Harry Potter
And the
Doomspell Tournament
Last time, operation Stinking Slytherin's was carried out by Marshall, Harry, and Chuck. But when they thought all was over, Snape himself came forward and revealed that he knew all about their stinkbomb raid! Neville and Marshall, however, were able to stand up to the greaseball, and managed to convince (blackmail) him into not saying a word!
About two months later, now, the Doomspell tournament is nearing very close. Soon enough, Harry, Dumbledore, and the Defense teachers will have to face Voldemort and his henchmen. But will they be able to stand up? Within the next week of Hogwarts School of witchcraft and wizardry will it be decided!
Chapter 5
The Final Preparations
Harry was growing quite adept at his curses. Marshall had taught him now not only the ally-safe explosion, he had taught him how to send an efficient blast from his wand to blast through nearly anything, and elemental curses, how to burn your enemy with fire, throw or disorient him with wind, make a miniature earthquake follow him around and trip him as long as you concentrate on it, and begin a flood that would wash away anything. Harry was pleasantly pleased with his progress, and now felt semi-confident, taking into account that he had defeated Voldemort before, with and without the protection of his scar.
But there were a few curses he had not exactly learned yet. That's why he was called to McGonnagall's office Friday afternoon after classes, and encountered quite a mob.
"Harry, welcome." Dumbledore greeted him. "Sit down." Over the din, he called out to the small crowd. "Welcome, all. Aurors, former professors, professors, and such, welcome. As you all know, the Doomspell tournament was set for next Tuesday, as announced by Voldemort (many gasps and groans) on the Wireless Wizarding Network last week. The contestants are all here for our side, and I will announce the following names. Will you all sit until I call your name. Of course I will be competing." He said as everyone conjured up or found a chair and sat. "As well as Mister Potter here. Now, will the following people please stand! Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, Alastor Moody, Severus Snape, and Ivan String!" They stood.
"Next Tuesday, you will be competing in the Doomspell Tournement. There is no backing out now; the competition is mandatory, you know the risks. The dark lord himself has announced your opponents. Mister Black, you will be challenging Peter Pettigrew."
Gasps. Cornelius Fudge, the minister of magic, stood. "Now see here, Dumbledore, the only reason I didn't have Black arrested was because he was demanded to fight in the tournament, and the stakes are so high, but it has been proven that Pettigrew has been dead for quite some time now!"
"Minister, kindly, you will see for yourself in a week. Please, I must make this announcement. Professor Lupin! You shall combat Hawk Darken, a death eater whose background I have not been informed. I would like the ministry to be on that."
"Already am." Percy Weasley, who was sitting in the back, informed him. He pulled out what appeared to be a laptop and began typing softly.
"I know who he is, all right." Lupin growled in disgust.
"Alastor Moody! You shall compete with Lucious Malfoy."
Moody growled with delight. He couldn't stand the Malfoys, and was ready to punish every death eater he got the chance to.
"We've checked his background, Dumbledore, he's not a death eater! See for yourself..."
"Minister, will you kindly calm down." Dumbledore said, and Fudge huffed and flopped down in his seat. "Severus Snape," Dumbledore continued, "You will take on Rodding Goyle." Snape was stony; he had to challenge the father of one of his own students, howeve, he was a death eater. And this was the fate of the world. What could he do?
"And last of all, Mister Ivan String, you shall compete with... with Garef." Dumbledore cleared his throat.
"What?" Harry stood.
"Mister Potter, now..."
"That is not possible, sir. I killed him myself last year." He tried to stay calm.
"Partly true. But Voldemort's power has far exceeded my expectations, and Garef is back." Dumbledore muttered to him.
"Or perhaps the boy's story isn't as true as we wish it could be." Fudge muttered.
"Get up here." Harry told him disgustedly, suddenly ignoring the traditional and political respects commanded by an elder of Fudge's stature.
"Pardon me?"
"Get right up here."
"Mister Potter, if you please." Dumbledore told him.
"Oh, I please to tell him what I think once and for all. Fudge, you said Voldemort was gone in my fourth year. He's back. You said we shouldn't take the dementors out of Azkaban? What happened to the dementors last summer, mister Fudge? Hmm?"
"Harry..." Dumbledore asked him.
"Well?"
Fudge was sweating. "Last summer, they joined He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named."
"Really. What about the giants? We'd be at war with them, too, if it weren't for Headmaster Dumbledore, Hagrid, and Madam Maxime."
"It seems to me, you're delusions have no end mister Potter." Fudge remarked coldly. Is it not you who can speak to snakes? How do I not know you've turned spy for Voldemort in exchange for safety? You are a mere child, and children have little character or courage..."
There were many gasps and shouts of dissent. "Order, ORDER!" Dumbledore silenced the mob. Cornelius! Mister Potter has demonstrated more character and courage under fire by far than most wizards I have encountered..."
"It seems to me..." Fudge continued heatedly.
"It seems to me that you are not worthy of the office of the minister of magic!" Harry shouted above him, with an unworldly anger in his voice, glaring down the minister. "You pelt Headmaster Dumbledore with owls asking for advice for stupid common-sense situations every morning but when you really need his help you refuse it! You are a foolhard, and if you don't start listening to Dumbledore and reason, the doomspell tournament may spell the end to earth as we know it!"
There was a momentary silence, then a small clapping began from the back of the room. Remus and Sirius had begun rooting for him, and then Alastor Moody, Ivan String, and yes, even professor Snape, though not as enthusiastically, and soon the whole room, exempt Fudge, was standing and clapping for Harry. Dumbledore calmed the crowd, who began to take their seats, and continued.
"I myself will be challenging Karkaroff, death-eater and former headmaster of Durmstrang. And Mister Potter shall have to face Voldemort himself. That is, if he is able to defeat Voldemort's bodyguard."
"What?" There were more murmurs breaking out, but quickly hushed. "Voldemort did not tell me who his bodyguard was, however, Mister Potter shall face them consecutively with no rest period in between duels."
"There is not much else to say. Mister Potter, I'm sorry I had to rush you along, but I believe you have a Quidditch match to play, the house cup match soon, if you feel you can. That will be all. Adjourned."
Harry was the only to stand to leave as a hushed silence fell over the room.
"Tomorrow you will begin training sessions for the killing curse with I and the Defense against the dark arts teachers, all right?" Dumbledore whispered to him.
But Harry was stone silent.
"I'm sorry, Harry, this could not be avoided. I realize it will be difficult."
Harry nodded.
"Harry, I need to know, do you feel up to this?"
He stared Dumbledore square in the eye, and said for the whole room to hear. "If you somehow get the chance, tell that coward to bring it on." And he strode out.
***
"GRY-FIN-DOR! GRY-FIN-DOR!" The roar was deafening. Harry strode out onto the field with his upgraded Firebolt, alongside the new Gryffindor Quidditch team. Marshall Oak was a new beater, Ron one too, and Katie Bell, and two new second-years and a fourth year were all a part of the team.
They mounted their brooms and prepared to take off, Marshall blew a kiss to Sharon Lonely. All the Gryffindor girls around her went wild.
"Ready... Begin!" Lee Jordan called, his voice magically enhanced. Lee was working for the Department of Magical Gaming, and had taken Friday off to join his old school and see who would win the Quidditch cup this year.
"And they're in the air! The new seeker, Chuck Breaker, is soaring high above the game play to see if he can find the snitch, and Harry Potter is circling just below him, doing just the same.
As Lee called the action, Marshall struck a bludger so hard it dented the ground a few feet below. He got back up in the air and saw the quaffle attempting to escape both a Gryffindor and a Slytherin chaser, and as it passed by, he leapt in between and slammed it so hard with his forehead it shot past the Slytherin guard and into the goal ring.
"And ten points for Gryffindor!" Lee shouted.
"That's not true, it wasn't hit by a chaser, it was hit by a beater!" Snape had just entered the announcer's box.
"I work for the department, there's no rule against that." Lee informed him.
Harry glanced up at Chuck for a second, only a second. Chuck noticed this out of his peripheral vision, and began to dive.
"And it looks like he's found it!" Lee shouted.
"Wronski Feint." Harry muttered to himself. Sure enough, Chuck looked back and noticed that Harry had not followed him.
"Dammit, how did he know?" Chuck demanded to himself.
Harry scanned the playing field. He shot down past Katie and in between the Slytherin beaters, who both promptly swung at him with their clubs.
"Not today, fella's!" Harry shouted with excitement, forgetting about even the tournament and taking in his surroundings.
"Oh, and beater Briggs has just struck Beater Oak with his club! Twice! Oak is beaten, two penalties for Gryffindor!" (Enthusiastic cheers arose from the crowd.) Katie Bell flew up to the goal ring and shot the quaffle clear through it twice, getting no trouble from the second-year Slytherin guard. The crowd roared with excitement.
"And it looks like... Oak's club has been broken in two by the Slytherin Beater! Are there any replacement clubs?"
Hagrid came out of the equipment shed and shrugged.
"It looks like mister Oak can't play. I believe official rules say Gryffindor gets another penalty shot." Lee announced.
"But we need Marshall!" Harry and Katie shouted in unison. It was true; the bludgers were particularly wild today.
"Then I'll play." Marshall told them.
"What about your club?"
"In America, we call this prison rules." Marshall began ripping his undershirt in a strip and wrapping it around his fist.
"You're not serious!" Katie shouted, but Marshall had gone off to discuss it with Lee, Snape, and McGonagall. Less than a minute later, he returned.
"Though it is highly unusual, at the request of Mister Oak and his teammates, we will waive the penalty and allow him to continue play, without his club."
"What? He's insane!" "He'll break his fists!" "He won't stand a chance!" The crowd shouted, while at the same time admiring Marshall's determination.
The match continued. Harry was back in the air, as well as Chuck, and they circled overhead. In the meantime, Marshall was throwing punches left and right, knocking bludgers way off course. It seemed, with his head-on strikes, he was able to do more damage than with a club. He was incredible."
"Look at Weasley go, preventing a bludger from striking Bell!"
"Thanks, Ron." Katie said to him.
"No problem."
Ron was astounding. Not one bludger got past him without a beating.
Then Harry spotted it. Gleaming bright on the field, the little snitch sat there, suspended in time. Harry began his descent just as Chuck did.
They were neck and neck, when, in his peripheral vision, Harry spotted both Slytherin beaters, who must have had a plan. They both held the bludgers and then released them, preparing to strike. Harry could only hope they missed, while concentrating on both Chuck and the snitch. But the first bludger came at him full force.
Ron was right there, but the bludger was too fast, and struck him square upside his head, sending him flying off aside. Now the second beater, a particularly muscular one, shot another bludger at him, this time much harder. Yards from the snitch, it was definitely going to decide the game, it's coming onslaught imminent.
Less than a second before impact, Marshall Oak was there; his hands weren't fast enough, but the bludger struck his arm, and he howled in pain as the bone buckled, then snapped, sending him off his broom and plummeting to the ground twenty yards below.
There was no way Harry could help; he would have to hope Dumbledore was there to keep Marshall from certain death. Harry rode onward, faster and faster, neck and neck with Chuck.
The last second...
His fingertips were inches from the snitch... but Chuck's were closer...
Harry slipped forward on his broom a little and leaned in, he had to do this... for everyone...
He slapped Chuck's hand aside and snapped his wrist, clutching the cold snitch in his fingertips, and raised it for all the crowd to see. Everyone but the Slytherins went completely insane, he'd done it again... six years in a row now...
He descended and skidded in the mud along the ground, and as the team came down also to lift him onto their shoulders, he bolted for Marshall, lying still in a puddle.
"No! No, it's not all right!" He shouted as the crowd still cheered more, barely taking notice of the downed beater.
"Harry. Harry!" Dumbledore firmly but gently grasped his shoulder. "He didn't hit hard, he was stopped. He'll be all right."
"But he's a part of the team! He's the reason we won!"
"You were mostly. You grabbed the snitch!" Katie Bell came down beside him.
"And I would have been unable to if Ron and Marshall hadn't stopped those bludgers. They're the real reason we won!"
"Harry, I saw what went on. He'll be fine, but we need to give him some room. Here, let me..." He pulled out his wand to conjure a stretcher, but at that moment, Marshall started up.
"Huh? Did we do it? Did we win the cup?"
"Yes, Marshall, we won. Especially thanks to your now-broken arm." Harry informed him.
"It's what?" He looked down at it. "I didn't take much notice. My fists are killing me."
"I would believe..." Dumbledore stopped as the fourth year ran over with the trophie and stuffed it in Harry's hand and Marshall's good one (if he did have a good hand at the moment.)
The two lifted it up; Harry was ecstatic; once again, for the sixth year, the Gryffindors retained the Quidditch cup. Pride, honor, glory, all this they took in, thanks to Harry, Ron, and Marshall, and nothing, not even the Doomspell Tournament, could tear Harry away from these moments of happiness.
***
The next morning, the Gryffindors greeted the seniors of the team as they entered, Harry, Katie, Ron, Marshall, and they each took a seat of honor at the end of the table along with the other three. They all helped themselves to an excellent breakfast of cheesecake, blueberry, and honey pastries, bagels, bacon, eggs, donuts, and various other treats.
Harry. A voice said behind him.
"Yes?" Harry turned and stood to find himself facing down Chuck Breaker. Backed up by Crabbe, Goyle, and a good handful of other Slytherins.
"Like we were saying." One Slytherin piped up. "We asked Chuck to show you what he thought of you. Concerning yesterday's Quidditch finals." Now the Gryffindor team stood, and the rest of the dining hall seemed to stare on as Chuck stared Harry straight in the eye.
This is it, it looks like. Harry said to himself, realizing what was about to happen, when Chuck thrust his hand out in front of him.
Was this a trick? No, Harry decided, as he took Chuck's hand and shook it, much to the anger and confusion of the Slytherins.
"You are an unbelievable seeker. Very talented. You're going somewhere, someday. I can tell." Chuck said with sincerity, and with that, turned to go back to his table and eat, parting the crowd of dumbfounded Slytherins.
"Chuck." Harry said behind him.
"Yeah?"
"You're just as good. We were inches apart, it was sheer chance. You have talent."
"Thanks, man."
This left the Slytherins in confusion and annoyance for the rest of the day, but they definitely aren't as bad as they used to seem, or at least not Chuck, who must have barely fit the requirements for that house.
Now, Monday night, Harry sat in his bed, and a thought occurred to him. Where would the Doomspell Tournament be taking place? How would they know how to get there, and if so, how could they be sure it was not a trap?
"We'll be rooting for you, Harry."
"Huh?" Harry turned to find Chuck, Marshall, Stan, Ron, and Neville standing in the doorway.
"Thanks."
"Just wanted you to know. Here." Chuck handed him a vial.
"What is this?"
"This, is the worlds most potent acid in a tube. There's an unbreakable charm on it, but I would be careful. Use it only when all else fails, say, you lose your wand."
"The world's...?"
"Yes. It's listed in my book. It might come in handy."
"I brought you this." Neville handed him a pouch. "And Colin Creevey asked me to give you this, he said he didn't want to bug you the last night before your fight." He handed harry a vial.
"That doesn't sound like Colin, but tell him I said thanks."
"No problem."
"What are they?"
"The weed in this pouch will temporarily make you about ten times as fast as you normally are, but it takes a real bad toll on your joints and muscles, so beware. Colin said he swiped that from Snape's stores earlier today. It should make you more resistant to minor curses, charms, and the like."
"This stuff just might come in handy."
"I sure hope. We're all behind you on this one. Oh, and this is for you." He handed Harry a letter. "Cho told me to give it to you. We'll... we'll leave you alone now." Neville stood up and walked out with the rest of them."
Harry opened the letter. It read;
Dear Harry;
I've noticed for a long time your hints, and I think I know how you must feel. To be perfectly honest, I like you, too. There, I said it.
I know you're under a lot of pressure, so don't let me get in the way when you're out there tomorrow. I mean, that is to say, don't let this note break your concentration.
I don't know what the future holds for anyone, but, if you'll meet me there, say hi. I wouldn't mind a date or anything like that, if you'd like. If I'm completely mistaken, I'm sorry, just stop reading this. But otherwise, Harry, know I'll be thinking of you.
Show all the courage we know you have in so many years past. Good luck.
-Cho
So, now he knew. Now, more than ever, he finally felt ready to face whatever the future beheld, his future and everyone else's.
A/N; Was it good enough? I'm back! I hope you like the story, there's more to come. I'm sorry I discontinued the others, but I think I was trying to carry too much when I started writing those. More to come!
And the
Doomspell Tournament
Last time, operation Stinking Slytherin's was carried out by Marshall, Harry, and Chuck. But when they thought all was over, Snape himself came forward and revealed that he knew all about their stinkbomb raid! Neville and Marshall, however, were able to stand up to the greaseball, and managed to convince (blackmail) him into not saying a word!
About two months later, now, the Doomspell tournament is nearing very close. Soon enough, Harry, Dumbledore, and the Defense teachers will have to face Voldemort and his henchmen. But will they be able to stand up? Within the next week of Hogwarts School of witchcraft and wizardry will it be decided!
Chapter 5
The Final Preparations
Harry was growing quite adept at his curses. Marshall had taught him now not only the ally-safe explosion, he had taught him how to send an efficient blast from his wand to blast through nearly anything, and elemental curses, how to burn your enemy with fire, throw or disorient him with wind, make a miniature earthquake follow him around and trip him as long as you concentrate on it, and begin a flood that would wash away anything. Harry was pleasantly pleased with his progress, and now felt semi-confident, taking into account that he had defeated Voldemort before, with and without the protection of his scar.
But there were a few curses he had not exactly learned yet. That's why he was called to McGonnagall's office Friday afternoon after classes, and encountered quite a mob.
"Harry, welcome." Dumbledore greeted him. "Sit down." Over the din, he called out to the small crowd. "Welcome, all. Aurors, former professors, professors, and such, welcome. As you all know, the Doomspell tournament was set for next Tuesday, as announced by Voldemort (many gasps and groans) on the Wireless Wizarding Network last week. The contestants are all here for our side, and I will announce the following names. Will you all sit until I call your name. Of course I will be competing." He said as everyone conjured up or found a chair and sat. "As well as Mister Potter here. Now, will the following people please stand! Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, Alastor Moody, Severus Snape, and Ivan String!" They stood.
"Next Tuesday, you will be competing in the Doomspell Tournement. There is no backing out now; the competition is mandatory, you know the risks. The dark lord himself has announced your opponents. Mister Black, you will be challenging Peter Pettigrew."
Gasps. Cornelius Fudge, the minister of magic, stood. "Now see here, Dumbledore, the only reason I didn't have Black arrested was because he was demanded to fight in the tournament, and the stakes are so high, but it has been proven that Pettigrew has been dead for quite some time now!"
"Minister, kindly, you will see for yourself in a week. Please, I must make this announcement. Professor Lupin! You shall combat Hawk Darken, a death eater whose background I have not been informed. I would like the ministry to be on that."
"Already am." Percy Weasley, who was sitting in the back, informed him. He pulled out what appeared to be a laptop and began typing softly.
"I know who he is, all right." Lupin growled in disgust.
"Alastor Moody! You shall compete with Lucious Malfoy."
Moody growled with delight. He couldn't stand the Malfoys, and was ready to punish every death eater he got the chance to.
"We've checked his background, Dumbledore, he's not a death eater! See for yourself..."
"Minister, will you kindly calm down." Dumbledore said, and Fudge huffed and flopped down in his seat. "Severus Snape," Dumbledore continued, "You will take on Rodding Goyle." Snape was stony; he had to challenge the father of one of his own students, howeve, he was a death eater. And this was the fate of the world. What could he do?
"And last of all, Mister Ivan String, you shall compete with... with Garef." Dumbledore cleared his throat.
"What?" Harry stood.
"Mister Potter, now..."
"That is not possible, sir. I killed him myself last year." He tried to stay calm.
"Partly true. But Voldemort's power has far exceeded my expectations, and Garef is back." Dumbledore muttered to him.
"Or perhaps the boy's story isn't as true as we wish it could be." Fudge muttered.
"Get up here." Harry told him disgustedly, suddenly ignoring the traditional and political respects commanded by an elder of Fudge's stature.
"Pardon me?"
"Get right up here."
"Mister Potter, if you please." Dumbledore told him.
"Oh, I please to tell him what I think once and for all. Fudge, you said Voldemort was gone in my fourth year. He's back. You said we shouldn't take the dementors out of Azkaban? What happened to the dementors last summer, mister Fudge? Hmm?"
"Harry..." Dumbledore asked him.
"Well?"
Fudge was sweating. "Last summer, they joined He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named."
"Really. What about the giants? We'd be at war with them, too, if it weren't for Headmaster Dumbledore, Hagrid, and Madam Maxime."
"It seems to me, you're delusions have no end mister Potter." Fudge remarked coldly. Is it not you who can speak to snakes? How do I not know you've turned spy for Voldemort in exchange for safety? You are a mere child, and children have little character or courage..."
There were many gasps and shouts of dissent. "Order, ORDER!" Dumbledore silenced the mob. Cornelius! Mister Potter has demonstrated more character and courage under fire by far than most wizards I have encountered..."
"It seems to me..." Fudge continued heatedly.
"It seems to me that you are not worthy of the office of the minister of magic!" Harry shouted above him, with an unworldly anger in his voice, glaring down the minister. "You pelt Headmaster Dumbledore with owls asking for advice for stupid common-sense situations every morning but when you really need his help you refuse it! You are a foolhard, and if you don't start listening to Dumbledore and reason, the doomspell tournament may spell the end to earth as we know it!"
There was a momentary silence, then a small clapping began from the back of the room. Remus and Sirius had begun rooting for him, and then Alastor Moody, Ivan String, and yes, even professor Snape, though not as enthusiastically, and soon the whole room, exempt Fudge, was standing and clapping for Harry. Dumbledore calmed the crowd, who began to take their seats, and continued.
"I myself will be challenging Karkaroff, death-eater and former headmaster of Durmstrang. And Mister Potter shall have to face Voldemort himself. That is, if he is able to defeat Voldemort's bodyguard."
"What?" There were more murmurs breaking out, but quickly hushed. "Voldemort did not tell me who his bodyguard was, however, Mister Potter shall face them consecutively with no rest period in between duels."
"There is not much else to say. Mister Potter, I'm sorry I had to rush you along, but I believe you have a Quidditch match to play, the house cup match soon, if you feel you can. That will be all. Adjourned."
Harry was the only to stand to leave as a hushed silence fell over the room.
"Tomorrow you will begin training sessions for the killing curse with I and the Defense against the dark arts teachers, all right?" Dumbledore whispered to him.
But Harry was stone silent.
"I'm sorry, Harry, this could not be avoided. I realize it will be difficult."
Harry nodded.
"Harry, I need to know, do you feel up to this?"
He stared Dumbledore square in the eye, and said for the whole room to hear. "If you somehow get the chance, tell that coward to bring it on." And he strode out.
***
"GRY-FIN-DOR! GRY-FIN-DOR!" The roar was deafening. Harry strode out onto the field with his upgraded Firebolt, alongside the new Gryffindor Quidditch team. Marshall Oak was a new beater, Ron one too, and Katie Bell, and two new second-years and a fourth year were all a part of the team.
They mounted their brooms and prepared to take off, Marshall blew a kiss to Sharon Lonely. All the Gryffindor girls around her went wild.
"Ready... Begin!" Lee Jordan called, his voice magically enhanced. Lee was working for the Department of Magical Gaming, and had taken Friday off to join his old school and see who would win the Quidditch cup this year.
"And they're in the air! The new seeker, Chuck Breaker, is soaring high above the game play to see if he can find the snitch, and Harry Potter is circling just below him, doing just the same.
As Lee called the action, Marshall struck a bludger so hard it dented the ground a few feet below. He got back up in the air and saw the quaffle attempting to escape both a Gryffindor and a Slytherin chaser, and as it passed by, he leapt in between and slammed it so hard with his forehead it shot past the Slytherin guard and into the goal ring.
"And ten points for Gryffindor!" Lee shouted.
"That's not true, it wasn't hit by a chaser, it was hit by a beater!" Snape had just entered the announcer's box.
"I work for the department, there's no rule against that." Lee informed him.
Harry glanced up at Chuck for a second, only a second. Chuck noticed this out of his peripheral vision, and began to dive.
"And it looks like he's found it!" Lee shouted.
"Wronski Feint." Harry muttered to himself. Sure enough, Chuck looked back and noticed that Harry had not followed him.
"Dammit, how did he know?" Chuck demanded to himself.
Harry scanned the playing field. He shot down past Katie and in between the Slytherin beaters, who both promptly swung at him with their clubs.
"Not today, fella's!" Harry shouted with excitement, forgetting about even the tournament and taking in his surroundings.
"Oh, and beater Briggs has just struck Beater Oak with his club! Twice! Oak is beaten, two penalties for Gryffindor!" (Enthusiastic cheers arose from the crowd.) Katie Bell flew up to the goal ring and shot the quaffle clear through it twice, getting no trouble from the second-year Slytherin guard. The crowd roared with excitement.
"And it looks like... Oak's club has been broken in two by the Slytherin Beater! Are there any replacement clubs?"
Hagrid came out of the equipment shed and shrugged.
"It looks like mister Oak can't play. I believe official rules say Gryffindor gets another penalty shot." Lee announced.
"But we need Marshall!" Harry and Katie shouted in unison. It was true; the bludgers were particularly wild today.
"Then I'll play." Marshall told them.
"What about your club?"
"In America, we call this prison rules." Marshall began ripping his undershirt in a strip and wrapping it around his fist.
"You're not serious!" Katie shouted, but Marshall had gone off to discuss it with Lee, Snape, and McGonagall. Less than a minute later, he returned.
"Though it is highly unusual, at the request of Mister Oak and his teammates, we will waive the penalty and allow him to continue play, without his club."
"What? He's insane!" "He'll break his fists!" "He won't stand a chance!" The crowd shouted, while at the same time admiring Marshall's determination.
The match continued. Harry was back in the air, as well as Chuck, and they circled overhead. In the meantime, Marshall was throwing punches left and right, knocking bludgers way off course. It seemed, with his head-on strikes, he was able to do more damage than with a club. He was incredible."
"Look at Weasley go, preventing a bludger from striking Bell!"
"Thanks, Ron." Katie said to him.
"No problem."
Ron was astounding. Not one bludger got past him without a beating.
Then Harry spotted it. Gleaming bright on the field, the little snitch sat there, suspended in time. Harry began his descent just as Chuck did.
They were neck and neck, when, in his peripheral vision, Harry spotted both Slytherin beaters, who must have had a plan. They both held the bludgers and then released them, preparing to strike. Harry could only hope they missed, while concentrating on both Chuck and the snitch. But the first bludger came at him full force.
Ron was right there, but the bludger was too fast, and struck him square upside his head, sending him flying off aside. Now the second beater, a particularly muscular one, shot another bludger at him, this time much harder. Yards from the snitch, it was definitely going to decide the game, it's coming onslaught imminent.
Less than a second before impact, Marshall Oak was there; his hands weren't fast enough, but the bludger struck his arm, and he howled in pain as the bone buckled, then snapped, sending him off his broom and plummeting to the ground twenty yards below.
There was no way Harry could help; he would have to hope Dumbledore was there to keep Marshall from certain death. Harry rode onward, faster and faster, neck and neck with Chuck.
The last second...
His fingertips were inches from the snitch... but Chuck's were closer...
Harry slipped forward on his broom a little and leaned in, he had to do this... for everyone...
He slapped Chuck's hand aside and snapped his wrist, clutching the cold snitch in his fingertips, and raised it for all the crowd to see. Everyone but the Slytherins went completely insane, he'd done it again... six years in a row now...
He descended and skidded in the mud along the ground, and as the team came down also to lift him onto their shoulders, he bolted for Marshall, lying still in a puddle.
"No! No, it's not all right!" He shouted as the crowd still cheered more, barely taking notice of the downed beater.
"Harry. Harry!" Dumbledore firmly but gently grasped his shoulder. "He didn't hit hard, he was stopped. He'll be all right."
"But he's a part of the team! He's the reason we won!"
"You were mostly. You grabbed the snitch!" Katie Bell came down beside him.
"And I would have been unable to if Ron and Marshall hadn't stopped those bludgers. They're the real reason we won!"
"Harry, I saw what went on. He'll be fine, but we need to give him some room. Here, let me..." He pulled out his wand to conjure a stretcher, but at that moment, Marshall started up.
"Huh? Did we do it? Did we win the cup?"
"Yes, Marshall, we won. Especially thanks to your now-broken arm." Harry informed him.
"It's what?" He looked down at it. "I didn't take much notice. My fists are killing me."
"I would believe..." Dumbledore stopped as the fourth year ran over with the trophie and stuffed it in Harry's hand and Marshall's good one (if he did have a good hand at the moment.)
The two lifted it up; Harry was ecstatic; once again, for the sixth year, the Gryffindors retained the Quidditch cup. Pride, honor, glory, all this they took in, thanks to Harry, Ron, and Marshall, and nothing, not even the Doomspell Tournament, could tear Harry away from these moments of happiness.
***
The next morning, the Gryffindors greeted the seniors of the team as they entered, Harry, Katie, Ron, Marshall, and they each took a seat of honor at the end of the table along with the other three. They all helped themselves to an excellent breakfast of cheesecake, blueberry, and honey pastries, bagels, bacon, eggs, donuts, and various other treats.
Harry. A voice said behind him.
"Yes?" Harry turned and stood to find himself facing down Chuck Breaker. Backed up by Crabbe, Goyle, and a good handful of other Slytherins.
"Like we were saying." One Slytherin piped up. "We asked Chuck to show you what he thought of you. Concerning yesterday's Quidditch finals." Now the Gryffindor team stood, and the rest of the dining hall seemed to stare on as Chuck stared Harry straight in the eye.
This is it, it looks like. Harry said to himself, realizing what was about to happen, when Chuck thrust his hand out in front of him.
Was this a trick? No, Harry decided, as he took Chuck's hand and shook it, much to the anger and confusion of the Slytherins.
"You are an unbelievable seeker. Very talented. You're going somewhere, someday. I can tell." Chuck said with sincerity, and with that, turned to go back to his table and eat, parting the crowd of dumbfounded Slytherins.
"Chuck." Harry said behind him.
"Yeah?"
"You're just as good. We were inches apart, it was sheer chance. You have talent."
"Thanks, man."
This left the Slytherins in confusion and annoyance for the rest of the day, but they definitely aren't as bad as they used to seem, or at least not Chuck, who must have barely fit the requirements for that house.
Now, Monday night, Harry sat in his bed, and a thought occurred to him. Where would the Doomspell Tournament be taking place? How would they know how to get there, and if so, how could they be sure it was not a trap?
"We'll be rooting for you, Harry."
"Huh?" Harry turned to find Chuck, Marshall, Stan, Ron, and Neville standing in the doorway.
"Thanks."
"Just wanted you to know. Here." Chuck handed him a vial.
"What is this?"
"This, is the worlds most potent acid in a tube. There's an unbreakable charm on it, but I would be careful. Use it only when all else fails, say, you lose your wand."
"The world's...?"
"Yes. It's listed in my book. It might come in handy."
"I brought you this." Neville handed him a pouch. "And Colin Creevey asked me to give you this, he said he didn't want to bug you the last night before your fight." He handed harry a vial.
"That doesn't sound like Colin, but tell him I said thanks."
"No problem."
"What are they?"
"The weed in this pouch will temporarily make you about ten times as fast as you normally are, but it takes a real bad toll on your joints and muscles, so beware. Colin said he swiped that from Snape's stores earlier today. It should make you more resistant to minor curses, charms, and the like."
"This stuff just might come in handy."
"I sure hope. We're all behind you on this one. Oh, and this is for you." He handed Harry a letter. "Cho told me to give it to you. We'll... we'll leave you alone now." Neville stood up and walked out with the rest of them."
Harry opened the letter. It read;
Dear Harry;
I've noticed for a long time your hints, and I think I know how you must feel. To be perfectly honest, I like you, too. There, I said it.
I know you're under a lot of pressure, so don't let me get in the way when you're out there tomorrow. I mean, that is to say, don't let this note break your concentration.
I don't know what the future holds for anyone, but, if you'll meet me there, say hi. I wouldn't mind a date or anything like that, if you'd like. If I'm completely mistaken, I'm sorry, just stop reading this. But otherwise, Harry, know I'll be thinking of you.
Show all the courage we know you have in so many years past. Good luck.
-Cho
So, now he knew. Now, more than ever, he finally felt ready to face whatever the future beheld, his future and everyone else's.
A/N; Was it good enough? I'm back! I hope you like the story, there's more to come. I'm sorry I discontinued the others, but I think I was trying to carry too much when I started writing those. More to come!
