Disclaimer: Obviously, I don't own Harry Potter. Doesn't that suck? Guess I'll just have to come up with my own genius, millions-making story idea, but in the meantime, I'll just stick to writing fanfiction.
A/N: I'm back! Life has been crazy busy (I'm working on my thesis and about to graduate), but here's Chapter 25 (I know, it's short), and 26 and 27 are also done. In addition, I almost never write story recs in my own fics (you can just take a look at my favorite stories list), but everyone should go read Consuming Shadows by Child-OTKW (currently in progress).Literally, this story is everything.
5/5/2017: PSA/Update - I'm currently finishing my thesis (one week to go!) and getting ready to graduate, so while the next few chapters are almost ready to go, I'm banning myself from the internet until I get real life stuff done.
Chapter 25
"Good luck today, Harry."
"Thanks, Hermione."
Since Oliver had wanted to keep the Firebolt as much of a secret as he could, Harry had taken his broom down to the changing rooms the night before and Wood had personally ensured that the broom was as secure as possible.
Harry joined the team as they headed down to the pitch to change. After checking on his broom, he pulled on his gold and red Quidditch clothes over his thermal underclothes. It was cold out.
It was his first game back, and he was determined to win. Or at least catch the snitch, especially because it was against Slytherin and they needed to stay at the top of the house standings. By the time both teams were warming up, the stands were full.
When it was time for the game to start, Madam Hooch had them get into their starting formations.
"Nice broom, Potter."
"Nice hair, Malfoy."
The referee blew the whistle and the game began. Harry instantly started by showing off his top-class racing broom by doing a loop-de-loop around Draco before ascending higher above the pitch.
"And just look at Potter on the brand new Firebolt racing broom. That balance! The precision! The…oh, look, Slytherin just scored. 10-0, they're in the lead."
Harry glanced down at the game to see that they weren't playing awfully. Yet. They were pretty fairly matched, even though most of the Slytherins were still flying on the Nimbus 2001s that Draco's father had donated, while some players on the Gryffindor side were still lying on older models.
"And Bell scores! Ten points to Gryffindor!"
The game was on.
The score fluctuated over the course of the next half hour, while Harry and Draco searched for the snitch.
And then Draco dived. Harry was instantly behind him, but realized halfway to the ground, over the roar of the crowd, that it was a feint. Why? Because, out of the corner of his eye, he had spotted the snitch. It was just to his right and about to flit away.
He jerked on his broom handle, made an almost ninety-degree turn out of his steep dive, and barreled towards the snitch, snatching out of the air with his left hand.
"GRYFFINDOR WINS!" Lee Jordan announced over the explosion of noise that echoed across the field. "Potter, in his first game back, catches the snitch for Gryffindor! Gryffindor wins, 210-50!"
Jordan kept going on about what a bloody good catch it was, and for once, Professor McGonagall didn't threaten to take away points for his language. Not that Harry heard any of it, considering the fact that he was being swarmed by his team.
###
For once, Harry was having a quiet term at Hogwarts, besides busy Quidditch practices with the ever-fanatic Oliver Wood. Life had settled down.
###
"Marvolo, it's good to see you."
This time they were on Sirius' turf, meeting in his study at Grimmauld Place.
"I believe you wished to discuss the details of protocols we wanted to put in place to serve the werewolf population?"
"Yes, I did. Go ahead."
"Firstly, we need to organize distribution centers for free doses of the Wolfsbane Potion, as well as care centers for post-full moon medical treatment and recovery. Do you have suggestions for funding?"
"If we solicit contributions from the Wizengamot, we could easily fund the first few on a trial basis, and then we could demand a restructuring of the Ministry of Magic's budget in order to accommodate the new legislation."
"I take it that we won't be requiring werewolves to register?"
"They have enough of a target on their backs as it is. We'll also have to see if the DMLE can contribute Aurors to protect any werewolves using the services from reprisal."
"By which you mean being drawn and quartered."
"Basically. Have you started drafting the legislation?"
"Here." Marvolo passed Sirius a scroll of parchment, sealed with inky black wax.
Sirius took out a quill, dipped it in his pot of ink and started making notes. "I think Manchester and Bristol might be good places to start. What do you think?"
"I think we should trial four. Leicester has one of the highest number of werewolves per capita; we should definitely focus our efforts there, and Glasgow is close second. I think we should save London for close to last."
"Alright. Remus drew up the estimates for the initial startup and operating costs, do you want to see them?"
"Of course."
It was Sirius turn to hand the other lord some information. Marvolo's brow crinkled as he examined the figures. "We might need to spend more on the initial brewing costs until we can get more potions brewers on board. Currently, there are only three certified to brew the Wolfsbane Potion in England, one in Ireland, and one in Wales."
"So we need to provide an incentive, possibly a monetary one. Are you sure it's wise to have four starter locations?"
"We need to convince the Wizengamot, and the general public, that we are serious about catering to the needs of those infected with lycanthropy. We can't be timid."
"Alright then. Four pilot locations it is."
"Well, at least we've managed to come to an agreement."
If only those long-dead, stodgy Blacks could see Sirius now.