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Here is the next chapter, enjoy.
It was almost impossible to fix a regular night of the week for the DA meetings, as they had to accommodate three separate: team's Quidditch practices, which were often rearranged due to bad weather conditions; but it was better to keep the timing of their meetings unpredictable. If anyone was watching them, it would be hard to make out a pattern.
The weather did not improve as the day wore on, so that evening, when Harry and Ron came back from Quidditch practice, they were soaked. Before they went to bed, Harry, Alex and Ron were showering in the boys shower room.
"Alex, why are you showering?" Ron said, "You don't even practice."
"Well I sweat a lot doing my favorite hobby. Besides girls like it when you smell nice." Alex said annoyed, "Perhaps you should try it, and maybe just maybe you can get laid as well."
Harry had just stepped out of his shower when he let out an painful groan, his eyes screwed tight with pain. The scar on his forehead had seared again, more painfully than it had in weeks.
"What happened?" Alex said, poking his through the shower curtain, "Was it your scar?"
Harry nodded and his two friends where next to him in an instant.
"But..." Ron said looking scared, "He... he can't be near us now, can he?"
"I hope not. I don't want to die while I'm naked." Harry muttered, sinking to the stone floor, "He's probably miles away. It hurt because... he's... angry."
"Did you get a vision, or something?" Alex asked, kneeling next to his friend.
Harry sat quite still, staring at his feet, allowing his mind and his memory to relax in the aftermath of the pain.
"He wants something done." he said, "And it's not happening fast enough."
"But... how do you know?" Ron said.
Harry shook his head and covered his eyes with his hands, pressing down upon them with his palms. Little stars erupted in them. "It's like... I am reading his mood or something. I'm just getting flashes of what mood he's in. Jeager said something like this was happening last year. He said that when Voldemort was near me, or when he was feeling hatred, I could tell. Well, now I'm feeling it when he's pleased, too..."
As the first Quidditch match of the season, Gryffindor versus Slytherin, drew nearer with the fact that the Quidditch Cup had not been held for so long added considerably to the interest and excitement surrounding the forthcoming game; the Ravenclaw's and Hufflepuff's were taking a lively interest in the outcome, for they, of course, would be playing both teams over the coming year.
The Heads of House of the competing teams, though they attempted to disguise it under a decent pretense of sportsmanship, were determined to see their own side victorious. Harry realized how much Professor McGonagall cared about beating Slytherin when she abstained from giving them homework in the week leading up to the match.
Snape was no less obviously partisan; he had booked the Quidditch pitch for Slytherin practice so often that the Gryffindor's had difficulty getting on it to play. He was also turning a deaf ear to the many reports of Slytherin attempts to hex Gryffindor players in the corridors. When Alicia turned up in the hospital wing with her eyebrows growing so thick and fast they obscured her vision and obstructed her mouth, Snape insisted that she must have attempted a Hair-thickening Charm on herself and refused to listen to the fourteen eye-witnesses who insisted they had seen the Slytherin Keeper, Miles Bletchley, hit her from behind with a jinx while she worked in the library.
Harry felt optimistic about Gryffindor's chances; they had, after all, never lost to Malfoy's team. Admittedly, Ron was still not performing to Wood's standard, but he was working extremely hard to improve. His greatest weakness was a tendency to lose confidence after he'd made a blunder.
The only thing really worrying Harry was how much Ron was allowing the tactics of the Slytherin team to upset him before they even got on to the pitch. Harry, of course, had endured their snide comments for over four years, so whispers of, "Hey, Potty, I heard Warrington's sworn to knock you off your broom on Saturday.", far from chilling his blood, made him laugh.
"Warrington's aim's so pathetic I'd be more worried if he was aiming for the person next to me." he retorted, which made Claire, Alex, Ron, Neville, and Hermione laugh and wiped the smirk off Pansy Parkinson's face.
But Ron had never endured a relentless campaign of insults, jeers and intimidation. When Slytherins, some of them seventh-years and considerably larger than he was, muttered as they passed in the corridors.
"Got your bed booked in the hospital wing, Weasley?" he didn't laugh, but turned a delicate shade of green.
When Malfoy imitated Ron dropping the Quaffle, which he did whenever they came within sight of each other, Ron's ears glowed red and his hands shook so badly that he was likely to drop whatever he was holding at the time, too.
October extinguished itself in a rush of howling winds and driving rain and November arrived, cold as frozen iron, with hard frosts every morning and icy droughts that bit at exposed hands and faces.
The skies and the ceiling of the Great Hall turned a pale, pearly grey, the mountains around Hogwarts were snow capped, and the temperature in the castle dropped so low that many students wore their thick protective dragonskin gloves in the corridors between lessons.
The morning of the match dawned bright and cold. When Alex awoke he looked round at Ron's bed and saw him sitting bolt upright, his arms around his knees, staring fixedly into space.
"Ron. Ron. Ron." Alex said rubbing his eyes.
Ron did not speak, so Alex kept repeating his name, "Ron. Ron. RON!" he said with a loud yell.
"What!?" Ron shouted back.
"You alright?" Alex said.
The Great Hall was filling up fast when they arrived, the talk louder and the mood more exuberant than usual. As they passed the Slytherin table there was an upsurge of noise, in addition to the usual green and silver scarves and hats, every one of them was wearing a silver badge in the shape of what seemed to be a crown. For some reason many of them waved at Ron, laughing uproariously.
"Well that's not weird at all." Alex said as he tried to see what was written on the badges as he walked by, but he and Harry were too concerned to get Ron past their table quickly to linger long enough to read them.
They received a rousing welcome at the Gryffindor table, where everyone was wearing red and gold, but far from raising Ron's spirits the cheers seemed to sap the last of his morale; he collapsed on to the nearest bench looking as though he were facing his final meal.
"I must have been mental to do this..." he said in a croaky whisper, "Mental."
"Don't be thick..." Harry said firmly, passing him a choice of cereals, "You are going to be fine. It's normal to be nervous."
"I'm rubbish..." Ron croaked, "I'm lousy. I can't play to save my life. What was I thinking?"
"Get a hold of yourself." Alex said sternly, "Harry told me about the save you made with your foot the other day, even Fred and George said it was brilliant. I repeat, even Fred and George."
Ron turned a tortured face to Harry and Alex. "That was an accident." he whispered miserably, "I didn't mean to do it... I slipped off my broom when none of you were looking and when I was trying to get back on I kicked the Quaffle by accident."
"Just make a few more of those 'accidents' and we got this game in the bag." Harry said.
Claire, Neville, Hermione, and Ginny sat down opposite them wearing red and gold scarves, gloves and rosettes.
"How are you feeling?" Ginny asked Ron, who was now staring into the dregs of milk at the bottom of his empty cereal bowl as though seriously considering attempting to drown himself in them.
"He is just a..." Harry said, "A little nervous."
"Well, that's a good sign." Hermione said heartily, "I never feel you perform as well in exams if you're not a bit nervous."
"Really?" Claire said, munching on his breakfast, "I never have that."
"That's because your the exception." Hermione said teasingly.
"I never have that either." Alex said.
"Well your just Alex." Hermione said, "When are you ever nervous?"
"...My mum can make me pretty nervous." he said.
"Hello." a vague and dreamy voice said from behind them. Looking up: Luna had drifted over from the Ravenclaw table. Many people were staring at her and a few were openly laughing and pointing; she had managed to procure a hat shaped like a life-size lion's head, which was perched precariously on her head.
"Now that is what I call a nice hat." Alex said.
"Thanks Alex! I'm supporting Gryffindor." Luna said, pointing unnecessarily at her hat, "Look what it does..."
She reached up and tapped the hat with her wand. It opened its mouth wide and gave an extremely realistic roar that made everyone in the vicinity jump.
"It's good, isn't it?" Luna said happily, "I wanted to have it chewing up a serpent to represent Slytherin, you know, but there wasn't time. Anyway... good luck, Ronald!"
They had not quite recovered from the shock of Luna's hat before Angelina came hurrying towards them, accompanied by Katie and Alicia, whose eyebrows had mercifully been returned to normal by Madam Pomfrey.
"When you are ready." she said, "We are going to go straight down to the pitch, check out conditions and change."
"We'll be there in a bit." Harry assured her, "Ron's just got to have some breakfast."
It became clear after ten minutes, however, that Ron was not capable of eating anything more and Harry thought it best to get him down to the changing rooms. As they rose from the table, Hermione got up, too, and taking Harry's arm she drew him to one side.
"Don't let Ron see what's on those Slytherins' badges." she whispered urgently.
The frosty grass crunched under their feet as they hurried down the sloping lawns towards the stadium. Claire, Alex, Neville, Hermione, and Luna were sitting in the bleachers as the teams marched in single file out of the changing room and into the dazzling sunlight, a roar of sound greeted them.
"Captains, shake hands.", the referee Madam Hooch ordered, as Angelina and Montague reached each other, "Mount your brooms..."
Madam Hooch placed her whistle in her mouth and blew. The balls were released and the fourteen players shot upwards. "And it's Johnson with the Quaffle, what a player that girl is, I have been saying it for years but she still won't go out with me..."
"Jordan!" Professor McGonagall yelled.
"Just a fun fact, Professor, adds a bit of interest, and she's ducked Warrington, she's passed Montague, she's... ouch, been hit from behind by a Bludger from Crabbe... Dodges Warrington, avoids a Bludger... close call, Alicia and the crowd are loving this, just listen to them, what's that they're singing?"
And as Lee paused to listen, the song rose loud and clear from the sea of green and silver in the Slytherin section of the stands:
"Weasley cannot save a thing,
He cannot block a single ring,
That's why Slytherins all sing:
Weasley is our King.
Weasley was born in a bin
He always lets the Quaffle in
Weasley will make sure we win
Weasley is our King."
"...and Alicia passes back to Angelina! Come on now, Angelina - looks like she's got just the Keeper to beat! She shoots! She... aaaah..." Bletchley, the Slytherin Keeper, had saved the goal.
The game went on for a while until Harry saw the tiny fluttering Golden Snitch hovering feet from the ground at the Slytherin end of the pitch. As he dived, in a matter of seconds, Malfoy was streaking out of the sky on Harry's left, a green and silver blur lying flat on his broom.
The Snitch skirted the foot of one of the goal hoops and scooted off towards the other side of the stands, its change of direction suited Malfoy, who was nearer; Harry pulled his Firebolt around, he and Malfoy were now neck and neck.
Feet from the ground, Harry lifted his right hand from his broom, stretching towards the Snitch, to his right, Malfoy's arm extended too, was reaching, groping... It was over in two breathless, desperate, windswept seconds. Harry's fingers closed around the tiny, struggling ball. Malfoy's fingernails scrabbled the back of Harry's hand hopelessly, Harry pulled his broom upwards, holding the struggling ball in his hand and the Gryffindor spectators screamed their approval.
"They did it! No one will remember Ron's misses as long as Gryffindor..." Claire said, but stopped abruptly when Harry was hit by a Bludger squarely in the small of the back by Crabbe and he flew forwards off his broom.
Luckily he was only five or six feet above the ground, having dived so low to catch the Snitch, but he was winded all the same as he landed flat on his back on the frozen pitch.
Claire left the others and rush onto the field to already see Madam Hooch zooming towards one of the Slytherin players above them, though she could not see who it was from this angle.
"It was that thug Crabbe." Angelina said angrily, as she helped Harry up, "He whacked the Bludger at you the moment he saw you'd got the Snitch."
"But we won, Harry." Claire said looking over her boyfriend, who seemed fine until they heard a snort from behind and turned around, Harry still holding the Snitch tightly in his hand: Malfoy had landed close by. White-faced with fury, he was still managing to sneer.
"Saved Weasley's neck, haven't you?" he said to Harry, "I've never seen a worse Keeper... but then he was born in a bin... Did you like my lyrics, Potter?"
But neither answered. They turned away to meet the rest of the team who were now landing one by one, yelling and punching the air in triumph; all except Ron, who had dismounted from his broom over by the goalposts and seemed to be making his way slowly back to the changing rooms alone.
"We wanted to write another couple of verses!" Malfoy called, as Katie and Alicia hugged Harry, "But we couldn't find rhymes for fat and ugly, we wanted to sing about his mother, see... We couldn't fit in useless loser either, for his father, you know."
Fred and George had realized what Malfoy was talking about. Halfway through shaking Harry's hand, they stiffened, looking round at Malfoy.
"Leave it!" Angelina said at once, taking Fred by the arm, "Leave it, Fred, let him yell, he's just sore he lost, the jumped-up little..."
"But you like the Weasley's, don't you, Potter? Kent? Can't see how you stand the stink, but I suppose when you have been dragged up by Muggles, even the Weasley's hovel smells okay."
Harry and Claire grabbed hold of George. Meanwhile, it was taking the combined efforts of Angelina, Alicia and Katie to stop Fred leaping on Malfoy, who was laughing openly. Claire looked around for Madam Hooch, but she was still berating Crabbe for his illegal Bludger attack.
"Or perhaps..." Malofy said, leering as he backed away, "Those blood traitors and hypocrite's house smells the same and you can remember what your mother's house..."
But before he could finish the sentence, Claire had let go of George, both sprinting towards Malfoy. She had completely forgotten that all the teachers were watching: all she wanted to do was cause Malfoy as much pain as possible, she merely drew back her clutched fist and had it bounce off a invisible barrier.
She was knocked over backwards by the force of the spell, did she abandon her attempts to turn Malfoy into a bloody pulp.
"That's enough." Professor Jeager said, as Harry helped Claire to her feet. It seemed to have been him who had thrown a barrier between them and Malfoy, who was laying on the ground, startled by what had happened, George was sat in a sitting position on the ground.
"Back up to the castle, all of you." Jeager said, "Go! Now!"
Once the celebration party ended, Claire was staring miserably at the dark window, snow was falling, it did not feel as though they had won the match at all.
The Snitch Harry had caught earlier was now zooming around and around the common room; people were watching its progress as though hypnotized and Crookshanks was leaping from chair to chair, trying to catch it.
"Hey." Harry said, walking up to her, "You alright?"
"Yeah... Yeah... I'm fine." she lied, "Have you seen Ron?"
Harry shook his head, "I think he's avoiding us. Where do you think he?..." he said, but at that precise moment, there was a creaking sound behind them as the Fat Lady swung forwards and Ron came clambering through the portrait hole. He was very pale indeed and there was snow in his hair. When he saw Harry, Claire, Alex, Neville and Hermione he stopped dead in his tracks.
"Where have you been?" Hermione said anxiously, springing up.
"Walking..." Ron mumbled, he was still wearing his Quidditch uniform.
"You look worse then when me and Tracey went snow... Never mind, that's something I will tell about when your thirty." Alex said, "Come and sit down."
Ron walked to the fireside and sank into the chair furthest from Harry's, not looking at him. The stolen Snitch zoomed over their heads.
"I'm sorry." Ron mumbled, looking at his feet, "For thinking I can play Quidditch. I'm going to resign first thing tomorrow. If I wasn't so terrible at Quidditch... it was that song that wound me up..."
"Oh, stop the pity party!" Alex suddenly shouted, "It's bad enough without you blaming yourself for everything! We will find a way to overcome tis, like we always have!"
Ron said nothing but sat gazing miserably at the damp hem of his robes. After a while he said in a dull voice, "Your right... This is the worst I have ever felt in my life."
"Of course I'm right!" Alex said.
"Not sure how I'm suppose to tell you guys tis but..." Claire said suddenly, turning away from the pitch-black, snow-flecked window, a broad smile spreading across her face, "Hagrid's back."
That's the chapter, hope you enjoyed.
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Mischief Managed.