.

Part 3: A Cup of Coffee

Episode III

Lupin blinked. "Well," He stated eventually, sounding quite dry. "That was unusual."

Harry shot him a look that could've made the Gobi Desert seem moist. "You think?"

"…You wouldn't happen to be a Dark Lord in training, would you?"

"I'd be learning to control Dementors instead of chasing them away, wouldn't I?"

"Point, I suppose."

"…What the hell was that thing, anyway?"

"If I knew, I'd have told you."

Oo0oO

A couple of minutes earlier…

"Hey, you're actually on time today."

Lupin smiled at Harry, who was leaning against one of the various desks scattered across the classroom. "Quite. I'm just as curious as you are, to be honest – I've never seen anyone else, save for Professor Dumbledore, perform the Patronus Charm, let alone learn how to do it."

"Well, no time like the present, right?" Harry took out his wand, but before he could cast, Professor Lupin interrupted.

"Hold on, Harry. What were you thinking of when you cast the Patronus during the match, Saturday? It's quite a personal question, so feel free to refrain from answering if it's something personal, but –"

Harry completely ignored the rambling Professor, and looked up, trying to recall. "I don't think it was a memory, honestly." Harry admitted, cutting straight across Lupin's apologies. "I didn't really have time to recall a specific scene. I suppose it was more just the – I don't know – butterflies in your stomach thing, which I always get around Hermione."

"Ah." Lupin said even as he blinked in surprise, suddenly quite eloquent. "Well – see if you can summon that feeling, and if you can't, just try to remember it, try to grip it. Imagine kissing Hermione, if it helps." Harry nodded, facing the door to the classroom, which was largely empty of desks, and brought up his wand.

"Expecto Patronum!" He yelled, and his wand erupted into bright light – it didn't shift into a wall immediately, and briefly, Harry felt like it was going to work on his first try – but then, the mist spread out again into a familiar wall, and with a pout, he cut off the spell, turning back to Lupin, who was watching with a raised eyebrow.

"If you did this on your first try, I'd have had you skip the rest of Hogwarts and head over to the University of Defence in Prague immediately as the youngest student in the history of the school." He motioned to Harry's wand. "Go on, try again."

"Fine." Harry might've sounded whiny even to his own ears, but he had the right to; he'd been able to do it perfectly well on Saturday when he wasn't even thinking about it, but now, when he was deliberately trying to do the same thing, he couldn't, even though he was actually trying to.

He turned back to the door of the classroom, and raised his wand, much like before, trying to recall the feeling of Hermione's lips on his, the way he felt as she laid with him in one of the common room's loveseats, her intoxicating scent as she propped her head under his after showering – "Expecto Patronum!"

At once, the room was bathed in a bright light, filling every nook and cranny with silver, almost holy light. A massive silvery-white form burst from the tip of Harry's wand, soaring through the air, coming to a stop a few feet from them with four soft clacks of hooves against wood.

The first thing Harry thought of when seeing the form of his Patronus was a Pegasus, a simple horse with wings. But that theory was discarded just as quickly, as his eyes were drawn to the gaunt, skeleton-like body, with countable ribs and a distinct breastbone, and to the equally gaunt, almost reptilian face, where a pair of bright, intelligent eyes shone out from their sockets, staring unblinkingly at them as it moved up to Harry for him to pet it.

But perhaps the most unusual part about his Patronus was that it was black. Sure, it was distinctly outlined in the familiar silvery-white stuff Harry's earlier barriers had been made out of, and the soft, wispy, unnatural feel of its skin reminded Harry that it was most definitely a Patronus and not an actual animal he'd summoned on accident, but its body was, for the most part, made out of an almost malignant-looking black, that shifted and curled around itself restlessly, like a snake waiting to strike.

Then, Harry's Patronus dissipated, and wisps of black and silvery-white smoke drifted apart from one another, scattering themselves around the room before dissipating into nothingness themselves, bathing the room in its gloomy candlelight once more.

Oo0oO

The Headmaster blinked. "Well," He stated eventually, sounding quite dry. "That was unusual."

Harry snorted, grinning, and Lupin barely managed to stop himself from inhaling tea up his nose, coughing loudly instead. Dumbledore shot them a curious look, but didn't comment, turning to his bookcase instead. "That creature was a Thestral, a breed of winged horses often associated mainly with highly inconvenient things, such as death, and horrible diseases." Harry and Lupin shared a bemused look. 'Highly inconvenient'? "This is because one is only able to see them after witnessing death, and accepting it."

Professor Lupin sucked in a breath, and Harry raised both eyebrows. "But – I've never seen anyone die. I mean, I sometimes have vague nightmares of the night my parents died, but all those involve is some kind of green flash, and there was Dudley's tortoise when I was eight that he accidently sat on and squished up his – er – dark side of the moon, so to speak, and it had to be surgically removed, but apart from that –"

"'Dark side of the moon?'" Dumbledore asked amusedly, and Harry flushed slightly. The Headmaster shook his head, still sifting through his miniature library. "No matter. It had to be something or someone you are emotionally attached to, not a friend or family member's pet, or even your parents; at one years old, you don't have a good enough perception of the world around you to fully grasp the situation – ah, here we go."

Dumbledore returned to the table with a thick tome in his arms, which he dumped on the table. Then, he took out his wand, and made a swish often associated with charms. "Invenit Thestral." He incanted, glancing up at Harry as the book automatically started leafing through its pages. "Quite the handy spell." He commented. "You can use it to find any word in a book – to find a sentence, you can use Invenimus instead. Saves one a lot of time when looking for something elusive – for example, references on Flamel's work, which is generally quite obscure." Dumbledore's twinkly eyes revealed that he knew exactly why Harry and his friends had spent so much time in the library in their first year, and mentally, Harry cursed omniscient old codgers for knowing everything that goes on in their schools.

As if he was reading his mind, the Headmaster's eyes started twinkling even brighter, which Harry hadn't even thought possible, but their attention was drawn to the book when it suddenly stopped leafing and laid open at two pages. "There we are." Dumbledore said pleasantly, pushing his half-moon glasses a little further up his nose as he trailed one finger along the text. "Let's see… Visible by those that have seen death, yes, we know… Omens of death, my – ahem – dark side of the moon…" He cast an amused glance at Harry, who flushed – "Skeletal appearance? I wouldn't have guessed… ah, here we go. Because of its close ties to death, none shall ever feel truly comfortable with a Thestral, despite their good intentions. This, oftentimes, comes unbidden to the human; there is an aura around any Thestral, even young foals, though theirs might be less strong, that makes them feel almost claustrophobic, and causes chills to crawl up their spine. It is therefore impossible, even for Dark Lords that revel in mass-genocide, to have a Thestral as Patronus."

Harry's eyebrows were raised into his hairline, and Lupin was now actually choking on his tea. "So, my boy," Dumbledore clasped his hands in front of him, letting them fall atop the book as he peered at Harry, "why have you – once more – done the impossible, and is your Patronus a Thestral?"

Oo0oO

Unfortunately, nobody had an answer. Dumbledore had several theories he was unwilling to share, but he told them that they were for the most part even more unlikely than Harry being an actual genocide-addicted Dark Lord, so there wasn't really a point – unless, the Headmaster had added slyly, Harry was an actual genocide-addicted Dark Lord, but Harry had decided that the barmy old coot didn't have anything else to say at that point and excused himself.

On a less depressing point, Hermione had apologised for letting herself get dragged off by the Patils and Fay that Saturday and leaving Harry all alone by himself with his equally lonely friends, but she promised to make it up to him on their next date, which basically meant the next Hogsmeade weekend. Harry, of course, had pouted, having been hoping for something a bit sooner, and Hermione had smiled cutely, glanced around biting her lip like she was about to do something extremely naughty, and promptly gave him a mouth full of tongue.

Patronus fuel? Hell yeah.

March came and went quickly, and with it passed Ron's fourteenth birthday and quite a few gifts that went the redhead's way. Harry's hair turned from bright blue to dark green and into a dark crimson as March zipped by like a Snitch on steroids, before the metaphorical Seeker put a stop to its hyper game when the Easter Holidays arrived, and everything suddenly slowed to a painfully slow crawl.

"Holidays are meant to be relaxing!" Dean's displeasure on the matter was quite clear. "What are those idiots doing, assigning twenty-four inches of homework AND EXPECTING US TO BE ABLE TO FINISH IT WITHIN A WEEK WHEN EVERYONE DOES!" Apparently, other than being able to draw beautifully, Dean had a talent for bursting eardrums as well.

Harry, meanwhile, had the dubious pleasure of having Quidditch practice six days of the week, tactics discussions on the seventh, and having to fit his mountainous stack of homework in between that and Hermione, who, in Harry's opinion, warranted just as much attention as Quidditch and homework did. Hermione's stance was, of course, quite obvious – "Oh honestly, Harry! Homework first. Fun can come later." – which didn't really make things any easier, because Harry now had to spend just as much time convincing Hermione that, no, homework could come later, and yes, it was more important to snuggle up with your boyfriend every now and then so they don't go completely nutters from the working.

Well – the assessment that Harry was going nutters from just the homework was perhaps a tad bit unfair. Oliver was, really, putting just as much pressure on Harry, to the point of memorising his schedule and trailing him between classes in order to 'inspire confidence' into him – again, note the quotation marks.

"If Diggory catches the Snitch while they're seventy points behind, they'll still win. Any more than that, and they're done – you'll be able to break off to start looking for the Snitch. You got that, Harry? Only break off when we're eighty points in front, or we'll lose the Cup. If we go below that again, you'll need to break back in. You've got it, haven't you? If you break off before we're –"

"SHUT UP, OLIVER!" Harry yelled as he slipped into the Ancient Runes classroom, shutting the door behind him as soon as he entered. "I'm sorry I'm late, Professor Babbling." He apologised, heading over to his usual spot next to Hermione. "There's a homicidal maniac after my head."

"What?" Babbling stood up, looking quite panicked. "Black's here? The classroom's warded for silence should a rune go awry and blow, but it won't protect against anything else –"

"No, not Black. Oliver." Harry shrugged. "I think I'd prefer Black, though."

Seamus sniggered.

Oo0oO

The third match – against Hufflepuff – was coming up the Saturday after the holidays, and tensions were at an all-time high. Hufflepuff's team was good, arguably as good as Gryffindor's would have been without their fourth Chaser, and Oliver was careful – annoying – enough to send an entire squad of enthusiastic Gryffindors with him wherever he went, to protect Harry and the Firebolt much like they had before the match against Ravenclaw.

As an added security measure, the Goblins that were stationed outside the Fat Lady's portrait had been shoved a bit of gold to stop anyone that wasn't Harry that left the common room with a shiny silver broom, and a pair of seventh-years had become an honour guard outside the third-years' dorm to prevent possible thieves from entering and nicking the priceless broom for Hufflepuff who, despite their friendly reputation, probably wouldn't be averse to stealing it for themselves.

That Saturday, Harry and the rest of the Gryffindor team entered the Great Hall to tremendous applause. Harry's usual two seventh-year guards were there with the team, as well, to deter any would-be last minute attackers, but the rest of Gryffindor was sitting at their table, clapping and cheering loudly. Half of Ravenclaw was clapping along, too; the rest, however, was booing, and calling out a great plethora of creative insults. Hufflepuff and Slytherin were doing the same, though far be it for the Slytherins to support the 'Puffs; they were simply against everyone, and would probably prefer if anyone suddenly suffered a mass aneurysm and fainted a few hundred feet in the air, becoming pancakes on the field below.

Though their entry was spectacular, the Gryffindors could hardly stuff food down their throats. Wood spent the entire breakfast sipping down one glass of water, and didn't manage to get more than half of it done, the twins shared a miniature bagel that didn't get finished, and Harry barely managed to choke down a glass of orange juice. Alicia somehow munched down the quarter of a sandwich, though Angelina and Katie didn't even try and just sat there, discussing tactics, and Ron was trying to force everything they had managed to gulp down back up by scarfing down entire plates of English Breakfast at a frightening rate.

Around halfway through breakfast, Oliver excused himself to go test the weather conditions, and the Twins left soon after to help; Harry and the Chasers were originally planning to stay until the end of breakfast, but when Ron gulped down a chicken leg, two handfuls – yes, handfuls, because cutlery was apparently so 1993 – of brown beans, and a piece of bacon, and washed it away in one go with an entire goblet of pumpkin juice, it was unanimously decided that it was high time to go.

"Alright," Oliver was muttering when they walked onto the pitch, "Our soil's rather hard, that's good for a nice start – how's it looking on your end, Fred, George?"

"A little moist!" Fred called back from the Hufflepuff side of the field. "Not muddy, but –"

"That'll give us a good kick off, very well." Oliver nodded to himself, motioning the Twins back over. "We'll open into a Parkinson, maybe an Irv leading into the Kruger – get that first shot in before they can do anything, but it'll leave us open to an offensive Swap –"

"Oliver?" Angelina sounded quite amused. "Aren't you taking this a bit too seriously? It's just a game. An important one, for sure, but still just a game."

"But it's not to Oliver, is it?" Alicia answered for their Captain, smiling a little. "To Oliver, it's his last chance to show that he can play, that he should be taken in by one of the big Quidditch teams. There'll undoubtedly be some scouts here – there always are, when there's two good teams playing – and if Oliver doesn't use this, then it's going to be Quidditch Camp, and hoping that someone worthwhile shows up. Right, Oliver?"

"Exactly." Wood nodded, standing up from his crouch. "If I don't show what I have now, if we screw this up, I'll probably be taken in by one of the minor leaguers, for sure, but they're mostly hobbyists. I want to become a professional Keeper, and hobbyists are never motivated – or well-funded – enough to join in with the major league. Other slots – Seekers, Chasers, even Beaters – have it rather easy." The rest of the team frowned at this, but Oliver ploughed through with his argument. "As any other player, you can go looking for opportunities to shine. Doing a Wronski Feint, making some difficult manoeuvre, getting some advanced team-play in, seeking out Bludgers – all a Keeper can do is wait, and hope that someone makes some kind of difficult shot at the goal that you're able to get."

"While I get what you're saying –" Harry interrupted, "I still think you're judging a bit unfairly. We don't go looking for those things, because they very often go wrong, and that's what makes us get noticed so easily. Face it, Oliver, everyone can catch a thrown ball on a broomstick." Oliver frowned. "Sure, they might never have a sliver of a chance against even a minor league hobbyist, but they can still do it. I don't think a three-year-old can pull of a Wronski, however, or hit a Bludger hard enough to send it away again."

"True, I suppose," Oliver allowed, "but that doesn't make being a Keeper any easier. I mean, if a three-year-old had –"

"–been where you are right now, he'd have been in his Quidditch robes already." Madam Hooch finished for Oliver, walking up to them. "Everyone's about to enter the stands, and I know for a fact that the Hufflepuff team is changing already. If I were you, I'd get off the field and change before you're supposed to play in pants. And Mr. Potter? You won't be needing your wand today." A small smile flickered across her face. "I daresay there aren't going to be any more Dementors on the pitch this time."

Harry flushed, fingering his wand in his pocket. "Yes, Madam Hooch."

The rest of the team, however, gaped. Madam Hooch had smiled. Madam Hooch had smiled. That didn't happen. Trelawney was a fraud, McGonagall couldn't be soft to anyone, and Madam Hooch didn't smile. These were commonly accepted facts of Hogwarts, though apparently just as much hogwash as Lockhart's ability as a teacher.

Suddenly, Katie wondered if she should watch out for a prophesy in her next Divination lesson, because who knew what could happen now.

Oo0oO

"And here they are, the Gryffindor Quidditch team!" Lee yelled enthusiastically as they walked onto the field. "Potter, Bell, Johnson, Spinnet, Weasley, Weasley, and Wood! Widely acknowledged as the best side Hogwarts has seen in a good few years –"

The rest of Lee's speech was drowned out by boos from the Hufflepuff side of Ravenclaw, Slytherin – who were just booing at everything – and Hufflepuff, who were all waving badger-covered banners. Where the Gryffindors and the other half of Ravenclaw was wearing and waving lion-themed paraphernalia, Slytherin was doing everything they could to insult either one. Snakes were killing lions and badgers all over a couple of seventh-years' banners, quite a few lower-years were holding a whole range of foam cheering hands with middle fingers raised, and in the air above Snape hung a massive animated banner that continuously showcased a badger butchering a lion.

"And here come the Hufflepuffs! That's Captain Diggory, up front – and there come Chasers Preece, Macavoy, and Applebee, Beaters O'Flaherty and Rickett, and that's Keeper Fleet, bringing up the rear. I don't know why you would want to have your names announced when you're called Applebee and O'Flaherty, but there you go." More boos, but Lee didn't seem to mind.

"Captains, shake hands!" Madam Hooch ordered sharply, all traces of earlier kindness gone; Diggory was amiable enough, but judging from his grimace, Oliver's grip was tight enough to nearly crush his hand. Whether that was deliberate or merely nerves, Harry couldn't tell, but Madam Hooch gave Wood a sharp warning glance regardless, much like their other official match, against Ravenclaw.

"Mount your brooms! Three, two, one –" Her sharp whistle was barely heard over the cheering crowd as Harry shot up and snagged the Quaffle right from under Preece's nose. Despite their earlier scepticism about how serious Oliver was taking the match, they still stuck to the plan, and Harry shot forward to the goal while the Chasers all circled the Keeper, Fleet, to prevent him from getting to the goals before Harry did. Before Hufflepuff – or the crowd – had even realised what was happening, Harry had dunked the Quaffle in one the goal, and a loud DING-DING-DING signalled the first score for Gryffindor.

Meanwhile, Lee hurried to catch up. "Oh dear lord, this is going fast – Harry takes the Quaffle and shoots forward while the Chasers hold back Fleet in an Irv, one of the classic opening moves of four-Chaser Quidditch play. However, Harry doesn't shoot but dunks, giving them five points instead of ten – what are you doing, Harry –"

One of the advantages of dunking the Quaffle was that the Keeper wasn't required to throw out after, you could just pick it up again and go for another score. But Fleet had already reached the goals, and was preventing Harry from throwing to score again. With a smirk, Harry threw the Quaffle over the goals, where Katie was already floating to catch it and chuck it right in the unprotected side of the goals.

"Very nicely done!" Lee said approvingly as the Gryffindor supporters roared in excitement, and the lion on Snape's banner ripped the badger it was fighting to shreds. "The Irv was smoothly transitioned into a Kruger, very rarely used because not many players are willing to take the risk of an interception, which is always very high near the enemy goals – Fleet throws out, and Hufflepuff is in possession."

And so the game continued. It was quite possibly the fastest-paced game at Hogwarts in living memory, and even Dumbledore, who had been at Hogwarts for most of his life, told Lee in an impromptu interview that he had trouble remembering another such outstanding game. Hufflepuff was getting left behind, yes, but that didn't mean they weren't putting up a magnificent fight along the way. Oliver got plenty of the difficult throws he'd been hoping for, and Harry honestly believed that had he not been playing as fourth Chaser, and had Oliver been even slightly less good, they would've been neck-and-neck. Fleet was one heck of a Keeper, too, when Gryffindor wasn't pulling weird stuff like the Kruger; almost all straight-up throws, he caught, and he was always there when someone tried to dunk. Not as good as Oliver, but he was up there, and in a few years, Harry honestly wouldn't be surprised to see him in the professional circuit.

"Gryffindor in possession!" Lee yelled enthusiastically. "Angelina shoots forward – a Bludger from O'Flaherty, defended by Weasley – Ouch! The other Bludger slams into Fred's back, he couldn't turn around in time – Fred slams into Angelina, who drops the Quaffle – Macavoy takes it, heads for the Gryffindor goals – Fred's Bludger from earlier is knocked towards Macavoy by George, and Macavoy passes to Preece – magnificent interception by Harry, back to Angelina – Katie accepts the pass but throws it right back as Rickett throws his bat hard enough to send the Bludger, still quite the ways away, flying towards her – yes, that's totally legal, Professor, an advanced tactic – Alicia, surprisingly, intercepts, and shoots right for the Hufflepuff goals – she hands it over to Harry, flying alongside her – and Harry swerves around the goalposts, circling back around to throw it in the leftmost goal from behind, which Fleet wasn't fast enough in guarding! That's fifty-five to twenty for Gryffindor! Hold on, has Diggory seen the Snitch?"

Diggory was diving to the ground as fast as his Nimbus would allow him to go, and Harry momentarily forgot to breathe when he saw a golden glint in front of his rival Seeker – without thinking, Harry shot down after Diggory, but he wasn't going fast enough, he was going to be too late – and Diggory caught the golden glint, which he immediately – began strapping to his arm?

"IT WAS A TRICK!" Lee yelled, completely outraged. "Diggory dropped his golden watch and made everyone think it was the Snitch! That dirty toe-sucking armpit-licking walking stain of pubic stench!"

"Jordan!" Professor McGonagall gasped. "We do not say such things here!"

"Yes, Jordan!" Diggory smirked, floating in front of the commentator's box. "Listen to your Professor for once!"

Lee scowled, and flipped him the bird. Diggory laughed as he shot off again, and Professor McGonagall fumed. "JORDAN!" She roared. "APOLOGISE, NOW!"

"It's not my fault he's being an ass." Lee snapped.

"He might, but that's no reason to – to – to raise your finger like that, especially in front of guests!"

"They're laughing, Professor! They don't mind, you're the only one that does!" Lee argued. There was a clearing of a throat in the background, and Dumbledore's voice rang through the mic.

"Lee, while I agree with you that Mister Diggory is being an ass, as you put it, that's no reason to become so vulgar. Kindly apologise, if you would."

"Fine." Lee scowled. "I'm sorry that you're such a prat, Diggory!"

"Very good." The Headmaster sounded pleased as he retreated from the mic, and didn't seem to mind that Lee had basically done nothing but insult the Hufflepuff Captain again.

Professor McGonagall hid her face in her hands. "Please, someone remind me why I'm still working here." She mumbled, even as Jordan picked up the commentary again.

"That's Hufflepuff in – no, Gryffindor in possession. Angelina passes to Katie, Katie to Fred, who hits the Quaffle with his bat, and sends it spiralling straight towards the Hufflepuff goals – Fleet stops the Quaffle, and sends it towards Applebee, but Katie intercepts and scores! That's – hold on – eighty to thirty for Gryffindor! Hufflepuff is getting left behind!"

However, much like a badger, Hufflepuff fought back valiantly now that they were pushed into a corner. Gryffindor's steps ahead slowed to a crawl as the enemy team began fighting back harder and harder to stay in the competition long enough for Diggory to catch the Snitch and win them the Cup, but the Snitch proved itself quite elusive, and it was, for a long time, nowhere to be found.

Applebee had just scored when it happened. Harry and Angelina were passing the ball between each other, swerving in and out of the way of the enemy Chasers, when Oliver's panicked yell reached their ears. "HARRY! THE SNITCH!"

Quickly, Harry scanned the pitch, and found Diggory all the way at the other side of the pitch, near the Hufflepuff stands. He was diving and in front of him was a golden glint, which was flickering from side to side and definitely not his golden watch. Harry glanced at the scoreboard, and his heart nearly stopped. 180-110. If Diggory caught the Snitch now, he'd have won Hufflepuff the Cup. And he'd never reach Diggory in time…

"Alicia!" Harry called, seeing only one solution. "On me! Now!" Alicia, who had just received the Quaffle from Angelina, didn't question it, and threw the Quaffle his way. The only reason any one of them would demand the Quaffle was because they had a plan.

Harry caught the Quaffle, and laid flat against his broom, shooting off as fast as he could towards the Hufflepuff goals. Diggory was nearly upon the Snitch now, and this, while incredibly stupid, was the only thing that would still give them the victory.

"What's he doing?" Lee's confused voice rang through the pitch. "Oh – no, Harry, don't, you bloody idiot!"

Harry wasn't listening, however, and curled himself into a small, tight ball as he shot straight at Fleet, who was guarding one of the goals. With a surprised curse, Fleet moved aside, not willing to get impaled on the tip of Harry's Firebolt, and Harry tried to make himself smaller, a tiny ball that would fit through the small Quidditch goals.

The idea of a Kamikaze, as the move was called, originated from when dunking wasn't a thing yet. The idea was that you shot off at the enemy Keeper as fast as you could, and tried to fit through the goal with the Quaffle. Considering that the goal was made to be two Quaffles wide and high, it was understandable why it was nearly banned. Ultimately, it wasn't, because nobody was ever crazy enough to use it anyways. Nobody, that is, until Harry came along.

It nearly went wrong. Harry felt the tips of his hair brush the top of the ring, and his toe would have a bruise for weeks as it caught the edge of the – thankfully padded – bottom. The crowd gasped loudly, and Lee and Professor McGonagall both cursed into the mic, but Harry didn't notice, because all that reached his ears was Madam Hooch's whistle, and his own doubts on whether his goal was within the time. Even the scoreboard didn't know what to do, as it let out a single, confused Ding, almost like a question. The lion and badger on Snape's banner stilled, sitting patiently for the first time in the match as they waited for the verdict.

"…Hold on, people." Lee sounded just as confused as the rest of them. "We need to discuss for a minute. Did anyone actually see what happened?" His voice moved further away from the mic, and though everyone could still hear it, it wasn't nearly as clear as before. "I mean, Harry pulled a Kamikaze and Diggory caught the Snitch, I know that much, but –" He quieted, apparently listening to other people in the commentator's box. Harry pulled up alongside Fred and George, around halfway along the field, who both glanced at him, and their lips quirked upwards briefly before their attention was drawn to Lee again.

"…Really?" Lee's voice sounded confused. "But, I thought –" Someone else spoke, too far away for the crowd to be able to discern what he was saying. "Oh. Oh. Oh!" Lee's grin was audible as he turned back to the mic, and Harry waited with bated breath, waiting to hear Lee say that they'd won, that Diggory had been too late –

But Lee turned away from the mic again, and Harry sagged on his broom. "I hate to do this, but I'll need to see it for myself. Rules, and all that annoying nonsense." It was quiet for a second. "Thanks. Let me see… Yup, it's fine. Alright!" Lee turned back to the mic, and Harry glanced at Fred and George, who were both just as tense as he was.

"It was, of course, quite difficult to discern who won, and we may never have figured it out without the guests that are here today." Lee announced. "I – er – inspected the evidence, because I really didn't just pretend that I did to get it over with," Harry, Fred, and George snorted in unison, "and came to a conclusion. For those unaware, Harry's move was, in fact, perfectly legal, and would bump Gryffindor five points above Hufflepuff in the general rankings, giving them the cup.

"So, it is hereby my pleasure to announce that, after a losing streak of more than half a decade, the win goes to –" Lee paused for a second, letting the anticipation build up – "GRYFFINDOR!"

There was a single second of brief, disbelieving silence. Then, the stadium exploded into noise. Fred and George both pulled Harry into a tight hug, making him feel like his ribs were about to crack as they laughed, and it was only a brief second before the rest of the team joined them, laughing just as hard. Oliver was crying, babbling something along the lines of "We did it!" over and over, and Harry himself felt like Black himself could come and crash the party right then, and he wouldn't even care. The Gryffindors and Ravenclaws, whatever their previous allegiance might have been, were all clapping and roaring loudly, and even Hufflepuff joined in, too ecstatic about the amazing game to care that they had lost. Slytherin was, of course, booing, but couldn't be heard over the rest of the crowd and the roaring of Snape's lion as it completely tore apart the badger it was fighting.

The team slowly lowered itself to the ground, though how they managed, Harry would never be able to recall, where a massive group of Gryffindor supporters were already waiting for them, ready to party to all hells and back. But right in front of them stood a tall man, clad in a massive bright blue trenchcoat and a huge, almost sombrero-size grey felt hat, that was smiling down at Harry and Oliver.

"A very, very fine afternoon to the both of you gentlemen," He said, "and allow me to be the first to congratulate you on your win. I am Eddard Greengrass, the scout for Puddlemere United's Under Eighteen team, and should you be willing, I do believe that we have found ourselves a new Keeper and Seeker."

No, Harry isn't going to be dark/a necromancer/demon spawn/Voldemort's son/a changeling/succubus/incubus/secretly Slytherin's heir with complete control over the Deathly Hallows, completely overpowered Parselmagic, three billion Animagus forms, the ability to speak with animals, with a Basilisk, three time-travelling space-bending Phoenixes, two extinct Dragons, and a herd of special black Unicorns as familiars by fourth year/whatever else anyone can come up with.

Instead, his Patronus has a very simple and, in my opinion, a rather obvious reason that's in turn got to do with Hermione. All I'm going to reveal now is that Magic works in mysterious ways, and no-one really knows what path it'll take next.

Channeling my inner Dumbledore, for the win!

And in my Quidditch, dunking is worth five points. Why? Because why else would scoring be worth ten points, and the Snitch a hundred-and-fifty? They could've just as easily made a goal be worth one point, and the Snitch fifteen.

Oh, and by the way, shoutout to Vegasman59 for being over sixty years old and still reading Fanfiction ^^ That's what I call a true fan.

-The Baron