Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter in any way, nor am I in any official way affiliated with it. Please don't sue me, I haven't anything to spare.

Deceit

Harry used to be ambivalent about Halloween. He never got to dress up and go trick-or-treating, but he did like to see the costumes that the other kids wore, and he'd usually get to have some candy from school. He had become aware that it was the anniversary of his parents deaths when he was nine, but even still he knew that it was just another day out of the year. His first year at Hogwarts had been the first year that he had really celebrated it, and for a while it had been the day that he and Ron had saved Hermione from the troll. But as the holiday had begun to approach again in October, Harry felt a return of the melancholy he had started the year with. Of a sudden, the day had taken a sinister pall; the day he had lost his family and became a Horcrux. It was the day he had been consigned to an odd sort of half life.

So it was that when Halloween finally came, Harry didn't really feel like celebrating. He had been tempted for a moment when Nearly-Headless-Nick had been hinting around that he wanted some corporeal attendants at his Death-Day Party, but had decided that there was a fine line between feeling a little morbid, and going to a party for morbidity. Instead of going to the Halloween feast, or the Death-Day Party, Harry found himself wandering the castle halls alone.

It wasn't the first time he'd wound up taking a wander, but it was the first time he had missed a meal to do it. Ron had agreed to bring Harry up some food from the feast, though Hermione had huffed something about Ron 'enabling' him. Harry hoped that Ron didn't bring too much food back, he wasn't feeling very hungry.

He'd seen a lot more of the castle this year than the last. With all of his wanderings, Harry was getting a better idea of the layout of the castle. He'd also discovered a couple of places where older students went to snog, having inadvertently interrupted a few of them, one time or another. One older Ravenclaw girl had told him off for snooping around, before making him promise not to tell anyone what he had seen. It was an easy promise to make, as he had no idea who either of them were, and couldn't have cared less what they got up to together. It wasn't as though he had wanted to see them snogging in the first place.

It was on wanders like today's that Harry wondered about things like whether he would ever snog someone himself. Not that he was particularly interested in such things yet, but he did know that it was coming. Or, it was if he lived long enough. That was what everything seemed to come back to. Harry wanted to make the most of his time, but how much time was that? Would he graduate and get a job? Marriage was out, but should he even have a girlfriend? That would be a pretty lousy thing to do after all, 'Sorry love, but I have to go die now.' Didn't the same sentiment apply to Ron and Hermione as well? Harry couldn't imagine losing either of them, how would they feel losing him after years of friendship? Would they even get those years? Harry wished he could be like Dumbledore, with more answers than questions, instead of the other way around.

Harry was somewhere in the dungeons, he could hear some awful music coming from somewhere nearby, probably the Death-Day Party, when he heard the voice. Oh, not the voice, the one that had started this whole awful thing, though that was Harry's first inclination. He could not tell where the voice was coming from at first, and it was so sinister sounding; it certainly didn't belong to a student or a staff member. And so, Harry could be excused for the jolt of adrenaline that shot into his system, making his mouth taste bitter when it first sounded. It was just as well, for there was danger afoot.

"RIP, TEAR, KILL," said the voice, and it seemed to be moving away from him. Harry had frozen when he had first heard the voice, but hearing it move, being able to pinpoint it's direction, pulled him free, and he chased after it. There was a malevolent entity about, and he was perhaps the only person in the castle who knew about it.

Harry ran as fast as he could, and he was a very fast runner, but he only just was able to keep up with the voice, who's words only became more disturbing.

"I SMELL FLESH ONCE MORE, OH LET ME KILL!"

Harry finally remembered to draw his wand, though he didn't know how much of a help it would be. He didn't know anything more powerful than a couple of basic jinxes. Perhaps he would be able to do as Ron had done against the troll last year and levitate something at whatever the voice belonged to.

Suddenly though, the voice stopped, and Harry slowly stopped in turn, his feet thumping into the silence. There was an intersection up ahead, three options to choose from, and Harry was suddenly without direction. He took a moment to orient himself, finding that he was up on the second floor. Suddenly conscious of how vulnerable he was as a target, Harry crept forward to the intersection. Picking the wall on his left, Harry clung to it as he moved forward to peer around the corners. If there was anything on the right he would be terribly visible, so Harry kept his eyes on the far hallway until he was at the intersection and had most of it in sight. Finally, he turned his heard around the corner on his left.

Something had definitely happened down there, but Harry couldn't tell what. The only thing that seemed clear was that there was no great monster crouching in wait. Still, Harry used caution as he made his way down the hallway, very conscious of his surroundings.

There was a large puddle of water on the floor, and the reflections of the torches in the hallway made it the most obvious. Large red letters marred the hallway wall.

My enemies beware

I have opened

the Chamber of Secrets

There was also a large pile of rags on the floor, only Harry knew that they were no rags. Harry approached the body, but even before he saw the face, he already knew who it was. No one else in the castle had the ridiculous mix of very blond hair and flamboyant robes. Professor Lockhart lay toppled on his side, his body unnaturally rigid, a look of terror plastered on his face.

Harry swallowed the lump in his throat and grasped the man's wrist to check for a pulse. There was nothing there, but Harry remembered that there was a curse that could make the whole body freeze, and maybe you wouldn't feel a pulse then either. It didn't have to mean that the man in front of him was dead. Harry once more remembered his wand.

'Finite,' he incanted at the Professor, it was a spell that they had just learned that month in charms, useful for situations just like this, and Harry had gotten it right in class. But nothing happened to Professor Lockhart. That didn't have to mean that the man was dead, maybe it was just too strong of a curse, Harry was only a second year, after all.

The sound of many footsteps approaching caught his attention. The feast was over, good, someone would go get a professor, a different professor, and Harry wouldn't be the one responsible for figuring out if Lockhart was alive or not. Surely the twat wasn't dead...

"What the Hell?"

That was an older Hufflepuff Harry didn't recognize.

"Someone go get a professor," said Harry, "something's hurt Professor Lockhart."

No one did anything, and the hallway had filled up much more quickly than Harry would have imagined.

"Isn't someone going to go get someone?" Harry shouted.

"My enemies beware," Draco's voice was unmistakable. "I bet it'll be the mudbloods next."

Harry stared at the boy, his mouth agape at what must be, or what Harry hoped must be, a new low for him. He and the rest of the crowd were startled out of their silence by the shouts of the castle caretaker, Argus Filch.

"What's going on here? What's going on?" The man pushed his way to the front of the crowd, and seemed taken aback himself by the sight of Professor Lockhart. But then he smiled.

"Attacked a teacher, have we? Well, you'll be sure to be expelled for this. You haven't killed him have you?"

Harry's eyes widened and he found his voice once more. "I haven't done anything! I found him like this, I don't even know if he is dead. I was trying to help him."

"A likely story," said Filch nastily, clearly enjoying being the first adult on the scene, with no one but himself to pass judgement. Fortunately it was not to last.

"What is happening here?" It was Professor Dumbledore, finally, with more Professors.

"I caught the boy red handed, Professor. He's killed Lockhart."

"I haven't killed anyone!" Harry shouted. Except Quirrell, his conscious told him. "He was the last person here, anyway. He doesn't know what he's talking about. I found Lockhart like this, and then everyone else got here before I could get anyone. He doesn't have a pulse though, and I tried finite, and it didn't work."

More than anyone, it was important that Dumbledore believe him. But the man merely held up a hand and approached Harry and Lockhart. He looked down at the man before waving his wand, levitating Lockhart.

"You need not defend yourself, Harry," he said. "Come though, we will need to know what you know." He walked back to the crowd, which parted silently for him.

"Mr. Brockhurst," said Dumbledore to one of the older boys. "Do go and fetch Madam Pomfrey. Tell her that we are in Professor Lockhart's office."

And so it was that Harry found himself once more in the Defense Professor's office, having been there only a week previous for a detention that he had admittedly deserved, if one went by the letter of the Hogwarts charter, which demanded that students be polite even to lousy professors. The multitude of Lockhart pictures all looked properly aghast at the sight of their fallen originator. Fortunately, wizarding photographs did not have the power of speech, as portraits did, otherwise there would surely have been a cacophony of noise.

Fortunately also, Filch had been sent elsewhere to perform what Harry hoped was a disgusting and backbreaking task. Being accused of murder in front of half the school had left a bitter taste in his mouth, and in spite of Dumbledore's words, Harry was afraid he would have to repudiate the claim.

Professor Dumbledore had begun examining the Defense Professor, his face mere inches away from the body as he poked and prodded. Professor McGonagall was right beside him in his examination. What either of them hoped to divine, Harry couldn't tell.

Mere minutes after they reached the office, Madam Pomfrey came in through the floo. She was too late to join the examination though, as only a moment later, Professor Dumbledore exclaimed, "He is not dead."

Harry let out a sigh of relief that he hadn't realized he had been holding in.

"What's wrong with him?" he blurted out.

"He has been petrified," said Professor Dumbledore. "He will be alright in time, though we shall have to wait for Professor Sprout's Mandrakes to mature so that Professor Snape can brew the restorative draught.

"You will be happy to know Harry that this is not something that a second year Hogwarts student could have done, so do not fear that anyone in this room thinks that you were responsible for Professor Lockhart's condition. However, as you were the one to find him, we must know everything from your perspective."

Harry swallowed and nodded. "I found everything just how it was when you got there, sir. I only touched Lockhart to check his pulse. The water, and the writing on the wall, were there when I got there. I would have gone to get someone, but the feast ended, and everyone got there first."

"Why were you there, Potter?" snapped Snape. "Why did you not attend the feast."

Harry grimaced. "Halloween's not really a day I like to celebrate," he said.

"I do not seem to recall that stopping you last year," said Snape with a sneer.

"That was last year," said Harry, heated at the accusation in Snape's words.

"And that doesn't explain how you happened to arrive at the scene of the crime mere minutes after it must have happened, for Lockhart left the feast mere minutes ahead of everyone else. What were you doing there?"

"I was taking a walk," said Harry.

"What were you doing there, at that exact time, Mr. Potter?"

"I followed a voice," said Harry at last, not sure why he had delayed revealing this piece of information, for certainly the voice was important. He looked Professor Dumbledore in the eye. "It was a voice that I'd never heard before," he said, hoping that the Professor would understand that this was not the Horcrux in his head.

"Not Professor Lockhart's voice then," said Professor McGonagall musingly. "Perhaps an older student whom you have not yet met? And why did you follow this voice."

"I don't think it was human," said Harry, nervously. "I followed it because, well, it was talking about killing someone, and it was moving really fast."

"Let me get this straight, Potter," said Snape. "You heard the voice of a dangerously violent magical creature in the castle, and you decided to follow it?"

Harry realized then that this had been why he hadn't said anything at first. It had been stupid to follow the voice. Still, he said, "I said it was moving fast. How could I have told anyone where it was if I didn't follow it?"

"And of course, it had to be you to find the creature, didn't it?" said Snape with great vitriol. "Potter to the rescue, Potter the hero."

"Severus," Professor Dumbledore said, his voice quiet and with only a hint of reproach, but Snape scowled but didn't say anything else.

"Perhaps you should start from the beginning," Professor Dumbledore now addressed Harry.

"Well, I was walking in the dungeons when I first heard it. I'm not sure where I was. I thought it must have been close to Nick's party, because I heard some music there." And so he told them of his flight up to the second floor corridor.

"Very well," said Professor Dumbledore when Harry was done. "If there's nothing else that you have neglected to mention," (Harry's face flushed), "then you may return to your common room."

Harry nodded and turned to go, but stopped short when a plate of sandwiches appeared on the table next to the office door. He turned back to the professors in surprise.

"A growing boy should not go to bed hungry," said Professor Dumbledore, tucking his wand away. "Do help yourself."

Harry nodded in thanks and took a couple of sandwiches from the plate as he left the room. He had finished both of them by the time he reached the common room, and wished he had taken another, for he had not realized at the time how hungry he actually was.

Harry gave the password to the Fat Lady (Wattlebird) and walked into the common room, still wiping mayonnaise from the corner of his mouth. He should have expected the eyes of everyone in Gryffindor tower to be upon him, but it took him by surprise anyway.

There was a moment of uncertainty, where he wasn't sure whether he should just go to his dormitory or talk to everyone who was staring at him. He waited too long to decide though, because the decision was taken out of his hand.

"Is it true? Is Lockhart dead?" Whichever girl asked the question, Harry couldn't see who through the crowd, sounded very grieved.

"No," said Harry. "Professor Dumbledore said he's just petrified, and he'll be okay once the Mandrakes are mature."

"So did you do it then?" someone asked after a moment, perhaps emboldened by the fact that Harry couldn't be a murderer if Lockhart was still alive.

"No," said Harry indignantly. He would have expected a little more support from his own house. "I was just the first person to find him. Besides, Professor Dumbledore said that it could never have been a second year who did it, that it was really advanced magic."

"My sister says that the staff was saying you did it," said Parvati.

"Just Filch," said Harry, narrowing his eyes at her. She shifted nervously. "Who hasn't been accused of terrible things by Filch? Besides, he didn't know anything about what happened in the first place, ask anyone who was there. He was just jumping to conclusions."

Someone piped up. "Lockhart gave you that detention, didn't-"

"Can I just get a show of hands of who's trying to get my star seeker expelled?" Oliver Wood cut in, shouting across the common room. He looked very angry. "I'd just like to have a concise list of who needs to have an 'accident' before the next game."

Harry would have normally appreciated the sentiment, but he wasn't sure that death threats were appropriate given the situation.

"Yeah," now one of the Weasley twins spoke up. "We all know how bludgers have a habit of getting away from people during practice."

"If everyone could get back to what they were doing," came the officious voice of Percy Weasley, who was a sixth year prefect, "and stop making threats," he gave a nasty look to his brothers. "It's clear that Harry here isn't a suspect in the very serious assault of a Professor, otherwise he wouldn't be here right now, would he? Let's not any of us jump to conclusions, and we can all get ready for bed."

Harry didn't think everyone was quite convinced, but in the face of a prefect, the quidditch captain, and the Weasley twins, they all did as they had been told. (No one raised their hand of course. There wasn't a student in Gryffindor foolish enough to interfere with Oliver Wood's quidditch team.) Harry, feeling very bothered about the whole situation, made his way through everyone, and up to his room. Ron and Hermione were waiting for him on his bed.

"Hey," said Harry tiredly, giving them a weak smile.

Hermione jumped up from Harry's bed. "Harry, there you are," she said. "We heard what happened, are you alright?"

"I'm fine," said Harry, "excepting for half the people in the castle thinking I've killed Lockhart."

Hermione's hands flew to her mouth with a gasp.

"He's actually dead then?" asked Ron, his eyes wide.

"No," said Harry quickly, thinking that perhaps he should have been more circumspect in his speech, considering how much she seemed to like the man. "He's just been petrified."

Harry found himself explaining his story again to his friends, their faces masks of rapt attention. Harry was helped through his story by the plate of chicken wings that Ron had brought up for him.

"They can't blame you, Harry, you'll see. By morning, I'm sure they'll all have their heads on straight. After all, if Professor Dumbledore says you didn't do it, then why should they think different?"

"I don't know, Hermione, someone'll say Harry had motive because of that detention."

"They're already saying that," said Harry morosely. "And don't forget that everyone knows I was involved with something happening to Quirrel last year."

"Don't be silly, Harry," said Hermione. "No one's going to really believe that a second year student could have done that to Professor Lockhart."

Harry frowned, but hoped that she was right. The thought of him stalking professors in the hallways was laughable, wasn't it?

!

Hermione turned out to be right, for the most part. The next morning, Professor Dumbledore addressed the students at breakfast about the attack, saying that no student was suspected of committing it. Other students were still looking at Harry funny, but there was less suspicion and accusation. Their interest in him had merely been renewed.

In particular, the first year Creevey boy, who was keen to take his picture all the time, was somehow of the opinion that Harry had saved Professor Lockhart from being killed outright. Harry wasn't sure how he'd come to this conclusion, but he supposed it was good someone had gone so far to the opposite of the suspicion he had initially faced.

And so life went on as normally as it could. A man named Allius Druthers had taken over the position of the Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor. He wasn't a great teacher, but he at least seemed to know the subject, unlike his predecessor. He had seemed to size Harry up the first time they had had a class together, and Harry wondered if the man had heard any of the rumors. Druthers hadn't said anything to single Harry out though, so Harry wasn't overly bothered by him.

Hermione had been somewhat worked up over the entire incident, and after she got over worrying about Professor Lockhart, she got upset over the part of the event where Harry had gone after the voice on his own. She had brought it up no fewer than three times since, and Harry thought that if he ever graduated from Hogwarts, she would still be bringing it up.

Not one to let a mystery lie, Hermione had discovered the nature of the Chamber of Secrets. It had been Binns of all people that she had gotten the answers out of. Legend held that Salazar Slytherin had created a hidden chamber within the school before he left, and left a monster guarding it. It was said that one day his heir would return to the school to unleash the beast upon the muggleborns. If Harry hadn't been deeply interested in the subject before, he would have been when he learned that piece of information; nothing was going to happen to Hermione if he had anything to say about it.

It was a couple of weeks later that tensions were running high for reasons that had nothing to do with the Chamber of Secrets. The second Quidditch match of the year, Gryffindor versus Slytherin, was only a day away. With all of the talk of the Heir of Slytherin, it was no wonder who three quarters of the school would be rooting for. Now finally, Harry was getting attention of a wholly positive nature (discounting the sneers from Slytherins), as he was Gryffindor's star seeker, and could win the game single handedly if he caught the snitch soon enough.

Still, the excitement of an upcoming game did nothing to dull the boredom of a History of Magic class that had nothing to do with the Chamber. And so, full of restless energy after the class, Harry was ready for some fun.

"Hey Ron, dare me to slide down the bannister," he said to his best friend as the stair case came up to meet them.

Ron gave him a bemused glance. "It's a stone bannister, I don't think you'll get anywhere."

"And you might fall off and hurt yourself," said Hermione.

"If I won't get anywhere, then I can't hurt myself, so neither of you have anything to worry about."

"Fine," said Ron, "I dare you."

"Oh, don't encourage him," said Hermione as the staircase connected to their landing.

"What? It might be good for a laugh," said Ron.

"See you guys down there," said Harry, drawing his wand. He touched it to the bannister and said, "Glacius," causing the banister to frost over in slick ice.

"Harry!" Hermione shouted in exasperation as Harry perched himself up and slid down.

It was a little wobbly at first, but the ride smoothed out as he picked up speed. He grasped the bannister with his top facing hand as he reached the end to slow down, and jumped off at the end to avoid running into the ornament at the bottom. One quick stumble and he got his feet under him. He punched a hand into the air.

"I didn't stick my landing," he shouted back up, "but I think I should get points for style."

"I'll give you a six," Dean shouted from up top.

"Out of five? Cool!"

"Out of a hundred," said Seamus as the group came down to him. Harry made a rude gesture.

"Harry Potter, I don't know what you were thinking!" Hermione nearly shouted as she reached the bottom.

"Relax, Hermione," said Harry placatingly.

"I will not relax," she said, "what if the stairs had started moving again?"

"They only have one way to go," said Harry, "so I would have fallen in, not out. Plus, they don't change that soon after getting somewhere."

"Usually," said Hermione, "they usually don't change that quickly. Don't expect a magical staircase to behave predictably. And what if a first year had seen you? They'll be trying it next." She cast a spell at the bannister, melting the ice.

"We didn't learn that spell until this year," said Harry.

"I learned it after two months here!" said Hermione.

"That's you Hermione," said Ron, "I don't think there are any Hermione's in the first years."

Hermione very nearly preened at that.

"That... that isn't the point. You can't be so reckless, or you really will hurt yourself one of these days. Now if you don't mind, I'll go on to lunch on my own. I don't feel like watching you break your neck."

She stalked off away from Harry and Ron, who was the only Gryffindor to stick around to watch the confrontation. Harry scratched his head as he watched her walk away.

"Girls, right?" he said.

Ron smiled and said, "Yeah." He shifted uncomfortably though. "Still, please try not to kill yourself. I didn't really mean to dare you to do that."

"I'm not going to kill myself," said Harry, suppressing a shudder at the thought that he nearly had on September first. "I mean, if big ugly can't, what chance do I have?"

Ron guffawed. "Big ugly?"

"Well he is!" said Harry earnestly. "You should have seen him last year; a hag would have looked better."

"I don't know, Harry, I think you're probably the only guy who who can get away with calling You-Know-Who names."

"Thats not true," said Harry. "Come on, what terrible thing do you think would happen if you called him moldy-shorts, or something?"

Ron gave a slightly nervous laugh. "I think I'll leave the insults to you, mate."

"Seriously, I didn't get any special power. Anyone can call him whatever they want, so long as it's not nice."

They wound up arguing the point down to lunch, where Hermione told them that they were both idiots.

!

The day of the Quidditch match dawned without a cloud in the sky. Oliver cautioned them all about playing with the sun in their eyes, and using it against the Slytherins. Harry was to fly high, looking down, so that the snitch wouldn't be blocked by the sun's glare. Other than that, he just had to worry about minding bludgers, and making sure that Malfoy didn't get to the snitch before him. No one had much fear about that though. Harry's skill more than made up for the relatively small difference between his and Malfoy's newer broom. The others had more to make up for though, and Harry had been advised to make sure to get the snitch as quickly as possible. The problem lay in the brand new Nimbus 2001s that Malfoy's father had bought for the entire Slytherin team. Speculation held, as did common sense, that Malfoy had bought his way onto the team this way, but that knowledge would do nothing to help the team against their better equipped rivals.

Harry felt that there was something different about soaring up for a match instead of just a practice, or for fun. The attention of the entire school was on him, and for once, not for the Chamber, not for his fame, and not for the vague rumors about his relatives. Up here, he was a quidditch star, and he liked the feeling.

The game had started in favor of Slytherin, their brooms taking an early advantage in snatching the quaffle during the toss up. Gryffindor had taken the ball a couple of times, but the score quickly got away from them, seventy to ten, and Harry estimated that only a half an hour had gone by. If he didn't hurry up and catch the snitch soon, it wouldn't matter who caught it. Well, not as far as the game went; Harry wouldn't be able to show his face again if Malfoy beat him to the snitch.

Harry had taken up a fairly standard searching pattern, staying high as Oliver had said. Malfoy had tried to follow him around and taunt him, but it was somehow easier up there, to ignore the ponce. Harry saw the bludger coming at him from below and he swerved to avoid it. He angled himself to see it, knowing that he was the closest to the aggressive ball, and that he didn't have a handy Weasley twin to bat it away. The ball went by him again, and headed back to the mass of players below, and Harry resumed his search. Moments later, Harry thought he may have seen a flicker of light on the other side of the pitch, when he was warned off by the whistle of the approaching bludger. Harry only just got out of the way in time. Slytherin must have decided that they didn't need to hassle the Gryffindor chasers anymore, which was a bad sign. Harry only hoped that Fred and George were able to use it to their advantage, but he would have to move lower if he wanted Fred and George to have a better chance of looking out for him.

This time he saw what was really going on though; George hit the bludger towards one of the Slytherin chasers, but instead the ball curved back at Harry. Harry dodged away again, and found himself doing the same only moments later as it came back at him. Harry zoomed off, turning his head back to watch the ball follow him in a way that a bludger shouldn't be able to. Harry flew towards one of the twins, Fred, he thought.

"Keep this thing off of me!" he shouted, as he zoomed past. He heard the crack of the bat, but saw the ball change course to follow after him anyway. He put on as much speed as he could, while still looking for the snitch. It seemed that ending the game quickly was now more important than ever.

After another close call between Harry and the bludger, Fred whistled for George to come and help keep the bludger away from Harry. The three of them were attracting a lot of attention from the stands now, even as a furious battle went on for control of the quaffle. Lee Jordan had even been pulled from his commentary on possession of the quaffle to start speculating that, "There's something off with that bludger going after Potter, and I think we can all guess who'd make something like that happen!" Then moments later, "And another great save by Weasley, take that you dirty cheats!" After a couple of minutes of this though, Oliver called for a time out, and the team met down below, after the Harry-seeking bludger had been restrained.

"What's going on up there?" He demanded. "The Slytherin Beaters have had free reign on us!"

"I'm sorry you're feeling the heat, Ollie, but we're trying to keep that thing from killing Harry," said George.

"What's going on with it?" asked Angelina. "Bludgers aren't supposed to behave like that."

"It's been sabotaged," said Katie, who had remained on her broom due to her knee being clipped by the normal bludger.

"It can't have been," said Oliver, "the balls are always kept locked up in Madam Hooch's office to prevent that. She'd have known if anything had happened to them."

"Someone could have cursed it since it was loosed," said Angelina.

"I don't know," said Oliver.

"Quirrel cursed my broom last year, a bludger shouldn't be that much harder," said Harry.

"Still, the question is, what do we do about it?" said Alicia.

"We need to have the ball examined," said Fred, "get it taken care of, and go back to kick some Slytherin arse."

"We can't," said Oliver, "If we want an inquiry, we'd have to forfeit, and if it can't be proven that it was the Slytherins who did it, we won't get a rematch."

"Look," said Fred, "we can't protect Harry and the rest of you at the same time!"

"We just need the snitch, guys," said Oliver.

"Don't put this on Harry," said Katie.

Harry looked at her injured knee. "I'll be sure to catch it quick, whatever happens," he said. "You two take care of the rest of the team," he told the twins, "I'll take care of myself. I think I can outfly a dumb bludger."

George turned angrily on Oliver. "We bloody well told you this would happen, didn't we! He's going to get his neck broken out there, and it'll be your fault."

"What the hell are you on about?" Harry demanded. They'd been talking about him to Oliver?

"Every single time you do something stupid on a broom, this maniac encourages you," said George. "It was cool at first, but you've been toeing the line between dangerous and stupid lately, and now you've just jumped right across."

"It's not stupid," said Harry, "It's quidditch. I can handle the bludger. You guys focus on giving me time to catch the snitch, and we'll cream Slytherin like we're supposed to. I mean look at them; they took the biggest gorillas they could find and stuffed them on racing brooms. No way in hell do they get to win, and I'm not letting the lot of you get sent to the infirmary because some arse sicced a bludger on me. Now let's get up there!'

Wood nodded. "Alright, that's the plan."

The rest of the team looked mutinous, but with both Harry and the team captain on board, there wasn't much left to be said.

"Catch that snitch, Harry!" Oliver shouted after him as Harry flew into the sky. Someone must have hit him, or given him a look though, because he followed it up with, "And don't get hurt!"

Harry had no intention of getting hurt, but his top priority was the same as Oliver's: get the snitch, or die trying. Again, Harry had no intention of dying either, but he wasn't going to live his life afraid of it. He had decided something recently. He had a death sentence hanging over his head, so all there was left to do was to live life to the fullest. Frankly, that meant taking risks; if the universe, or chance, or whatever, wanted him dead, then it would happen. So no, Harry wasn't going to fly scared.

He could tell when the bludgers were released again by the crowds' reactions: the cries of dismay, as well as the cheers from Slytherin. No doubt, they were delighted by the turn of events. It wouldn't surprise Harry at all to learn that the whole house was in on the sabotage.

"And it looks like Wood has left Potter to fend for himself. We can only hope that their star seeker can handle the pressure!"

The bludger caught up to Harry in moments, and Harry flew knowing that he was on his own. The twins might not have liked the situation, but they were team players; they would do their part. Harry put everything into his flying to stay away from the bludger. Malfoy made sure to point out how ridiculous Harry looked.

"Trying out of the ballet, Potter?" he called out as Harry spun in midair.

Harry rather thought that he should be lauded for having survived so far, and grimaced as Malfoy made a rude gesture. Fed up, Harry aimed himself right at the Slytherin boy. Malfoy froze.

Of course, Harry didn't intend to ram him, that would be a fowl. Nothing said that he couldn't run at him and swerve at the last second though, which is what he did. The bludger took a moment to correct its course though, and Malfoy wound up hit in the arm.

Harry heard the collision behind him, and resisted the urge to smile. There was no need to be vindictive, after all. The maneuver had worked out so well though, that Harry kept on using it when he saw the chance. He'd fly at a Slytherin player from behind and at an angle, and three times out of five he was able to get a hit.

The Slytherins called a timeout of their own, and the bludger's were once again restrained. The Gryffindor team figured that they covered the same things that had been covered during Gryffindor's time out. The Slytherin's couldn't call for an inquiry without forfeiting. The added benefit, as the twins pointed out, was that if they actually were the ones to tamper with the bludger, it would be a lose-lose situation for them.

No inquiry was called for in the end, but Oliver told Harry that, at one-seventy to fifty, he had only one priority. Harry nodded with determination.

It was only moments after taking to the air for the third time that Harry saw the snitch sitting high up on his side of the field. Harry took off after it, taking note as he did that the bludger was racing at him from the other side of the pitch. He thought that it would be an easy race between himself and the bludger, himself being much closer to the snitch, but the small ball took flight in the opposite direction.

Harry cursed. He flattened himself out on the broom handle, eking out as much speed as he possibly could. There was commotion throughout the field as players and spectators alike took note of Harry chasing after the snitch ("Spinnet tosses- Would someone tell Potter he's supposed to be flying in the opposite direction?), the bludger coming at them both head on. Someone screamed. Harry could see Malfoy out of the corner of his eye, racing to make himself a contender for the snitch, but he would be too late.

Harry pushed himself forward on his broom, inches from the snitch; the bludger looking larger than ever. His fingers curled around the ball, its golden wings fluttering furiously, and he swerved away just as the bludger hit him in the chest.

'So this is what beaters are for,' Harry thought inanely as he was nearly ripped from his broom. The air was nocked completely out of him, but he was just able to hold on. The pain came moments later as he began racing towards the ground. He figured that there was at least one broken rib, as breathing had become very uncomfortable. He could hear the whistling of the bludger come back to hound him, but the timely crack of a bat showed that one of the twins was back to protecting him. Harry would have called out thanks, but he was certain in that moment that it would be a painful endeavor, so he kept his silence.

The ground came up to meet him roughly. Harry collapsed down on his back. Fred and George were tending to the rogue bludger, while the rest of the team came down to meet him. Oliver arrived first, and Harry became glad for the injury for the moment, as it was clearly the only thing keeping the exuberant team captain off of him. The teen looked fit to kiss him.

"I knew you could do it!" he shouted. "What a catch."

The girls were very concerned of course, and there was much scolding for nearly getting himself killed. All in all though, his teammates were very pleased with the results. No one could keep a grin off their faces, and the twins just clapped him on the back when the bludger was taken care of and they had landed. Harry thought this may have been a form of punishment though, as it made his chest hurt more.

As it turned out, all of the excitement was not at all good for him, and Harry soon started feeling sick from the pain. His teammates helped him to his feet, causing a fresh wave of pain to course through his chest. If Harry's grip on George's arm became painful at that point, the other boy only responded by patting Harry on the shoulder with his free hand.

A flash went off in Harry's face.

"Dammit Colin!" Harry swore, having a hard time speaking due to the pain from moving his chest, and not feeling very photogenic at the moment.

Someone got the camera-happy boy out of the way, and Harry had gotten a few steps closer to the edge of the pitch when Ron and Hermione arrived.

"Oh honestly," said Hermione, before she swish and flicked her wand to levitate Harry. So it was that she took over the job of escorting him to the infirmary, all the while lecturing him about nearly giving her a heart attack. Madam Hooch checked on him before they left the pitch, before going to officially announce the victory.

Ron followed the two of them up to the castle. He was of the opinion that it had been an amazing catch, but reiterated his sentiment from the day before of wishing that Harry would make certain to not kill himself.

Harry defended the maneuver. "I almost had the snitch scott free. Besides, who ever died from a bludger?" Ron, and surprisingly Hermione as well, began listing off names. Harry interrupted them. "Yeah, but never at Hogwarts, we don't use league standard bludgers. No one's ever even been seriously injured from one."

"That's because no one's been stupid enough to play chicken with one before!" Hermione nearly screeched.

"I wasn't playing chicken," said Harry defensively. "I was racing it to the snitch."

"You were flying directly at it," said Hermione.

"Ron, tell her I was racing it," said Harry.

Ron, not used to being the mediator looked shiftily between the two, and said, "You're both right." This earned him the ire of both arguing parties.

Madam Pomfrey, unsurprisingly, took Hermione's side when they got to the infirmary.

"No sense whatsoever!" She declared.

The celebratory mood was in full swing when they got to the tower. Harry got many claps on the back, and more than one grinning admirer told him that he was absolutely mad.

It was only as the party began winding down, that Colin came running down from his dorm clutching a photograph, which he eagerly showed to Harry.

"Seriously?" he asked slightly aghast. "Of all the pictures from the match, this is the one you choose?"

It was the picture taken at the end of the game, where Harry was being picked up with a look of pain on his face.

From the look on Colin's face, Harry thought he may as well have just kicked a puppy. Colin walked away very quickly, leaving Harry to frown in awkward guilt.

Hermione swatted him on the arm. "Honestly, Harry. You didn't have to be mean about it." She leaned in to look at the picture. "It really is a good picture, you know." and then to his incredulous look, she added. "It is!"

Fred and George were walking by then.

"I'll say it's a good picture," said Fred.

"We'll have to frame it," said George.

"And bash you in the head with it the next time you do something stupid," Fred finished.

"I get it," said Harry. "I'll stay out of trouble for at least a week this time, guys."

Many party snacks were thrown at him.

The next morning, the castle woke to grim news. Colin Creevy had been petrified.

A/N: Again, sorry for the slow update again. I've quit my job recently though, and should now have more time to write through the Summer, until I go to grad school (yay!).

Also, my beta pointed out to me that the picture that Colin took would make a great piece of fanart (hint hint). Seriously though, if any of you are artistically inclined, and are thus inspired, I would love to see the result.