A/N: I love the world! In a totally platonic way of course.

-catch, caught-

I don't know what to do and I'm always in the dark

We're living in a powder keg and giving off sparks

Bonnie Tyler, "Total Eclipse of the Heart"

Quidditch was in the air.

It was 3 am, the sun wouldn't even be considering rising for another hour, when Colin Creevey jumped out of bed. It was time for his pre-game routine. Careful not to make a sound, Colin crept down the rows of beds towards Harry's.

He knew his fascination with Harry teetered on the brink of obsession sometimes (the other boys called him Colin Creepy behind his back. Very funny, Seamus.) But it never really bothered him. Harry was special, no one would dispute it, so shouldn't he be treated that way? Besides, Harry had saved Colin's life back when he was a firstie. The way Colin saw it he owed Harry the obsession.

As a result of this Colin had assigned himself the task of making sure Harry was taken care of before every Quidditch match. This mostly involved waking him up early enough to dress leisurely, collect his homework (and do some of it as well), spruce up his broom and get down to breakfast before all the good stuff was gone.

Harry never thanked Colin for waking him up each morning (usually what he said was something like "Oh, hell Creevey. Go AWAY!"), but Colin knew it was appreciated.

He was so focused on his mission this morning that he didn't notice that neither Seamus nor Dean was in bed.

--

Dark corners in dusty halls. Low lighting. The perfect place for a romantic rendezvous or something less on the up-and-up. Two boys walked quickly and silently down the hall. Well… almost silently.

"Do-do-dodo! Do-do-dodo!"


"Shush."

"Do-do-dodo! Do-do-dodo!"

"Quiet."

"Do-ba-dee! Do-ba-dee! Do-"

Dean spun around and clamped a hand over Seamus' mouth. "What are you doing?"

"Ish wower 'eme 'ong." Which translated to something like "It's our theme song."

Dean snorted, took his hand away and wiped it against his jeans. Ew, Seamus slobber. "Really? It sounded a lot like Mission Impossible to me."

"Well, yes. But…"

"Don't care. Don't need to hear it. Just be quiet ok?"

Seamus shrugged carelessly and Dean turned back to what he'd been doing before. Looking around corners, huddling in shadows, wonderfully suspicious looking stuff. Seamus leaned against the wall and shuffled through his pack of Chocolate Frog cards. Dean could be such a killjoy sometimes.

And he was bossy too. Some people might wonder why Seamus hung around with Dean considering this, but the answer was simple. Seamus may have had a lot of fun ideas, but only Dean could actually make them work.

"Someone's coming." Dean whispered. He didn't have to whisper; no one ever used these halls anyway. But it was all part of the Atmosphere.

A cloaked figure reached the corner and stopped. "Is that you, Seeker?"

Codenames. Oh, clever Dean. And good fun too. Maybe you aren't such a bore.

"Sure is Snitch, and Keeper is with me."

Seamus tugged on Dean's cloak. "Is that me?"

"Yes." Dean hissed back, aiming a half-hearted elbow at Seamus' stomach. "Shut up." Snitch laughed. "You shut up too." Dean ordered.

"Right." Snitch chuckled. "What do you need?"

"At the moment? Information. In the long term? Your loyalty."

Snitch's surprise was nearly audible. "My loyalty? That's going to cost you."

Dean glanced deviously back at Seamus, his eyes zeroing in on the deck of cards. "We can give you Morgana, Agrippa and Merlin." He offered.

"Morgana!" Snitch exclaimed. "I've been looking for that one forever!"

Seamus squeaked. "But wait! These are my cards! Dea- I mean Seeker! That's not fair."

"To each according to his need, from each according to his abilities." Dean quoted. "Fork them the fuck over."

Sighing, and not at all happy with the idea, Seamus handed over the cards. "Fucking Commie." He whispered.

"Marxist." Dean corrected, placing the cards at the corner. A pale hand reached out and grabbed them. Seamus couldn't help but whimper.

There was a pause as Snitch inspected the goods. Then, "what sort of information do you need right now?"

"We've got this map of the school." Dean handed the map around the corner, ignoring Seamus' dazed "we do?" and continued. "We want you to locate and draw the entrances to all four of the houses on here."

Snitch seemed to think about it for a moment before saying slowly, "Alright. I'm in. I'll contact you later."

"Right." Dean nodded. "Be quick about it alright?" And with that he twirled around and headed back to the commonly used hallways, dragging Seamus after him.

As the two headed up the corridor, Snitch could hear Seamus protesting. "Aw. Dea- Keeper! What the hell is going on? Why don't you ever tell me anything?"

And Dean replying. "I'll explain in Potions. And you're Keeper. I'm Seeker. Get it straight."

Snitch smiled, rolled up the map and pocketed her new cards before disappearing to do some serious spy work.

--

Lavender tossed a thick bunch of curls over her shoulder and chewed thoughtfully. Another lunch before a Quidditch game, another chance to offer Harry moral support.

"Don't worry Harry." Hermione was saying, leaning over a book and dipping the ends of her hair in mustard. "You know you'll do fine. You always do."

Harry laughed. "I thought you taught me never to underestimate my opponent."

Hermione flushed and sniffed primly. "Of course, in most cases." She winked, a very un-Hermione thing to do. "But we are talking about Malfoy here."

The whole table laughed except for Harry who shifted uncomfortably. "I should underestimate him least of all." He said in a tiny voice no one but Lavender caught. She looked up at him and they regarded each other for a moment before he looked away and cleared his throat. "Where's Ron?"

"There he is." Pavarti declared, pointing across the hall towards the Ravenclaw table. She wiggled her eyebrows and whispered to Lavender. "And who is that on his arm?"

"Krystal." Lavender replied through mouthfuls.

Pavarti looked surprised. "I thought he was going with…uh… that girl with the funny accent."

Lavender shook her head. "Not anymore. This one," Lavender gestured with her chin, "is new."

Pavarti whistled. "She's cute."

Ron was leaning over the Ravenclaw table chatting with a girl about a year older than he was. She had wavy chestnut brown hair and big brown eyes. And she was a Ravenclaw so she had to be smart.

Lavender leaned on the table and sighed dramatically. "Look at her. Does she, you know, remind you of anyone?"

Pavarti giggled. "He's in such denial."

Lavender cast a glance towards Hermione who was watching Ron, her face tight and pale. "He's not the only one."

"Calm down Hermione." Harry whispered quietly. "He doesn't know. You should tell him how you-"

Hermione slammed her book shut. "There's nothing to tell!" she snapped and stormed off.

Harry exhaled. "Right."

Ron had finished his conversation with Krystal and was heading towards the Gryffindor table when Seamus and Dean walked in. Lavender's head snapped up, and her eyes followed them across the hall. Halfway to the Gryffindor table Seamus stopped and bent over to tie his shoelace.

"Mmmm…" Lavender purred. "Baby."

"Baby?" Ron asked.

Lavender glanced up in surprise and blushed. "Nothing." She muttered and stuffed a sandwich into her mouth.

Ron laughed.

--

Colin was going into hour thirteen of the pre-game preparations. He was dressed in a Quidditch robe he'd swiped from the boy's change room the day before. It was a bit too big for him; the collar hung down around his bellybutton and the usually flared sleeves brushed the ground when he walked.

Delicately Colin picked up his wand and pointed it at his forehead. "Maqio," he whispered and a dark red lightning bolt materialized on his scalp. Grinning like a deviant Colin shoved a pair of glasses (with the lenses popped out) onto his face and twirled. He liked the swishing sounds the robe made. Satisfied, he struck a pose.

He was ready.

--

It's a shame more wizards don't own barometers. Their ability to predict weather is as fascinating as it is useful. But they are Muggle devices and most wizards, even those not align with Voldemort and the Death Eaters, think that owning such things is beneath them.

Dumbledore had a barometer. He'd bought it one day at a flea market and had kept it on his desk since. He never mentioned it to anyone and the few that had seen it never really understood what it was supposed to do. Which was the way Dumbledore wanted it. Nature, he felt, wasn't meant to be predicted. If nature wanted you wet, you'd get wet. If nature wanted you burnt, well then you'd burn. So if he knew a low-pressure system was moving in, he wouldn't tell anyone.

So it didn't matter that Dumbledore wasn't in his office as the Quidditch game started. He wouldn't have told a soul what he saw anyway. And what he would have seen was the point on the barometer plummet from "it's going to be a lovely day" down to "wow, is it ever going to pour."

--

Little Ginny Weasley wasn't so little anymore. It was hard to remember sometimes that she was only a year younger than Ron was. Maybe it was the pigtails or the fact that her feet didn't touch the ground when she sat on the bleachers. It was easy to underestimate Ginny Weasley, and sometimes that made it easier for Ginny to get what she wanted to do done.

If Ginny had her choice, she'd burn every broom in the world. She hated Quidditch. It was an ugly, testosterone driven monstrosity invented by boys to be played by boys. Or girls who looked like boys. Yes, that's right Katie Bell, you look like a man! It was disgusting and repetitive, and Ginny loathed the idea that it was required for students to attend all the games.

So they could be supervised.

Ginny sneered as the players flew out onto the field and began to do their warm up laps to the beat of a thousand cheering voices.

Oh how she hated this sport. Hate, hate, hate.

The Quaffle was released and the two sides slammed into each other in a mess of red and green. A Gryffindor had the Quaffle and was buzzing down the field until a Slytherin grabbed it and headed in the opposite direction. Then a Gryffindor grabbed it and headed back to the Slytherin end zone. Wash, rinse, repeat.

Hovering above the masses were Harry and Malfoy. Oh aren't they fucking talented.

Seeker was definitely the stupidest position on the team. You sat. And sat. And sat and sat and sat. And then, when you finally did something useful, the game was over. By definition. Seeker, as Ginny saw it, was for pretty-boy patsies who didn't have the strength to be Beaters, the reflexes to be Keepers, or the dodging abilities to be Chasers.

Malfoy fits the pretty-boy category all right, but Harry doesn't even have that going for him.

Ginny's crush had been washed away long ago by her tears. All that was left was bitterness and hatred. She attributed much of what she had become to Harry's thick-skulled obliviousness for her affections. She had cried. But now she was a salt warrior who didn't want to fight anymore.

Ginny felt a wet drop on her cheek. Not tears, rain. She raised her eyes as the clouds burst into torrents, turning the Quidditch turf into muddy disarray. Ginny laughed. The stakes were much higher now; first one to fall would get a face full of mud.

--

Harry was tired. He was sore. But most of all, he was wet. There was no wind, so the rain was coming down like a solid wall. It made staying on the broom a trick because the broom handle was terribly slippery.

And, god, was the visibility ever poor. Seeing the Snitch was going to be nearly impossible. A flash of gold in all this grey? Hah, he didn't have a chance.

Speaking of flashes of gold, where was Malfoy? Harry whipped around, searching for the blonde hair in the muted colours below him. Finally he spotted the Slytherin Seeker yards off, accelerating towards the ground.

He's seen the Snitch!

And there was no way Harry could beat him there. Malfoy had too much of a head start.

No! That couldn't be! Harry won. He always won! Because…well, because he was the good guy, dammit!

Good guy?

Well, protagonist.

Harry bit his lip hard and took off into the blinding rain. He was a Gryffindor; he wouldn't go down without trying. Not without a fight.

Or, at least, that was the intention to begin with.

The hat had said Slytherin. Why?

Because Harry wasn't all that he seemed? He had a hidden dark side?

No, because Harry was exactly what he seemed, his dark side wasn't as hidden as he would have liked to think.

There was only one way to win. One course of action to take, and that was to…

"Oh my god!" shouted the announcer (Lee Jordan's replacement had yet to make a name for himself in the world of sport's broadcasting.) "Harry Potter has just tackled Draco Malfoy off his broom!"

Which is more or less what had happened. Except, it was more like Harry pouncing on Malfoy from behind, actually jumping off his broom, and hugging the Slytherin around the waist. Malfoy had been leaning forward to grab the Snitch, so the sudden weight was enough to pull him off his broom. He and Harry began to fall towards the mud-covered turf.

At the last moment though, Malfoy had the sense to reach out and grab his broom by the bristles. The poor broom fought fiercely to support one wizard too many, slowing their plummet from breakneck to mildly dangerous. But not stopping it.

Malfoy landed first, on his stomach, sending up a wave of mucky water. Harry was right behind him, both arms outstretched to absorb the shock; he landed right above Malfoy with his nose pressed against the small of the other boy's back.

He didn't stay there long, once his brain had recovered from the vertigo and the numbness had left his arms Harry scrambled back, letting a filthy Malfoy push himself into a sitting position.

To Harry's surprise, Malfoy didn't whine about being covered in mud. Instead, he glanced at Harry and laughed scornfully. "Is that the Gryffindor idea of fair play?" And then, even more surprising, he began to hunt around in the mud.

Harry sat still on the cold wet ground looking perplexed and sort of like a wet puppy. "What are you doing?"

Malfoy didn't reply; he just continued thrashing around and throwing mud up in the air. He was concentrating hard, his brow knotted and his eyes stormy. He looked intense.

All of a sudden Harry saw a flash of gold near Malfoy's thumb. "Snitch!" He screeched and launched himself at it. Malfoy fell back in surprise and landed on his ass as Harry skidded past on a slide of mud. Harry came to a stop and looked around wildly. "Where'd it go?"

"Fucking moron." Malfoy muttered, getting back to his feet. He walked over to stand beside Harry and bent down. Methodically, Malfoy scooped up a large handful of mud and, with a great deal of pomp, slammed it down on Harry's head.

The brown muck oozed along Harry's forehead and down the bridge of his nose. He looked up at the smirking (naturally) Malfoy and gave a war cry before jumping at him.

--

Smack. Malfoy punched Harry.

"Ouch!" roared the crowd.

Whack. Harry punched him back.

"Oof!" they chorused.

Wham. Bop. Thud. Swoosh. Splat. A whole range of things happened and ended with the boys wrestling in the mud.

"Why isn't Madame Hooch doing anything to stop this?" blared the loudspeaker.

The reason was that Madame Hooch was currently trying to chase down one of the Slytherin Beaters, who was currently trying to chase down and beat one of the Gryffindor Chasers. No one could quite make out which ones.

Pow. Malfoy kicked Harry.


"That's right! Show 'im what a Slytherin is made of!" came the cheers from the Slytherin section.

Wallop. Harry hit Malfoy again.

"You can do it! Take him Harry!" Ron hollered.

Ginny looked at her brother and then collapsed in a paroxysm of giggles.

--

Potter wound up to punch again, slipped and fell backwards, reaching out with one hand to stop his fall and grabbing Draco's closest arm with the other. Draco, for his part, tripped over Potter's legs and fell, with a gasp for air, against him. His legs squeezed between Potter's thighs, one armed pinned beneath Potter's back and the other still caught in Potter's Seeker strong grip. Draco was, for all intents and purposes, trapped and helpless. But worse, Draco could see where Potter's free hand was moving.

Any means, right? And what am I if not a true Slytherin?

--

Malfoy was heavy for someone who looked so light. But then again, Malfoy was pressed so tight against him that everything seemed extreme. He could feel breath tickling his ear and then, without warning, Malfoy licked him.

Harry froze. Wow that must taste bad, he thought. Followed shortly by, Hello? Malfoy licked me?

Before Harry could kick him off or start screaming 'rape!', Malfoy scrambled off and danced away, tipping his head back into the rain. The water slide along his cheeks, turning the skin from brown to the lightest shade of pale imaginable. And he was laughing.

Harry pushed himself up and rubbed his cheek fiercely. "What th- What the hell?"

More laughter. "Just fucking with your mind Potter." A small snicker. "Just fucking with your mind."

"You've got issues, y'know." Harry turned away and looked at the muddy sea around his feet. He'd been sure he'd seen the Snitch there right before he'd slipped.

"Oh, and Potter? You almost had it." Harry spun around in time to see a flash of gold in Malfoy's palm before the loud speaker thundered over the crowd.

"Draco Malfoy has caught the Snitch. Slytherin wins."

Harry's eyes widened and he sunk to his knees. "You, you…" The last words were lost in the rain and the cheering of Slytherin house.

- end part two -