Chapter 14

Potter's Ploy

The days between Harry and the match seemed to dwindle much faster than he would have liked. He felt a sense of duty toward Hermione and their research. But his fear of losing at Quidditch made it increasingly harder to balance his time reading with Hermione and flying with Ron. Despite his efforts, he found himself more and more often on a broom, and less and less often with his nose in a book. He assuaged his guilty conscience with promises that he would focus on the research once the match was over. But, deep down, he knew it wouldn't be that easy.

Suddenly, the day had arrived, and he was sitting in the Cannons locker room, thinking. Ron sat beside him, brooding. After several moments' silence, Ron said thoughtfully, "Harry, I'm starting to wonder whether I really ought to be here or not. I mean, I made it onto the team, but with all that happened, it was a fluke, wasn't it? It's a fluke I ended up here."

"Does it matter?" Harry asked in surprise. He had expected Ron to have second thoughts, but to have these concerns launched at him…

"Of course it matters!" Ron said, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. "If people ask me how I ended up as a Cannon, I can't say it was my skills, can I? Because it wasn't…it was chance, mostly. And if I say that, imagine what people will be saying about me. 'He didn't really deserve to be on that team, it was just pure luck!'"

"Er…" Harry said, trying to think of a way to both comfort Ron and be truthful at the same time. "How about we don't worry about that right now? If no one says anything, we'll wait until after the match, when you've proven you should be on this team." Harry stopped, hoping he wouldn't have to say any more.

"Yeah," muttered Ron without conviction. "Maybe." He was silent for a couple moments, before sighing deeply. He stood up and wandered over to one wall, where a long, one-way window showed the milling throng of spectators streaming along the broad hall. He stared through. "Blimey!" he said in wonder. "Look at them come!" He turned toward Harry. "Come and look!"

Harry really wasn't in the mood for observing the crowd, but he didn't want Ron to be put out with him, so he stood and walked over, joining Ron in gazing through the pane of glass. Hundreds were pouring in, it seemed like…

"So many," Ron breathed. He glanced sideways. "What d'you think, Harry? As many as the World Cup?"

Harry shrugged and muttered, "Could be."

But Ron was no longer paying attention. "Hey," he said. "I think that's George!"

Harry scanned the throng, but didn't see anything. "Are you sure-?" he began, and then noticed Ron was no longer beside him. Looking around, Harry saw Ron striding toward the locker room door. "C'mon," Ron tossed over his shoulder, and Harry hastened to catch up to him. He reached the door in time to slip past, plunging after Ron into the crowd. Standing up to peer over the many heads around him, Harry glimpsed a spot of fire, and another spot making it's way toward it. He hurried, and finally manged to reach George.

"Ah," yelled George upon catching sight of him. "There he is!" He threw his arm around Harry's shoulders, then asked, 'So, how does it feel to go from whiz-on-a-broom to professional flier?"

"Not much different" Harry said.

"Rubbish," George said, smiling. "Nerves would be in order. You're a bloody brilliant Seeker, granted, but Krum's a fair match."

Harry blinked. "It isn't important."

George groaned. "And here I thought we had you bloody well trained!"

Shrugging, Harry said, "I'll take what comes."

"A healthy attitude, Harry," commented Mrs. Weasley, and answered George's scowl with one of her own. "After all, it's just a game."

" 'Just a game'," George echoed softly enough that only Harry heard. He caught Harry's glance and rolled his eyes, turning his head slightly so Mrs. Weasley wouldn't see

"And what about me?" asked Ron. George turned to him.

"What about you?" he responded. Ron's face darkened.

"I was a good player, wasn't I?"

"Hell yes," he answered, winking at Harry. "Kept playing at being a Keeper. Disgrace astride a wooden stick, more like."

"I helped win the Cup in fifth year!" protested Ron indignantly.

" And bloodied a girl's face, if I remember correctly." George smirked.

"That was an accident!" Ron snapped, his ears red.

"Easy, brother, I'm only fooling with you," George said calmly, patting Ron's shoulder. Ron looked as though he wanted to throw George's hand back at him, but held still, albeit stiffly. Instead, he looked at his mother. "Mum," he asked, "Where's Bill and Charlie?"

"Playing hooky," George said, ignoring Mrs. Weasley's scathing look. She paused, then answered Ron's question.

"Charlie was injured on the job. A dragon went into a rage, almost killing three of his colleagues. As for Bill," she sighed, "Bill is dealing with some troublesome goblins."

"What d'you mean?" inquired Ron, frowning.

"Oh, it was just a misunderstanding-" she began, but George said loudly, "A couple goblins got in a tussle, and he just had to run off and settle things down. He's still tied up, negotiating."

"A dragon got angry?" asked Hermione, looking worried. "Why?"

"Dunno," replied George. "Can't see that it matters. Temperamental, those beasts. But still, he didn't look too bad, considering."

"What, you saw him?" Ron said.

" 'course we did," George replied. "Can't expect me not to visit a wounded brother. Although..."

"George..." Mrs. Weasley said wearily, but George talked over her. "All I'm saying is it would take more than a handful of nurses and a few burns and a whacked leg to keep me from Harry and Ron's first match."

"Don't start, George," she snarled. George cringed. "Charlie is in no condition to be up and about! And Bill needs to do whatever it takes to get out of his bind safely! It's a very irresponsible attitude you have right now!"

"All right, all right, keep your hair on!" George muttered. Ron glanced uneasily at his mother, then turned to Harry. "Think the rest of the team is here by now?" he said to Harry, who shrugged.

"Speaking of which," said George, peering around across the hall, ,"If they were here, where would they be?"

"Er," Harry answered uncertainly, "Locker room, maybe?" It suddenly occurred to him what George was up to. "You're not going to-?"

"Why not?" responded George airily. "Might not get another chance. Once the Cannons win a few games, they'll be on the way to the top, and security will only get tighter. Better to strike while there's only one guard. I assume that is the guard?" he said, nodding to the wizard standing behind an apparent ly bare stretch of wall. Only the members of the Chudley Cannons could see the door, Harry knew, and was wondering how to get George through when George touched his hand and said, "Take my hand, Harry, and guide me." No sooner had Harry done so than the guard stepped forward.

"Sorry," he said. "Cannon players only."

Harry looked at him and opened his mouth, but George spoke out of the side of his mouth, "Allow me," and he approached the guard.

"Say," he said, as he got close, his eyes widening, "aren't you Barry Milmeiger?"

The guard frowned. "Er, no-"

George interrupted him. "Barry! Never thought I'd actually meet you!" He grasped the very befuddled guard's hand, and Harry rather thought he saw George using this maneuver to press a small but bulky pouch into the guard's palm. "A hard job, but it has its rewards, if you know what I mean." He winked at the guard. "By the way, do you have time?" George glanced at his own wrist, then looked at the guard, who was peering at the back of his hand, although his eyes kept darting from his wrist to his fingers.

Harry shot George a questioning glance, and he murmured, "A ruse that allows him a good look at how much I gave him. It's an added bonus if his watch is in his pocket, because that allows him to stow away the gold without arousing suspicion." He looked back at the guard, who smiled and gave him a confident nod. Without further ado, Harry seized George's elbow and pulled him to the door. Pushing it up, he nudged George through, and waited as Ron passed as well. Then he stepped inside and looked around. It looked as the the entire team was there. Harry watched as Zach Draeli slowly rose and walked toward them.

"Well," he said, eyeing George, who gazed at him evenly. "Looks like someone got lost and wandered in here." He raised a hand and pointed to the door. "That's the way out."

George didn't move, and Zach's eyes narrowed. He reached out again, this time to push George, but George put up a hand. "Isn't your cousin Ethan Gyber?" he asked, and Zach stopped, looking puzzled.

"Yeah," he said suspiciously. "What of it?"

"How'd that Sewage-Spill Soap work out for him?" George asked, causing Zach to blink and squint at him, re-evaluating. "Custom-made, it was. A pretty good bit of work. Did it take care of that bloke who was getting on his nerves?"

"You...you're George? George Weasley?" Zach asked in return, and when George nodded, he grabbed him by the shoulders and exclaimed, "It worked brilliantly! Now, whenever Gary sees Ethan, he fairly sprints the other way!" He roared with laughter, then whirled to face the other team members. "Mates," he announced, "this is George Weasley. He's a friend of mine." He turned back to George. "Want some autographs?" he asked, and the Cannons crowded around him. Harry watched, until the door burst open and Abe Flebble walked in, examining a sheaf of parchment in his hand. He looked up.

"Who the bloody hell are you?" he snapped. "And what the bloody hell are you doing in here?"

Zach beamed, saying, "This is my friend, George Weasley."

Flebble glared at George, who smiled back innocently. "Friend, eh?" growled the captain. "Be that as it may, you are not wearing Cannons robes, and I sure as hell don't remember hiring you to play on this team. Therefore, you don't belong in here. Get out, before I have the guard come in and forcibly remove you!" He waved his free hand toward the door.

George sighed and approached the door. "Don't be a stranger! You're welcome to come see me any time!" called Zach, and George replied, "I'll remember that." He looked around at Harry. "See you later." And he walked out.

Flebble scowled after him, then riffled through the parchment in his hand. "Blast it!" he muttered. "I'm missing the..." He looked around. "I'd better not comeback and find that flame-haired rascal in my locker room."

"Don't worry, Abe," answered Zach. "You won't."

"Right," murmured Abe, and he left.

There were a few moments silence. Then: "So, Ron, do you plan on staying long?"

"Er, I guess," Ron said uncertainly. "Why?"

"We were hoping," Andrew Gach said slowly, "that you would stay on a while. When you're here, we actually stand a chance of winning."

"Yeah," Ron murmured, "you don't want to end up at the bottom of the League again, do you?"

"There's a reason for that, you know," Zach remarked quietly.

"Yeah?" replied Ron, raising an eyebrow.

"Well, it's based on money. We get these really shoddy players, right? And we train them. Then, when they get to be fairly decent, othe teams buy them off. And no way we can keep them. After all, we don't pay enough, because we don't have enough gold, and because we don't have enough gold, we can't bind them with contracts."

He leaned forward. "Now, since we don't pay a lot, we can only hope you both will stay here. And face it, the reason you're here," he pointed at Harry, "is because he's here." He pointed at Ron.

"Well," Ron said slowly, "I don't think I'm going anywhere. As I've said before, you're my favorite team."

Zach smiled. "Good." He pulled out a grubby bag and drew from it an old Quaffle. "Time to practice!"

The Quaffle spun from player to player, with Harry watching in amazement. The dexterity with which they handled the aged ball stunned him. Zach caught him satring and smiled. "Good, eh?"

Harry nodded, then asked, "If you guys are so good ad that, then how come you keep losing?"

Zach frowned. "Well, then other teams are usually better, and we haven't had a decent Seeker in years." He looked sharply at Harry. "That's why we need you."

Harry nodded. Zach gazed at the Quaffle bobbing along from hand to hand. Harry looked at it, and was startled by a little ball darting past him. He was caught way off guard, but somehow, his hand manged to zoom out and snag the orb with his fingertips. He held it up, examining it in confusion. "Nice one, Harry," said Zach appreciatively. "None of the other Seekers got it on their first try. I think you really will do well at this match."

Flebble appeared. "Game in five," he called, then entered his office. "All right," yelled Zach. "You heard him. Get dressed, so we can get this game on!"

The team immediately donned their robes, and soon, they were lined up before a pair of double doors. "AND NOW," came the announcer's voice, "THE CHUDLEY CANNONS!"

Their names were called out, and they swooped out, lapping the field before landing in a line at the center. Directly opposite, ten feet away, stood the Bulgarian team. Krum looked at Harry, but said nothing. "THE REFEREE FOR THIS MATCH," yelled the wizard commenting on the game, "WILL BE JOHN LOOF!"

Loof looked at both teams sternly. "Now," he said, "I want a good game. Play fairly, but competitively."

One of the Cannons Chasers, Lenny Krane, muttered, "Now there's a pair of opposites, eh?" The the players standing on either side of him chuckled softly. Loof glared at him, then said, "Up and away!"

As Harry mounted, he watched Loof toss the Quaffle up, then kick off into the air, allowing the box to open, releasing the Bludgers and Snitch. For just an instant, Harry glimpsed the spot of gold; a second later, it vanished. I'll find it soon enough, Harry thought.

Harry took off and rose quickly, scanning the field. Glancing behind him, he spotted Krum soaring a bit above and behind him. Come on, leave me alone, Harry thought, and a moment later, krum turned and flew in the other direction. Harry pulled up on his broom handle, causing the broom to rise. No sooner had he done so than a knot of Chasers came hurtling toward him. Why in the world are they way up here? wondered Harry as he veered away. He cut across the field diagonally, and circled the goal hoops supported on long poles. He darted through one hoop, then spun and flew through another, before turning and...he saw, floating a couple feet ahead of him, the Snitch. Harry practically flung himself forward, but there was a whistling sound. To Harry's astonishment, and utter and complete anger, a Bludger shot in front of him, and was gone, the Snitch with it. Wanting to escape that infuriating moment, Harry pulled up, skyrocketing. He was a fair distance above the field when he finally slowed to a halt. Abruptly, a voice caught his attention.

"That vos very unfair to you, Potter," the voice said, and Harry whirled his broom around to face...Krum. "You have my sympathies."

Harry wanted to say that he didn't need Krum's sympathy, but felt it would be a childish thing to say. Instead, he made a better comment. "Er, thanks."

"It vos one of my Beaters," Krum continued, his gaze wandering toward a nearby Chaser. "If he were on a different team, I vood have one of my own pay him in kind. However, he is one of my own. And in any case, two wrongs rarely make one right, and an action done in anger is one best left undone. My father taught me that."

"Your father is smart," Harry replied, and it occurred to him that, opponent or not, Krum was a smart, strong, and very skilled person. One worth knowing. Before he knew it, he was speaking.

"We should get together sometime and have a butterbeer," Harry said, and Krum nodded. "Yes, ve should."

Harry decided that he had said enough, and he turned and flew away. Cutting across the field, Harry swooped down, and was just turning to go back across when he heard the spectators give a collective gasp. Looking around, he noticed Krum speeding toward him...and, about fifty feet in front of Harry, the Snitch. Harry leaned forward, and his broom zoomed toward the tiny golden ball. Krum was so close, and Harry was so far away...They hurtled toward each other, and as they drew near, Harry realized they were going to collide, and hoped that Krum would swerve. Almost there...

With a jarring jolt, they slammed together, trapping the Snitch between their bodies. Harry's broom slid along Krum's, and Krum shifted his leg so it wrapped around Harry's as well as his own, locking the two brooms together. Their combined weight caused them to plummet, but Harry ignored the falling and focused on the Snitch. He attempted to squirm his hand to the golden ball, but their chests were too tightly mashed together. He struggled to reach the Snitch, and Krum said, "You want the Snitch? Then have it!"

Harry felt a round object dart into his hand, felt a feathery brush, and he grinned triumphantly. Drawing back, he pumped his fist into the air. There was a roar from the crowd. Then the announcer cried out, "I don't believe it! He's waving that fake like it's the real thing! It's a...a Potter's Ploy!"

Krum thrust his hand skyward, and Harry saw a pair of wings protruding from Krum's clenched fingers. Enraged, Harry shouted, 'You lied to me! You lied! That isn't fair!"

Krum looked down at him, his eyes blank. "But, Potter, hasn't anyone told you? Life isn't fair. Never was, and never will be!"

Harry stared at him. "You lied."

Krum smiled. "Nap time!"

And Harry felt like the fist of a giant had struck him with full force. He crumpled, barely registering the brutal weight of Krum landing on top of him. The announcer was speaking again, but his words echoed meaninglessly in Harry's ears, as Harry mentally continued to drop, falling gratefully into a great inky darkness, which swallowed him as completely as though he had never even been there.

And he was gone.

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