Chapter 4 – Keeping the Faith
**
His heart in his throat, Will stood up to file outside with the rest of the team. They could still hear Maggie's groans from beyond the corner, and as Will joined the jostling line, he had to fight back a wild urge to run off and join her. He even went a full five paces before he remembered to bring his Comet 220 with him.
The Hufflepuff section of the stands broke out in gasps, shouts, and other cries as the team entered the pitch, but Will kept his eyes low, concentrating on just placing one foot in front of the other. For all he knew, the noise might be cheers of support, and not weeping, wailing, and gnashing of teeth, but he didn't care to find out at present. He certainly wasn't going to look up and see if Davey and Owen and other people were watching him.
As the center circle loomed nearer, Will heard the voice of Richard Tracy, the Slytherin captain, embroiled in a loud argument with Madam Hambeck. Looking up, he found Tracy's pointed finger and accusatory glare, directed right at him. Kane rushed forward to join the dispute, but Will ducked his head again and trudged on to his place at the top of the circle, nearest the Hufflepuff hoops. The game hadn't started yet, so the substitution was perfectly legal – at least he could feel secure in that. Once Tracy realized that he was just the reserve Keeper and not some Hufflepuff secret weapon, the Slytherin would probably start doing celebratory cartwheels down the length of the pitch.
"Hey, Lowby!" came an excited whisper from Will's left. He looked over to see Robbie Welkin, who was grinning rather maniacally. "Let's show them a thing or two, eh?"
Will managed a wan half-smile. He'd give his next two broomsticks for a thimbleful of Robbie's confidence. His stomach lurched as he watched the Slytherin players gather around the other half of the circle. Why had he signed up for this position in the first place? The Keeper never got to fly around much, he incurred the wrath of hundreds if he missed a block, and it was usually the Seeker who won the game anyway. He'd actually wanted to be a Beater since the time he was a kid, but he hadn't the size when he first joined the team. Kane had told him that he'd have better luck playing Keeper, and he'd just gone along with it...
"Lowby!" Welkin whispered again, more loudly now as the buzz of the crowd reached a fever pitch. "You've practiced this, mate. You know what you've got to do."
With those words, a ray of sunlight seemed to spill down from the sky onto Welkin's head, and Will felt as though he'd found his new best friend. His heart stopped trying to pound its way out of his body. He did know what to do – he'd been preparing for months, and he'd read Darren O'Hare's The Seven Secrets of Highly Effective Keepers more than any of his textbooks. O'Hare had retired from the Kestrals years ago, but the man was a legend in Keeper circles (if not for his Quidditch exploits, then for his much publicized romances with heiresses, socialites, and one Admiral's daughter). Will could recite his advice from the dog-eared pages with no effort at all:
#1 – Keep your eye on the Quaffle.
Will unclenched his fingers from his Comet, where they'd been growing numb. Yeah, he thought with a breath of relief, he could manage that. Same for the next:
#2 – No, really – keep your eye on the Quaffle. Can't say it enough.
His distress now eased by a glimmer of hope, Will turned back to his teammate. For the first time that day, he noticed the sky – bright, but not overly so, and nary a breeze. Perfect weather for Quidditch. Hufflepuff had played every match of the last four years in some combination of rain, sleet, or howling wind – maybe they were fated for a miracle today.
"Thanks, Welkin," he managed to say, even more grateful now that his vocal chords were once again compliant.
Robbie was rolling his head from side to side, stretching his neck. "No problem," he said, and grinned again. "It'll all feel different once you're in the air, trust me."
A whistle blew, and Madam Hambeck strode out into the center of the circle, her red referee's robes billowing about her. Will mounted his broom and stood at attention, eager to test the veracity of Robbie's words.
"I want fair play from both sides!" Madam Hambeck called out sternly, setting down the crate that contained the Quaffle, Bludgers, and the Golden Snitch. She stared down each of the players in turn, as though daring them to try a foul in her presence. Once she seemed satisfied of their fear, she stooped and unlocked the crate. Will shifted anxiously. Once the balls were released, he'd have to fly as fast as he could to the hoops, hopefully before any of the Slytherin Chasers reached them.
"Let the game begin!"
Like a shot, Will kicked off from the ground and soared into the autumn sky. The wind whipped across his face as he raced towards the Hufflepuff side, and just as Robbie had predicted, worry gave way to airborne euphoria. In an instant, Will remembered with perfect clarity why he wouldn't trade his position for anything else, not even for the satisfaction of slamming heavy, dangerous, metal objects at other people.
He loved the decisiveness of Keeping, the simplicity of it all – in a matter of seconds, ten points were either gained or denied. Those moments always distilled down to just him, the Chaser, and the Quaffle, and though his insides twisted into knots each time one sped towards him, he couldn't get enough of it. Even a bloody brilliant Seeker couldn't always guarantee a win if the team had a rubbish Keeper.
Reaching the hoops, Will spun around at once, ready for any approaching onslaught. What a view the Keeper had, too! Robbie Welkin appeared to have taken quick possession of the Quaffle and was flying like a man possessed, dodging Bludgers, streaking around opposing Chasers, and passing to Todd Wicks and Elizabeth Rose with lightening speed. Kevin van der Graff and Angus Evers were swinging their clubs as if they'd taken every slight in Hufflepuff's history very, very personally, and the sky became a riotous blur of black and yellow, green and silver. Watched the beautiful sight, he mulled over more of O'Hare's wisdom:
#3 – A Keeper who leaves the hoops to try to score himself had best live in an Unplottable location, as his teammates will make short work of such a jumped-up glory hound.
Ha! No danger there, Will thought, as he circled the hoops in a Figure-Eight Loop. No Keeper had been thick enough to try that for ages. He wasn't going to fly any further away than he absolutely had to. Hufflepuff might have the Quaffle for now, but it would likely be on his end of the pitch very shortly.
#4 – A Keeper who fears death should reconsider his choice of sport – Muggle croquet might be more to his liking.
He'd never quite sorted out what croquet was, but anything that wasn't played in the air sounded rather boring. He'd take Quidditch and its broken bones any day, especially when – what was that?
A loud cry from the crowd had broken into his thoughts. Will squinted his eyes, trying to ascertain what had happened on the opposite end of the pitch. Todd Wicks was slumping forward over his broom, his hand over his nose. Slytherin Beater Ebenezer Spatchcock was shaking out his fist, grimacing in pain. Ah, a Transylvanian Tackle gone awry…well, that happened. Madam Hambeck flew toward Wicks, probed the bones of his face for a moment, and then performed what seemed to be a Staunching Spell on his nose.
Furious at the infraction, the Hufflepuff crowd filled the air with indignant noise. Will held his breath as Wicks approached the Slytherin Keeper to take the penalty. Yes! The shot was good. He allowed himself a short, smug laugh at Ellie Squires' expense. It was rather pleasant not to be the first Keeper scored on, and for what it was worth, Hufflepuff had the lead.
But Slytherin was in possession now, and they would be less than pleased at being shown up so quickly into the match. Will's pulse began to race as he saw the spot of red thrown into the air again. His eyes darted from one side of the pitch to the other, following the path of the Quaffle. His mind slipped into a frenetic whirl, and he turned to O'Hare again, trying to calm down before the Chasers got any nearer –
#5 – Trust your instincts. If they prove consistently faulty, refer to the counsel in #4.
But instinct wasn't everything, Will argued to himself, even though he'd never bring that up with O'Hare (the man had won three League Championships, after all). There was the angle of approach, the flier's seat on the broom, the position of the throwing arm, the movements of the Chaser's eyes. Even now, by their flight paths, he could see that the Slytherin players were gathering into what would probably become a Hawkshead Attacking Formation. As they neared, Will grew tense, ready to spring at the first throw. His breath quickened. He heard nothing, saw nothing beyond what was moving toward him on the pitch. The Chasers were closer, closer now…he could see their faces…Fletcher Anson, the lead, was pulling back his arm, aiming for the right hoop… Will had just started to initiate a block when the voice of the commentator rang out loudly, jarring his focus:
"And no, ladies and gentlemen, that's not Maggie Monoco with a haircut," the voice boomed. "Playing Keeper for Hufflepuff is fifth year William Manfred Lowby, not quite the runty little lad he was last season, but still a player with no real experience to speak of…"
The interruption was as welcome as a Fwooper's call at five in the morning. Will's head inadvertently turned, and in that moment, his concentration faltered. He left a fraction too late, and though he nearly threw himself from his broom in an attempt to stop it, Anson's shot sailed straight through, unchecked. The Slytherin stands went wild.
Will's face burned as he flew behind the hoops to gather up the Quaffle. Ten points to Slytherin, just like that. How could he have been stupid enough to fall for such a ploy? He knew better, and if he'd only had a few more seconds, he would have remembered O'Hare's thoughts on the matter:
#6 – If you've got an ounce of sense to your name, don't listen to the commentator. The score of the match (or anything else that idiot says) doesn't change your job at all.
He tried in vain to shut the jeers and heckles out of his ears, but the amplified chant of "Manfred! Manfred!" was impossible to ignore. His ire grew as he returned to his place, ready to send the Quaffle back into play. If he had his way, that commentator bloke was going to find himself with a bedful of Dungbombs tonight. And a Larvae Lozenge in his breakfast porridge.
Seething, Will hurled the ball at random towards one of his Chasers. He wanted it as far away from him as possible. But the pass was ill-fated; he threw too hastily, before Elizabeth Rose was ready. As she fumbled with the Quaffle, unable to get a firm handhold, Slytherin Chaser Kathryn Felder swooped overhead. In a flash, she plucked up the Quaffle like an apple from a tree, and sent it in over Will's head before he could lift a finger to stop it.
Once again, the Slytherin crowd rang out in joyful chorus. All color left Will's face, and he desperately contemplated fleeing the pitch, changing his name, and taking up residence in Uganda. Slytherin – twenty, Hufflepuff – ten, thanks to him. He wouldn't have been surprised if Darren O'Hare himself had Apparated right then and there, to take action before he could disgrace the position any further:
#7 – If you can't manage to save the blooming Quaffle, haul your sorry arse off the pitch and let a real Keeper do it.
Will stared dumbly at the ground, as though hoping to find some hole in which he could cower and wait out the next millennium. Many a Keeper had lost points this way, and their names were all retained in the public consciousness on an ignominious list. Wigtown had even sacked Lila Ackermum for committing such an error (although Will was fully behind the decision, since her blunder cost Wigtown its place in the 1972 league finals). Now he'd joined their dubious ranks, due to carelessness and stupidity and the pressures of a match that he suddenly didn't want to be in anymore. His limbs felt leaden, and he could barely motivate himself to go and retrieve the Quaffle. Why couldn't the editors have made an amendment to The Seven Secrets? Surely they could have thought to add that word of caution:
#8 – Make eye contact with your Chasers, you ruddy fool, unless you actually WANT to lose the lead, let down your teammates, and have your Keeping ability and general intelligence in high question.
Finally comprehending that unless he wanted the students to storm the pitch, he had no choice but to move, Will ducked behind the hoops yet again. A gust of air blew across him as he reached out for the red sphere, and he glanced up to find himself face-to-face with his team captain, who looked as pleased as a Manticore awoken from its noonday nap.
"Sorry – I'm sorry," Will mumbled, staring at his hands. Maybe Kane would decide that Hufflepuff fared just a good a chance without a Keeper. Maybe he should pack his bags for St. Boffo's School for Magical Misfits and Wayward Wizards right now.
Kane turned his head away. His eyes skimmed across the pitch as he spoke in harsh, yet measured tones. "No more of that, Lowby, you hear?"
Will gave a meek nod.
"Slytherin always runs up the score quickly – if they get too far ahead, it doesn't matter if I catch the Snitch. YOU CAN'T LET THEM DO THAT."
Madam Hambeck's amplified voice cut into their conversation as Will nodded again. "Two more seconds, gentlemen," it resounded, "and this will be considered an official time-out."
Kane clapped him on the shoulder and sped off. Will returned to the front of the hoops, and was just about to send the ball in when he saw Robbie Welkin, unguarded, hovering halfway down the length of the pitch. A crazed notion began to form in his brain. A pass that long was foolhardy under any circumstances, and downright risky against a team like Slytherin. Considering the egregiousness of his recent bungles, it would be comparable to prancing into the Appleby stands wearing a "Wise Wizards Worship the Wasps" t-shirt. But Slytherin would be expecting something cautious from him now, something prudent, to make up for his abysmal start. If he didn't find the nerve to attempt this now, he might never regain it. The Quaffle felt as though it were jumping from his hands, itching to find its way to Robbie.
Will steeled his resolve, before he could talk himself out of anything, and caught Elizabeth's eye. "Welkin," he mouthed. He saw Elizabeth's eyes widen in understanding, and without a pause, she shot straight up into the air, leading several Slytherins with her. Todd Wicks followed her cue and zoomed sharply off to the right, leaving an open path to Welkin. Will quickly feigned passes in both of their directions, then, before common sense could dissuade him, he marked his target and threw for all he was worth.
Robbie seemed to have sensed what was coming. He raced forward to catch the Quaffle, executed a skilled flip to change direction, then sped like a Snidget on fire to the Slytherin hoops. The Slytherin Chasers changed course once they saw what was happening, but Robbie had a substantial lead, and the enthusiasm of the Hufflepuff Beaters further hindered those who chased after him. He did a quick Woollongong Shimmy to rid himself of opposing Seeker Bruce Patman, who tried to help thwart the goal, and threw for the right hoop. Will flinched, almost unable to watch, but he couldn't help but shout when he heard the ring of the score bell. With a faint laugh, he ran a hand across his face. It had worked. They were tied. Perhaps he wouldn't request a transfer to St. Boffo's just yet.
The match continued, and the plays and players soon receded into a haze. Will wasn't certain if he'd been on the pitch for twenty minutes or two hours – all he knew were strained eyes, stinging palms, and a growing exhaustion in his tense body. He'd long since tuned out the score and most of the crowd's noise, focusing only on the Quaffle.
As predicted, the Slytherin Chasers were swift, strong, and not above deflecting the ball off his head. Occasionally, he would hear the telltale gasp of the crowd, signaling the presence of the Snitch. Out of the corner of his eye, he would see Aristotle Kane – dipping, diving, and doing every other sort of aerial acrobatic possible to impede the other Seeker – and he would know that Hufflepuff was significantly behind. Will wasn't sure how much of a reputation he had left to salvage, after those first two lapses and the lamentable number of missed blocks since, but he'd decided that on Helga's honor, he wouldn't give in to Slytherin. Even if the next Quaffle thrown knocked his gourd clean off.
The sound of Madam Hambeck's whistle, indicating a timeout, was a welcome reprieve. Will took a moment to shut his eyes and wipe the sweat from his brow, before flying down to the ground to meet his teammates. Many of them looked as though they'd seen better days, and Will realized that he must appear quite at place in their midst – his face stung something fierce from where he'd successfully blocked a shot with his right cheekbone.
Aristotle Kane was the last to join the group. Wild-eyed and wild-haired, the captain showed the strain of the match when he almost collapsed on the ground.
"If you've got anything to say, say it now," Kane panted, as the Beaters helped him to his feet. "I'm not calling a timeout for any reason. We've got to run them into the ground."
Will lowered his head. Slytherin must have called the timeout, then. Were Tracy and his lot plotting a way to quickly end Hufflepuff's misery?
"I'm sorry, all," he groaned, in the direction of his feet. He closed his eyes, ostensibly to rest them, but more because he was imagining his future as a Quidditch pariah, consigned to a life of whispered taunts and disappointed sighs as he walked the halls of Hogwarts.
Elizabeth Rose stopped fiddling with a loose front tooth and laughed.
"Will," she exclaimed, "we're only 160 points behind!"
Will's eyes flew open, and he jerked his head up to stare at Elizabeth. That was all? Holy Hippogriffs, they could win this thing.
"Yeah, 160 points," Kane repeated, grinning at Will's look of open shock. "We won't sack you just yet, Lowby. Now, what are you seeing out there?" he asked, turning to the team.
"Galloway's marking you," Kevin van der Hoff volunteered, as he popped a dislocated finger back into place. "Only Spatchcock seems to be going after the Chasers."
Kane paused, and a devious smile began to twitch at the corners of his mouth.
"Is she, now?" he replied thoughtfully. "Perhaps Gertrude will help us in our hour of need." He paused again, as though running over a plan in his head. "Beaters," he said at last, "keep Patman away from the Snitch. Chasers, pay NO attention to what I'm about to do. Just be ready to score, and see that you DO. Welkin, you're our best penalty scorer – REMEMBER THAT."
Will couldn't tell what Robbie thought of the cryptic comment – the Chaser's bloody lip and eye swollen half-shut made reading his expression difficult – but Robbie nodded all the same. The shrill sound of Madam Hambeck's whistle cut Kane off before he could go further.
"Right, then," the captain said, steeling himself to re-enter the fray. "We're within striking distance, people. Let's end this match now."
Rejuvenated, if only in spirit, the team took off into the air. Will returned to his sentry at the hoops, and the other players gathered around, waiting for Madam Hambeck to release the Quaffle again. Something curious was happening on the pitch, though… Will watched, bemused, as Aristotle Kane began to fly in a close, tight circle around the Slytherin Beater whom van der Graff had mentioned. Really, Kane had to be either barking mad or exceptionally brave – according to rumour, even the Minister of Magic was afraid of Trudy Galloway, a seventh year Slytherin with bad hair and a temper to match. Everyone knew what had happened to the hapless first year who ate the last of Trudy's favorite jam tarts last Tuesday, as the boy was still cross-eyed. But here was Kane, zipping in and out, in and out, almost to Trudy's face, doubtlessly infuriating her.
The Quaffle was back in play now, but still Kane continued his games, hemming Trudy in to where she could barely fly an inch in either direction. Will squinted at the bizarre spectacle – was there a point to this, or was Kane just severely dehydrated? He caught his breath as Ebenezer Spatchcock flew closer to the duo, doubtlessly to come to his teammate's aid. At that same moment, a Bludger came spinning onto the scene. Will tried to pull his eyes away, but the Quaffle was far off, so he allowed himself another look. This was like giving Fizzing Whizbees to a Porlock – something interesting was bound to happen, and Kane wasn't flying away nearly fast enough if he was trying to get out of Trudy's range…
OOOF!
But then again, perhaps that was the point. The sound of man and Bludger connecting was heard throughout the pitch. Spatchcock wielded a powerful club, but he was slower on a broom than treacle in January, and he'd placed himself inadvisably close to Trudy's foe. He hadn't stood a chance once she swung; Kane had flitted off at the last moment, and the Bludger had caught Spatchcock in the stomach, nearly unseating him from his broom. Will could hear the incensed cries of the other Slytherin players, but as there was no injunction against attacking your own teammate, Madam Hambeck didn't halt the play. In the hullabaloo created by those few seconds, Elizabeth caught the Quaffle and added ten more points to Hufflepuff's score.
But the fun wasn't ending there…as Squires threw the Quaffle back in, Kane began flying back and forth in front of Trudy, punctuating his antics with dainty waves. The Beater, now livid, was looking from left to right in search of a Bludger to do the job that the last one hadn't. Will watched with a sick sort of fascination as she finally, upon finding no Bludgers at her disposal, pulled back her club. She wouldn't…oh, she would. Trudy's club went flying through the air, Aristotle Kane as its marked target. But – what in the blazes…? Robbie Welkin was flying directly towards it. Was he daft? If he wasn't careful, he was going to catch the club right in the knee…oh. Perhaps that was the point, too. Madam Hambeck's whistle cut through the air, and Hufflepuff's best penalty scorer flew forward to take the shot. Spent in mind and body, Will could do no more than let out a weary chuckle. Hufflepuff was a bloody great house.
The humour of the situation made a rapid departure, however, as soon as Robbie scored. Will summoned all his remaining strength. His eyes stung with sweat, their vision blurred, but he didn't dare shut them for a moment. A green blur was streaking down the edge of the pitch, veering in sharply. Will braced himself. Richard Tracy had an arm like a trebuchet with a grudge, and now that a mere 140 points separated them, Slytherin would be taking no chances. At that angle and speed, the far left hoop was the only one Tracy would be able to hit with any kind of accuracy. He was still a good distance away, but he was readying his arm to throw…
Will's heart pounded one frantic, final time as the Quaffle left Tracy's hands, but a flash of memory, the most vague recollection, hit just as he set his Comet in motion. Last August, on the Falcons' pitch, the final match of the training session. A wicked twist on the Porskoff Ploy. Tracy had flown in like this – the Keeper hadn't been able to see it, but Tracy had released the Quaffle just before the scoring area. Kathryn Felder had been there, too, playing on Tracy's side. Unseen by the defense, she'd swept in sharply from the opposite side, intercepting Tracy's throw in mid-air and sending it into the far right hoop in one quick, fluid movement. Disconcerted by the new Chaser who had unexpectedly, yet legally, entered the scoring area, the Keeper hadn't known what hit him. The right hoop had been completely unguarded, and Felder had scored. Will had gone home that night discussing the finesse and precision of the play with Patrick, but he'd never given it another thought, until…now.
Without pause, Will flung his entire body weight backwards, barely keeping his broom with him. An inner voice whispered that he'd be the biggest prat on earth if he were wrong, not to mention dead, if his legs couldn't keep their upside-down hold on the broom. But he knew he'd seen this play before…he stretched out his arms, reaching as far as he could, never more grateful for summer growth spurts than when the Quaffle met his fingertips in a brutal crush of bone. He hadn't acted quickly enough to save the ball, but the nudge sent the Quaffle off-course. It caught the edge of the hoop and bounced away, and the Hufflepuff stands erupted into a frenzy.
His fingers throbbed in pain, but Will knew he didn't have a second to dwell on them, or to take in Felder's mystified expression – the Quaffle was still fair game. He sped toward it, and was trying ineffectively to scoop it under one arm when a greater wave of jubilation and noise swept over the crowd. Will looked up to see Aristotle Kane descending on the pitch, battered, bruised, and holding the Snitch. Numb, he let the Quaffle bob away. By Merlin, they'd pulled it off. He'd maintained the score, and they'd beat Slytherin.
In a daze of pain and incredulity, Will turned his Comet with his one good hand and began to fly down to where his team had congregated. A baffled giggle kept slipping out of his mouth – Slytherin! The favourites! Vanquished by Hufflepuff! He blessed the names of Darren O'Hare, Madam Hambeck, and the makers of his Comet 220. He would remember this day for the rest of his life.
The team was hovering a few feet above the ground on their brooms, some whooping in celebration, others sobbing openly. Aristotle Kane looked as though he were under a very strong Confundus Charm. For the first time since the match began, Will turned his eyes to the stands, searching, searching... Was she there? Had she seen – ? He didn't have to look long – one face stood still among the jumping, screaming swarm of students. She was leaning against a railing, as though she'd just run down the steps to it, and her mouth was open in a wide, joyous smile. Will raised his uninjured hand in greeting, and his heart skipped a beat when Abby Loomis returned the gesture, her smile stretching out even more. There they remained, their gazes locked for several glorious seconds, until a congratulatory cuff from Angus Evers slammed Will off of his broom and onto the ground, where he promptly lost consciousness.
**
A/N – Yes, this chapter just teems with cliché, but I owed Will a moment of glory. :D Many thanks to all those who contributed names, to those who helped me sort out Hufflepuff Quidditch ethics, and to those who helped me understand the mind of the Keeper. I'm also grateful to the ladies of the SQ Workshop, for their input, to Catherine, for letting me borrow Robbie Welkin, and to soupytwist, for suffering through my overuse of hyphens.