiles. She enjoyed taking care of Ron and Harry; it made her feel wanted and needed to a degree she wasn't able to properly articulate.
"Harry," Hermione whispered and her thoughts began to stretch out towards the young man in front of her.
"Hmm?" he asked, hoping she wasn't going to stop any time soon.
"Where did you get all these," Hermione wondered when she started to move on to his other injuries.
Hermione massaged the salve into the knife wound on his arm and he replied, "Wormtail."
She didn't need to hear the story repeated of Wormtail slicing open his arm to collect blood for Voldemort's resurrection potion.
"And this one?" she inquired when she moved to his other arm.
"Basilisk," Harry answered, he was so euphoric he thought he would tell her the prophecy if she asked.
Her fingers traced a long scar further up that same arm over his bicep and over his shoulder, she correctly guess that it traveled partly down his back as well. He answered without being prompted, "Second Task, the Horntail. Now that was something."
Harry made a guttural moaning sound that brought a tiny smile to her lips.
Hermione clucked at him. He assumed- because he wasn't about to open his eyes and ruin the enchantment- that it was for the happy memory of an event that terrified her. However, Harry's euphoria had spread all over his body and he wasn't aware of just how much appreciation he was showing the world. She got up but didn't break contact and straddled the bench behind him. She took her time with applying the balm to the bruises covering his back and gently coaxed the tension out of him.
As she continued to massage in the healing salve Harry slowly came to realize that his thoughts were becoming clouded and the magic he had only ever felt flow from his wand traversed his consciousness creating the most peculiar sensation when coupled with Hermione's touch. Images of his memories faded only to be seen melding with the emotions of another independent memory. He saw himself walking along a small path that led out of a grove of trees, frightened. He found it strange to watch himself use the summoning charm for the first time and his broom fly into his outstretched hand only seconds later; the vision played to the moment when the dragon caught his arm with the slashing of her dangerous tail. The memory sensation of the pain suddenly freed him from the trance state he had drifted into and he felt the incredible urge to scream, his face felt as though he were using his fingernails to claw off the skin.
He jumped off the bench and away from Hermione. The adrenaline and desperation flowed from him and he forced himself to calm his racing pulse.
"Hermione?" he asked, staring at her incredulously.
"What is it?" she asked, her eyebrows creasing in worry. "Did I press too hard? I thought you might enjoy deep-tissue..."
"Er, nothing," Harry dispelled with his interruption. "It's nothing, really. Thanks, but maybe we should meet back with your dad."
Something had happened, but she wisely knew not to press on until it was just the two of them in a more secure location. She nodded and got up off the bench.
Harry put on a new t-shirt, picked up his England robes and stuffed them into his new official duffle bag. Hermione looked at him uneasily as she followed him out of the locker-room and into the passageway leading back to the stadium. They walked in a tense silence until Hermione decided to divert Harry's attention away from whatever seemed to be bothering him.
"My dad said that he would meet us at the main exit if we were separated. He was caught up talking with another muggle-born parent couple and wanted to compare experiences."
Harry nodded as he pushed open the door to the main lobby and motioned for Hermione to go ahead of him. His head was down, buried in thought. He wondered how he was able to experience the memory again instead of just observing it as a normal person... it was almost as if he was a walking pensieve of his own.
"HARRY POTTER!"
Harry looked up lamely to see who had called him and instantly blinded by the sharp flash of a wizarding camera bulb. Dozens more flashes followed and everyone in the room seemed to be calling his name.
"A FEW WORDS PLEASE!"
"CAN I SCHEDULE AN INTERVIEW!?"
"MARGARET THATCHER FROM THE DAILY PROPHET, HOPING TO ASK..."
"ODD LOVEGOOD FROM THE QUIBBLER, YOU KNOW MY DAUGHTER, SHE..."
"HARRY POTTER! OVER HERE PLEASE!"
"WE'RE FROM QUIDDITCH MONTHLY. WE WANT..."
"One at a time please!" Hermione shrieked, standing in front of him. Her arms were outstretched in a silencing manner. All the voices stopped, obviously stunned at this little girl eyeing them all down with such superiority. Harry's mouth even dropped open in awe, Hermione was in complete control of the situation. She pointed at the two young wizards from Quidditch Monthly.
"Thank you," Hermione said the amassed reporters. "You may ask Harry a few questions, but keep them brief and we will not be responding on any matter not related to Quidditch."
Harry wondered what the 'we' reference was about.
The Quidditch Monthly reporter, still a little stunned, cleared his throat, "Ah, yes... ahem. Terry Grey from Quidditch Monthly, excellent performance Mr. Potter. What is your opinion of England's game?"
Harry was stumped. He had only ever seen one professional game before and that happened to be the biggest of them all, the Quidditch World Cup Final. He went with the truth from his inexperienced background, "It was a hard match and I believe England was under pressure most of the game, but I'm glad that we were able to regroup in the end."
"The team regrouped? Mr. Potter, it's fairly obvious that it was one man who pulled England's arse out of the flames this afternoon," Terry Grey countered.
"Uhm, yes, well...," Harry stammered. "It was luck, really."
"Luck? LUCK?" Terry Grey scoffed. "That was an extraordinary piece of flying and tenacity you pulled executing that maneuver. We've never seen anything the like. What do you call that maneuver anyway?"