Author's Notes:

First, I apologize for the delay in update, especially since I left you with nothing but that terrible April Fools' chapter for months. In case it wasn't clear, absolutely everything about it was a joke; author notes, dividers and all. This version of Harry does not in fact have a secret twin sister OC. Anything else which was 'revealed' last chapter should be considered non-canonical to this story. ;) I wrote that chapter on April 3rd of last year, so I'd been sitting on it a good while.

This chapter has been sitting half-done for weeks. I haven't been able to get the next scene to work out well. I'm posting as-is now, since at this point a one-scene partial-chapter is better than nothing. Though at this point it feels like almost everything I post is just 'better than nothing' level. :/

Next month is July, so I'll be working on four different projects for campnanowrimo - this story among them - and cannot promise to update until afterward. I've also been given significantly more responsibility at work than in the past, so my time and creative energy are both at a severe low ebb. I'm still writing, just at a regrettably sluggish pace. I really hope the pressure of Nanowrimo will help me get some increased wordcounts, because at this rate I'm looking at less than half my usual yearly wordcount at best, but only time will tell.

Without further ado, we now return to your regularly scheduled fanfic.

Slytherin vs Gryffindor

"You have to understand, there's much more to Quidditch than most people understand. There's a whole lot of hidden finesse and subtlety to it that makes it the very best sport ever invented."

"It sounds to me like an excuse for the fastest flier to show off how much more important he is than everyone else."

"No, that's just the point. It's about prevention. The chasers are supposed to create and hold a sufficient lead that the Seekers become irrelevant to the outcome. The beaters are trying to keep the seeker off-balance, distract him and prevent any actual snitch-catching. And the keeper is to prevent the chasers from creating the lead. It's very complicated, very well-balanced, and incredibly exciting to watch."

"It doesn't seem that exciting," someone put in, and Harry nodded in agreement despite not really being part of the debate.

He'd attended one practice, at Pansy's insistence. It had largely consisted of the best fliers Slytherin house could field flying in loops and circles, passing a ball back and forth. And dropping it more often than not.

"You haven't even seen a real game yet. Let alone a professional match. Trust me. It's more than just a pastime. Quidditch is the number one unifying force within the magical world. Every country has a team, or more than one, if they're worth anything."

"And what about the countries that don't?" a fourth year asked snippishly.

"They don't count, obviously."

"There isn't much to be said for some teams, but the fact is that they exist."

"That's all we can say for the Chudley Cannons, at least."

Then they began discussing actual teams, player names, actual plays they'd seen or heard of or read about, and Harry grew increasingly lost. He dismissed Quidditch as irrelevant to his schooling and growth as a wizard, returning his attention to his homework and social notes. He'd spent enough time fleeing from things which meant him harm, he had no desire to do so voluntarily.

But that was before Cole Spencer and another third-year named Miles cornered him in the Slytherin common room and gave him a firm talking-to about the cultural importance of Quidditch, how Harry's lack of obvious enthusiasm was a disgrace to his family name and to Slytherin house, and that given his obvious talent as a flier there would be severe consequences if Harry failed to pay close attention.

"Listen, Harry," began Cole, while Miles stood beside him with his arms crossed. "There's something very important you need to understand about wizarding life. Quidditch is really a cornerstone of modern magical culture. I didn't understand that at first, and it was a huge problem. I tried to dedicate my time and attention to myself and learning, and thought that talking to people was enough to form friendships. It's not. You need shared interests, shared worldviews, to truly connect. And for the vast majority of the wizarding world, that means Quidditch."

"That can't be true," Harry said. "There's lots of muggles who don't care about sports. How could the wizard world be any different?"

"Because we're a much smaller, much tighter, and much more unified community. Listen to me Harry. If you don't learn now to care, genuinely care, about Quidditch, you'll be an outsider the rest of your life." Cole shook his head. "If you keep on as you've been, you'll be locked out of nearly every social group by the end of next term. Trust me. Even Parkinson cares more about Quidditch than you, and that's something I never thought I'd say to anyone."

Professor Quirrell had never mentioned the importance of Quidditch to Harry. He'd rarely mentioned the sport at all. But then, he was another halfblood, who hadn't grown up in wizard culture. As was Harry. And as was Cole.

"I'll remember," Harry said.

"Good," Miles said firmly. "You should go to the match next month. Make a flag to wave, wear a Slytherin scarf, do something to show your team unity. And even if you don't understand what's going on up there just yet, cheer for your team. Which you will be trying out for next year—" Miles gave him a very severe glower as he said this "—and if you expect everyone else to teach you how the game is played you clearly didn't understand the point."

They didn't leave it at that, but spent several more minutes made it quite clear that if he didn't do everything in his power to learn the game now, things would go poorly with him later.

On the one hand, Harry didn't want to have so many people's desires hinging on him, but it also felt kind of . . . amazing to know that his flying ability was actually exceptional, that people had noticed, and that they wanted to see him do more.

The prospect of playing for the House team intimidated Harry. but he continued his never-ending campaign to rid himself of his still-lingering tendencies for retreat and passivity. He already wrote out on his wall in lumano each morning, 'I will not let fear stop me any longer' or some variation thereof. There had been too many years of weakness and everyone he trusted had made it clear he needed to change.

So, taking this as another thing to study and excel at if at all possible, Harry went to the library to research Quidditch.

As it turned out, it didn't take a lot.

He already knew the sheer, unadulterated love of flying. He knew the thrill of competition when casting spells and dodging, thanks to his game with Pansy. And he could imagine that same challenge being applied to snatching the Quaffle from the air, throwing it to his teammates, scoring goal after goal such that when their seeker finally caught the Snitch it would be a clear and complete victory. . .

Harry began attending most Slytherin quidditch practices, at first reluctantly, then with more enthusiasm as he began to understand. To his surprise, Pansy was always there too. He hadn't realized she attended every practice, even those Harry declined in order to attend to homework or his personal spell practice.

Quidditch had a logic all its own. As someone raised with muggles everywhere, it took Harry several practices before he began to understand. At first, the whole thing seemed absurd. Flying around and throwing the ball to each other was obvious enough, but having to dodge violent balls trying to unseat you at the same time? And in the midst of all this chaos, one person had to hunt down and capture a tiny flash of gold light? Preposterous!

But the more he watched, he slowly realized that it wasn't preposterous at all. It was brilliant. The bludgers tended to go after people who were on their own more than groups, so the seekers were best served by sticking relatively close to either a beater or the keeper. The snitch, meanwhile, was faster than most broomsticks and could change direction instantaneously, darting off unpredictably without warning, while those on brooms had to deal with momentum and turning.

And through all this chaos, bludgers chasing stragglers, beaters chasing bludgers, seekers chasing the snitch - the chasers still had to try and score for their own team without being killed or knocked off their brooms.

It was insanely high-intensity, the speed at which everything happened was incredible. And this was just a school team! Harry could only imagine how thrilling it would be to see an actual, professional team playing.

Harry started searching deeper, found newspapers with wizard photos which showed particularly popular or famous Quidditch players or their moments of victory or defeat. He found more technical books on flying tricks, seeker feints, beater exercises, and chaser formations.

So when the first game of the year arrived, Slytherin vs Gryffindor, Harry was right in the stands with Draco and Pansy, draped in enough green and silver to almost completely conceal his black robes, screaming and cheering for their team at the top of his voice.

One of the Gryffindors was commentating, though Harry didn't know his name.

"And there goes that bloody cheater, Fielding, who last year got away with— well, he's just hit the quaffle out of the air with his bat. Which isn't a standard play."

"There's no rule against it," shouted a fourth-year sitting near Harry.

"Pretty sure there is. And one of his teammates - new guy this year, is it? - Bludgely takes the quaffle and starts for the center hoop. C'mon Wood, block him!"

"Bletchley," corrected a fifth year, scowling, but she did so quietly enough that Harry doubted the commentator noticed.

Harry leaned forward in his seat as the first goal of the match seemed about to be scored. An easy gain for Slytherin?

"He throws, and—yes! Wood saves it, brilliant save by the Gryffindor keeper there folks. Ooh, that's got to hurt. Weasley and Weasley just did the most spectacular combined bludger attack I've ever seen, and Higgs can't keep up! He's being forced lower and lower. . . Oh! There's Angelina Johnson with the Quaffle now, go Angelina!"

The dark-skinned Gryffindor girl raced for the Slytherin posts, and Harry held his breath. She swerved at the last second, faking toward the leftmost goal, then tossing the quaffle backhanded as she continued the curve. "BEHIND YOU!" Harry shouted at Higgs, but it was too late. A groan went up from the Slytherins as the Gryffindor spectators cheered.

"Ten-nothing to Gryffindor, first score of the season goes to Angelina! Beautiful girl, wonderful player. . ." The commentator sighed dreamily before continuing. "Oh, and there's another brilliant play by the Weasley twins! Those two really know how to whack a bludger! Bludgely drops the Quaffle and— oh, it's saved by Pucey, no, he fumbled it! Alicia Spinnet takes possession! She's racing for the scoring zone—"

Harry shouted and cheered as the Slytherin keeper knocked the ball away, her dark ponytail flipping behind her as she made a beautiful flip to block.

"Blocked by Frome, but Angelina has regained the Quaffle— ooh, Flint and Pucey are playing rough today. Watch out Angelina! Don't let them— and she's lost the Quaffle. Flint in possession— passes to Bludgely, who passes back just in time to dodge a bludger. Derrick intercepts, knocking it toward Alicia, careful Alecia! She evades the bludger, but now she's too far away. Flint goes for the score— yes! Saved again by Oliver Wood. That man's an amazing keeper, just saying."

Harry spotted a glint of gold circling behind the Slytherin goalposts, far from where the action was taking place. Neither seeker seemed to have noticed it, both distracted by the tense exchange of quaffle taking place below them.

"Angelina passes to Alecia, who passes to Katie, who passes to Angelina— look at those ladies go! Flint attempts to intercept— but he takes a bludger to the shoulder! That's got to sting. Pucey steals the Quaffle, oh, but not for long! Way to go Angelina! And— yes! Gryffindor score again!"

By now, Harry had lost track of the snitch, his own attention drawn back to the dramatic back-and-forth of the Quaffle. The seekers circled just above the action, swooping lower or darting higher to avoid bludgers.

"Slytherin takes the Quaffle, Bludgely dodges Angelina and runs right into Katie. She's lost her seat on the broom, but still holding on. You can do it, Katie, get back on there!"

Harry joined the other Slytherins in booing the one-sided commentary. Bletchley tossed the Quaffle to Flint, who flew a wide loop around the goal posts and then dove straight at Wood. The Gryffindor keeper flinched back, and Flint slammed the Quaffle through the hoop.

"And she's back up! Oh, and it looks like Slytherin managed to score, with another of their dirty tricks," the commentator said, finally noticing. Harry hissed at him, and Draco joined in.

"Katie is back with a vengeance! Look at her go, that girl can fly. Angelina takes the Quaffle. And she scores! 30-10 to Gryffindor! Pucey is not having a good day today, fumbles the Quaffle again, taken by Alicia— oh, there go the seekers!"

A roar went up from the stands as both seekers dove, neck and neck, chasing the erratic glint of gold that Harry could barely keep track of.

"Higgs is in the lead, no, it's Markham. . . Oh, and Gryffindor score again," but he didn't sound as enthusiastic as usual. Everyone was leaning forward, watching as the two seekers raced for the snitch. "And— no! Higgs has the snitch. First game of the year, winner Slytherin."

The Slytherin crowd erupted into wild cheering, and Harry found himself screaming just as loud as everyone else. Pansy grinned and hugged him, Draco abandoned all decorum and did a celebratory dance. The upper years didn't seem quite as enthusiastic, treating it as their due rather than anything exceptional, but they cheered and clapped along with the rest.

Gryffindor booed, but the sound was drowned out as Slytherin hissed and cheered in triumph. Harry leapt up and down in excitement, waving his pennant and shouting himself hoarse. Draco Malfoy grinned over at him, and Harry grinned back. They'd won! Slytherin was well on its way to another dominant year as Cup champions.

Harry couldn't remember ever having felt such overpowering emotion, the echo of adrenaline at the tension, the pure undiluted happiness around him. It was a vibrant, living, pulsing thing; so much bigger and deeper than anything he'd ever imagined possible.

The whole first-year populace of Slytherin walked back to the castle as a group, eager and happy and excited. Dissecting the game, discussing the players and the team's chances for the future, and reciting moments of triumph and failure alike filled their evening and well into the night.

He couldn't stop smiling at everyone, and for once he didn't feel like an outsider at all. There was no tension between himself and Draco, no awkward uncertainty of who to speak to or how to manage alliances or trying to figure out how not to look like a fool.

As everyone talked and laughed and joked and repeated the final play of the game over and over, long past when everyone should have been asleep, Harry didn't care about anything more than their victory.

And neither did anyone else.

Harry had never felt so much a part of something before. It was like every bit of the camaraderie of flying class, but magnified and compressed, and spread wider and farther. It was more amazing than he'd imagined.

Maybe the older students were right, after all. Quidditch could truly be the unifying force that bound the wizarding world together.

After that, everything changed. Not drastically, but in the quiet that filled the spaces between him and his yearmates. He still didn't have the first clue how to go about interacting with them, but now he could sit in the same room and feel comfortable rather than awkward. He could smile, and they could smile, for they shared a foundation.

It wasn't much, not yet enough to be true friendship. But for someone who grew up with nothing and no one. . . it felt like everything.

Author's Notes:

Quidditch commentary is hard to write. I kinda hate it.

Also timelines. I hate timelines. Do things have to happen in order? meh.

Major edit 6-25-19: added several new sections throughout the scene, expanding on previously-summarized areas and adding clarity to a few details.

Minor edit 6-27-19: fixed a misplaced comma; clarified a couple sentences, fixed a misspelled word.