Author's Note: I really wanted to bring you all a chapter for the New Year, but it's very late. I'm afraid I'm four minutes past midnight in my time zone. It's now January 2nd. Ah well, please enjoy, and be kind about any spelling errors. Happy Reading! - jinxauthor

Chapter Fifty-Two – Catching the Snitch

Before his conversation with Professor Lupin, Harry had been sure of only two things. First, that Snape hated him. Second, that Snape's hatred for him stemmed from his greater hatred of Harry's father. The revelation that Snape's patronus was a doe threw everything into chaos. Harry felt certain that the resemblance between Snape's patronus and that of Harry's mother was no coincidence, but the solution to this seeming contradiction eluded him.

He was quickly becoming obsessed, and the topic was still plaguing his mind by the time his next potions class came around. Harry, usually so eager to avoid Snape's notice, was now challenging the professor with an unwavering stare. He was searching for some clue to the mystery, a glance or gesture that would reveal the secret of Snape's character. But the Potions Master was as impenetrable as always. He stalked the Gryffindor side of the classroom like a wraith, directing biting comments at the students whenever the fancy struck him.

Harry followed Snape's movements so closely that he was often remiss in his potion making. At the end of class, he bottled a sample of the draught, poorly constructed, for Snape's review. It was then that he realized Snape had avoided his workstation for the entire class period.

Usually, Snape reserved his cruel criticism for any student unfortunate enough to be sorted into any house other than Slytherin. Harry alone was lucky enough to merit Snape's scorn in spite of his Slytherin status. As such, Harry found himself the brunt of one of Snape's snide comments as often as any Gryffindor student, with the exception perhaps of Neville Longbottom.

But today was different. Snape must have been aware that a confrontation was brewing. He seemed to desire avoiding Harry's stare as much as Harry usually avoided the professor's notice. Harry had made himself the perfect target for Snape's favorite practice of testing poor potions on students, and yet the professor merely accepted his stoppered vial of liquid courage – a pearly pink instead of the blood red it should have been – without so much as a grimace.

This would not do. Harry made his way back to his desk and began gathering his supplies, but unlike the rest of the class, who began shuffling out the door, Harry hung back.

"I have to use the lavatory," Harry said to Blaise and Millie, "I'll see you two later."

This had become their code. Whenever Harry announced so candidly that he needed the loo, his friends knew he meant to meet him in the Chamber of Secrets. And so without question and smiling cheerfully, they nodded their heads and went on their way.

Once the classroom had been cleared and only Snape and Harry remained, it became painfully obvious that Harry's suspicions were not wholly unfounded. Harry stood in the center of the classroom, watching as Snape methodically labeled and placed the students' vials in a case to be reviewed later. His movements were slow, deliberate, and he was clearly ignoring Harry.

Harry had not attended Snape's classes for almost three years without learning that it was never acceptable to interrupt the professor, so he stood patiently in place, not saying a word, but keeping his gaze steadfastly locked on the potions master.

Snape finally reached his breaking point when the vials had all been placed neatly away, then rearranged a few times. He could no longer avoid acknowledging Harry under the pretense of work. Snapping at last, he slammed his hands down on the desk and demanded, "You have been gawking at me for the last hour and a half, Potter. What? What is it now? What. Do. You. Want?"

He asked, and now Harry could speak. He could finally voice the question that had been burning in his mind since that fateful lesson with Professor Lupin...

"Were you in love with my dad?"

Snape, who had taken a step from his desk to better confront his obnoxious student, promptly stepped on the hem of his robes and nearly toppled to the floor. The reaction was so sudden, so overblown, that Harry felt it was a confirmation of his guess.

He gasped, and his hands shot to his mouth. Harry's reaction was possibly as large and overdramatic as Snape's had been a moment before.

"It's true!" he exclaimed when he could catch his breath, "It really is true! You were secretly in love with my dad!"

"That's preposterous!" Snape sputtered, "Of all the ridiculous... Who can have... Why would you... How dare...!"

But to Harry, Snape's flustered response and garbled excuses only further confirmed his theory. He continued to exult in his discovery, repeating over and over and in increasingly loud tones, "You loved my dad!"

Snape, his face crimson with rage and embarrassment, either from a desire to silence Harry or frantic to disclaim the lie, abruptly shouted, "Idiot! I never loved James! It was your mother! Lily!"

Silence fell between them with a sudden, oppressive weight. Harry stared at Snape in shock, trying to process this new reality. Meanwhile, Snape had realized he'd made a colossal mistake, and with snakelike speed, he drew his wand from the sleeve of his robes.

He was quick, but not quick enough. Harry had time enough to hear the absorb his statement, and was prepared with his won wand before Snape could direct his.

"Expelliarmus!" he said, disarming the professor as casually as if he'd been practicing with Millie.

To Snape's horror, his wand was plucked from his hand and sailed across the room to Harry's waiting fingers. Harry caught the prize skillfully, though only vaguely aware of his own actions. His mind was still in a whirl. He was too busy considering the implications of Snape's confession to recall the consequences of dueling a teacher. If Hermione had been present, she would have been absolutely scandalized.

Harry didn't know what spell Snape had intended to use on him, but he didn't care at the moment. The pieces of the puzzle were finally coming together, and he was delighted.

"My mother!" he said, "Not my father! Well, that does make more sense, no that you mention it. But I thought since your patronus was a doe and so was my mum's... But hers only changed because she loved my dad... Well, you can see how I got confused. Anyway, this is great!"

Snape's face had gone from crimson to white. He didn't say a word, or even attempt to reclaim his stolen wand. He had exposed a secret he'd hoped never to reveal in his lifetime, and to the very person he least wanted to know about it. With the aspect of a crushed man, he took his seat behind his desk once more, opened a drawer, and withdrew a full bottle of firewhiskey.

Meanwhile, Harry heartlessly continued to express his thoughts aloud.

"I mean, all this time, I just thought you had some weird grudge against my dad. It was obvious that you hated him. People say I look like him, too, so I thought that was why you were terrible to me. But this makes so much sense! You were in love with my mum! But she picked my dad instead of you, so you hate my dad, and I guess you hate me because I was their baby? But I might have been your kid if she had picked you, so what does that make us? Are you like my step-dad? Or like a weird uncle?"

"Wrong again, Potter," Snape said laconically. He had poured himself a small glass of firewhiskey and downed it in one gulp. Wincing with the face of a man who does not usually indulge in spirits, Snape poured himself another shot and swallowed a second mouthful before finally looking Harry in the eye.

"Your mother... Lily would never have picked me, even if there hadn't been a James Potter in the picture. She was... She had too much sense for that."

Harry didn't know what to say. He was sure he'd solved the whole of the mystery, but Snape's response produced another enigma.

"Then why...?"

Snape answered before Harry could finish the question, "I hated James because he was a conceited bully, nothing more."

Harry bristled at the insult to his father, but was still too elated with the thrill of discovery that he allowed the comment to pass unanswered. He still had so many questions, but as he watched Snape pour himself a thrid glass of firewhiskey, he grew more aware of present circumstances. He looked down at the professor's wand, still gripped loosely in his hand and marvelled that this conversation had professed so far without at least the threat of detention.

"What were you planning to do?" Harry asked, gesturing carefully with Snape's wand. He had not forgotten his first trip to Ollivander's shop, and the lessons of his wand-making course taught him to treat unfamiliar wands with caution.

Snape considered Harry over the rim of his glass, then set the drink down untouched. A strange calmness had settled over the professor. Harry assumed it was an act. Now that the initial shock had worn away, Snape was assuming a carefully cultivated mask to hide his true feelings. It both impressed and frightened Harry that he could resume his usual sneer with such ease.

"I was planning to obliviate you," Snape said, pleased that they had moved on to a less distressing topic.

Harry must have given his a blank expression, because Snape quickly added, "I was going to erase your memory. I still might, given the right opportunity. I haven't decided."

"You could do that," Harry said, measuring each word carefully as he spoke, "But what would be the point? Why hide something like this from me?"

"I have my own reasons for keeping it private. It's not something I would relish having gossiped about in the staff room. I'm sure you understand. You wouldn't want everyone in the common room talking about your crush on Miss Bulstrode."

Harry gaped at him.

"I don't have a crush on Millie!"

Snape shrugged and said, "Nasty things, rumors. It might not be true, but that won't stop anyone from believing it."

"Oh," said Harry, relieved to be on familiar footing with the professor once again, "You're threatening me."

"Not threatening, Potter," Snape replied, "Warning. Tell no one of this."

"You don't have to be so dramatic," Harry said, "Who would I tell?"

He was already thinking of Blaise and Millie. The secret was too good not to share with his best friends. However, as so often happens with knowledge, when one learns something interesting, it feeds the desire to learn more. It was no different for Harry. Snape must have known his mother well. Harry had heard so many stories about his dad from Sirius, and strangers often made remarks about how much he looked like James. But of Lily, Harry knew very little. Raised by a sister who seemed to hate her, Harry only had the lies his Aunt Petunia told him in his infancy.

There was so much he wanted to ask the potions master, but Snape continued to eye him with a resentful stare.

Harry, conscious that he still held the professor's wand in his hand, decided not to press his luck.

"We'll talk again later!" Harry said cheerfully. He dropped Snape's wand to the floor. He might pay for it later, but he was already in trouble for confronting Snape in this way. He didn't want to give Snape the opportunity to obliviate him now by handing over his wand politely. And so, dashing out the door without another word, he immediately rant to tell his two closest friends the news.

At least, that had been his intention. But as Harry made his way to Moaning Myrtle's bathroom and down the chute, he had more time to reflect. Harry was not in the habit of keeping secrets from his friends, particularly Millie. After she had concealed her possession by Tom Riddle's diary last year, they had made a pact that there would be no more secrets between them.

But his promise with Millie did not dictate when he had to tell her the truth. At that moment, his friends would be lounging around with Sirius, and he didn't think it was right to gossip about Snape in his presence. By the time Harry walked through the open Chamber entrance, he had made up his mind to behave normally, and not mention the topic that was currently foremost in his thoughts.

Millie, in the meantime, was busy working on her animagus potion. She had moved all of her supplies to the Chamber as she worked on the finishing touches, and was busy reviewing the ritual process with Sirius.

"It is possible to choose your animal form, to an extent," Sirius was explaining, "But you can't be exact. James and I were determined to be something large, while Peter... We needed at least one of us to be small and quick enough to touch the right knot on the Whomping Willow. That said, I was fairly certain I would be a canine, but James was more surprised by his form when it came to it."

"Why did you need to be something large?' Harry asked as he approached their group and took a seat around Millie's cauldron with the others.

Sirius hesitated. He was often at a loss for words when discussing the Marauders. Harry wondered which of his friends he was covering for this time, Lupin or Pettigrew.

Blaise was looking into the simmering contents of the cauldron, not truly paying attention to what the others were talking about. If he had been listening, his curiosity might have been piqued. Instead, he opened his mouth to voice a different concern.

"What would happen if we just drank the potion now?"

"What?" Sirius asked, his train of thought derailing as he stared at Blaise in horror.

"Well, I don't mean now. I mean when it's done," Blaise explained, "Harry and I didn't through the Mandrake step, but Millie's made enough potion for all of us twice over. Couldn't we just drink the potion and perform the ritual?"

"Not if you don't want to end up in the hospital wing puking your guts out," Sirius replied with an ironic smirk.

Millie rolled her eyes, "The potion is toxic if you haven't prepped yourself with the mandrake leaf, remember?"

Blaise groaned and rolled onto his back, turning his eyes toward Harry with a look that begged for sympathy.

"It's just a shame is all I'm saying. Just because we didn't do the stupid mandrake step we don't get to be animagi? There's got to be some other way to brew this potion so it's not so lethal. Maybe Snape..."

He cut himself off, sitting up once more to better direct his gaze at Harry, "Hey, that's right! What did you and Snape talk about?"

Harry had been anticipating this question, and he'd had plenty of time to develop a plausible lie until he could address his friends in private later. He needn't have taken the precaution. Sirius, upon hearing Snape's name, let out a disgusted groan.

"Snape? Not Snivellus Snape, surely? Don't tell me he's a teacher here, too!"

"He's our potions master" Millie replied.

"Snivellus?" Blaise asked at the same time.

Harry recalled Snape's comment about his father being a bully and felt a surge of anxiety. Sirius and his father had been best friends. If Snape had hated James Potter, what were his feelings toward Sirius Black?

"He's not another Marauder you forgot to mention?" Harry asked, hiding the truth behind sarcasm.

He knew what the answer to his question would be, bu Sirius responded with such a display of indignation, Harry was glad he asked it all the same.

"A Marauder? That dark arts loving lunatic? I don't think so," Sirius retorted, "He hated your father, and he hated me even more. I think given the chance, he'd try to kill me before the dementors could have a go."

"You said the same thing about Lupin," Blaise reminded him.

Millie nodded in agreement, "Strange that there are so many people who want to kill you."

"Right? It's almost like they think you murdered a bunch of people and betrayed all your friends."

Sirius managed a laugh at their callously dark humor, though with a gentle caution, begged them to go easy on him.

He turned toward Harry again, a smile replacing the look of disgust that had been there before, "Tell me more about Professor Snivellus, Harry. He's not giving you any trouble for being James' son, is he?"

His guess was dead on, but Harry wasn't going to admit that now. Although they were doing what they could to support Sirius's style of living in the Chamber, there was only so much that stolen pieces of furniture, snacks from the Great Hall, and books from the library could do. No one was made to endure this much time underground. The seclusion was starting to take its toll on Sirius, and Harry feared that if he knew about the bullying he routinely suffered at Snape's hands, it would be all the excuse he needed to bolt from the Chamber and attack Snape in his canine form.

Harry assured him that all was well, telling them all that he merely waited after class to speak with the professor about a tricky new potions assignment. Sirius was appeased for the moment, but Harry hoped they could find a way to clear his name soon. They were running out of time.

While Sirius languished in the Chamber of Secrets, life continued marching forward far above him. The Quidditch tournament was in full swing. The Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff teams had not sat idly by while Gryffindor and Slytherin prepared for their rematch. As the end of the second term drew near, it became necessary to make alternations to the traditional tournament schedule. Hufflepuff had lost to Ravenclaw by a close margin. Then Gryffindor went on to play them, winning by a landslide. Now the rematch between Gryffindor and Slytherin was finally set, and it was possible they could take the whole tournament without facing either of the other house teams.

It was all very complicated. Flint had been drilling numbers into Harry's head between their usual flying drills. Being a student at a magical school that did not teach arithmetic, Flint was surprisingly good at maths.

"Remember, we have to be up by at least fifty points," Flint reminded Harry constantly, "Less than that, and we risk winning the game, but losing the tournament."

"I know!" Harry finally snapped at him after a particularly long practice day. He was rewarded for his tone with extra drills around the pitch after the others had packed up for the day.

The players were not the only ones to feel the pressure of the upcoming match. Tensions between students in the Gryffindor and Slytherin houses were at an all-time high. Small scuffles between rivals began breaking out in the halls, and the Slytherin team itself was often the target of some ill-intentioned attacks.

Gryffindor was the closest they had been to winning the inter-house cup in recent memory. This was another fact that Flint was fond of bringing up during practice. He was determined that Oliver Wood would not have this victory. He talked about it so often, that Harry was convinced he wouldn't mind letting another house take the tournament trophy, so long as it prevented Gryffindor from having it in the end.

It should have been a relief when the game day finally arrived, but Harry's stomach was a twisted ball of nerves. The deafening roar of the spectators as they awaited the start of the match was especially unbearable. He could hear them in the practice room as they put on their uniforms. Harry took a deep breath to calm himself. It would all fade away as soon as he was airborne.

He was right. The Firebolt sprang into action with the slightest touch of his hand, and soon the din of the cheering crowd was lost to the roar of wind whistling past his ears. Even if the noise hadn't been overpowering, Harry would have been too focused on the match to pay attention to anything else.

The strategy he had developed with Flint was simple enough in theory, but it would take a lot of effort on his part to distract the Gyffindor Seeker. The Gryffindor Chasers were strong this year, and unless Harry could catch the Snitch and put his team up one hundred and fifty points before Gryffindor had a chance to score, he would have to hold off until the right moment. The danger was that the Gryffindor Seeker could spot the Snitch before the Slytherin team had developed a comfortable lead.

Harry made a quick circuit of the field, searching desperately for the Snitch. It was nowhere to be found. To make matters worse, the Gryffindor team were already up thirty points in the first few minutes of the game. Their Chasers were playing hard, and the Weasley twins aimed the Bludgers so skillfully, it was hard for Slytherin to keep the point margin close.

Harry wasn't ready to give up just yet. The Gryffindor Seeker must have been given instructions to keep close to Harry. He followed at a close enough distance not to be obvious, but it was clear he was prepared to act quickly if Harry spotted the snitch first.

That was fine by Harry. He knew the Firebolt could easily outstrip the Gryffindor Seeker if it came to a race. He just had to keep the other player distracted until it was the right time.

Then he saw it. Banking hard to the left, Harry swerved into a dive. But he wasn't going for the Snitch. In fact, he was headed in exactly the opposite direction. He prayed the sudden dive would draw away the Gryffindor's attention.

The feint worked. The other Seeker was doggedly pursuing him, and hadn't noticed the Snitch flying overhead. Harry waited until the orb had darted far enough to escape even his sight before gradually pulling up his broom and giving the Gryffindor Seeker a cheeky wave. A feint like that would not work a second time, so he wanted to enjoy this small victory while he could.

To his surprise, the Seeker merely laughed, shouted "Good one!" and began making his own circuit of the field. Harry might have marveled at the player's cavalier attitude during a crucial game like this, but one of the Weasley twins had just pelted a Bludger straight toward him, and Harry was far too busy trying to keep his head on his shoulders to stay still for long.

He began to resume his patrol of the field, free of his shadow, when a change came over the crowd. The cheers and chants from their supportive audience fell away. The sudden silence was more deafening than the chaotic din that preceded it a moment before. Harry wasn't the only player to notice the shift, and he saw a couple of the other Chasers momentarily forget their task as they slowed to a halt, hovering in the air.

It was all the work of a moment. They went from manic, frenzied game-play to a near standstill. For a moment, Harry wasn't sure why. Then he heard a scream break out from the crowd, and his eyes shifted from the sky downward.

Dementors. Fewer of them this time, but still there on the Quidditch pitch. He knew Dumbledore would be furious, but from what Lupin described of the creatures, they didn't experience things like fear or intimidation. They must have been drawn to the game in spite of the Ministry's efforts to keep them in line.

Harry knew there was only one thing they would respond to, and he was finally in a position to give it a try. He felt very lucky that there were fewer of them, and that he was suspended far enough above them to avoid their oppressive effects. It was easier for him to draw the wand, kept hidden in his team uniform expressly for this purpose, and evoke his patronus at full force.

"Expecto Patronum!" he screamed, brandishing his wand in the direction of the monsters.

The stag burst forth, cantering gracefully yet with power, its gossamer hooves barely touching the ground before charging toward the figures.

Harry realized there were only three of them as he watched the progress of his patronus, and to his surprise, the dementors toppled over, apparently frightened by the bright form bearing down on them. Harry had never seen dementors move like that, and now that he observed more closely, he noticed that they were far too short for dementors. They fell to the ground, and their black shrouds flew up around their feet. Harry knew then that there had been some mistake. Dementors definitely did not wear trainers.

Harry was so busy gawking at this strange spectacle that he hadn't realized no one ever called for a time-out. He was recalled back to himself suddenly by the furious voice of Marcus Flint in his ear.

"Potter!" the captain screeched, drawing his broom up close to Harry, "What are you doing?! Nott's spotted the Snitch!"

Harry flinched. Behind him, the patronus shivered away into the air. He directed his gaze past Flint's pointing finger, and saw the other Seeker, bent low over his broom, pelting toward a snitch that was still several yards away.

He didn't stay to apologize to Flint, and he no longer cared about the false dementors. His eyes were on the Snitch.

The Firebolt did not fail him now. Although the Gryffindor Seeker had a head start, Harry was gaining on him. Before long they were neck and neck, then Harry was slowly inching forward. The Gryffindor made a last, desperate grab for the Snitch, nearly brushing its delicate wings with the tips of his fingers, but Harry made a final push. He was willing to topple off his broom a second time, if only it meant he caught the Snitch before he fell.

Fortunately, he didn't need to take such drastic measures. The Snitch was his. He lifted it above his head, and all at once the noise of the crowd swelled to a crescendo. He was elated, until he realized that the cheers had erupted from the Gryffindor stands.

"Thanks for the win, Potter!" called the rival Seeker. Then he was gone, zipping back toward his team. The red and gold clad team were already meeting on the ground, embracing one another while their classmates began to rush the field in celebration.

Harry turned to face the scoreboard, his stomach already sinking in shame, drawing him closer to the ground. He had caught the Snitch. Slytherin won the match. But they hadn't been far enough ahead. The game was won, but he had cost them the tournament.

Harry's feet touched the ground, and he braced himself for the tirade he was sure to get from Flint. The Slytherin captain was white with rage. For a moment, he was too angry for words. Harry began to hope that he would escape without a reprimand.

He wasn't so lucky.

"I said fifty points, Potter!" Flint bellowed in his face. The rest of the team had gathered a short distance behind him, watching the argument as it unfolded. "Fifty! Not forty! Are you so thick you can't count?"

"I can count," Harry retorted, "But the dementors..."

"Those weren't dementors, you idiot!" Flint screamed, "It was Malfoy and his goons playing a stupid prank!"

"What?" Harry asked, turning his head and scanning the field. He saw Snape and McGonagall not far off. They appeared to be taking turns lecturing Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle. All three where dressed in long, tattered robes. Their hoods had been pulled down to reveal their faces, turned toward the ground. Draco looked properly chastised, until he glanced up and met Harry's eye. He gave him a cheeky smirk, and Harry had to bite back several foul names he wanted to call him in that moment.

It wasn't fair that he was being blamed for Draco's interference, but he had known the figures weren't really dementors almost as soon as he'd fired the spell. Flint was still yelling at him, shouting that Harry, not Draco, was in the wrong for being distracted.

You were supposed to have the dementor issue sorted out!" he said.

"I did!" Harry challenged, "My spell would have worked against a real dementor!"

"I don't want to hear your excuses! If the spell would have worked, then you would have remembered not to catch the Snitch until we were up!"

"But Nott had already seen the Snitch!" Harry argued, "If I hadn't stopped him, we would have lost both the game and the tournament! You're the one who told me to chase after it!"

"You weren't supposed to catch the Snitch, Potter! You were supposed to grab the end of his broom and slow him down until the Snitch got away!"

Harry was speechless. The move Flint was describing was illegal in Quidditch. Harry would have earned a foul for their team, giving Gryffindor a penalty shot. With the way their Chasers had been playing, that would have narrowed the point gap even more. But this was not the detail that silenced Harry. He was appalled by the encouragement to cheat to secure their victory. The very little respect he'd held for Flint until that moment dried up, and he wanted nothing more to do with the captain.

Harry's silence enraged Flint even more. He'd correctly interpreted Harry's behavior as insolence and insubordination.

"You're out, Potter," he spat, "I'll see to it that you never play on this team again."

Harry clenched his fists but maintained his silence. He was so disgusted by Flint's attitude, he almost didn't regret being kicked off the team. Still, he couldn't help feeling a pang as he watched the rest of the team follow flint to their locker room. Montague was right behind him, followed by Bletchley. He thought he noticed Derrick and Bole hesitate, but they went on, side by side, without so much as giving Harry a second glance. Only Cassius Warrington lingered behind. To Harry's surprise, he rested a comforting hand on his shoulder.

"It was a great play, Harry. No matter what Flint says. I don't think I've ever seen a Seeker move so fast. Not even in a professional game."

The compliment was almost lost on Harry. He couldn't fathom why Warrington would be kind to him now, right when he'd lost them everything.

No, not everything. He had won the match, and he'd won it fairly. Who cared if the tournament was thrown as a result? Harry glanced up at Warrington and smiled.

"Thanks. I appreciate it. But I suppose it doesn't make a difference now."

"Oh? And why is that?"

"You heard Flint, didn't you? I'm off the team for good. I guess that's the last time you'll see me on the Firebolt."

Warrington smirked at Harry and slowly shook his head.

"Oh ye of little faith. Flint's graduating this year, remember? We'll have a new team captain."

Harry felt his heart beat with excitement. He hardly dared to hope, but Warrington's simple comment awakened new possibilities to his mind.

"Montague will take over," Harry countered, wondering how Warrington would respond to this logical impediment," He does everything Flint says, so it's just as hopeless..."

He couldn't finish the thought. Warrington's eyes were dancing with a secret of his won, and he asked, "Are you sure about Montague?"

"You think... You think he'll keep me on the team?"

"No," Warrington said with a laugh, "You're right about him being Flint's puppet. But I wouldn't be so sure that he'll be captain next year."

Harry stared at him blankly. Then it clicked. Warrington was planning a coup.

"Who else knows?" Harry asked.

"Peregrine and Lucian are already on my side," said Warrington, referring to the two Beaters, "Can I count on your support?"

"If it means I'm on the team next year, I'd follow you anywhere!" Harry declared passionately.

Warrington smiled and patted Harry on the shoulder once more before leaving in the wake of the other team members. It was then that Harry noticed Blaise and Millie. They, like the students of Gryffindor house, had wandered down onto the pitch, but they hung back during Harry's conversation with Warrington. Once the upperclassman had vacated the field, they were quick to approach Harry with apprehensive stares.

"What was that all about?" Blaise asked Harry, "Was he giving you a hard time for losing the tournament?"

"I'm not afraid to hex a fifth year," Millie offered kindly.

"No," Harry replied, "It was the opposite. I'll tell you about it later."

Harry's attention had shifted across the pitch toward where the Gryffindor team was still engulfed by well-wishers. It came as no surprise that most of the school favored Gryffindor over Slytherin for the Quidditch trophy, particularly because they were considered the underdogs going into the match. Harry might have been jealous, if not for the seed of hope his conversation with Warrington planted within him. Instead, he gestured toward the cheering crowd, a mix of students from every house but Slytherin, and made a suggestion.

"Why don't we go congratulate them?"

Blaise and Millie were not as scandalized as one might have expected. Millie merely shrugged her shoulders and Blaise jovially declared, "Very sportsman-like. Lead the way, Harry!"

His friends might be used to Harry's strange behaviors by now, but the rest of the school was not. Harry had something of a reputation among his peers in the other three houses. After being discovered in the Forbidden Corridor during his first year, and the chaos that that followed in the second, that reputation was far from forgiving. Harry parted the crowd easily as he approached, and raised many eyebrows as the only member of the Slytherin team to extend his hand toward Oliver Wood.

It should have been Flint. He was the team captain, after all. But Wood was far too overjoyed to pay much attention to formalities. He accepted Harry's handshake warmly, thanked him for a fantastic final match, and went on to be carried back to Gryffindor tower on the shoulders of his enthusiastic team.

His reception of Harry worked its own magic on the crowd, who were happy to shift their attention back to celebrating and planning for the parties that would be held later in the night. Many students followed the triumphant Gryffindors back toward the castle, and it was then, as the mob thinned, that Harry spotted a familiar head of bushy brown hair.

He made his way toward Hermione, grinning as he noticed Nevillie not far behind, his face painted silver and green.

"That can't have made you very popular on your side of the field," Blaise remarked, noticing Neville's face paint at the same time as Harry.

If he blushed under the paint, Harry couldn't tell, but Neville certainly looked bashful as his gaze swept over his feet.

"Obviously I wanted Gryffindor to win the tournament... But I thought... I only meant to show my support for..."

"He did it for you, Harry, obviously," Hermione finished, "Though I'm not sure why..."

This hurt, coming from Hermione as it did. Harry was surprised that she was till angry about their former disagreement, but it was true he hadn't had a chance to apologize to her since Care of Magical Creatures, and she had been avoiding the Slytherin table during meals.

But Neville was showing his support, and judging from the precision with which the paint had been applied, Harry was certain Hermione had helped him with the application.

"I'm actually impressed," Millie said, also eyeing the paint job. She looked to Blaise, who was quickly becoming as good at reading her non-verbal cues as Harry was himself.

"Yeah," added Blaise, "That took some real guts wearing that today of all days. Maybe you are a real Gryffindor after all."

"Was there ever any doubt?" Hermione countered, "Neville's got plenty of bravery."

"Hermione, please!" Neville cried, burying his face in his hands. He looked ready to fall to the ground from embarrassment.

"C'mon, Hermione," Harry said after they'd all had a good laugh at poor Neville's expense, "No hard feelings?"

As far as apologies go, it was terrible. But a few words and a smile seemed enough to satisfy Hermione. She frowned, but there was no malice behind it. Before even a second had passed, it was replaced with a bright grin, and she accepted Harry with a hug.

"Congratulations on the match," Harry continued, "I don't supposed there's any chance we could join you for the festivities? Seeing was we're all friends again..."

Hermione pulled away from the hug with a disgusted groan.

"Harry Potter, you are incorrigible!" she declared, turning from him and marching back to the castle. She called over her shoulder, "There is no way I am letting any of you into the common room! So forget about it!"

Neville turned to Harry with an apologetic sigh, "Sorry, Harry. I tried talking to her, but she's... Well, it's not that she thinks you're lying, but... What do you want to get in the common room for badly for anyway?"

"Just curious," Harry said with a shrug.

"The more Hermione refuses, the more we wonder what you're all hiding up there," Blaise added, backing up Harry with natural ease.

Neville looked torn. It was clear that he knew Hermione would tear him apart if he let Harry and his friends into the common room, but he was fighting his affection for Harry as well. Harry suspected he was the weak link that would eventually get them into Gryffindor tower, but he didn't know how much longer Sirius could wait.

Just when he was about to try a more persuasive approach with Neville, the Gryffindor gave a sudden jump, and turned to Blaise with a look of surprise.

"What?" Blaise asked innocently.

"Did you just touch my..." Neville began, then he faltered.

"Did I what?" Blaise asked with a harder edge to his voice. He spread his hands out to show that they were empty, and raised a single eyebrow at Neville.

Neville might have been brave enough to support Harry among a crowd of vicious Gryffindors, but he was no match for Blaise. Turning away suddenly, Neville excused himself, stating that he needed to catch up with Hermione.

Harry was livid.

"What did you do?" he demanded of Blaise once Neville had hurried out of earshot, "I was going to convince him to let us into Gryffindor tower!"

Blaise ignored him and proceeded to pull a slip of paper out of the sleeve of his robes.

"No need," he replied smugly, unfolding the bit of parchment and reading its contents, "I spotted this in Neville's pocket. Thought it might be useful, and it is."

He handed the parchment over to Harry while Millie laughingly asked, "You mean you pinched it? And you didn't even know what it was?"

Harry read over the note and didn't understand what he saw. It appeared to be a list, and at first Harry thought it was Neville's shopping list for the next Hogsmeade weekend. But the items I read din't make any sense.

"Wormwart, frog's breath, flibbertygibbet... What does it mean?" Harry asked, skimming the list of more impossible words.

"Remember what that mad painting said to us when you told it you were Neville?"

Harry had to think for a moment, but then he remembered. He'd told Sir Cadogan, the knight now guarding the entrance to the Gryffindor common room, that he was Neville Longbottom in the hopes that he would let them in. The result was a rant about how the knight had already supplied Neville with advanced passwords because he kept forgetting them.

Harry looked down at the list again, this time with very different feelings.

"The passwords," Blaise said, completing his thought, "And a whole week's worth from the look of it."