Sorry it's been so long! I have been crazy busy this month, but I'm back. And I hope you enjoy the chapter. I'm very near 100 favourites as well, so I'll probably do something special for that as the next chapter.

Many thanks to all readers and reviewers.

Chapter Twenty Five

I didn't eat much at breakfast. It consoled me to see that Wood was eating either, at least we'd both starve together. Honestly, I think even if I had managed to forced down the sausages and eggs that Henry was wafting under my nose I doubt I could have stomached them, and I was not going to throw up before my final Quidditch match, oh no, I was going out in style.

And in style I was, in my free time before breakfast I had taken the rare opportunity to wash and blow dry my hair and even, shock of shocks, managed to put on some make-up, the result was I looked good. Something I had told myself in the mirror that morning. Hey, it was the last time I'd be wearing the uniform, and I wanted to do it justice.

It was a placid, almost eerily calm, walk down to the pitch, my team filed behind me as usual, but this time it seemed to be out of reverence rather than pace. They were walking their captain to her last stand.

In the changing room the mood persisted. There was no bragging, or macho talk, just a quiet grim determination to be the best we could possibly be, Firebolt or no Firebolt, we were going down fighting. Cho finally broke the silence, "Excuse me?"

"No" I told her kindly, "No team talk this morning, I said all I had to say last night."

"No offence, Captain" the use of the term caused me to seize up with pride, "but I wasn't suggesting you do the talking."

"Oh no?" I began to say, but I was interrupted by Page appearing from round a corner, his entire head obscured by an abundant plume of carnations. They weren't tulips, but they weren't peonies either, and honestly, they meant more to me than either ever had. As they were pressed into my arms I felt my chest would burst.

"We want to say thank you" Cho continued, smiling, "for being our Captain this year"

"And a bloody good one at that" Inglebee interrupted.

"Exactly" she continued, "thank you."

Her words, short but oh so sweet, were followed by a smattering of applause from the whole team, as it died away I knew I was going to have to say something.

"Wow, I wish I was the crying kind, I feel that all this deserves some kind of big reaction. All I'll say is that the feeling is mutual. You are a most wonderful team."

The obligatory team hug followed, and then, buzzing with a fierce pride which had nothing to do with winning or losing the match, I strode out onto the pitch.

Wood and I stood opposite each other. As we shook hands I become patently aware of how sweaty my palms were. We caught each other's eye, giving one another an almost inperceptible nod, the message was clear May the best man win.

And then we were off, Wood whipping away down to his goal posts, I would follow soon enough, as soon as I got my hands on the Quaffle which had fallen into Gryffindor hands.

Before I had time to blink, they'd scored. And then again, and then again. They were thirty up on us in a matter of minutes. I wish I could give some excuse but the thing was, the chasers were just too good. And why the hell wouldn't they be? They'd been flying together since third year, if I hadn't known better I would say the three of them were telepathic.

That said, we weren't to shoddy either, and after some need intervention by Burrows and a well aimed bludger, I finally managed to snatch the Quaffle mid-air and streamed down pitch, my eyes fixed firmly on the goal posts.

Wood spotted me as I raced towards him, I could tell from the smug look on his face he was so sure he could stop me, but I'd been flying just as long as him, I'd been regarded as the best chaser in the school for most of those years and I was going to put this ball past Oliver Wood and I was going to do it with flare.

I could see him squaring up, limbering, ready to go in whatever direction I chose. But I had no intention of letting him know that. If there was one thing Dai had taught me, it was how to feint. Wood was smiling at me, giving me that oh so charming grin of his, I avoided eye contact, he was just an inanimate, if moving, object I needed to get past, no problem.

I drew nearer, glancing my eyes left, looking for an open space. I could see Wood watching me, studying me, it was all fairly intense, especially given our history. At last, I dived left, priming to Quaffle to shoot. Wood dived after me, his face now intense, but certain, he knew he was going to stop me. And he would have, if I'd ever planned on shooting left, just as Wood cut in front of me I dodged behind him, spinning away, I pitched the ball over his shoulder, and straight through the centre ring.

As the whistle blew the Ravenclaw supporter went wild, we were off the starting mark, I did a brief loop the loop, letting out a joyful yell. "I'll get you next time!" I heard Wood call behind me, I gave him a sharp grin, before streaming back up the pitch.

To be fair he did, at the time after that, but not the next time, when Harman scored, or the next time when I put another Quaffle past his right ear. We were still trailing, but at this rate we might still be able to keep out of that vital 150 point margin, providing Cho caught the snitch quickly.

"Don't be a gentleman, Harry" Wood yelled as I swept past him, twirling deftly to avoid a bludger, "knock her off her broom if you have to!"

"See what happens if he tries it, Wood!" I shouted back, and for a moment our eyes locked, challenging, and fiercely competitive, before another bludger set me soaring downwards and the moment past.

It was still ok, it was still saveable, at least it wasn't too embarrassing, but then suddenly, there was a scream from the crowd. I looked down, to my horror, my eyes were greeted by the sight of three dementors standing in the centre of the pitch, they're faces turned upwards but concealed by their hoods. Something was wrong though, and it took me a moment to figure out what, there was no cold feeling, no consuming sense of overwhelming misery, Burrows and I exchanged confused glances.

"What the-" I muttered, but if I was confused then, I became even more astonished when a vast Patronus shot past me, almost knocking me off my broom, plunging straight into the centre of the dementors.

Then suddenly there was a whistle. A long, drawn out whistle which only meant one thing, the match was over. I turned slowly, already half knowing what I would see.

Sure enough, there was Harry Potter, wand in one hand, a tiny golden ball clasped tightly in the other. My final Quidditch match was over. I had lost.

The poignancy of the moment was rather taken away however, by the sight that greeted us when alighting. The "dementors" it appeared, were no more than Flint, Malfoy and his pet monkeys, all of whom were sitting looking terrified and confused, among a pile of what turned out to be little more than some old sheets. Mcgonagall was screaming at them, the crowd was laughing and jeering, and even the Slytherins seemed to be a little ashamed of the whole affair.

Wood came and stood next to me. He gave me an awkward sideways glance, I knew it was a question. Was I angry he'd robbed my chance at the cup? Truth was, I wasn't. We'd said best team win, and, though I'd go to my grave arguing the contrary, I suppose they had. I gave him a relaxed smile, and gestured to the sprawled Slytherins.

"Shameful isn't it?" I said

"Shameful." He agreed

"Funny though" I continued, my voice breaking with the rising giggles in my throat.

"Hilariously funny" Wood said, joining in my laughter, each of us becoming more and more carried away until we were in hysterics, leaning on each other to keep ourselves up right.

Things were ok.