Very few reviews . . . hmph. Shameful. I'm going to have to use an Unforgivable. Imperio!

Unsurprisingly, Harry woke up at the crack of dawn the morning of the Slytherin match. He threw off the bedclothes and began frantically gathering his Quidditch gear, robes, and his Firebolt. Ron snored loudly. Harry almost yelled at him, but a glance at his watch told him that the Weasley wouldn't take kindly to being woken before five o'clock in the morning.

Harry dressed in the common room and strapped on his pads. He was anxious to get back on the pitch, but seeing as the entire Gryffindor team was still asleep, it wouldn't do much good. Harry used his Broomstick Servicing Kit on the Firebolt for nearly an hour. When he'd polished and trimmed every inch of it, he replaced the contents of the kit and let the Firebolt hover in the corner.

Slowly, the Gryffindor team trickled down from the dormitories, grim determination on their faces. Harry knew that, statistically, Gryffindor had much better chances of winning. Their strategies were superior. But still, the pre-Quidditch nerves surfaced and made the seven players jittery.

Angelina decided to give their pregame pep-talk in the common room. "Chins up, team! We've got the advantage. Our three Chasers are the best in the league, we've got a phenomenal Keeper, our Beaters are a force to be reckoned with, and our Seeker is nearly undefeated. This game is in the bag!"

They stood in a circle and every player put his or her wand arm forward. "For Godric!" (This was the chant that Fred and George had started at a match a few years back, and it had stuck.)

The team collected their broomsticks and left the common room just as a few students began to come downstairs. Fred and George broke the silent morning with a loud chorus of the Hogwarts school song. "Hogwarts, Hogwarts, Hoggy Warty Hogwarts, teach us something please . . . !"

They passed Professor McGonagall on the way to the Great Hall. On any other day, the strict Transfiguration professor would have given them all detention for disrupting the quiet, but she wanted the match to be a victory for her house more than she wanted to bother them. She winked and carried on.

Harry sat down with the team and began to pile his plate. He didn't want his stomach growling on the pitch, because, according to Katie, she'd gotten a hunger cramp once in her second year and almost fell off her broom.

The Slytherin team filed into the Hall then, sporting green Quidditch robes and Nimbus Two Thousand and Ones. They purposely walked over to the Gryffindor team with nasty looks on their faces.

"Look here," growled Graham Montague, the captain. "You'd better tell Madam Pomfrey to set up seven beds in the Hospital Wing, courtesy of the Slytherin Quidditch team."

The Slytherins began to laugh and jeer at the joke. Harry didn't pay attention to them; he had noticed Draco Malfoy in the back, looking very surly and leaning heavily on his broom. He didn't seem very interested in what was going on.

Fred countered, "We'll make sure to return the favor, Montague. Maybe we'll let you look at the Quidditch cup when we win it this season.

The Slytherins scoffed and moved off to the other side of the Hall. Harry finished his breakfast quietly and couldn't help thinking that if he caught the Snitch before Malfoy, it wouldn't be much of a victory.

Most of the school had already settled in the Great Hall when the Gryffindor team was standing up to leave. As they made their way up the Hall, the Gryffindors, Hufflepuffs, and some of the Ravenclaws cheered wildly for them. The Slytherin table erupted in a chorus of jeers and insults.

Harry walked confidently down to the pitch and into the locker rooms. Angelina reminded them of which moves to try and when they should be used. "Potter! If the Slytherins somehow score enough to win if you catch the Snitch, use the Plumpton Pass. Break."

The thunder of voices and footsteps entering the pitch roared above them. Lee Jordan could be heard announcing from outside.

"It's a beautiful day on the pitch today, the weather is perfect for some flying, and after a long, monotonous two months of schooling, we want to see some Quidditch!"

The crowd screamed in response.

"I said, WE WANT TO SEE SOME QUIDDITCH!"

The assembly of students cheered and roared and stomped until Harry thought his ear drums had been punctured. He wrapped a hand around his Firebolt and grinned.

"Now, let's see our teams! From Gryffindor, we've got . . . Johnson! Bell! Spinnet! Weasley! Weasley! Weasley! Potter!"

The stands ― particularly the Gryffindor section ― went wild. Harry saw Hermione next to Neville, holding up a new sign. LIONS FOR THE CUP! (I THINK! OR IS IT A MEDAL?)

"And on the Slytherin team, we have Graham IQ-of-24 Montague ― okay, okay! It won't happen again, Professor! The captain is followed by Pucey, then Warrington, then Crabbe, then Goyle, then Bletchley, and now Malfoy."

The teams faced each other on the center of the pitch. Madam Hooch put a whistle in her mouth and gestured for Angelina and Montague to shake hands. They did, though Montague pulled his hand back roughly, nearly dislocating her shoulder. The Weasley twins nearly jumped him, but Madam Hooch ignored them and blew the whistle. They rose into the air.

Madam Hooch released the Bludgers and the Snitch, the latter of which disappeared into midair. Then she took the Quaffle in both hands and threw it high into the air. Lee Jordan's stream of commentary began.

"We're off to a fast start, with Spinnet of Gryffindor in possession of the Quaffle. She's weaving through like an arrow now, Slytherin can't touch her! Going ― going ― she shoots ― and Bletchley saves. Damn. Warrington in possession now, and what's this? The Weasley twins are gearing up for something. The Bludger's coming at them and ― I CAN'T BELIEVE IT! THEY JUST PERFORMED THE DOPPLEBEATER DEFENSE!"

The crowd ooh'd as the Bludger soared and hit Warrington in the middle of the field. He was ripped from the broom and began to fall, though Madam Hooch used a Hover Charm to suspend him. The Quaffle continued to fall until Angelina zipped out of nowhere and caught it in the crook of her elbow.

"And Johnson is off! She's nearing the scoring area, and ― well done! A perfect Porskoff Ploy to Bell!" Lee laughed as, on the pitch, Angelina dropped the Quaffle twenty feet into the outstretched hands of Katie Bell.

"Bell is heading into the scoring area! Wait, what is she doing . . . ?"

Katie began to fly in a quick zigzag motion. The stands erupted in applause as Lee announced with awe that she was using the Woollongong Shimmy, a move used to confuse the opposing team.

"The Gryffindor Lions continue to amaze us today and ― Bell scores! Ten-nothing Gryffindor!"

The scarlet section of the stands whooped. Lee's commentary picked up again, this time anticipating a Gryffindor surprise. "Bletchley puts the Quaffle back in play, with Theodore Nott taking over for Warrington. Montague in possession of the Quaffle. Bell is getting close now ― THAT'S COBBING!"

Harry, on the southern edge of the pitch, booed with the spectators. Montague had clearly elbowed Katie in the side of the head. Madam Hooch gave the slightly wobbly Katie the penalty; she scored.

"Twenty-nothing Gryffindor! Pucey in possession, he's flying fast now! Johnson and Spinnet are closing in! But Goyle is coming in too ― BLAGGING! Madam Hooch, he's blagging!"

It was true. Goyle had leaned forward and wrapped his two meaty hands around the tails of Angelina's and Alicia's brooms, dragging them backward. Madam Hooch gave a penalty shot to both; two goals were allotted to Gryffindor.

"Yeah, bastards, it's forty-nothing. This match is starting to look like the Gryffindor-Slytherin final two years ago. We can expect to see a lot more fouls!"

Harry circled the pitch again, but the Snitch had yet to be seen. Malfoy was also looking for the Snitch, but his heart wasn't in it; he drooped on his broom and barely turned his head.

"Pucey has the Quaffle again; he's heading down the pitch. No one's stopping him ― he's in the scoring area! Let's see how Gryffindor's new Keeper Ron Weasley handles goals."

Harry was also interested. He watched Pucey streak forward, waiting for Ron to make a move. The Keeper shifted on the broom. One ankle and one hand curled around the broom, and he pulled back until he was entirely vertical, guarding more of the goalpost than ever before. Pucey had already tossed the Quaffle, and it bounced off of Ron's chest. Alicia slipped under and caught it.

Lee Jordan and the crowd were going wild again. "Amazing! Weasley just pulled off the Starfish and Stick! This is the best Quidditch match I've ever seen!"

Crabbe and Goyle stormed forward and hit the two Bludgers at Ron. The young Weasley, who'd been holding the vulnerable pose for the crowd's benefit, took one to the shoulder and the other to a certain place below the waist. He doubled over and nearly fell off the broom. One hand shot up and held on tightly, so he was dangling fifty feet up.

"FOUL! Madam Hooch, you know that Beaters aren't allowed to hit a player in no contact with the Quaffle!"

Another penalty was given to Gryffindor. Angelina scored and the game reached fifty-nothing, Gryffindor.

"Slytherin Captain Montague just called a time-out ― probably can't deal with how poorly his team is playing ―"

"Jordan . . . ," came the menacing voice of Professor McGonagall.

"Sorry, professor!"

Harry touched down on the grass and jogged to the sideline. Angelina gathered them around.

"Well done, all of you. Potter, just catch the Snitch, don't try anything flashy if you don't need to. I don't want Slytherin to make good on their promise to put us all in the Hospital Wing."

He nodded and straddled the broom. Across the pitch, he could see Montague yelling at Malfoy. Clearly, the Slytherin Captain wasn't happy with his Seeker's progress.

Madam Hooch blew her whistle and they took to the air again. Harry stopped paying attention to the game and combed for the Snitch. Malfoy had been changed by Montague's talk, because he was searching intently for the Snitch. It was now or never.

The Slytherin team in general had become more vicious. Their fouls were becoming more and more frequent, judging by the number of penalties Gryffindor had been given. The Gryffindor team had also resorted to violence; Fred had already smashed Crabbe's knee with his bat twice. Ron had been forced to punch Pucey in the jaw, because if he hadn't, the Chaser would have thrown the Quaffle right in Ron's face.

Harry knew exactly why the Slytherin team was instigating so many fouls. When the teams lined up and allowed the selected Chaser to take their penalty shot, Malfoy (and Harry) would be free to look for the Snitch without distraction.

Angling his broom up, Harry slowly circled the game. He hadn't seen a glimmer of the Snitch.

Lee Jordan was outraged in the box. "The bastards! Alicia Spinnet is now leaving the game due to an unprovoked foul by Slytherin's Nott. Johnson taking the penalty shot . . . it's good. The score is now ninety-ten, Gryffindor."

Katie swept past Harry with the Quaffle tucked under her arm. "CATCH THE SNITCH, HARRY!" she screamed, just as a Bludger narrowly missed her shoulder.

He almost yelled back to her when the faintest glint of gold flickered directly below him, a few feet off the ground. He didn't think. His broom nearly dove of its own accord, and suddenly, the roar of the crowd deepened, then fell silent as he rocketed to the earth. He saw Malfoy swooping after him. Harry gritted his teeth and silently hoped he'd be able to pull off the Wronski Feint, flatten Malfoy, and grab the Snitch all at the same time.

He stuck out his right arm. His fingers closed the distance between the Snitch and himself, but he couldn't even tell if he'd caught it; the wind and the chill had made him entirely numb.

"IT'S THE WRONSKI FEINT! HE'S DOING THE WRONSKI FEINT!"

With a tremendous effort, Harry dragged his broom handle upward and flew over the heads of some Hufflepuffs. He had survived the venture. Malfoy, who was a very good flyer, had managed to ungracefully tumble to the ground. His broom kept going and lodged itself in the ring of sugar-white sand that circled the pitch.

The crowd ooh'd as Malfoy hit the grass, then seemed to remember that Harry had been after the Snitch. Harry himself had forgotten in light of his triumph. He looked down at his still-outstretched hand and watched the delicate, white-gold wings of the Golden Snitch flutter in his palm.

He raised his arm with a broad grin on his face. The cheers of the audience were deafening, but through it all, Lee Jordan's voice could be heard. "POTTER'S GOT THE SNITCH! The score is two-hundred-and-forty to ten! GRYFFINDOR WINS!"

Angelina, Katie, Fred, George, Alicia's replacement Demelza Robins, and even Ron ambushed him. The Gryffindor stands were in a victorious uproar; the little lion on Hermione's sign roared so loudly that Parvati Patil clapped her hands over her ears and promptly fainted. She was loaded onto a stretcher next to Alicia Spinnet.

The Gryffindor team touched down. Harry enjoyed having ground under his feet again for a moment, but then the Gryffindor house swarmed onto the pitch and carried them all the way back to the castle.

"We're here, let me down!" Harry shouted at the mob. They ignored him and continued up the marble staircase, to the seventh floor, and finally into the Gryffindor common room.

Fred and George had somehow escaped their captors and now stood at the head of the common room. The mob quieted enough to allow them to speak.

"We had anticipated a victory," began Fred.

George added, "So, of course, we stocked up on provisions."

Someone laughed, and a few whooped.

"And so ―"

"― Drink up!"

The Weasley twins Summoned a huge crate from behind the couch. Fred leaned over and used the Reductor Curse on its lid; splinters of wood blasted apart and revealed bottles upon bottles of butterbeer.

A general cheer of excitement rose. As Harry took the "ceremonious" first bottle, passed a second to Angelina, and a third to Hermione, he couldn't help but put Voldemort out of his mind for a while.


"Severus is missing, Albus," McGonagall said solemnly. The euphoria from the Quidditch match earlier had faded.

The Headmaster kept his back to her. His eyes combed the grounds of the school, half expecting to see the bat-like black cape of the Potions Master. "It is as I feared, then."

"What ― what did you fear?"

Dumbledore turned slowly from the window and fell, as if tired, into his chair. "Lord Voldemort has lost the very last shreds of his mind."

Minerva gasped and also fell into a seat. "Albus!"

"You and I know well that Tom Riddle does not make decisions without great strategy and planning. Murdering Severus Snape is the most foolish thing he could have done. He cut off all information from Hogwarts."

"Unless there is another informant we don't know of . . . ?" Minerva wrung her handkerchief in her hands.

"I only hope not. But I have doubt that Severus is dead. He may be in hiding, or he hasn't been able to report back. The only reason in both of these situations would be that Voldemort's instability grows worse."

Minerva retrieved her wand from her robes. "Should I send for the Order?"

"Not yet." Dumbledore rose from his chair and strode to Fawkes' stand. Stroking the phoenix, he added, "There are others who must know of this, before the Order. . . ."

Minerva didn't understand who the Headmaster was referring to, so she bid him goodnight and made the long, lonely walk back to her study.


Luna Lovegood had waited until the whole common room had emptied out before taking out her paints. It had been a long wait, considering the many Ravenclaws who had spent their Saturday nights reading everything they could get their hands on. But they had left. That was what mattered.

Luna positioned a canvas on her easel and lined up her paints in a secret order. No one really knew what it meant, because they thought the order was random. She knew what it meant, though. No one else, really.

She shuddered at the dream she'd had the night before. It was at Hogwarts, of course. There were black-cloaked Death Eaters around every corner. One by one, all her new friends fell prey to them: Harry Potter, Ronald Weasley, even Hermione Granger. Then some people she didn't know very well at all were killed; people like Draco Malfoy, Blaise Zabini.

The dream had shifted then, unknotting itself and then retying the strands of its own pseudo-reality into a different place. She was in the Headmaster's office. Instead of the large portrait of former Headmaster Dippet, six new portraits were adorning the wall behind the grand desk. Harry, Ron, Hermione, Draco, Blaise. The last one was empty.

They were wizard portraits. Ron's was the first to speak. "Run away, Luna! They'll just come back and kill us all."

"We're already dead, blood traitor," snarled a solemn-faced Blaise.

The portrait of Hermione, on the far left, shushed them. "It's not over. This is just the beginning."

Draco's handsome, pale face turned toward her. "Stupid Mudblood, you'll never learn. It was over the moment he drank the blood."

"Stop talking, all of you," said Harry's portrait. "Luna, it's never over. As long as there are people fighting, people standing up, this war's not over."

"Keep fighting. Keep standing up." She nodded slowly. A few questions came to mind, because she felt like this would never happen again, but the door was blasted apart behind her. A troop of Death Eaters smashed their way inside, and wands trained themselves on her, and green light filled her vision. The green light turned black.

Finally, she opened her eyes again. She was in a portrait now. Luna Lovegood was now just the last painting on the Headmaster's wall. She blinked, and when her eyes opened again, the orderly office was now strewn with debris and rubble. The wall across from them, along with half the castle, had been blown away by some great and terrible magic. Fires raged along the dusty floors.

"Welcome to Hell," said Blaise. And the dream had ended.

Luna had been deeply shaken by the dream, which wasn't like her at all. She often found that the world was slightly detached from her, or maybe she was detached from the world. But that was fine.

The dream had stuck in her mind until she'd opened the Book of Records in the library and found her family tree. She'd feared that if there were a Seer in her family somewhere, the dream would be prophetic. She found a great-great-great-great-uncle of hers named Constantine Luda. In small letters next to his name, someone had printed Seer.

Luna turned to the first canvas and rolled a long, simple black streak across the surface. Then another. And another. Within an hour, Harry Potter's entire head and shoulders were finished. She painted the backdrop a pretty dark crimson.

It was almost four o'clock in the morning. Eyes drooping, Luna methodically cleaned her brush and stashed her paints in the old wooden box on the mantle of the fireplace. She pointed her wand at the cluster of still-wet portraits and whispered, "Locomotor Paintings."

Luna cautiously directed the floating portraits up the girls' stairs and into her dormitory. The other girls were asleep, so she let the canvases fall to her bed and yanked the hangings shut. She took the bedspread from the single empty bed in her dormitory (there were only four girls in fourth year Ravenclaw) and dragged it down to the star-studded couch in the common room. And she slept.