I am leaving this site. This is my last post for now, I might come back later, like when the good ol' days return. I am going to continue reading and reviewing here, but as an author, Tooieleafs will be no more as far as FanFiction.Net is concerned.

I'm not dropping because of recent events—I feel they were handled wrongly—but FF.Net has the right to run their site as they feel appropriate.


But I also have the right to leave.

So I am.

You have all been wonderful readers, reviewers, and I thank you all for sticking with me through thick and thin. The link to the site where my fiction will be is in my bio, so I bid you all farewell until I hear from you otherwise.

I really don't want to leave….

Chapter Twenty- Five

The Reign of Fire

Ominous black thunderheads throttled the evening sky over the grounds at Hogwarts, rushing the students inside at a quick rate, and causing Hagrid to tidy up around his cabin just as rain began to drizzle down.

Harry miserably eyed the grounds, knowing perfectly well that Fred and George would be arriving any moment to remind him of Quidditch practice tonight, which didn't exactly seem like the most wonderful thing in the world. A torrential rain began without warning, thrashing robustly on the windows in the common room.

"Harry?" came George's sing-song voice.

"I know, I know," griped Harry crossly, "practice." George nodded furtively, seeming very gleeful. "I'll be down to the pitch in a moment."

"Do hurry," beseeched George before vanishing again quick as he came.

Harry groaned, rose from the sofa, and stretched his arm. A pop sounded softly, and a fork of lightning lit the sky.

"You can't expect me to practice in that!" whimpered a nearby voice sulkily. Harry let his attention freely wander to the forms of Fred and Angelina, whom appeared to be having a bit of a spat.

"We have to, Angie!" retorted Fred, a pleading edge to his voice.

"But it's dangerous! Any of us could be struck by lightning!"

"I know that, but—" Fred sputtered off, unable to think of better grounds for the row.

A sigh came from Angelina.

"Fine," she said vivaciously. "But not all night, I can tell you that!" she added fleetly.

"You're marvelous!" exclaimed Fred, and he bent to kiss her quickly on the lips.

She gave him a radiant yet threatening smile, then marched off prominently towards the portrait hole. Fred revolved on the spot to see Harry, who couldn't help the grin from forming on his face.

Fred only grinned back.

"Must dash," he said shortly, "practice. You're coming, right?"

"Would I ever miss practice?" replied Harry, a bit tartly.

"Guess not," said Fred with a sigh. "Actually, mate, I'm a bit inclined to feel like Angie…. All this thunder and rain…stay low in the sky if you would."

Harry nodded shrewdly, then wandered off towards the portrait hole himself as Fred continued to search out the remainder of the team.

By time he reached the pitch, Harry's clothes were sodden in mud and water, sloshing every step he took. His hair was plastered to the flat of his head for once, which meant to Harry that these conditions would be near impossible for Quidditch.

He hurried into the locker rooms, shaking himself dry as a dog would. Angelina, George, Katie, and Kirk were all dappled with spots of mud as well, and while the former three looked miserable as Harry felt, the latter was still smirking as usual.

"Your cuts all healed up?" quipped Harry of Kirk, forcing a bit of a smile.

"Oi, of course they aren't!" cried Kirk, seeming mortified at the very thought. "If Madam Pomfrey would've gotten her grubby paws on me, they'd have healed scarlessly!"

"You make it out as a bad thing," muttered Angelina.

Kirk didn't appear remotely contrite.

"Every scar tells a story, m'dear," he said, eyes flashing humourously. "Take this one for instance." He gestured to a slit on his upper right arm. "Got it in the finals of the junior Stanley Cup, a skate blade ran across my arm."

Harry, Angelina, George, and Katie all stared at Kirk dismally.

"What?" said Kirk innocently. "I didn't do anything to deserve that, if that was what you were implying. I just got cross-checked onto the ice."

"I'm sure of it," said Katie coolly, though she smiled at the youth boy fondly. "You're a perfect gentleman," she finished, a touch of sarcasm showing.

George simpered at her.

"Aw, what about me?"

"You?" She gave a wry laugh, glowing at him. "I doubt you're even familiar with the term."

"Wow, you've figured me out already," said George in an amazed sort of voice.

Harry rolled his eyes, hoping he never got that bad around Ginny. Moments later, Alicia and Fred appeared, looking equally wet and disgruntled.

"Fetch your broomsticks and we'll take to the sky," ordered Fred shortly, dripping water from his hair. "Harry, mind getting the balls out? Thanks."

Harry grabbed his Firebolt, then bent to retrieve the set of Quidditch balls, praying they wouldn't release the Snitch tonight. Somehow, he thought they would.

"Release the Bludgers and toss the Quaffle to Alicia," said George as the girls trouped out of the locker room. He himself darted outward towards the myriad of water and storms.

Harry obliged as soon as he felt the rain beating down on him once more, and the pair of Bludgers zipped away, looped each other, and soared back towards Harry, who ducked his head and hurled the Quaffle towards Angelina, who was the nearest Chaser.

Lightning forked across the sky again, eerily lighting the pitch.

"KICK OFF AND LISTEN FOR THE WHISTLE!" bellowed Fred, a silvery pipe in his mouth.

Again, Harry followed instructions and kicked off. The gales of wind were roughly pushing him off course, rocking him to and fro. He squinted through the rain, drew his wand and whispered, "Impervius!" to repel the water from his glasses.

"I'M RELEASING THE SNITCH, HARRY!" yelped a magically magnified voice, obviously either Fred or George's.

A glint of gold flashed in the darkness, but nothing more than that was seen by Harry before the Golden Snitch had flown away, leaving him to despairingly wonder where it could've gone. He tried his best to remain a low rate of speed and altitude, but found it nearly impossible.

A shrill sound trilled in the distance, presumably the whistle, and Harry swooped down to the ground, landing with a squelch.

The team broke out into whines and complaints at the same time.

"This is impossible—"

"I can't see two feet in front of me—"

"How are we s'posed to practice—"

"SHADDUP!" shouted Fred and George at the same time, going a bit red in the face.

"You've got to be ready for the unpredictable," said George impatiently.

"And what would we look like if we went out in front of Slytherin in this kind of weather and started this?" added Fred on sudden inspiration.

Apparently no one could think of a plausible explanation for that, and Fred sent the team off again into the air.

"PUT KIRK THROUGH THE PACES!" yelled George firmly from the ground to Katie, Angelina, and Alicia.

"OKAY!"

Harry remained dormant on his broomstick for quite some time, narrowing his eyes to better see the play below him. It became so thunderous around his level that he actually dove downward for a moment, and another bolt of lightning shot nearby, rumbling as it smashed into something nearby.

"LOOK OUT!" shouted a panicky voice suddenly; Harry turned his head just in time to see a streak of lightning shooting towards the pitch.

Without warning, he bolted downward fast as he could, though he knew it was at no avail—just as he was about to impact onto the muddy ground, his scar split with sudden, white hot pain, searing through him.

The world went black, and with a dull cracking noise, Harry knew no more.

"How are you getting along, Janet?"

"I'm fine, Remus…."

"You seem…I don't know, just a bit aloof, like you're not really there…."

"It's just so hard to believe."

"I know…."

"You have to be open-minded, eh?"

Soft laughter trickled into the conversation as silence reigned briefly.

"So…where are you staying these days?"

"I just moved up when Albus called me. He explained that the Ministry is in a bit of a feud—"

A harsh, wry chuckle sounded.

"Yeah, a feud that will either end with the hanging of Cornelius Fudge or Albus Dumbledore one."

"Are they really opposing Fudge so badly?"

A sigh filtered in.

"Rita Skeeter calls it 'Rebellion Against Minister of Magic, A Country In Shambles'. Her latest work of art."

"I'm sure."

"What've you been doing all these years?"

"Just dabbling in and out of work here and there. I flew in from southern Wales to Scotland several days ago, and then rushed up here on the Hogwarts Express under the pretenses that there were serious problems."

Another chuckle came.

"You sound like some kind of Muggle scientist or literature MD, what with all your fanciful words and such."

"I've developed quite a taste for literature, now that you mention it. I've thought of offering to teach Defense at Hogwarts, but I was never quick enough to snare the position before someone else did."

"You'd be wonderful for the job, just what Dumbledore needs."

"I still can't fathom that Sirius was wrongfully accused of murder…it just doesn't make sense to me, Remus."

"You can't see it? The ties, the connections…the perfect crime…."

"But—you heard the prophecy, McGonagall recited it to us all…. The Reign of Fire begins, terrorizing Britain and its outlying countries…a traitor will be in the midst of the Potter child's closest friends, a traitor whom will only show his face when the truth is beheld."

"That could mean a number of things, Janet…."

"Such as?"

"Well, Pettigrew didn't reveal himself until Sirius came back—that was the truth."

"Yes, but how do we know that?"

"I saw Pettigrew, I heard the rat of a man confess that he murdered Lily and James Potter…. I know Sirius is innocent!"

There was a testy edge to the voice of the latter speaker.

After a tense moment, there was the sound of quiet footfall, the clicking of a door then slamming of it as someone left the room. The voices made little sense to Harry as he laid half-asleep in the hospital ward, his skull aching him.

"Are you awake, Harry?"

He had obviously been moving a little often, and though he was inclined to fight the dizziness of arousal, he let his eyes drift open to glimpse Remus sitting in a chair at the foot of his bed. Another chair sat deserted in the adjoined arm of the first.

"You are awake," said Remus brightly, simpering in the twilight of the dawn—or was it dusk?

"What time is it?" asked Harry in a growl of a voice, sounding more cross than he had intended.

Remus appeared mildly abashed.

"Evening. Dusk is just about to settle in. You've slept for two days without so much as moving a single inch. You can imagine," he continued airily, overpowering Harry's quips, "our concern."

"Who was that you were talking to a minute ago?"

"My old friend, Janet."

"Is—is that who Professor Snape was talking about in Hogsmeade?" pressed Harry curiously.

But Remus closed the topic with a rigid look.

"I'd rather not discuss it right now," he elaborated, letting a drawn smile crease his face.

"What happened to me?" asked Harry after a moment, suddenly remembering he was in the hospital wing.

"From what I gather, you were practicing Quidditch in a lightning storm that wasn't generated by nature, when lightning struck the ground nearby and you collided rather harshly with the earth."

His eyes began twinkling in a manner such as Dumbledore's would, as though he was trying to guise his amusement.

"Well, I had better report to Poppy and Albus that you're all right," he finished, glancing around, seeming to think that something was prepared to lurch out at them any moment.

As Remus reached the door, it flew open on its own accord, and in bristled Madam Pomfrey ardently.

"Up, are you?" she barked. Harry began to rise from his lying position, and she placed her hand on his chest, preventing him from rising. "Why didn't you call me?" she huffed indignantly. "He needs proper care, Lupin, I'm afraid I'll have to ask you to leave while I tend to him."

"But I feel—"

"Do as Madam Pomfrey says," advised Remus. He bent closer and added mischievously, "I've tried spiting her before, it just doesn't work properly." He righted himself, nodded shortly to Harry, then ambled out of the ward.

Madam Pomfrey gave an irritated noise.

"Such nonsense, playing Quidditch in the lightning storm…" she bewailed angrily, feeling Harry's forehead. "You're lucky the ground was so soft…. I swear, if it isn't one thing with you lot, it's another…."

She rambled off, stirring an acid blue potion in a small tankard next to his bed.

"Take a drink of that, and you should be up and around in a day or so."

"What?!" yelped Harry, outraged—he wanted to stay here as little time as possible.

"You've got to recover from that injury!" trilled Madam Pomfrey impatiently.

"I feel fine!"

"You don't look it, I'm afraid, so you're going to have to stay here for the night. I'll tell Albus to have your homework brought to you."

Harry groaned, flopping grouchily back down to his pillow.

"Drink it," instructed Madam Pomfrey firmly.

Puling a disgusted face, he lifted the tankard and took a long draught from it. It seemed to sizzle the entire way down, making his throat burn furiously.

"Settle to bed now," ordered Madam Pomfrey crisply.

Harry spluttered off spitefully, scowling after her as she disappeared again.

"We've been assigned extra on self-Transfiguration, Harry," said Hermione in an uncanny tone equal to Professor McGonagall's.

Harry let free a groan.

"Self-Transfiguration is among the most interesting forms," scoffed Hermione.

"I keep getting worried I won't make it all the way to my form or back," shot Harry.

Ron cleared his throat slightly.

"Aw, is Hermi neglecting you, Ronniekins?" taunted Ginny from a nearby chair opposite the other two. She laughed at the beet-red expression of Ron's face. "Your ears are red!"

"Your ears turn red too!" argued Ron, sending daggers his sister's way.

"They do not!"

"Do too!"

"Do not!"

"Could we have silence here, please?" interjected Harry sullenly, his wand clutched in his hand.

"You wouldn't dare curse me!" admonished Ginny, smiling at him.

Harry rolled his eyes.

"I'm trying to Transfigure myself, and I could do with a bout of silence."

"Ooh, what are you going to make yourself?" asked Hermione zealously.

"I was thinking possibly a chair…something around my actual size, though, so if I get stuck, at least I can be my proper size."

"No, you've got to get more creative!" said Ginny profusely.

"Hey, how about a Muggle item?" suggested Ron idly. "You could go haywire!"

Harry gave Ron a look.

"How about this?"

He scrunched his nose disdainfully at the picture of what seemed to be a children's sailboat, not nearly three feet long.

"Well…it's a start," he said, still sceptically eyeing the picture, in which the boat was twirling in circles in the middle of a pond.

Harry took out his wand, and, feeling weird though it was to "curse" himself, muttered a brief incantation under his breath. Just as he did so, Hermione burst out, "Have you learned the formula behind it yet?!"

A small squeal shouted out, followed by a snort of laughter. Harry stared around blankly at his friends, all of whom were either chortling with laughter or very red in the face. Hermione was shaking in suppressed laughter herself, shocking Harry.

"Wh-what's going on?" he asked in a voice that sounded distant and echoing to even him. Dreadfully he brought his hands to either side of his head. He felt, rather than a mop of messy hair, the mast of a boat, and a sail draped from it. He wondered if the blush present on his face was hidden by the bad bit of Transfiguration, or if they could indeed see his embarrassment.

"You…you should've—should've studying h-h-harder," panted Hermione breathlessly, tears streaming her cheeks from laughing.

"Oh yeah!" concurred Ginny delightfully, tears blotching her own face.

"Er…what's the incantation to change me back?" asked Harry flatly, not enjoying the situation.

Just before he could grab the spellbook, Ron snatched it away, recovering from his laughter fit just long enough to do so. Harry frowned, a picture of himself forming in his mind. Harry Potter: Sailboat Head Boy, he thought sourly. After a moment of rethinking it, he couldn't help but laugh aloud.

"H-Hermione, change me back, please?" pleaded Harry, giving her puppy eyes.

"I s'pose I should," said Hermione after a moment, continuing to chuckle as she performed the spell.

She pulled back, seeming satisfied with her work, nodding. Harry felt his head, relief washing him as his hands recognised the familiar mop of messy hair.

"I think I ought to study a bit more," he muttered, feeling his cheeks heat up.

"I reckon you're right!" cackled Ron devilishly.

Without taking time to reconcile, Harry shoved the linen sheets over his head. There was a very small instance of silence, then the scuffling of feet, and the frequent sound of footfall came, then the closing of a door. The covers were lifted shortly, and Ginny's face swam into view, offering a dazzling smile at him.

Wow. I could've sworn it was ten degrees cooler in here just a moment before….

"When d'you get to come back?" pouted Ginny as she pulled back from a kiss.

"Tomorrow, unless Madam Pomfrey has anything to say about it," grumbled Harry. "She's been nursing me around like a baby bird."

Ginny giggled.

"What are you doing?" cut in Madam Pomfrey through their mirth. Her tone was crisp and rid of foolhardiness, seeming to slice the air like a hot knife to butter. Harry wondered if she had been taking lessons from McGonagall recently. "Get out from under those covers!"

Feeling both embarrassed and frightful, Harry removed the covers from atop his head, smiling charmingly towards Madam Pomfrey, who narrowed her eyes dangerously.

"Er—"

"What were you doing under there?"

"Sleeping?" said Harry, giving her a sideways appraising glance.

"Take another draught of potion, and then you can go," she said, though still she was fuming a bit. "Be a little more mindful from now on—I don't need to be tending to you every other month, that's a bad habit, Potter."

Harry grinned.

"I'll do my best," he assured her, and she bustled from the ward.

Ginny burst into gales of laughter as soon as the nurse was out of hearing range, collapsing onto Harry's chest. Harry idly stroked her hair, gently tugging at the crimson locks affectionately.

"We'd better go before she comes back," he whispered into her ear.

Without pausing to give Ginny time to rethink the matter, Harry sprang out of bed and grabbed his tankard, taking a sip of it. He pulled a disgusted face once more.

"What does she put in this stuff?" he wondered incredulously, eyeing the potion.

Ginny laughed again, rising from the four-poster and gathering her things.

"Let's find Ron and Hermione before they begin to assume the worst."

I think my beta-reader fell off the face of the earth. So I'm posting this un-beta-read.

YOU GUYS WERE WONDERFUL!

Goodbye for now!