The Child of Phoenix

by KMS Snape

AU – Sixth Year. Harry's looking for the Phoenix Warrior among new strangers. But he's finding out more than he bargained for....It's his turn to take responsibility and make his own destiny, the rest of the world be damned. COMPLETE!

13. Thirteen: Snitches & Scepters, Swords & ...

Harry Potter & the Child of Phoenix

Disclaimer: We've discussed this. I don't own anything! Except for the plot and the characters you've never heard of. They're mine. Mine.

Chapter Thirteen: Snitches & Scepters, Swords & Saboteurs

Hermione bit her lip squinting at the parchment between her pink fingers. A quill was tucked judiciously behind her ear, blending well with her shaggy brown mane. Tilting her head to the side thoughtfully, her brown eyes scanned the names on the aged parchment contemplating their performance. On either side of her, Nikola and Harry also pored over the list, mumbling occasionally to themselves. Finally sighing heavily, Hermione set the list on her lap eyeing each of her companions.

"I don't think any of them are ready to be moved up," she summarized. "Maybe Susan and Philo, after a few more sessions. And Michael." A trio of Parador first years rushed out the portrait hole, followed by two Paraffin second years. A blur of ginger brushed passed Nikola's leg, and leapt into Harry's free lap. Crookshanks purred and settled himself on the Gryffindor, his smashed-in face set in daring Harry to knock him away.

"He's been working especially hard to get in the Elite." Nikola pointed out, crossing her arms and sighing longingly. "Young love." Harry grunted quietly, forcing out the memory of Cho's displeasure toward Ginny and Hermione. Scratching Crookshanks behind the ears, Harry remembered he hadn't had any more encounters with the Ravenclaw since then. Not that he was trying to run into her, but his evasive maneuvers anytime he spotted any Ravenclaw were improving.

"Right," Hermione agreed, though with a business-like tone. "If she does any worse, we'll have to move her down. Then they're back to square one." The Asian seeker had lacked any attentiveness in class, usually lingering in the very back, closed off to her surroundings and schoolmates. Hermione folded the directory and handed it to Nikola, who pocketed. "Perhaps they should focus more on safety and protection than themselves. They never know what could happen."

Harry was about to agree with her comment when he noticed Circe sweep through the common room, on her way out. Behind her were several seventh year and much younger boys, gawping and tailing her like puppies. Oddly, when the Entity waved at Harry with a smile, he didn't feel his inhibitions joggle anymore. He actually turned away and ignored the boys stumbling out of the egress.

"She's off to the Novice lesson. Aren't you going, Harry?" Nikola queried, clasping her satin periwinkle cloak on and standing. Sitting back and rubbing his tingly scar, Harry shook his head. The furry feline nestled his head against Harry's stomach, settling in for a quick nap.

"I went last week." He stated. "Besides, Circe'll tell me later. Anyway, Intermediates tomorrow night." Beveling her head, Nikola expressed her wishes for good rest and headed up the stairs. Harry noticed Hermione looking at his weary expression, furtively glancing at him and the fire. "Something amiss, Hermione?"

The clever witch produced a small grin, removing the quill behind her ear, and tracing the light feather trail down her magical feline's bottlebrush tail. "I should be asking you that, Harry." Her brown eyes sparkled with worry in the hearth light, seeking the somnolent emerald orbs. "What's wrong?"

Chuckling dryly, Harry focused his spectacles on his nose. "Got a few hours?" Hermione's face fell, and she nervously bent her quill. "Class work is heavier, Hogsmeade and Halloween is next week," he lowered his voice, glancing around the area. "Snuffles is coming to visit then, I've got three Defense Associations under my belt, and my scar has been tingling for a week. Not too mention the first Quidditch game is this Saturday. I don't think I can do this, Hermione." The prefect rested her hand on the Boy-Who-Lived's shoulder, squeezing it gently.

"I didn't know," she sounded genuinely sorry, and Harry noted her eyes were a bit duller. "I've been spending so much time with Nikola, I haven't gotten around to be with you and Ron. I keep forgetting—we're only human. And to have such a heavy load of work."

"You've got more classes than all of us, Hermione."

"I know, but those are meaningless compared to some of the things you've taken on." She put down. "Quidditch, the three Associations—and did you say Snuffles is coming next week?" Bobbing his head in confirmation, Hermione appeared thoughtful and condemning, staring at the fire. "But that's—"

"Highly dangerous?" Agreeing, Harry snorted. "That's Sirius."

"Does he know—"

"The risks? Mere annoyances in his view." Hermione harrumphed the Animagus' behavior, tucking the quill in her robes.

"But anyway, you can do this, Harry. I'll help you with homework. I promise. And if you need me to overlook any of the Novice classes with Circe, I'll get Ron to help me." She offered with a smirk. "But you're on your own with Quidditch." Chortling at Hermione's offers, the black-haired teenager pat her hand genially.

"Thanks, Hermione, but I'm on my own with this one. Although, I'll take you up on that homework offer."

Beaming, the two settled before the fire, mulling over the next two weeks. Suddenly, Hermione swung her head back in Harry's direction, narrowing her eyes. Crookshanks clawed some of Harry's robe before staring at passersby.

"Your scar's hurting?" Her hands were already locked to her hips, and her lips were as thin as McGonagall's.

"Tingly, Hermione. Tingly." He quickly corrected. "I haven't had any visions of the sort lately. So, he's probably planning or something, going through an arrangement of emotions. Who knows what goes on in that head of his." Huh, Harry scoffed to himself inwardly. I do. Hermione gave him a strange look, only to justify his thought. Turning back to the fire, Harry inclined his head slightly. "Right."

The portrait hole swung open to permit Ron, Kaltag, and surprisingly, Ella in the warm common room. The three had authentic, friendly smiles adorning their faces; their varying shades of titian hair making them appear more as cousins than siblings. Harry smirked lightly, both he and Hermione catching each other's eyes and grinning, thinking the same thing. It was like a redhead convention. Ron immediately spotted his best friends, turned to say his last words and sat with them. Kaltag, on the other hand, spoke with Ella for a bit longer, but grasping their books and bags anxiously. Ron plopped beside Hermione, setting his rucksack by his foot.

After being questioned by Hermione on his whereabouts the last few hours, since none of them had been at dinner. Ron clarified that he and the Being were in the courtyard for a while, until Kaltag needed a history text. They ran into the lonely Gryffindor at a table in the back, and spent the rest of the afternoon and evening with her.

"She's wicked smart and quite amusing," he described. "So that was no fluke in Divination. She's also adopted." Harry inclined his head pensively, thinking back to when he spotted her in Flourish & Blotts. Her adoption explained the black-haired, supercilious people she accompanied. But something gnawed at Harry; there was something else familiar about the girl. Something he just couldn't place.

"Very kind, too." Hermione commented, tucking the quill in her bag beside Harry's leg. Kaltag sat in the armchair off to the side with a sigh. Glancing at his watch, he rolled his eyes, unclasping his robe.

"We have to patrol in an hour." He told the other prefects as he draped his robe over the arm of his chair and loosened his navy and periwinkle checkered tie. They nodded, and began searching the faces of the common room. Ella had gone up to the dormitory already. Crookshanks, who was following Ella's progress, immediately perked at the sound of Kaltag's voice. Bounding off of Harry's lap, the odd cat sprawled onto the Celestial's, eliciting a chuckle and a rub from Kaltag. "Where's Icarus?"

"He had to ask Tam something." Hermione answered, pulling her satchel to her lap and eyeing her cat with a scandalized look. Harry rolled his eyes when Kaltag and Ron waggled their eyebrows suggestively.

"D'you think he's asking her to the ball?" Kaltag questioned, cracking his knuckles and stroking the cat. Hermione, fishing out books and rolled parchment, shrugged.

"Don't know. Perhaps." She replied, yanking out the next day's potions essay. "Did you hear the new requirements?" Ron, who was absently picking at his robes, raised his head to look at the Gryffindor witch.

"Requirements?"

"The theme of the ball is 'masquerade.' Masks are now required, but not to be worn the entire time." She enlightened, opening an inkwell and unrolling her Transfiguration essay. "One of the professors thought it pointless to have a Halloween Ball with an optional costume selection. Everyone would have just donned their dress robes." Ron huffed, sinking in his chair, the fire dancing spiritedly in his orbs. Harry frowned, running a calloused hand through his black tresses. He didn't have a mask. Were they supposed to make one?

"Hmm." Kaltag responded. "I need to owl my father for dress robes. Need any?" he asked Harry and Ron. Shaking his head, Ron stealthily read over the hunched Hermione's extensive essay for McGonagall's class. Harry, on the other hand, furrowed his brows. The only dress robe he owned was the wrinkly emerald one stuffed in his trunk at the foot of his bed Mrs. Weasley had bought him in fourth year. And he didn't even know if it still fit him. He didn't want to burden Kaltag and appear as if he was laissez-faire in getting one. It just hadn't crossed his mind. But Hogsmeade weekend was next week; he could just go to Gladrags Wizardwear and buy one, couldn't he?

Kaltag didn't wait for an answer, shrugging lamely. "I'll just have him send over a few. He can send various colors. If anyone needs a robe..." Moments later, a shaggy-haired, blue-cloaked Being lumbered down the steps, looking over the Paradors. As his eyes fell on Kaltag, he made a noise of accomplishment, and strolled over to him. Crookshanks furrowed deeper into Kaltag's lap, his claws no doubt sinking into the boy's garments. Harry believed he heard a slight wince from the prefect.

"Smythe." The young man spoke, gaining Ron and Hermione's attention. The Being in question jerked from his thoughts.

"Gill." The redhead recognized. The older male set on an all-corporate expression, crossing his arms across his broad chest. Sighing, Kaltag pushed himself up in the spongy chair, with Crookshanks deadlocking his eyes with Arthur Gilliam's. "I've already informed the team of Thursday night's practice." Inclining his head in an impressed fashion, the Paraffin captain slapped Kaltag on the shoulder and walked out of the common room.

Hermione glanced at the boys in a stern manner, before narrowing her eyes. "Don't you three have essays to complete?" The sixth years eyed each other exasperatedly, before scrambling to their sacks and pulling out various texts.

ooooo

"The Masquerade Charm is used especially in such cases like our upcoming Halloween Ball." Professor Flitwick tittered excitedly, his convulsive laughter nearly toppling him from his stack of books. Regaining his footing, the small professor cleared his throat, inching back to his normal spot with a rosier face. "It is, however, not a part of your N.E.W.T. examination." Harry heard Hermione exhale in annoyance a few students down between Isis and Nikola.

"Now then, the incantation is purely simple. Your mask will most resemble some part of your inner self, your personality. All of your masks will more than likely be completely different from each other's, so there will really be no bother in the same type of mask. They will also differ in size, from simple eye coverings, to large ornate masquerades.

"Wand movements are also important in concentration. To perform this spell, you must first close your eyes like so," Flitwick demonstrated, pointing his wand before him. "Swish your wand in a flowing figure eight, and incant 'agisamentum.'" A smooth jet of pale yellow spewed from the tip of the tiny instructor's wand, and in his hand, the class eyed a large brown mask, covered in leaves (dead and alive), twig and bark. Giggling to himself, Flitwick blushed, but waved the mask to the class. "Pronunciation is everything. Repeat after me, class. Ah-gee-sah-men-tum." The class reiterated the spell several times, before Flitwick put them to work.

It was no surprise Hermione had produced a shiny silver eye mask with ornate engravings in mere seconds. Next, Kaltag had conjured a crushed indigo velvet eye disguise, with an odd, polished gold scar slashing vertically through one eye. Icarus had already produced a medieval jester's facial plate, with many colors and the pointy hat atop the forehead piece. Professor Flitwick, who had taken to ambling about, was instructing Neville on the wrist movement.

After much concentration, Harry was taken aback at his mask. The eyes were slit just enough for him to see clearly through, outlined in a dark color, with shiny emeralds at the corner of each eye. Ivory and black pearl riddled the mask in alternate patterns, catching the sunlight perfectly. At last, the rising peaks at the edge of the icy mask curved into subtle, but graceful ears.

"Wow, Harry," Icarus started. "A white tiger. Are you privately ferocious and aggressive?" The seeker merely blinked at the mask, studying it in confusion. How could he be a tiger? How did that signify his personality? Ron prodded his wand at his own mask, a handsome navy facial plate, complete with pointy ears and an elongated snout. Kaltag, who sat between Ron and Ella, lowered his brows, eyeing the prefect's mask in interest.

"The mask of Anubis." He breathed to himself. Ron caught the Paraffin's words, staring at the mask, and his dorm mate.

"What?"

"Anubis, the Egyptian jackal god." Ron's eyes widened and he observed the matted mask in the sunlight.

"Oh, right." He replied in a falsely knowledgeable tone. "Must have slipped my mind." Harry snickered, earning an elbow from Ron. The Gryffindor keeper examined the Boy-Who-Lived's disguise, cocking his head to the side. "A tiger, then? Better than a snake." Harry nodded dejectedly, glancing at his mask.

"Better than a rat, too." Readily agreeing, Ron's gaze flicked over to Ella, who was talking to the redheaded Paraffin prefect about her pure jade mask, complete with runic etchings. Her mask looked more like a forest camouflage, with jade leaves clumped decoratively, pointing in all directions, overlapping, and two aurum leaves accenting the outline of her eyes. The boys set their attentions on the rest of their classmates, watching in fascination as the Paradors and Hufflebores found out what their masks will be.

Neville was nervously trembling at his furry eyewear; Thanos was trying on his full-head masquerade, a bronze helmet, complete with a stern face shield. Yorick was examining his wooden eye mask from all positions as Parvati and Lavender compared their frilly or feathery pink masks.

"So, have you?" Ron questioned, wiping a spot on his mask. Harry lowered his eyebrows and faced his friend.

"Have I what?" Ron wiggled his head side-to-side in a decisive measure before glancing back to his mask.

"Asked anyone to the ball yet." The Boy-Who-Lived colored lightly, shaking his head, letting his emerald eyes fall to his mask.

"No. I just know I'm not making this into another Yule Ball." He admitted determinedly, smiling at the passing Flitwick, ignoring the tiny man's praises on such a unique and well-crafted mask. Ron narrowed his brown eyes in curiosity, leaning on their table.

"How so?"

"I'm not waiting at the last minute for a date." He folded his arms, scanning the giggling girls across from him with a grimace. "I mean…there are plenty of witches and Entities alike, right?"

"Right."

"I can easily ask one to be my date." Harry spoke more to himself than to the smirking Ron.

"Spot on." Ron commented, flicking a dust ball off of their table. "So, you'll have one by this afternoon?" Harry raised an eyebrow at his best friend, clutching his tiger mask in one hand. Sighing heavily and shrugging, Harry's eyes met Ron's.

"By the Quidditch match, then."

"You know, you're way behind," Ron informed, tucking his book away. "Nearly everyone in our dorm has a date."

"You don't have one."

"Hermione accepted my offer last night while we were patrolling." Harry gazed at Ron wide-eyed, before shifting his attention to the chatting Hermione. How did he miss that?

"You…and Hermione? Together? For the ball, I mean?" the Weasley prefect blushed brilliantly, but nodded. "Missed that."

"I'm not surprised."

ooooo

Professor Snape leered over the sixth year students, his arms tucked across his chest. He resembled nothing less than a feral beast about to pounce on his nervous prey. And the Paradors knew they were in trouble. Professor Jace was assisting Professor Chiron in Defense Against the Dark Force today, of all days. Snape looked like the end of the school year had come early, his dark eyes wild and his yellow teeth bared. Harry couldn't help but swallow the obscenely large lump wedged in his throat. Kaltag and Ron were unusually still beside him, not taking their eyes off their smirking instructor. His emerald eyes flicked over to the decidedly Averin part of the dungeon, where Xenik and Malfoy flashed them malevolent grins.

"It is with the deepest sorrow that I express the absence of Remedies master Professor Jace for today's class." Snape simpered nastily, his eyes locked on the Gryffindors and Paraffins near the back of the room. "Goodness knows how long I've tried to rid myself of his bothersome presence, if but for a short while." Sniggers erupted from the Slytherins and Aves, while the other houses scowled deeply. Snape regarded his favored students arrogantly, before whipping his greasy locks back in the Paradors.

"I trust you perused the assigned reading of last class," he walked around to his desk, lifting the stack of parchment. "But I doubt you dimwitted students understood it, by the state of these shoddy essays." Hermione and Kaltag made small protesting noises to themselves, narrowing their eyes at the dark-haired professor. Both had surpassed the required amount of two and a half rolls with their five and six rolls on Veritaserum. Harry raised an eyebrow, frowning at the man. His last few essays were graded with 'E' and 'O' by Professor Jace, but Snape was set on giving him 'P's and 'D's. He knew his work was much better than those, and even Acceptable work; Hermione, Icarus, Kaltag, and Tam—the top potion brewers in the class—had looked over his essays during their impromptu meeting in the library.

Snape had lifted another set of parchment from his desk and was now handing them back to their owners. With his beams at the Slytherins and Aves, Harry knew they were the ones to get high scores from him. Lavender emitted a high-pitched squeak as she received her essay back, staring in disbelief. Hannah Abbot was nearly in tears when she got her essay back. Hermione beamed superiorly, tucking her essay in her bag. As usual, Snape lowered his brows at Kaltag as he handed back the Celestial's essay, and glared at Ron and Harry when giving them their essays.

And as normal, Harry's was covered in conflicting marks of red (from Snape) and green (from Jace).

Jace awarded him an E, while Snape delivered his grade of P. The man went on to the next victim in a flurry of billowing robes, slapping Icarus' essay down before him. Harry overlooked the bickering comments on the paper by both grown professors, and compared his essay to Ron's. The prefect had received an A and a P from the professors, with hardly any marks at all. Kaltag's parchment was nearly spotless, with Outstandings from both men, and Jace's small, penned maxim of, 'finally, we agree on something.'

"I don't see how Goyle could get an 'E' from Snape," the leaning Icarus whispered from the table across. "Jace downright gave the gorilla a 'T'." Professor Snape retook his position before the class, glaring at them.

"Mr. Inigo, name one physical property of Veritaserum." Icarus sat straight in his chair and stared wide-eyed at the monochromatic man.

"It... doesn't smell." He replied confidently. Snape sneered at the boy, scrunching his bushy eyebrows.

"Five points from Parador," he disagreed. The Gryffindors and Celestials made small sounds of protest, since the Paraffin prefect was correct. "Mr. Malfoy?" The haughty-looking blonde leered at the seething Icarus and turned his perfect blonde head to his head of house.

"It's odorless, sir."

"Ten points to Slytherin."

"What the—?"

"Five more points from Parador, Mr. Inigo, watch your tongue." Snape ordered coldly. Icarus slumped angrily on his stool with Tam patting his arm sympathetically.

"Mr. Weasley, another property." Ron's eyes broadened, and Harry could hear Malfoy and Xenik snickering to themselves. The Gryffindor could see his best friend's determined face and pondering eyes, thinking over his words carefully.

"Er...Veritaserum is...colorless, sir." Ron answered, raising his chin slightly in a superior gesture. At the other table, Hermione beamed at him, shooting a scathing look at the Averins. Snape raised a thick brow and moved on to another target. The redhead released a sigh of relief, sending a lopsided grin to his companions and Hermione.

"Ms. Xu, what are the required amounts for ages five to thirteen?" Snape questioned, a bitter tone in his voice.

"None." Tam responded unfalteringly. "It is illegal, not to mention harmful, to give a child Veritaserum." Snape nodded curtly before surveying the class.

"Ms. Brown, the third physical property." Lavender gulped, staring at the man under the veneer of a deer caught in Muggle headlights.

"No taste...sir?" she replied meekly. Snape released a small smile.

"Ten points from Parador, dim child." With a furrowing brow, Harry watched Lavender's eyes gloss over. Kaltag sat up in his stool, glaring harsh daggers at Snape. Either by the torchlight, or his forces, the Being's eyes glowed a golden orange.

"What an—"

"Ms. Demas?" Snape inquired of the top Aves prefect.

"Flavorless, sir." Marieke Demas answered with a malevolent smirk. Pansy nudged her with a shoulder, and as one, the Averin prefects turned to Lavender, with silent a tear coursing down her face, and laughed. The potions master sneered at the weeping Gryffindor; Harry, Kaltag and Ron glowered at the professor with everything they had. The only Slytherins who didn't share in the taunting were Theodore Nott and Blaise Zabini. The two had reluctant grins on their faces. Harry vaguely registered a warm heat emanating from the incensed Being beside him.

"Bastard." The boys heard from Nikola, Hermione and Ella's table. Hermione and Nikola faced the newest Gryffindor startlingly, before gauging Snape's reaction. The man hadn't seemed to notice, as he went on flinging questions to the students. A few of the Ravenaires, Hufflebores, and Paradors snickered under their breaths, including Hermione.

Of course, Snape leveled his gaze at them next.

"The most important ingredient in Veritaserum, Mr. Potter?" he ground out, narrowing his eyes at the famous Gryffindor. Harry creased his brows, mentally picking out the ingredients in his head. It was something of a comical name, he knew that much; Hermione had also pounded it into his and Ron's head while they were writing the essay a few nights ago. Hermione's hand shot up in his defense, the first time since Snape began his interrogations. The master of potions did his best to overlook the clever witch's immobile hand, choosing instead to pierce Harry with his black gaze.

"Uh..." he knew it. It was simple; he'd read about it in two books before. In the front, Malfoy was giddy with glee at having the to see the Boy-Who-Lived upstaged and knocking several more points off of the Lion House. Harry wouldn't let the blonde have the satisfaction; if only he could remember the ingredient. Snape raised an eyebrow at the Gryffindor, a smirk pulling at his lips. Ella was right. The man was a heartless fiend. Swiping his quill across the worktable, Harry jerked to attention. "Jobberknoll feathers." He recited. "Sir."

Snape looked at the boy sourly, before grinning like a toad. "Five points from Parador, Potter, for taking a considerable amount of time." The Paradors unpleasantly frowned at the instructor, shooting Harry an understanding look.

"Even if he didn't answer it, you'd still take away points." Icarus murmured, glaring daggers at the teacher.

"Did you say something, Inigo?" Xenik called, feigning an ignorant expression. The Black prefect scrunched his face in revulsion, ignoring Tam's warning words to ignore him.

"I wasn't talking to you, wart-face." he countered irritably. Xenik's face fell into a contemptuous frown.

"Ten points from Parador, Inigo," Snape chided, his face set in anger. "I thought I told you to watch your tongue."

"That's kind of hard when it's in his mouth, sir." Brittlebore humorist Stavros Niendar pointed out, earning several snorts of laughter from the three other houses. The potions master wasn't impressed and unleashed his wrath on the Sliatyckx commentator.

"Twenty points from Hufflebore, Niendar." Stavros quickly shut his mouth. "Smythe, name another constituent."

"Which one, sir?" Starbuck questioned, glancing at his siblings.

"Five points from Parador. Name one, Mr. Smythe." Snape immediately deducted and chided. Nikola scoffed in fury, gaping at the older man.

"There are two Mr. Smythes if you hadn't noticed." Ron pointed out, determinedly holding Snape's derisive look.

"Another five points. Perhaps Ms. Granger can answer without such confusion." Malfoy and company was tittering freely amongst themselves, holding their head of house in high regard. Ron and Harry gripped their quills in sheer rage, looks of disgust adorning their equally pink faces.

"Ravenswood sap." Kaltag answered, his brows lowered dangerously and flickers of orange and gold dancing across his eyes. Professor Snape turned to the Paraffin prefect in surprise, taking attention away from the anxious Hermione.

"I asked Ms. Granger, Mr. Smythe."

"But you asked me first." Snape's sallow face drained to a livid whiteness. A vein could be seen gradually coming forth on the side of his forehead, and his teeth were bared slightly.

"Fine, Mr. Smythe." He bit out. "Name all components in the Veritaserum brew. In order of which is added, its consistency, and its amount." Harry limply dropped his quill on the table. This was it. In a matter of moments, Gryffindor and Paraffin would lose a hundred points. This was the angriest he had ever seen Snape, at someone else besides him. The seeker truly felt sorry for his housemate; the Averins were looking like Christmas had come decidedly early, and were shooting victorious looks at each other. Hermione appeared itching to answer that question, but shook her head supportively at her fellow prefect.

Yet Kaltag calmly and placidly elevated an orderly red eyebrow and joined his fingertips together. Holding the seething potions master's gaze with his entrancing blue orbs, Kaltag proceeded to astound the class.

"Three millimeter wide chopped ginger root, thinly-sliced Puffskein tongue added two minutes later, four cups of eagle liver fluid, two shredded Jobberknoll feathers after an eight-minute interval," he evenly listed, while jaws dropped around the dungeon room. Even Snape vaguely appeared stunned. "Then add exactly two and half vials of essence of belladonna, twelve mashed translucent ends of the schooner porcupine's quills for potion's clarity, five crisp scarab grass blades picked under the crescent moon...

"Six spoons of pure sap from the Ravenswood tree to allot the potion its tasteless feature, eight dried Runespoor scales to give Veritaserum its odorless attribute, and three phials of water from a Kappa-infested body of water." He finished with a stony expression. Harry blinked when he noticed a smirk attempting to break free from his stanch lips. "Keep the cauldron on a low, simmer through the entire process, and only when you add the last ingredient should the potion be set to boil for exactly seven minutes, then pulled from the fire. If done correctly, it should take students forty minutes to complete. Anything else, sir?"

Severus Snape, Potions Master of Hogwarts School, tormentor of Gryffindors and their counterparts alike, stood before the silent classroom, staring at the challenging Being who had just delivered a smack to his face.

Figuratively, anyway.

Said Celestial sat contentedly between his Gryffindor dorm mates and good friends, holding the man's gaze unflinchingly. His fierce blue eyes were alight with a certain wittiness at having upstaged the sardonic professor. Shaking his head slightly, Snape narrowed his eyes at Kaltag, pursing his lips composedly. Harry was certain; even the snarky Order member couldn't find fault with his flawless instructions. Ron was busy shooting unbelieving looks at Hermione and Kaltag alike, his mouth opening and closing every now and then.

"One point from Parador, Mr. Smythe, for your cheek."

ooooo

Ginny lobbed the quaffle at Madeleine, who executed a perfect Sloth-Grip Roll to avoid Wyatt's bludger. She really didn't need to, since Merrick swatted the offending ball back at the reserve team beaters, Wyatt and Wallis, seven feet away from her. Harry surveyed the practice in between scanning the skies for the golden ball to end this madness. He could see Ron flying back and forth before the hoops and between the poles, glaring at the players as if they were true Slytherins. After Madeleine faked a pass to Ginny (and instead, tossed it to Louise), Harry refocused on his task of besting the reserve seeker Thatcher Standish, who was nervously tailing the famed sixth year.

A groan from Louise let the seeker know Ron had successfully blocked the goal. Euan was now in possession of the quaffle, but before the boy could use his gain, he ducked from a bludger pelted his way by Kirke, allowing Madeleine to pluck the quaffle from his grasp. After a few crafty maneuvers for tricky sorts, the girls tried to faze the keeper, rapidly tossing the quaffle between the three of them, weaving between their beaters, striking the tough bludgers at the reserves until the five were one giant blur. The Chasers were surprisingly skilled, as bludgers missed them by several inches; they never even blinked. It was a strategy made by the co-captains they had rehearsed at every practice, and it was impressive. It was Ginny who finally scored a goal against her brother, after Ron was looking at Madeleine expectantly, as if she were to make the goal. The team cheered, before Ron tossed the quaffle back out.

Harry skimmed over the empty stands, making sure there was no one there to spy on them. After their tryouts, Harry and Ron decided it was best that practice received no visitors, even if they were from Gryffindor. Team focus was built, as well as set aside distractions. A glint of orangey-gold flashed somewhere by Gerard Bingham's goalposts, and before Harry even realized it, he had already sped the hundred or so feet to the area and felt the snitch beating inside his fist. Thatcher was a few feet behind him, and smiled respectfully, before going back to observe the game. The chasers were now executing drills with each other, hurling the quaffle to their teammates, while Kirke, Merrick, Wallis and Wyatt struck bludgers at them. It was an effective exercise they constantly began and ended every session with. Gripping the struggling snitch tightly, Harry flew the length over to the practicing chasers, with Gerard in tow.

"All right, then," he shouted at them, making them halt. "I reckon we ought to stop now." Ron, who was still focused on the group in case the chasers decided to pull something, screwed his face in bafflement, and caught his co-captain's eye.

"WHAT?" he yelled loudly. Several team members covered their ears with their hands, blocking the redhead's loud voice from their sensitive ears. "I CAN'T HEAR YOU, HARRY!"

"END PRACTICE!" Ginny bellowed back. "For bleedin' sake, take those out, you prat!" Ron stared at Harry, not hearing a word from his sister, and shaking his head. He reached for his ears and yanked out flesh-colored earplugs, pocketing them.

"Can't hear a word with these things in," he grumbled, fumbling to find a pocket. "Must mean they're working well." Merrick, a Muggle-born, was informed along with the rest of the team about Slytherin's dirty tactics, and especially how they enjoyed targeting Ron. Rather than have the keepers much improved game, Merrick had suggested the use of enchanted earplugs (his father was a contractor), used to block out the sound from crowds and everything else. Ron only needed to take them out when Madam Hooch was addressing them on the field. The team either rolled their eyes or scoffed. Glancing at the dark orange sky, Ron faced his best friend.

"Blimey, Harry. It's getting dark. I think we ought to end, don't you?" Harry opened his mouth to say something, but merely pulled a reluctant smile on his lips and nodded.

"Right, Ron. Good practice, everyone."

"Slytherin won't stand a chance against us. Bloody get away with everything already…." The prefect added. With it being the week of the Quidditch match, jeers and taunts from the Slytherins were more abundant. Small duels broke out before and after meal times between the two Hogwarts houses, earning numbers of students a stiff cot in the infirmary. Just this week, Seamus had gone to Madam Pomfrey, sporting a black eye and thin, wiggly tentacles sprouting from his nose; and a third year Gryffindor was hospitalized for a few days when an older Slytherin cursed him with hard to remove boils over his entire body. Of course, Professor Snape said nothing to his Slytherins for their behavior; but Professor McGonagall had reprimanded the entire house's manners by removing thirty points.

The fourteen members of the Gryffindor Quidditch Squads touched back down on the dark lawn of the pitch, shouldering their brooms, and wrestling the balls back in the trunk. Ginny opted to stay with Harry and help him pack the trunk in the broom shed, while the others headed to shower and dinner. Slytherin was to be on the pitch after dinner, since the game was tomorrow. The Celestials, Harry had heard, had practiced their last on the night prior, since McGonagall and Snape were busy arguing over who deserved to get the pitch tonight.

The two walked in comfortable silence to the storage shed, Ginny gripping her and Harry's brooms in her hands. Harry was hovering the crate before them, and caught a glimpse of a white bird entering the forest far off. The youngest Weasley cracked her shoulders and neck, breaking the silence with sighs.

"Tension," she stated. "Especially when there's a Quidditch match coming up." Harry snickered to himself, his wand trained on the aged trunk levitating in front of them.

"I'd think you'd have more tension for the ball, rather than a mere game." He returned lightheartedly. The fifth year smiled, blowing a few locks of sweaty red hair from her forehead.

"Quidditch, I know," she stated confidently. "So there's the added pressure of me failing or messing up. With balls, I'm not partial to them, so there really aren't any expectations for me to follow." She tugged the keys from Harry's pocket and unlatched the door for him. "It's really only nerve-wracking when all you have to worry about is if a boy is keen on asking you, or if you brave it, and go it alone." Stuffing the trunk in the shed, Harry nodded, and slammed the door closed, locking it again.

"It's not easy for us either," he replied, swinging the keys on his index finger. "We try to find the right girl, and then worry she may not be the one you really want to spend the evening with." With a snort, Ginny handed the Gryffindor his Firebolt back.

"Guess that means you and Parvati aren't going together again." Harry winced at the memory of being dragged around like a tournament dog on Parvati's arm, and the feeling of discomfort with her forcing him into things.

"She's going with Dean." Ginny appeared thoughtful for a moment before shrugging. Harry swallowed, biting his lip to speak his next line. "Neville's also out of the running." Ginny whipped her head around so fast her red ponytail resembled an ominous crimson whip.

"Is he?" she questioned, generally intrigued.

"Isis." Ginny's eyes broadened in surprised and on her lips was a ghost of a smile.

"I would have never guessed." She chuckled to herself. "I know Luna's going with Yorick, and Nikola with Thanos. Whom're you going with?" Harry gulped, searching the flickering lights in the castle rather than the brown eyes of Ginny Weasley. He didn't have a date. At least, not at this very moment. Gathering up what little confidence and Gryffindor courage he had stored, Harry finally met Ginny's chocolate orbs.

"You." He replied timidly. "If you want to, that is." The girl nearly missed a step but covered it by kicking away a stone. The sixth year bit inside of his cheek to keep from questioning her in anticipation. Ginny stared ahead at the castle, her eyes wider than usual, taking in the illuminated beauty of Hogwarts. Harry noticed his broom was becoming unusually slippery in his clutch.

"Flattering, really, Harry." She began, her tone one of irony. "You couldn't just ask with a normal, 'will you do the honor of going to the ball with me' number? Honestly, I think Ron's rubbing off on you." The two shared a smile and an amused laugh up the hill to the entrance hall, both feeling suddenly fifty pounds lighter and fluttery.

ooooo

"Eat up, now!" spry Arthur Gilliam was urging his Sliatyckx team. The seventeen Celestials gave him nasty looks, and continued to push what little food they spooned around on their plates. The irritated captain reached for the spoon in the scrambled eggs bowl and dumped a heaping portion on the first string players' plates. He even went as far as to shove a spoon full of eggs into the droopy-eyed Icarus' mouth, earning him a punch. Rubbing the spot on his arm, Gilliam glared at his second orber.

"Let us alone, Gill," Kiden Kaenslar, a fourth year warned tiredly. "We can feed ourselves, you know." Her sister, fifth year Tess, nodded in agreement, swirling her oatmeal exhaustedly. Harrumphing to himself, Gilliam wallowed in his bacon, glaring daggers at the orber and sliat sisters every now and then. Kaltag shook his head slightly, looking at Harry and the listless Ron, while adjusting his periwinkle Sliatyckx jumper.

"How're you two holding up?" he questioned, pushing the extra helping of eggs onto the unsuspecting Starbuck's plate. Ron shrugged, playing with the victuals on his plate while Harry yawned, turning to face Ginny. Merrick's eyes were wide and darting every which way, and he was babbling to himself nervously. More students poured in for a quick breakfast, including a few Gryffindor sixth years.

"All right, I guess." Ron replied, forking the sausage and nibbling an end. Hermione entered with the sixth year girls, taking her seat between Ron and Philo Balthazar. She threw the boys a quick smile, nervously greeting the blushing keeper and pulling her black cloak tighter over her shoulders. Endymion grinned at all of the sixth year males, her grin lingering on Kaltag before she cleared her throat.

"So, Halloween's next week." She informed. The others nodded, while Ginny blushed as she glanced at Harry. "I was going to owl my mother for dress robes."

"I owled my father." Kaltag replied, chewing bacon rapidly. Endymion poured a goblet full of citrus juice and casually sipped it.

"You know, I heard Selene's going to the ball with a Slytherin," she revealed, gaining attention from Kaltag. The prefect looked up with a startled expression, before nodding in acknowledgement.

"I figured as much. She's been hanging around Nott and Zabini for a while." Smythe answered.

"Oh," startled Endymion responded. "I see." Harry viewed other students pouring in (including Luna with her Gryffindor Lion hat) and Cho, skipping in flippantly with a slack-faced Michael. The Gryffindors returned to breakfast as usual, while the head table emptied of professors and prefects Weasley and Granger conversed in low tones about random topics. Ella was the first to leave the table, beaming at Kaltag and the others.

"Good luck today, Kaltag," she wished, fixing her Gryffindor cloak. "And to you, Harry, Ginny, and Ron." She nodded to each in respect.

"Thank you, Ella." They all replied as she went on to wish the rest of the team players good luck and exited.

"Is she going to the game today?" Ginny inquired, munching toast. Ron shrugged, returning to talk to Hermione about their chances of winning.

"I don't have a date to the ball yet," Harry heard Endymion confess. "Do you?" The girl's eyes were large and hopeful as she waited for Kaltag's invitation to the celebration. The Being, however, gulped down some milk, wiping away his mustache with a cloth napkin.

"Actually, I do." He replied, ignoring various utensil clatters around him. Endymion's eyes expanded and her face fell considerably.

"Oh." Was all she could manage. "Who?" Harry agreed with Endymion, and could tell he wasn't the only one interested in who Kaltag was escorting to the ball. Half of Parador expected him to ask Endymion; it seemed she was expecting this, too. Ginny, Ron, and Hermione became awfully silent, staring anywhere but the ginger-haired Being.

"Oh…Ella."

"She didn't tell me she was asked." Hermione exclaimed quietly, somewhat hurt. Endymion remained quiet for the rest of the meal. Harry quickly glanced at Ron's watch, and inhaled intensely. Before he could open his mouth, a great clamor was heard, as loud footsteps bounded their way with a purpose. A bright assembly of violets and bottle greens were amassed behind the Paraffin Sliatyckx team, with Xenik and Malfoy leading them. As Xenik deadlocked his eyes on Kaltag, Malfoy's gray eyes pierced Harry. The Gryffindor felt Ron stiffen and noticed the Slytherins were wearing their 'Weasley is Our King' badges.

"Watch yourself today, Smythe." Xenik hissed in warning to the less-than-thrilled Paraffin assistant captain. The redhead merely cocked his head to the side and shot the Aves deputy an annoyed look.

"Forgive me for not quaking in fear and scampering off. It's still morning, mind you." He dryly mocked. "You're really intimidating. Honestly." Xenik simply scrunched his face in disgust and stalked off with his cohort, Erik Hansen in tow. Draco remained in his spot, glowering at both Gryffindor captains.

"This game'll be different, Potter. You won't win." Crabbe and Goyle guffawed behind him, their many chins rumbling like a fleshy ocean. The seeker couldn't help but snort to himself, Ron joining in with an amused Ginny.

"Did Trelawney make that prediction, Malfoy?" the Gryffindor chaser joked. The heir of the Malfoy Empire glared daggers at the youngest Weasley before stomping away with his entourage.

With few exchanged words to their team, Harry and Ron lead the anxious group out of the great hall, amidst hearty applause and Luna's deafening lion roar.

Harry fumbled with fastening the last button on his scarlet Quidditch cloak, his and Ron's crimson Quidditch Captain badges pinned to the front of the robes and gleaming in the little sunlight they had. Overhead, the din of students filling the stands under the cloudless, blue sky could be heard, and Harry could faintly hear Luna's lion bellowing. He knew what was next. Wood always did this. The pre-game pep speech. Was it normal to be this nervous? But Ron was here, so wasn't that a bit better?

"You want to go first or should I?" the prefect asked his partner, his Cleansweep Seven clutched in his fist already. Harry examined his teammates; Merrick had calmed considerably, and was now performing the arm exercises with Kirke; Madeleine, Louise, and Ginny were going over last-minute details in their flawless plays. The reserves hung out in the corner before they disappeared into the stands to watch the game. His heart was beating faster, and he just didn't know why. He never felt like this before a game. He never had something to prove then, and he surely didn't now; did he?

"You go." He offered Ron. The redhead seemed more calm and collected than his best friend at the moment. As Harry took in calming breaths and made sure his Firebolt was in his grasp, Ron began his talk.

"All right, listen," the team immediately settled down and focused on co-captain number one. "There's really not much I can say, you know? You and Harry, as well as I both know we're an awesome team. Just grant me one favor. Go out and have fun. This isn't a job, and no one is going to clobber you for messing up. Fred and George have gone already, so there's no need to be frightened," he joked, easing the leftover nervous tension and earning laughs from the males and females. "Do your best and have fun. Slytherin doesn't stand a chance against our excellent chasers," he motioned to the beaming girls. "Our matchless beaters," Kirke and Merrick knocked bats in accord. The keeper spun to face the smirking Harry. "Or our number one seeker."

"Nor our superb keeper." Harry added more confidently to answer Ron's red ears. "We're a great team. And we're going to clinch that championship. We haven't been beaten by the Slytherins yet. I'm sure not going to let them win now." The Gryffindor Quidditch team became fired up and cheered; slapping their palms together while the girls hugged each other and the boys. Shouldering their brooms, the team held their heads high, and marched determinedly onto the field led by Ron, smiling widely at the deafening roars they received from the six houses that supported them. Harry spotted Ron quickly shoving one earplug into his ear, and leaving the other in his pocket.

"Welcome to the firs' game o' the season!" New commentator, fourth year Ravenclaw Orla Quirke began. "On the pitch is Gryffindor, the defending champions of the coveted Quidditch Cup, lead by the inseparable captains Weasley and Potter. It looks like Potter's ban 'as been lifted, it has. Good show, Harry! They will begin this season's opener 'gainst fierce rival, Slytherin. 'Ere come the Slytherin Team, led by Cap'n Draco Malfoy. One can clearly see, they are looking every bit as drab and stone-faced as their spotty founder has usually been depicted—"

"Ms. Quirke…" Professor McGonagall began warningly. A nervous titter was heard.

"Sorry, ma'am. My 'pologies." Malfoy was grinning smugly on his way to the center of the pitch, with his thugs Crabbe and Goyle lumbering closely behind. "The Gryffindor team has added three newcomers to their ranks, while the Slytherins have remained decidedly and all-male team, leaving no room for their weak-wrist female house members—"

"Quirke…" McGonagall's stony voice was heard.

"Jus' calling it as I see it, ma'am." Madam Hooch dragged the battered crate of Quidditch equipment behind her, laying her weather-beaten broomstick on the lush lawn. She regarded the captains, and to Harry's delight, eyed Malfoy furtively.

"A clean game ladies and gentlemen," she commanded in a no-nonsense tone. "Captains, shake hands." All three were reluctant to do so, but Ron quickly extended his hand to the Slytherin and both boys pulled away just as rapidly. When it came to Harry, though, Malfoy leered, taking his hand and squeezing it as tightly as possible. Harry didn't even flinch, only raising a brow at the childish gesture from the Slytherin. Malfoy released his hand, wiping it on his Quidditch robe, and both teams mounted their brooms. As fourteen brooms rose simultaneously in the air, Madam Hooch unlatched the trunk, letting the bludgers and flash of gold loose. Eyeing both teams one last time with the quaffle in hand, Madam Hooch carefully made sure everyone was in place; Harry shot Ginny a good luck grin as Ron shoved an earplug in his ear and hovered before the Gryffindor hoops. In the bat of an eyelash, the quaffle was tossed high into the air, and first match of the season began.

"Ah, great capture by new chaser Madeleine Warner, as she weaves through Pucey an' 'round new chaser Baddock," Quirke commentated excitedly. "Warner passes to Louise Schmetterling, who is saved by a bludger from team mate Kirke—good job Andrew! Schmetterling launches it over to Weasley—boy, can this girl fly!" Harry circled the area, listening to the game and taking time to watch his chasers at work. "She swerves 'round Pritchard, passing the quaffle back to team mate Warner. Warner fakes—shoot it Mad, shoot it! SCORE, GRYFFINFOR!" An eruption of cheers was heard from the light blue and red section of the pitch, as the Gryffindors rose to their feet in celebration. "A great goal by Madeleine Warner, making the score ten-zip, Gryffindor." Harry excitedly clapped for his team, making a loop over one of the teachers' stands.

"All right, Bletchley's looking a bit peeved, but I can't understan' why. Aren't the Slytherins used to losing 'gainst mighty Gryffindor yet?"

"Quirke, if you don't remain impartial—"

"Got it, ma'am." She accepted. "Good job Gryffindor. Come on, you can do it, Slytherin." Quirke spoke in a forced, monotonous tone of boredom. Harry jetted around the pitch, getting a feel of the lukewarm air of morning whipping over his face, through his black hair, while Malfoy tailed him as usual.

"Not today, Potter." He shouted. Harry ignored him and grimaced at the Slytherins' next ploy. The mass began their original rendition of 'Weasley is Our King,' while the Gryffindors sang their version. It was just as well Ron couldn't hear a thing with the enchanted earplugs.

"Merrick Linwood slams a bludger back at Goyle, who nearly took the hand off chaser Schmetterling. Linwood bats another bludger back toward Crabbe this time, as Kirke joins the fray…" the commentator continued to dictate. "And with this diversionary tactic, the Gryffindors have managed to score two more goals, bringing their total to thirty-nil." Clearing her throat sarcastically, Orla took on the droning tone once more. "Come on, Slytherin. Make a goal. Any goal. You do have three to choose from…."

"If you're quite finished, Ms. Quirke."

Harry flew a lap around the pitch, spotting several of his professors in the stands. Dumbledore sat in the top box a few seats away from Orla Quirke, chatting merrily with Professor Chiron; McGonagall and Thetis commented about the game so far; Hagrid and Jace were sitting with the Paradors, both waving flags of house colors and yelling cheers to the Gryffindor team.

"Keeper Ron Weasley blocks yet another intended goal from Slytherin but—oh, Merlin's knickers. Slytherin scores, thirty-ten, Gryffindor." Malfoy remained feet away but kept a close eye on the Gryffindor seeker. Harry merely shook his head at the Slytherin, focusing on the game and finding the snitch. He couldn't wait to watch a real Sliatyckx match. Icarus and Thanos had been yammering on about it all night. A shrill whistle pulled him out of his thoughts, and Harry sought out the problem. Draco was busy laughing heartily on his Nimbus Two-Thousand and One at his team. "It's a penalty shot for Schmetterling as the firs' dirty play 'as been executed. Crabbe, dimwitted though 'e may be—"

"QUIRKE!"

"I meant, he tried to tell Madam Hooch that 'e thought her BLONDE HEAD was a bludger, but being so slow, 'e got lost—"

"YOUNG LADY!"

"Forgive me, for I know not what I say. And Schmetterling shoots—what's with Slytherin's keeping today? Whip your team into better shape, Malfoy!" Orla taunted over the system.

"Quirke…!"

"Professor Snape can't be too happy, I'll bet."

"QUIRKE…!"

"I 'ave a suggestion for the Slytherin captain: it's called practice."

"QUIRKE! This is the LAST STRAW!" McGonagall's harsh voice could be heard without the use of the commentator's microphone. The Boy-Who-Lived rose a few feet in the air, drowning out the cheers and commentating.

He was here for a purpose. And Malfoy wanted to pluck that purpose out of his grasp. The Gryffindor considered his options: he could utilize his state-of-the-art, international standard Firebolt and give the lazy Slytherin a chase, or feint. Rubbing the polished handle beneath his thumb, Harry narrowed his eyes. Malfoy should—by now—realize when he's being feinted or not. He couldn't possibly fall for that ruse again. The Slytherin couldn't be that thick.

On the other side of the field, the Gryffindor chasers were doing spectacularly in their rapid-fire quaffle tossing, between Kirke and Linwood, the blur of red and gold approaching the confused Slytherin keeper. Malfoy was a ways away, focusing on the vague shape looming toward the nervous Bletchley. It was now or never.

"ARGH, WHAT WAS THAT? HOOCH, YOU CAN'T ALLOW THAT MONKEY TO DO THAT! GRYFFINDOR DESERVES A PENALTY! "

"MS. QUIRKE!"

"WHAT ARE THOSE SLYTHERIN BEATER FOOLS DOING? MIGHT AS WELL CHUCK THE BLUDGERS AT THEIR OWN HEADS! MAYBE THEIR BRAINS WOULD FULLY FUNCTION!"

"You're toeing the line for DETENTION, Quirke!" The Gryffindor head of house threatened.

Harry held firmly to his broom, and kicked away quickly, speeding over the Ravenclaw stands. Just as he expected, Draco Malfoy tried to match him, only a broomstick-length away. The smear of faces and colors beneath him swirled out of sight as Harry zoomed across the pitch, his eyes set on his false target. Behind him, the Slytherin captain growled under breath, pushing his broom to its limit. A resounding thwack could be heard in front of the rapt scarlet and gold seeker, but Harry did not move.

He was nearing his goal; he could see it heading directly at him at an alarming velocity. The green-eyed boy flattened himself over the slender piece of wood, and willed himself to keep up the gambit, not to step out too soon. Malfoy's heavy breathing was quite audible now, and he was but an arms length from the bristles of Harry's Firebolt. Clutching his prized possession tightly, Harry narrowed his eyes and the advancing, dark blur, mere feet away from him, before jerking up quickly to the blue sky.

Malfoy's shout only confirmed his suspicions. The seeker had rammed directly into a bludger, swerving only a bit out of its path.

"Oh, poor Malfoy's gonna to feel that tomorrow," Quirke amusedly reported. "Lucky it clipped his side and not anything of importance. A new, unquestionably unusual feint by Captain Potter." Harry grinned, despite himself, and observed am irate Malfoy chewing out Beater Crabbe for the bludger.

Gryffindor tallied ninety points, and Slytherin had only forty. The black-haired teenager decided it was best to end the game now, to leave more time for the upcoming Sliatyckx match. Squinting his eyes around the field, Harry spotted his reward, darting around the ground near the Hufflepuff stands. After a quick glance to his piqued opponent, the talented seeker swooped toward the mass of black and yellow, with the Slytherin seeker twenty feet behind him, clutching his side gingerly.

"And I think this is it, folks! The seekers 'ave spotted the Golden Snitch, which as you know, is worth a hundred an' fifty points." The commentator conveyed. Harry almost brushed the flapping wings of the snitch before it darted upward, causing his slight tip of the broom to follow the path of the golden ball. "An excellent display by Potter's top o' the line broom, maneuvering easily to the slightest touch."

"Are you selling merchandise or commentating, Ms. Quirke?" the annoyed voice of Professor McGonagall rang out.

"The Firebolt deserves its fifteen minutes of fame, also, ma'am."

The dark-haired boy followed the progress of the snitch, urging his broom to push itself further. Gritting his teeth, Harry extended his arm, swinging to catch the evading prize. At last, his fist closed over the dodgy snitch, its wings beating fiercely in his enclosed palm, trying to find a means of escape. Flying toward the ground, beamed at the mad shouts of approval.

"That's it, students, professors and ev'ry thing in between. Potter has caught the snitch—as we all knew it would happen—"

"You're just begging to be sacked, aren't you, Ms. Quirke?"

"An' reigning champion GRYFFINDOR WINS!" Orla yelled to the lauding houses. "Final score, 240-40, Gryffindor. Stay put as the highly anticipated Paraffin versus Aves match begins. GO PARAFFIN!"

When Harry touched down on the lawn, he was smothered by scarlet robes and screaming chasers. Madeleine and Louise squeezed him around his neck, hollering in his ear, as Kirke and Merrick thumped him on the back. Ron ruffled his hair and pulled out his earplugs, jumping at the rush of sound.

"Blimey, was it always this loud?" Across the field, the Slytherin team was entering their changing rooms with their heads bowed and scowls on their faces, and Madam Pomfrey the Mediwitch was handing the captain a vial of tan potion. Ginny embraced Harry with a vice-like grip, grinning from ear to ear.

"That feint was brilliant, Harry! You should've seen Malfoy's face when he spotted the bludger!" she exclaimed, clinging tightly to her broom as the rest of the team headed to the changing room. The snitch was still struggling in Harry's grip.

"Good game every one!" she extolled over the chanting of the houses. A gaggle of blue was seen exiting the Gryffindor stands. "You all were brilliant!"

"Unbelievable job, girls!" Ron complimented the chasers. "Merrick and Andy, you guys were awesome."

"Great keeping duties, Ron. You didn't even flinch when the Slytherins began singing." Harry pat his best friend on the back. Ron's ears glowed under his shaggy fringe, and Harry handed the fraught golden snitch to the passing Madam Hooch who congratulated them.

After the team changed into fresher garments, the Gryffindor players found their backs aching as they received countless slaps on the back and praises from their house in the stands. Harry and Ron had to slip away from Seamus and Dean's enthusiastic recount of the game, and Harry maneuvered through a group of shouting Paradors to escape the Creevey brothers' plead for a photograph. Hagrid applauded the team's efforts and winked at Harry and Ron. Hermione sat with Nikola, Ella, and Circe, saving the spot for the Weasleys and Harry. The teenager also noticed the abundance of red flags were now checkered navy and periwinkle, and Dean was holding up a banner with an expertly drawn blue phoenix.

"They've gone already?" Ginny frowned, looking around for the Celestial team.

"This should be interesting." Ron commented, glancing up and down the pitch. "Yorick was jabbering on about it after midnight. Had to pitch a pillow at him to shut him up." Harry couldn't help but grin and feel especially euphoric. They had just one the first match of the season, and now he was set to observe what was to be an exciting sport.

"I wonder if any changes will be made to the field." Circe pensively questioned, eyeing the hoops.

"Thought there would be." Nikola answered, wrapping a bright blue scarf around her neck. A few Celestial professor were out on the field from what Harry could see, while none of the teams appeared. A short sound of feedback was heard from the commentator's box, followed by a scatty chuckle. Harry kept his eyes on the giant hoops at one end of the field, narrowing his eyes as he thought he saw them waver.

Quite suddenly, the three hoops at the opposite ends of the field shifted, melting and conforming, becoming more sharp and angular.

"Blimey..." Ron breathed, his brown eyes large and secured on the warping hoops. Three poles soon melded into one, thick, solid pole, sprouting three hoops (or rather, shapes) of various heights on the end. "Wicked..." As the wizards and witches studied the circular, square, and triangular hoop goals, a rumbling throat clearing was heard.

"Welcome, one and all to the annual Battle of the Birds—Paraffin Phoenixes versus the Aves Falcons!" Sliatyckx analyst, sixth year Brittlebore Stavros Niendar introduced. The students in the stands cheered as Harry vaguely heard Jace chanting the Paraffin cheer. "I don't know about you, mates, but I'm expecting this to be a relatively short match. Paraffin is unstoppable. Even Aves must admit that."

"Dear me, not another one..." Professor McGonagall complained to Thetis over the commentator's phone.

"Paraffin House is looking to gain another victory, leading them to the cup. The house has been unbeatable for four years straight! Most of us don't even have knickers that old!"

"Stavros..." McGonagall's warning tone was overheard.

"Aren't you tired of warning commentators, professor?" he joked. Hermione primly fixed her drooping knitted gloves, searching the ground below. Harry had to cover his ears when the Parador yells and cheers became deafening. Ron and Ginny were hopping madly in their seats, and Harry had to stretch his neck to see what the commotion was about. Across the field, the sea of violet exploded into mad rooting.

"And stepping onto the field, the Aves Falcons in a lovely shade of purple, if I do say so myself." Niendar chuckled despite himself. "And the current Sliatyckx Trophy holders, the Paraffin Phoenixes!" All of Paraffin, Brittlebore, and Voltaire burst into more wails and cries of approval, waving their supporting flags. "Sliats for Paraffin include: tough Theion, gritty Gilliam and the terribly stunning Tess Kaenslar! Orbers are the champion Kiden and Yorick Kaenslar, Icarus Inigo, and Philo Balthazar!" Circe cheered for her younger brother happily. "Fenzer is the great Starbuck Smythe, and the Seeker is the sharp-eyed Kaltagonus Smythe.

"And the Aves Sliats are the cunning ladies, Demas, Isha, and Neptune! Followed by a slew of male Orbers, Hansen, Eryx, Burnum and Burnum. Burnum number three serves as Fenzer, and always the crowd pleaser, Captain Androcles Xenik is the seeker. Good luck, Xenik." A thin male stepped out onto the field with the odd contraption the Celestials had ridden on to get to Hogwarts on their first day and a thin, gnarled, gray box.

Emerging from the changing hangings, Harry finally observed the Paraffins on the field, advancing toward the hard-faced Aves. Xenik led his group with Erik Hansen plodding behind him, and dark-faced players. Arthur Gilliam walked side by side with Kaltag, and the two were looked as if they were talking to each other nonchalantly.

"Sliatyckx referee Professor Kemp takes the field with the equipment box and his trusty fin rider. The captains and assistant captains are now approaching each other for the pre-game hand wrestling session—squeeze 'em good, Kaltag—my mistake, Professors."

"What are they doing now?" Ginny inquired, wondering why the game was stalling.

"Kemp's making sure they know the rules, and will ask them to summon their riders any minute now." The future Entity of Intellect replied.

"Summon?" Harry questioned, furrowing his eyebrows. Were they going to summon their wind riders like he did his Firebolt in the task against the dragon? His query was answered as the eighteen players extended their right hands to their sides, and fin riders of various colors and textures appeared out of thin air.

"The riders have been summoned, and the players have now taken to the air," Stavros informed, as everyone watched the eighteen teenagers in the air. Professor Kemp opened the thin box, and immediately, four ghostly white glass balls rose into the air, trailed by a silver blur jetting across the field. "Orbs are in the air, followed by the Silver Scepter—my money's on Kaltag to win, naturally..."

"Mr. Niendar!"

"What? Truth hurts!" he responded in an irked tone. "Kemp's in the air on that hazard he calls a rider—I mean to say, experienced work of art, Professor Thetis, honestly, I did!" Harry followed Kemp's progress as he rose above the players, at least ten feet higher, and dropped the yellow ball on the midst of them. "And the Sliotaur is in possession of Kaenslar!"

Icarus, Yorick, Philo and Kiden had made their large, scaly sails disappear, and were crouched on their rider like Muggle surfers, swatting their bats at the orbs. The Aves orbers had done the same, and were hitting the orbs back toward the Paraffins. Starbuck veered in front of the goals, a look of determination on his rosy face. High in the air, Kaltag and Xenik were maneuvering their fins with the sails still attached. Harry focused on the strong orbers, thwacking the five white spheres to unsuspecting players.

"Five?" he muttered to himself. "Aren't there supposed to be—?" The Gryffindor's green orbs inflated. "The Scepter is an orb!" Ron quirked his mouth to a side, and lowered his brows.

"What?" He asked distractedly standing on his tiptoes to see over the jumping Paraffins. Kaltag and Xenik were busily whizzing through the air, the Paraffin trying to shake the Aves seeker.

"It looks like Xenik is executing the Mosquito Technique, latching onto the Paraffin seekers position and annoying him into making a mistake. How 'bout we look for that Scepter, boys?" the commentator suggested. Thanos and Gilliam were flinging the sliotaur back and forth, occasionally avoiding an incoming orb. "Kaenslar to Theion, Theion to Gilliam, Gill back to Kaenslar, she shoots—and Paraffin scores twenty points through the square goal, leading the game's points!" The sliats celebrated and circled the area with their sailed fins and, chasing after their Aves opponents. "The celebration is short lived as Shomari Demas seizes the sliotaur. Demas narrowly avoids an orb launched by Balthazar, and she has set her sights on the Paraffin goal. You do have teammates, you know, Shomari…. Inigo hits a white one over to Demas only to be thwarted by Ulysses Burnum." Harry sympathized with Icarus as the prefect cursed loudly, before seeking out another unprotected Sliat.

"Demas has finally passed the ball to team mate Sirenia Neptune, who is advancing on Smythe's area. Here comes Yorick the Terrible, his bat ready and an orb in his path—BAM! It's heading for Neptune, will it—is it—YES!" The Gryffindor seeker paled, witnessing a bright flash of light and smoky tendrils envelope the Aves sliat, and the sliotaur dropped into the hands of Gilliam. "Neptune has gone to the White Wonderland as her purple orb swings back into action. Great shot by Kaenslar!" Hermione looked appalled at the barbaric display, shaking her head in disgust. "An additional ten points for Paraffin as Kiden Kaenslar pops an orb through a goal, leaving the score thirty-nothing, Phoenixes."

"Aves is now one player down." Nikola summarized. "Kaltag hasn't spotted the Scepter yet."

The game continued well into half an hour, with the score reaching 130 to 80, Paraffin. Harry ecstatically watched as the players executed crafty tricks with their fin riders, including Yorick and Icarus' Fin Copter, where they recalled their scaled sails and leaned horizontally, boards back to back, and spun at a brisk pace, aiming for the clump of Aves Orbers. Starbuck also managed a few sail saves, blocking the goal with the shield. The sliats performed so many tricks with the mustard Sliotaur, Harry and Ron both lost count.

Kaltag had spied the Scepter a few times, but was deterred by either a leering Xenik, or the Aves captain's personal bodyguard, Erik Hansen. After Kaltag's catches were foiled, the Silver Scepter seemed to disappear around the stands, occasionally coming forth in the appearance of another orb or the extra Sliotaur. Subsequent to Xenik's fourth blockade, the redhead took to the skies, out maneuvering the dark-haired boy with what Stavros described as "a seeker's dream fin rider," the Cumulon SkySlicer. Unlike the older riders, it was silver, not the dark gold the others were, and the commentator was reamed for explaining it as "ten times faster than old Xenik's Sky Surfer 760." In short, it was the Firebolt of wind riders.

Ron and Ginny listened with rapt attention as Nikola described its attributes and special features; Hermione blandly viewed the game, turning every now and then to engage the awed Ella in conversation. It was as if the Gryffindor had never seen wizards fly before. Her eyes were fixed on the Paraffin players, and her brows wrinkled in worry at Kaltag's every dive. Xenik and Hansen were talking with each other over the stands, as the purple and blue orbs whooshed past them. Out of Paraffin, only Kiden was captured by Erik Hansen's stray orb, but the other orbers were playing strong, nabbing two orbers from Aves' side.

Out of the blue, the Paraffin seeker shot off after a hoary blur, darting at an alarming rate toward the Aves goal. Harry watched as Kaltag, in quick succession, released the bar on the fin's sail and the sail dissipated into thin air, leaving the prefect to hang ten. The crowd was on their feet, screaming at that the display, urging the seeker to catch the prize. Jace himself was bellowing at the ginger-haired Smythe to catch the Scepter already. Ron and Harry were encouraging him with hollers and observed Xenik and Hansen on his tail, Hansen with his bat tucked on his side, and Xenik moving in behind the prefect.

"There goes Smythe, he's finally caught wind of the Silver Scepter, and it looks like Xenik can't stop him this time!" Niendar stated in animation. "GO SMYTHE, GO!" The sixth year Entities, Ginny, Hermione, and Ella were hopping in their seats, waving their miniscule flags as if it would give the seeker more speed. Harry vaguely noticed Endymion in the far corner, also leaping from her seat.

Kaltag flicked his wrist, and a thin, silver rod settled in his hand, and the Being held it at least two feet away from the zooming ball. In the midst of shouting, Harry paused, turning his attention from the reaching boy to the Aves sixth years on his tail. As he watched them, he felt his stomach lurch uncomfortably, and a cold chill pooled at the bottom of his spine.

Something wasn't right.

In that instance, Harry slit his eyes and from afar, and thought he saw Xenik's hand go into his violet robes.

"It's too late to pull out your baton now, Xenik!" Stavros Niendar's distant voice spoke. The sound soon thinned out into silence. Ron, whose mouth was gaping in mid shout, stomped madly in his seat, yet no sound was heard. None from the red-faced Ginny, or Hermione, Nikola, nor Circe. The blurs of purple and blue streaking across the sky were oblivious to the Scepter chase occurring on the opposite side of the field.

Something was definitely wrong. Then it happened.

Both Hansen and Xenik pulled out their slender wands, the dull sun glinting off their spiteful eyes. Kaltag's rod arm was extended, determination and sweat pouring from his face. Both armed teenagers shouted something, and jets of purple and blue lights surged from their wand tips. As soon as the Scepter was caught in Kaltag's baton, the spells struck his body, the force shoving him off of his silver rider.

The sound was turned back on full blast as Kaltag's limp body fell through the air at an alarming rate.

"NO! XENIK AND HANSEN HAVE JUST ATTACKED KALTAG SMYTHE! THOSE DIRTY—" Stavros swore so badly even Hermione blushed. Yet McGonagall, Thetis, or any of the professors in the top box did anything to stop him. Dumbledore had his wand out, aiming it at the falling student, but he was too little too late. Icarus, Starbuck and Thanos had already rocketed over to Kaltag, catching him five feet above the ground. Jace and Hagrid, the others noticed, were already on the ground, as were Thetis, McGonagall, Dumbledore and surprisingly, Snape. Kenward, Kemp and the Aves head of house, Einar, were berating Xenik and Hansen angrily, but only Kenward hung in the back with a deep frown on his face.

"Oh, my goodness!" Nikola was teary-eyed and panicking. "Oh my—have they no shame? They could've—!" she sobbed, watching as Madam Pomfrey tended to her brother.

"Bloody cowards," Ron menaced heatedly, his teeth clenched tightly and exposed in a growl. "Bleedin'—!" Hermione's eyes were glassy, and she couldn't take her eyes off the scene.

"What spell was that? It looked dangerous!" she frenetically spoke, clutching her billowing scarf around her neck. Circe and Ella were attempting to calm the frantic Nikola, but the Entity just kept her blinking eyes on her brother.

"I have to—I have to see him…" she spoke distantly. "He's my brother…I…" The Celestial blinked once, and in a sudden cold rush of air, she was gone.

"Bloody…!" Ginny stared across the field. "How'd she get there so quickly?" The green-eyed boy returned his gaze to the stretcher hovering across the field, carrying the injured Being. His advance guard consisted of the Paraffin Sliatyckx team, his head of house, Dumbledore, McGonagall, Snape, Pomfrey and…Nikola.

"Entity of Intellect, remember?" Hermione answered in a flat tone. "Super speed and strength." The entourage of caretakers disappeared from the field and the stands began to empty out, the Paradors being the most angry and loud of the bunch. Harry and company made the long trek to the castle quietly, listening as Stavros Niendar ended his commentary.

"And it's 230 to 80, Paraffin. Our thoughts and prayers are with Paraffin's star seeker today; get well soon, Smythe." His mournful voice echoed over the vacant pitch. "Sodding gits, I hope they choke on Manticore dung…."

ooooo

Blind.

That was the diagnosis from Madam Pomfrey.

Xenik and Hansen had cursed Kaltag with particularly advanced hexes to blind him as a distraction, but succeeded in blinding him temporarily. Though no one but his siblings could visit him, the Mediwitch assured concerned students the Celestial would be out of the infirmary by Tuesday.

Members of the Paraffin Sliatyckx team were sullen-faced, and angry. Icarus in particular, since he was the prefect's best friend. No one had seen the Black prefect since he escorted the wounded seeker to the hospital wing, stormed back to the tower to change out of his robes then left again.

Harry hoped Kaltag would be all right with no permanent damage. From what he had heard, Xenik and Erik Hansen got off unbelievably easy by their head of house. The two were to have a month's detention with Filch and Thetis, and send Kaltag written apologies. The headmaster of Aripedes, Chiron, had only reprimanded the boys disappointedly, and left the punishment of the boys up to their head of house. Einar was in every way like Professor Snape, chastising the captains modestly and letting them off effortlessly. The black-haired Gryffindor snorted to himself angrily. No doubt they were probably sitting in the Celestial professor's office, clinking glasses of butterbeer and congratulating them on putting one of the Smythe's out of commission.

He lay on his side shrouded by his four-poster hangings, facing Kaltag's empty bed. A light symphony of snores pierced the early morning silence, Ron contending with Neville, Dean and Yorick. It had to be sometime near one in the morning, but he couldn't seem to be dragged into unconsciousness. Events from the matches crossed his mind like a Muggle cinema, reenacting the events in slow motion, exchanging Kaltag's falling body for his…Xenik's malicious smirk morphed into Malfoy's. Finally, his troubled green eyed fell closed and Harry buried himself into his plush pillow.

ooo

The room was dimly lit, with four low torches providing minimal light. The walls were a lackluster russet hue, the paint peeling off of one particular wall, and its only furniture was a small, solid, stiff wooden chair. The chair groaned under the new weight of the newly appeared Hagrid, his beard and mane as tangled as ever, and his beady eyes waggling in the torchlight. In his fist, he grasped a hand carved wooden lute, and he placed the mouthpiece to his lips to begin a lively, toe-tapping tune.

Then Snape appeared, along with Jace and Thetis, the potions master clutching a round-bottomed beaker and grinning madly. Jace offered the elder professor his arm, and she took it. Together with Hagrid's playing and Snape's mindless drumming, the two jigged, waving hands in the air and beaming. A heavily beaded Trelawney entered the scene, her bangles weighing her arms down, and she leapt around the skipping professors spiritedly with a sheer rose throw. The divination professor circled the two dramatically, performing a dance of her own with the scarf.

Soon Norbert, the baby dragon had joined the whimsical event, breathing fire back into the torches and flapping his small wings in flight over the heads of the dancing trio. The image of the happy five and the flying dragon churned portentously into a much darker, thicker scene.

ooo

He sipped his hot tea prudently, allowing the scorching liquid to sweep past his lipless mouth and over his dull rosy tongue. It may have burned every other drinker's sensitive jaw, this bitter, acidic beverage, but he didn't mind. After all, it was all for show, just to please his guest. The heat pushing through the teacup's ceramic surface burned into his fingertips, causing minimal color he hadn't seen in years. Crimson eyes peered over the brim of the cup, catching sight of the goateed male.

His companion sat across from him in a beaten armchair, gazing into the fire and squinting his eyes. One could tell he had seen so much, despite the betrayal of his youthful façade. The light sprinkle of dark hair around his jaw and cheeks, his mangled hair and cold eyes; both men sipped the scalding liquid leisurely, sitting in pensive silence. One knew of the other's great power and tales of battles and death, based on obsession. The other was quite familiar with his acquaintance's cause, and all the lengths he would go through to achieve fulfillment. Both wanted the same thing. Power. Dominion. Freedom. And the only way they would gain such would be through there quiet teatime tête-à-tête.

The first man tipped the teacup to his bronze lips and swilled a bit of liquid into his mouth swallowing with purpose. His eyes surveyed the dark room, laden with aged dust and antique items and a crackling fire with distaste. "I see you are indulging in the benefits of victory, Tom."

Voldemort merely smirked at the insult. "Do you not find my palace enthralling, your majesty?" he mock queried, gesturing to the dust-blanketed drapes. "Is it not to your taste, Anton?"

"You are a Dark Lord," the man informed in a regarded tone. "Your palace stronghold should not compare to a Muggle compost habitat." Voldemort chuckled deeply, his vermilion eyes twinkling with dark mirth.

"Celestials. Still thinking in a regal state of mind. Even after you were excluded." He reminded viciously. The guest took up his cup and drank deeply before setting it down with a dull 'clunk.'

"My palace is far more extravagant than this…dwelling." He spat out the word irreverently.

"My reward will come when my purpose is fulfilled in due time, Anton." The visitor glared at the dark wizard, folding his hands before him.

"True. Tom." The wizard hissed, pushing his ceramic cup into his saucer and glaring at the man before him.

"Call me by my true name."

"And call me by my true name and I shall call you by thy feared appellation." The Being leered, adjusting the fur wrap he wore. The wicked man sat back in his chair, appraising the Celestial, who was taking in his surroundings. "I have to admit, the place has not change much since I last graced the Earth."

"Tis slow, you know of such. Muggles and wizards are nowhere near as advanced as us." The white-faced serpentine man explained, drinking the last of his tea. "Would you care for some more?" Anton shook his head negatively, holding the man's crimson gaze.

"I have no desire coming into further contact with your…servants." He condemned the word scornfully. "Especially your correspondent with a faltering tongue. I would think you'd have better servants than this, fearsome dark wizard." He ridiculed, grazing the dragon hide leather over his chiseled abdomen before lifting his teacup once more. The tormentor of the wizarding world snorted quietly, straightening himself in his seat.

"You find fault in my servants?"

"Servants?" he scoffed, setting his mug down. "Please. Your Death Eaters are nothing less than dogs. Following their master's every beck and call, doing all things to please their master." Voldemort's alabaster forehead creased as he observed his longtime friend.

"And what of your beasts? The snarling, drooling, ferocious creatures you call minions?" Anton erected a brow, narrowing his dark eyes at the dark lord.

"At least they have backbones." He countered. "Which is more than I can say for your feared Death Eaters."

"They are loyal when the time calls them to be."

"They should always be loyal." Anton pointed out smirking at the frowning, red-eyed individual. Voldemort narrowed his eyes, rubbing the fabric of his black robes between his fingers. Anton was correct; his Death Eaters were loyal, but like true Slytherins, needed to have something in it for them. Anton clearly had an advantage with his servants.

"You look no older than when we last met, decades ago. You are quite young for a man who has seen thirteen centuries." He lightened the tense mood, causing the banned Celestial to smile.

"The blood of Celestial unicorns and hybrids deserves the praise." The man declared, scratching at his spackling of facial hair. "Besides, I must always look good for my beloved and firstborn." At this, the dark wizard had to deeply frown. The prince was an intelligent man, yet clearly hallucinatory. It was his misguided and warped mind, which led to his first downfalls, allowing him to base his entire revenge on a mere illusion. The wizard sat back in his chair viewing the brooding Being.

"Still believe Athena will fall for you?" he taunted in disbelief. "Dear man, can you not see it is a lost cause? The boy is Athena's and Spiridon's, as well as his siblings." Anton scowled at Voldemort, slitting his eyes at something other than his companion. The fire swayed in his shiny orbs, piercing through Voldemort and past the room.

"He is my heir. My firstborn. If she shall not agree, all of her offspring with that sickening excuse for a Celestial shall suffer and die. That boy is no more Smythe's child than he is Ares'." The prince spat scornfully. The leader of the Death Eaters shook his head slowly before steering the topic away.

"Ah, how is our belligerent Being of War?"

"As well as can be expected, despite the disconnection of marriage." The man spoke bitterly, but smiled stubbornly. "Yet he is finding solace in the arms of another." Anton twirled an inky lock of grungy hair around his bronze finger. Voldemort leered, his depraved smile stretching across his serpentine face tightly.

"Peitho?"

Anton grinned wickedly and nodded. "Of course." The dark lord's red eyes positively glowed with reminiscence.

"My, she does get around."

"Mm. It is amazing she hasn't been with child by you already." Voldemort tapped his temple with two fingers, raising an invisible eyebrow.

"Wizarding knowledge, dear friend. Wizarding knowledge."

"So it does extend beyond your loins." The dark wizard frowned slightly, crossing his legs firmly.

"We are getting off the subject." He altered again, his eyes now hardening. Anton sensed the change of air and demeanor, and quickly fell into his business tone.

"Your…servant came to me with the proposition, in which I readily accepted. However, great Voldemort, I have not been in possession of these weapons." Anton enlightened, twisting the fur of his shawl between his thumb and index finger. "I myself believed these weapons to be myth as they were labeled on Olympus." Voldemort contracted his eyes.

"Yet, they aren't."

"You've asked me to go on a hunt for these imaginary weapons of power, friend. It's taken months and months of work to find out if they are even in existence." The impatient Voldemort leaned forward a bit.

"And?" The visitor sighed, glancing to the dusty floor then back to the blood-red eyes.

"It will be nearly impossible to get them now. The last I was informed, the Axial Battalion was in possession of them." He answered. "So the museums were a dead loss. You're getting quite slipshod, good friend."

"They are undoubtedly in the hands of its general, then." The Celestial's eyes toughened, and he gritted his teeth.

"Naturally. Or its blood owner." Voldemort nodded, steeping his fingers before his face.

"Where is the least likely place he would place it?"

Anton was seething in the chair across from Voldemort, making the fire waver slightly in his radiating anger. "In the hands of the least capable person. He would place it with a close friend or mentor." The dark man growled, staring at a mental depiction in disgust.

"Dumbledore."

"Exactly." Anton replied, leaning in his seat more. "The question is, where would the old fool put it?"

"In the safest place possible." Voldemort leered, flighty with glee. "The school."

"I guess you are not so rusty after all, friend." Both men chuckled to themselves, evil, cold, high laughter, plotting more of the capture of the weapons. "Dumbledore will undoubtedly tell others he deeply trusts about the whereabouts of the weapons. Especially protectors. Non-humans." The dark wizard nodded, considering their options.

"I will send my men to the forest to gather information by any means necessary." He organized. "And my spy and youngsters within the school can inform me of any breakthroughs." Anton frowned quirking his head to the side.

"Is he true?"

"Of the truest." Voldemort defended. "Do you not trust my men, Mystikos?"

"You put your faith in men. Mine resides with my Legion members." He asserted. The evil sorcerer agreed, settling into his armchair with his steepled fingers. A deep smirk set in his tight face, as his eyes flitted to his acquaintance.

"At last," he breathily began. "The Ravenstone Scepter and the Sword of Amenophus will be in my grasp."

oooooooooooooo

---

A/N: Revised chapter.

Chapter Fourteen Clues:

1). Hogsmeade and Padfoot's appearance.

2). The Masquerade Ball begins.

3). The others start to inquire about the weapons (aren't you glad they have names now?).