Previously:

Orissa lost her temporary dog ears.

Hagrid lost Buckbeak's appeal.

Scabbers was found alive and unharmed.

Mid-spring came to Hogwarts with warmer weather, sunnier days, and...the Quidditch Cup. Which was, of course, my very first game against the Slytherins - the biggest, baddest, most brutal team there was at Hogwarts.

"Nasty team they are," Fred was saying. "Brutal, brutal lads - and Chaser's the most dangerous position, of course-"

"Hey!" Angelina smacked him over the head with a scowl on her face. "Quit it, Fred. Go bother George," she orders before turning back to me, her expression softening. "Orissa, you'll be fine. You're an expert flier - Montague, Flint, and Warrington combined can't match up."

"You're overestimating me," I whimper, worrying my lower lip between my teeth. "I swear, I'm gonna die, you'll have to find a new Chaser, sorry. I don't want to die at thirteen!" I wail, tossing an arm across my forehead and flopping backward, almost toppling off the bench.

"Get it together, Black!" Angelina commands, reaching out to steady me and pull me back up. "Come on, get your head in the game."

"Ma'am, yes ma'am," I grumble, wanting to curl up in a ball and hide for the next millennium.

Before I can follow through with that, Oliver bursts into the waiting room. "Two minutes! Are we ready? I - Black! Where are your armguards?"

"Right here, cap'n," I call, grabbing the stiff, scaly braces and strapping them onto my forearms as Wood went over the last-minute game plans, drilling Harry about not catching the Snitch unless we were fifty points up, which meant that Alicia, Angelina, and I had to be on our game and get us up fifty points quickly, lest we prolong the game and give the snakes a chance to score, or worse - catch the Snitch.

With final preparations done, we all line up with Harry taking the lead and Oliver bringing up the rear.

"Good luck, team," Wood calls. "We've got this one in the bag. It all comes down to this."

"No pressure or anything," Fred murmurs behind me, and I snort in agreement.

We march out onto the field to thunderous applause, half the crowd roaring and the others booing.

"And here is the Gryffindor team - Potter, followed by Spinnet, Johnson, Black – who is shaping up quite nicely – Weasley, Weasley, and team captain Wood!"

I throw up a hand a wave at the crowd with absent enthusiasm, tuning out Lee as he announced the Slytherins, instead trying to pick out the three Chasers from the lineup.

I eventually spot them, and just have time to note that they were all huge – built like mountains, I mean – before the call goes up to mount our brooms.

My Firebolt is steady under my clenched hands, which were quivering slightly.

Steady, I chastise myself. Keep it steady.

Before long, the whistle blows and the pitch explodes in activity, all six Chasers going for the Quaffle at once in a blur of red and green – it was a bit Christmas-y, if you ask me.

I swerve to the outside of the mass, looking for openings. Finding none, I dart after Montague who currently had possession of the Quaffle and was being chased by Angelina and Alicia and now myself.

I nimbly slip between the burly Chasers - now fully understanding why Oliver wanted Gryffindor Chasers to be smaller and fast - and steal the Quaffle before Montague catches up to what's going on, speeding ahead and passing it to Angelina, who grins and executes a perfect hairpin turn, flying back down the pitch to the Slytherin hoops.

Alicia and I manage to do a pretty good job of keeping the opposing team off her tail, with assistance, of course, provided by Fred and George Weasley.

I slow down as Angelina enters the scoring area, watching her movements like a hawk. She hovers for a moment before lining up the Quaffle with the center hoop. She shoots, she scores-

-and she's slammed into by Flint just as the Quaffle clears the hoop.

Alicia rushes to check on our teammate, and I prepare to follow her before there's a red blur speeding by, Fred Weasley slowing only in order to slam his bat into the back of Flint's head, sending his nose into his broom handle with a loud crack.

I can hear the shriek of Madam Hooch's whistle, even above the roar of the enraged crowd. "Penalty to Gryffindor for an unprovoked attack on their Chaser! Penalty to Slytherin for an unprovoked attack on their Chaser!"

I groan as I fly over to the side of the pitch, where the Chasers and Beaters had landed for a moment.

"Angelina's taking the shot," Fred informs me as I pull up. "Her penalty, her shot, you know."

I nod silently, watching as the pitch goes quiet and Angelina approaches the Slytherin goals and stills her broom, lining up the shot with years of experience under her belt.

She lines up the shot, winds it back, and sends the Quaffle through the right hoop, which Bletchley still can't block - I didn't understand why they kept him around at this point, was his job simply to look grumpy?

The crowd goes wild as Angelina brings the score to twenty-zero, Gryffindor, and then passes the Quaffle to Flint, who lines up in front of the Gryffindor goals, shooting a look of pure contempt at his fellow Captain.

Wood is, of course, a superb Keeper, so Flint is robbed of his ten points and our lead is kept safe.

The game quickly resumes with Slytherin in possession, Fred and George being maniacs, and Montague determined to tail me personally.

While I appreciated the attention, it was really getting quite annoying.

Apparently, he thought so too, because just as I was about to help corner Warrington, who was hogging the Quaffle, a hand grabs the back of my head and smashes it down into my broom handle, causing black spots to erupt in my vision.

"Orissa?" a concerned-sounding voice asks, and Angelina's face swims into view. "Are you okay? That was a nasty blow."

"I'm fine," I say dismissively. "Just a headache."

"Still, come land for a moment so Hooch can check you out," she insists. "Alicia'll take your penalty."

I sigh in concession and quickly land, dismounting and allowing the referee to examine the bruise that was undoubtedly forming above my left eyebrow.

"Make sure you see Madam Pomfrey after this is done," she orders sternly. "No headache?"

"No," I deny, and that was the truth; the headache was already fading. I realized that it wasn't the best policy on personal health, but there was absolutely no way I was going to leave Gryffindor one Chaser down, and therefore out of the game when we were on the edge of winning the Cup.

Madam Hooch just looks at me for another moment before nodding and waving me back to my broom, giving a short burst of her whistle to signal the end of the timeout.

The scoreboard now read thirty-ten, still Gryffindor. The points, I realize, had majorly been scored by penalties, but hey, if it meant a win, who was I to complain?

The field, for the Chasers, turns into a giant game of hot potato, none of us keeping possession of the Quaffle for long before passing it to a teammate, who then pass it to someone else.

I had been keeping an eye out for Harry - he and Malfoy were playing an odd game of cat and mouse, with Malfoy insulting Harry and Harry mainly ignoring him, both of them scanning constantly for the Snitch.

After about fifteen minutes of this, Alicia and I decide to intercept Flint, who was chasing Angelina, who had possession. We fall into perfect Porksoff Ploy formation, Alicia above me while I flew lower, set to come in just below the Slytherin Captain, therefore throwing him off kilter and off Angelina's tail.

About halfway to our destination, there's a telltale low, buzzing hum coming up behind me, and I swerve just in time to avoid a Bludger and, subsequently, Fred and Lucian Bole, Slytherin Beater.

Alicia, however, is not quite as lucky: there's a loud thud coming from her direction and I look over to see her wincing, holding a hand to the back of her head, with Bole looking like the cat that got the canary and the cream too.

My blood rises to a boil as I dive sharply, putting myself right in front of Bole and elbowing him in the face, the stiff leather of my arm guards acting sort of like brass knuckles. I glare at him, tensing up as he glares back, blood pouring from his nose.

Before I can inflict any more damage, however, the whistle shrieks and Madam Hooch storms onto the field, awarding Gryffindor and Slytherin each a penalty for unnecessary violence.

Honestly, I don't know what else she expected here.

I end up taking Alicia's penalty while she got checked by Madam Hooch, making my way over to the Slytherin, where Bletchley was waiting and glaring, looking quite like a troll.

I bring the Firebolt to an almost-stop, holding the Quaffle in front of me and tossing it straight up into the air, using my broom handle to smack it through the left hoop before Bletchley realizes what's going on.

Once he realizes I've scored, the Keeper makes an angry growling noise. I just return it with my most charming smile and subtly make a rude gesture before flying away to rejoin my team.

"No concussion?" I ask Alicia as I approach, and she shakes her head. "No, just a nice knot at the back of my head for a week or so. Beater clubs aren't gentle."

"And neither are Slytherins," I agree with a small grin.

Soon enough, Flint's taken his shot and Wood saves, bringing the score to forty-ten, Gryffindor.

The game quickly picks up again, with the Slytherins going on the defensive - they knew how far behind they were, and were going to fight tooth and nail to get ahead of us. I use the speed and agility of the Firebolt to my advantage, ducking and dodging left and right to avoid Bludgers and players alike.

After swiping the Quaffle right from under Montague's nose I take off down the pitch, easily dodging everyone on the opposing team, and darting into the scoring area, effectively shielding myself from everyone else because I was the only one allowed in, as I had the Quaffle.

The shot is easy, and I'm seriously doubting Bletchley's talents beyond growling angrily. I raise the score to fifty-ten, signaling that Harry could start seriously pursuing the Snitch.

Please let this be over soon, I silently plead as I watch red and green blur around the pitch. Without any more injury, if that's possible.

I'm not that lucky.

There's a cry of outrage from the Gryffindor supporters in the crowd as Wood takes two Bludgers to the stomach simultaneously, and after I'm sure that he's not hurt, just winded, I growl at the Slytherin Beaters, my inner dog throwing a fit.

I needn't have worried, though, because Madam Hooch is absolutely furious. "YOU DO NOT ATTACK THE KEEPER UNLESS THE QUAFFLE IS IN THE SCORING AREA!" she shrieks at the two beaters. "Gryffindor penalty!"

Angelina takes the penalty, effortlessly sending the ball through the center hoop and giving us a sixty-ten lead.

Something in the air was different as the game resumed, and I could instantly tell what it was – we were all getting fed up. The Slytherins were never going to play fair; that much was a given. But people were getting hurt, and if Harry didn't catch the Snitch soon, someone was going to be pushed too far.

Logically I knew that if we lost focus, we could lose the lead, but I had a nice purple bruise above my left eye and Alicia had almost gotten a concussion. Wood might've broken or at least bruised a rib or two, and the twins were being stretched thin trying to protect all of us.

This wasn't much of a game anymore.

So I follow Alicia with a new determination as she ducks and dodges her way towards the goal, mentally daring my opponents to mess with the speed of the Firebolt.

Alicia shoots, Bletchley fails to save once again, and we're up seventy-ten and Harry hasn't found the Snitch.

I give myself a moment to breathe, tuning back into Lee's commentary as I hovered above the fray.

"Things are tense down there, folks, with the Slytherins being dirty, lying, cheating scum-"

"Jordan!"

"I tell it as it is, professor. Anyways, the game goes on – oh! Oh, Potter is diving, Potter has seen the Snitch!"

I look up, my eyes finding Harry and I grin as he streaks through the air, his robes a blur of red as he pushes the Firebolt further-

He unexpectedly slows down, and the crowd is on its feet in outrage as Malfoy grabs the twigs of the Firebolt, slowing Harry down and allowing the Snitch to escape again.

The crowd's rage, however, is nothing compared to my own. I lunge upwards towards Malfoy, fists flying as my vision is clouded red.

The next thing I know, Fred and George are forcibly pulling me away from the Slytherin Seeker, whose face is covered in a motley of bruises that match the ones on my knuckles.

"Penalty to Gryffindor for an attack on their Seeker! Penalty to Slytherin for an attack on their Seeker!"

"You're joking!" Fred howled, but the penalty stood. Alicia took our penalty, but she was so irate she missed by several feet. Montage then scored his penalty, awarding Slytherin ten more points.

I groan in a combination of slight pain, exhaustion, and frustration, but my attention is quickly drawn to Angelina, who was speeding down the pitch towards the Slytherin with what looks like the entire Slytherin team on her tail.

I shoot forward at over 100 miles an hour, plowing into the other team juggernaut-style, a fearsome cry behind me signaling that Harry had the same idea.

Once her way is clear, Angelina easily scores, sending the crowd to their feet.

"And Johnson scores, sending Gryffindor into the lead, eighty points to twenty!"

"Ori, move!" Harry shouts, and I roll out of the way just in time to see him whiz past me, followed not a second later by Malfoy.

My heart pounds as I watch them race, not being able to see the Snitch but knowing it was there-

They're neck and neck, reaching out-

And Harry is raising a hand into the air, a smug look on his face.

He's done it – Harry has caught the Snitch, catapulting us to 230 points, ending the game – at last – and winning the Cup.

I'm the first to reach my god-brother, catching him in a bone-crushing despite the fact that everything ached. And if I let a few tears fall onto Harry's robes...well, I was tired, okay?

Wood is the next to reach us, and he sobs unashamedly into Harry's shoulder, followed by the twins, who squeeze one of my shoulders each. Angelina and Alicia pull me into a three-way, jumping up and down and screaming "We've won the cup! We've won the Cup!"

The entire team is hoisted onto the shoulders of the crowd - even me, the ecstasy of the Cup overriding the trepidation that people normally felt around me.

Once the crowd dissipates, we hand the Cup off to McGonagall and limp back to the castle, laughing and joking all the way.

Fred and George produce Butterbeers and Honeydukes sweets, passing them around as the post-game party picks up steam.

I can't keep the smile off my face as I look around at my partying housemates. For once, no one was arguing or overly worried about anything.

Yes, threats did still exist, of course, but...had there been a Dementor around, I was absolutely sure my Patronus would be magnificent.

Hello, I'm not dead.

Sorry for the late update...again. Also sorry for any spelling errors - this is unbeta-d and writen on an iPad.

Thanks to everyone who reviewed the last chapter - your support means a lot!