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Harry Potter and the Psychic Serpent

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Chapter Fourteen

Gryffindor vs. Slytherin

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Harry felt energized again. A golden griffin. He hadn't mentioned it to McGonagall yet because he wasn't completely certain that an Animagus was allowed to become a magical creature, rather than something that most Muggles wouldn't think twice about if they saw it in their world.

Their first Quidditch match was nearing, on the first Saturday in December. Harry suddenly seemed to be talking Quidditch morning, noon and night, driving the other seven players mad and making even Quidditch-obsessed Ron want to stick Harry's Firebolt in his mouth (or somewhere else, he had threatened more than once). He had them practicing every day between the end of lessons and dinner, and several times, they'd missed dinner and had to go down to the kitchens to get food from the house elves. As Hermione usually came down to the Quidditch pitch to watch the practices (and revise for the O.W.L.s), she had also missed dinner at these times.

On the Thursday before the match they had missed the evening meal again and were sitting in the kitchens eating at the large central table where the elves took their meals. The elves had cleared off and were happy to wait on Harry and the rest of them. Harry sat between Ginny and Katie, who was nursing a cold and sneezing. She'd been to see Madam Pomfrey for a remedy but it was wearing off, and flying about in the brisk almost-wintry air had not helped. Hermione was opposite them, between Ron and Dobby, who she had insisted sit down and talk to them.

"I is needing to do my work, Miss Hermione. Headmaster is paying me now, remember. I is having to give him his money back if I is not working."

"Just for a moment, Dobby! I just wanted to ask you—how is Winky?"

Dobby looked happy and sad all at once. "Well, Winky is much happier than when she was here. Winky is belonging to someone again. Headmaster's brother is owning her now, and she is very happy. But—she is not free." Dobby looked down and Harry wondered how someone who understood the value of freedom could have survived for so many years being owned by the Malfoys.

"Well, Dobby, I'm sorry Winky isn't free. But perhaps it's best that she isn't here at Hogwarts anymore. Especially with—" her voice dropped "—Boxing Day coming." She looked at Harry and seemed alarmed that he was listening. "She wasn't—the best example of freedom."

Dobby nodded sagely and also saw that Harry was listening with a furrowed brow. He jumped up suddenly. "Harry Potter! You is needing more pumpkin juice!"

He knew he'd been caught eavesdropping. "No, really, I'm fine, I—"

But suddenly, three house elves were heading his way with pitchers sloshing with pumpkin juice. One of them filled his already-full goblet, spilling juice onto his plate of roast beef and Yorkshire pudding, turning everything a muddy orange hue, as well as splashing his robes and glasses. The world suddenly looked like a pumpkin had exploded all over it.

Ron shook helplessly from laughter, even though a great deal of pumpkin juice had doused his food as well. Suddenly, an army of house elves descended upon the table, clearing everything off and scrubbing furiously, meticulously replacing everything when they were done. Harry blinked; it was like seeing sped-up film, the way they flew about. When they were done, Hermione was grimacing and Dobby had disappeared. Harry knew how much she disliked the house elves' love of servitude.

Katie left before the rest, so she could return to the hospital wing for more medicine from Madam Pomfrey. As he watched her go, Harry turned to Ginny, speaking softly. "If I need for you to play on Saturday, Ginny, that won't be a problem, will it?"

She frowned. "Why would it be? I've been practicing with everyone else."

"No, I mean—will it be a problem that you'd be going up against Malfoy?"

She looked angrier than he'd ever seen her. She seemed to be speaking with great difficulty, in an angry whisper. "How can you ask me that? It will definitely not be a problem. After all, I didn't have any problem beating you every time I've played you, did I?" Suddenly she seemed to realize the implication of what she'd said, and she fled, her hair streaming out behind her. Harry wanted to follow, but Ron said, "What's going on? Is Ginny okay?"

She'd basically been saying that her feelings for Draco Malfoy wouldn't stop her from doing her duty as a Seeker any more than her feelings for Harry had… Her feelings for Harry. The question was, were those feeling past-tense?

"Harry? Harry!" Ron yelled, waving his hand in front of Harry's face. "Are you on this planet or not?"

"What? Oh. Ginny's fine. Don't worry. She just—hopes I don't have to have her play the game on Saturday. You know how she is about playing in front of a crowd."

Ron shook his head. "Which I absolutely don't understand. Since she's so good, I mean. You'd think—" but he didn't finish. Harry remembered that when Ron had looked in the Mirror of Erised he'd seen himself as Head Boy and Quidditch captain, holding the Quidditch cup. That image will never be a reality now, Harry thought. Only prefects were eligible to become Head Boy (the other prefects voted) and if you didn't become a prefect as a fifth year, you'd missed your chance. Only one boy and one girl from the fifth year in each house were named prefects every year. And now he, Harry, was the Quidditch captain. He'd stolen Ron's dream. I've taken what isn't mine, Harry thought. It was not the first time he'd thought it.

He looked back at Ron and Hermione. She'd brought a book to read while she ate. It had lain forgotten on the table in front of her plate while she'd been talking to Dobby, but now she focused on it again. Ron looked sideways at her while he ate his pudding, as if he thought no one else noticed. No one else did, as far as Harry could tell, except for him.

Harry had been impatient with Ron for his jealousy over things that Harry had which he had no control over: his fame, his money, his being on the Quidditch team in his first year, his name coming out of the Goblet of Fire. But this was different. As much as Hermione said she was out of control around him, Harry knew that when necessary, he was able to control himself with her. He had heeded Sandy twice now when she had warned them of an impending interruption. He could control his urges; Ron would quite rightly feel that he had no excuse, should anything further happen between him and Hermione.

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When he'd eaten he went upstairs to meet McGonagall for Animagus training. Except that McGonagall wasn't there. Dumbledore was. Harry approached him cautiously.

"Professor Dumbledore? Where's Professor McGonagall?"

"She had pressing business but she'll meet with you tomorrow." Harry wondered whether it had to do with Rita Skeeter again. He wished Hermione had been able to hear what Dumbledore had said to Rita. "I wanted to meet you here to tell you in person. And also to ask—how is the training going?"

It had been three months and McGonagall was pleasantly surprised by his progress. He could actually change into a lion now, for a few seconds, before reverting to his human form again. It was painful; all of his muscles and joints ached when he did it. McGonagall said that as he managed to increase the amount of time he could stay in his animal form, the pain would become unnoticeable—or, at least, tolerable. He would become accustomed to it. Harry wondered how Wormtail had remained a rat for twelve years. But, he considered, if you've been doing it for that long, you would probably just become numb to the pain.

"Of course it's painful to be an Animagus," she had told him, as if he were a dim five-year-old. "Haven't you noticed that I'm rather larger than a cat?" Now that he was training to become an Animagus, he understood why Sirius preferred to transform back into a human when he could.

"It's going well," Harry told him. "I can show you, if you like."

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled at him. "I'd be delighted."

Harry closed his eyes in concentration. His preparation time was considerably longer than he would have liked. By no stretch of the imagination did he make the change in the blink of an eye. He wondered if he ever would. Harry pictured a lion in his head; he thought about his feet becoming paws, then his hands; his body being covered with tawny fur, his hair lengthening into a mane...

He felt his hands—no, paws, touch the cold stone floor. He opened his eyes and glanced up at Dumbledore, seeing at the edges of his vision his large pink nose, looking down at the huge front paws, feeling his tail swishing, his mane tickling his back—then he cried out. "Aahh!" He collapsed onto the floor on his stomach, his robes puddling around him, his glasses askew. He was in human form again.

Harry felt like every bone in his body had taken a pounding. It wasn't like the Cruciatus Curse, he knew, and since he was doing it to himself, he was prepared for what it was going to feel like, but he still wished it didn't have to hurt so much. He understood all too well now why there were only seven Animagi registered during the previous century. There were obviously some unregistered Animagi—like his own dad, and Rita Skeeter, as well as Sirius and Wormtail—but he still doubted that there were very many. Not many people were suited to it to begin with, and of those suited to it, not all of them were probably interested in inflicting that kind of pain on themselves.

Harry groaned and raised himself on all fours, bringing his right foot up and leaning his arm on his knee, panting. He raised his eyes when Dumbledore extended a hand to him to help him stand. On his feet again, the throbbing pain had diminished to a dull ache. He ran his fingers through his hair and looked expectantly at Dumbledore, waiting for him to say something about how stupid Harry had been to think he could become an Animagus.

But Dumbledore was smiling and looking impressed all at once. "Harry!" he said. "Very good! I've never seen anyone advance to this level so quickly!"

Harry couldn't believe it, and tried not to seem dreadfully pleased by what Dumbledore had said, but his mouth betrayed him and smiled anyway. "Thank you, Headmaster."

"So, Harry. A lion. I suppose I don't have to ask you why, eh?"

But Harry had been meaning to ask McGonagall about the griffin. He hadn't got the nerve yet. "Well, Professor, actually I've been thinking that maybe I don't want my Animagus form to be a lion after all."

"Oh, really? You'll have to retreat quite a few steps in your training, you know. Although Minerva did the same thing—Professor McGonagall. Initially, she planned on being an owl. But—tell me. Have you ever seen Professor McGonagall ride a broomstick?"

Harry thought for a moment. "No."

"Neither has anyone else that I know of. She can't stand flying, or heights. It didn't occur to her that under the circumstances, being an owl wasn't the wisest course of action. And of course, in some ways, cats are merely owls that have fur instead of feathers. They fit into the same spot on the food chain. Minerva says that she has never hunted in her cat form, though, and I believe her. I simply cannot picture her eating a mouse or a small bird."

Neither could Harry but the thought made him laugh. He tried quickly to stifle it, but he saw that Dumbledore's eyes were twinkling again. "So, Harry. What animal do you think you'd like to try?"

"Well, sir, the thing is—I don't know if it's allowed. It's a magical creature, not an ordinary one. I don't know if the Ministry of Magic will permit it."

"A magical creature, eh? Perhaps like one you've been studying in Hagrid's lessons? Something that looks at first rather like a lion?"

Harry didn't realize right away that his mouth was open; when he did, he shut it immediately. "How did you—"

Dumbledore smiled, shaking his head. "Whose idea do you think it was to bring the golden griffin here? I thought it might give you an idea."

Harry was dumbfounded. "You—you did it to—"

"It seemed eminently appropriate. Especially since you've already killed a basilisk." Dumbledore twinkled at him again. Harry laughed.

"Just when I thought I was being original."

"I hope you don't feel manipulated Harry." He smiled at him.

Harry smiled back. "Even though I was."

"Well, you might as well go back upstairs since Professor McGonagall can't meet with you. Have a restful night, Harry. Keep up the good work."

"Thank you Professor," he said, turning to go. He couldn't help grinning as he walked through the empty Great Hall and up the stairs to the common room. As he walked, he realized that he hadn't had much opportunity in the last two weeks to do extra Potions work, so when he had arrived in the common room, he declined Ron's offer of a chess game and went to his dorm to get his Potions supplies. When he was back in the common room again, he saw Hermione at one of the tables with sheets of parchment around her covered in complicated Arithmancy formulas. She didn't glance up.

He left the common room, relieved that she hadn't noticed him and decided to come along. He was still feeling rather pleased about the griffin thing and she was still hacked off that he wouldn't tell her about the Animagus training. Well, he thought, even Ginny will get a surprise when I finally master taking on the form of a golden griffin.

And then there she was, in the dungeon, adding some kind of dried leaves to her bubbling cauldron, while Malfoy checked ingredients off on a list. Harry stopped short and collected himself. I can behave like an adult, he told himself. I can.

"Hello, Ginny. Malfoy." She looked up at him, surprised, and turned a bit pinker than her usual color, perhaps because the last thing she'd said to him in the kitchens was that her feelings for him had never got in the way of her catching the Snitch first. Malfoy didn't seem especially pleased to see him.

"Potter," he said evenly, without inflection. He seemed to be holding himself in check. Good, thought Harry. Maybe if neither one of us sets the other off we stand a chance of both getting out of here alive.

He was planning to make Eutharsos Potion. It was at least three-thousand years old and gave a person courage by making them feel safe whether they were or not. He had heard Angelina and George talking about it; they were going to be partners when George attempted to harness the Sun Bulls. Harry wasn't sure whether this potion was a good idea or not. (He thought of Hermione saying to Moody, "Pain helps protect us." Fear, he thought, is a kind of protection, too.) It had also reportedly been useful for more mundane purposes, such as helping people who had a phobia about public speaking. That's what Harry was hoping. He planned to test it on himself.

He was almost done cutting his roots for the potion when Ginny poured her potion into a glass jar using a special wide-mouthed funnel Malfoy apparently owned. She put the rubber seal on the jar and carefully closed it. Immediately, a purplish mist rose from the surface of the green liquid, making the jar look as if it were filled half-way with something green and half-way with something purple.

Harry glanced up. "What's that?" he ventured, hoping she wouldn't lose her temper with him again. But it was Malfoy who answered.

"Euphemos Potion." He glared at Malfoy. Harry knew what that was; when he'd been looking up the Eutharsos Potion, the Euphemos had been several pages ahead, and he'd glanced at it while searching for his own potion. (The portion of the Potions book with concoctions from ancient Greece had the titles written in Greek at the top of the page, and therefore they were ordered like the Greek alphabet). It prevented whoever took it from saying anything bad about someone else until it wore off. No matter how hard the person tried, while under the influence of the potion, they could only say nice things about other people. Harry thought of it as a substitute for tongue-biting. He wondered whether Malfoy had tried it.

Ginny and Malfoy packed up their supplies and prepared to go. Ginny glanced over her shoulder at Harry. "Good night, Harry,"

He gazed at her, standing with Malfoy. His throat was tight. "G'night, Ginny." She looked at him for a couple of seconds longer, then turned to go with Malfoy. Perhaps she was a good influence on him. It's a good thing, he had to keep telling himself. A good thing.

When they were gone, he turned back to his potion. He was supposed to boil the roots of Eupatorium fistulosum to make the potion. It was actually a weed, and apparently could reach seven feet or more, with flower heads more than a foot across. He made sure he didn't use Eupatorium perfoliatum instead; that was a treatment for broken bones. Although, he thought, if you did enough foolhardy things while under the influence of the Eutharsos Potion, you might need a good boneset.

Harry took off his robes to work. No one was around; who cared whether he looked like a proper prefect? But then Snape came striding into the room. He stopped short on seeing Harry. His expression reminded him of when Harry had been in the dungeon under the Invisibility Cloak; was Snape going to be having another talk with Sirius? Harry remembered that Snape was planning to get the Malfoys' hairs on Saturday, when they came to see their son play in the Quidditch match against Gryffindor. Then the Polyjuice Potion would really be ready for use. Nothing had happened to the Weasleys so far, Harry thought thankfully. Hopefully nothing would.

"You're working late, Potter. Seems like you're in here a lot lately. Turned over a new leaf?"

"I plan to do well on my O.W.L.s, sir," Harry said as evenly as he could. Damn! He really needed those roots to finish boiling. The water was just starting to bubble.

"Hmph. Well. I must say I'm surprised that you're voluntarily doing extra work. Your father certainly never did."

He strode across the dungeon to his office door, unlocked it and entered, closing it sharply behind him. Harry seethed; I shouldn't let him get to me. I shouldn't let him get to me.

Finally, the roots had boiled long enough. Using cheesecloth, Harry strained the potion into a wide-mouthed beaker. The liquid was murky, with swirls of brown and green. Harry glanced in his book again, to check for any side effects. All it said was that depending on the person's weight, the potion was likely to have an effect lasting three days.

Harry stared at it for another minute before picking up the beaker like a drinking glass and raising it to his mouth. He drank it quickly, before he lost his nerve. It tasted like old cabbage, he thought. Should have checked to see if I could have added some mint or something. He put down the beaker, starting to feel lightheaded as the potion started to act on his system. He felt a kind of numbness seep through his body, as, one by one, different parts of him fell asleep. Then, one by one, they woke up again.

He felt strangely alert and determined. He glanced around; everything in the dungeon seemed to have an amazing clarity. He felt the same as he did the first time he'd been fitted for glasses when he was seven. He'd been having trouble seeing the blackboard at school and the school nurse tested his eyesight, telling the Dursleys that he needed glasses. The first time he'd put them on, he was amazed; the world was so crisp and clear! The leaves on trees had distinct, individual outlines; they were no longer a mass of green and yellow. It was one of the few times during his early life when he'd been happy about anything. He could really see.

At least he'd thought it was a good thing until Dudley and his bullying friends had seen it as yet another way to torture Harry, to try to take his glasses. At those times, he had unwittingly performed some wandless magic, making his glasses such a part of him that no matter what Dudley and his cohorts did, they would not come off his face. Of course, he was the one who was in trouble. His aunt had screamed at him, "What did you do? Dudley says he can't get your glasses off your face! You didn't do something stupid like glue them on, did you?" and she'd reached over and pulled them off his face easily. Never mind that Dudley shouldn't have been trying to take his glasses.

Harry swallowed, walked to the door of Snape's office, and knocked firmly. He felt empowered, fearless. I just hope I don't do something stupid, he thought. Perhaps he should have asked Ginny whether he could take some of her Euphemos Potion, too, so his potion-induced bravery didn't lead him to say something guaranteed to get him a detention.

"Alohomora!" Snape's door opened. He sat in the chair near the fire again, holding a glass with amber liquid; Harry saw a bottle of Ogden's Best Firewhiskey on the desk. Snape seemed unconcerned about this. Harry looked at the fireplace, but he couldn't tell whether Snape had been speaking to someone.

"What is it, Potter?" he said after Harry had been looking around the room for a few seconds.

Harry was surprised at the way his voice sounded when he spoke; not a bit of his usual waver. "Professor, you said that my father never did extra work. I hear you say a lot of things about my father. I never hear anything about my mother. What about her?"

Snape seemed startled; he looked down at his glass, raised it to his lips and drained it. To Harry, it seemed a great deal of whiskey to drink so quickly. Snape gasped when he had swallowed and stared down at his glass again.

"Your mother," he said so softly that Harry had to strain to hear him, "was quite simply the most brilliant potions student that Hogwarts has ever seen."

Harry thought he was going to die from shock. He'd never expected to hear that. Snape still contemplated his empty glass. He didn't say anything else. Harry stared at him for a minute, turning and leaving without a word. There was nothing he could say, nothing that could penetrate years of enmity and house-wars, plus the hatred Snape held for his father.

Once he was in the dungeon again, Snape muttered something and his office door slammed shut, echoing in the hard stone room. Harry looked at the closed door. He mused, There but for the love of Ginny Weasley goes Draco Malfoy... But at least Snape is on Dumbledore's side, Harry thought. He became a Death Eater when he lost my mum, but her death brought him back into the fold. Draco Malfoy could help me, Harry thought, if I only knew how to harness what he knows, and to take advantage of the access he has to his father.

Then and there, he began to formulate in his mind exactly how he was going to get Draco Malfoy to trap his own father. Hopefully, he would do it. Harry knew what he'd have to dangle in front of him to get him to agree.

Ginny.

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On Friday night Harry ordered the team into bed at eight o'clock, as Oliver Wood used to do. Saturday dawned damp and oppressively humid for December. Harry rose early, standing at the window, looking out over the grounds toward the Quidditch pitch. This would be his first match as captain. He wished desperately that Oliver were here. He took a deep breath; he'd never imagined what would happen that first time he leapt on his broomstick to chase Draco Malfoy and get back Neville's Remembrall, the feeling of exhilaration the first time he soared through the air, robes whipping about behind him. He smiled. Malfoy was sometimes good for something. Harry would never have been the youngest house player in a century if it weren't for Malfoy.

He'd told the entire team that on Saturday morning he expected them to come running with him. He wanted everyone to have plenty of stamina for the game. And he wanted them to run outdoors, rather than in the Great Hall; they needed to get the cold air in their lungs as early as possible, so it wouldn't be a shock to their systems later, when the match began. He dressed in a fleece track suit and laced up his trainers, carrying Sandy in his hand; he would leave her by the fire in the common room, so she'd be warm. He had a sudden inspiration and crept over to Ron, still snoring blissfully. Holding Sandy above his face, he sang in a falsetto, "Ro-on! Oh Ron! Time to get up!"

Ron muttered in his sleep. Harry lowered Sandy closer to Ron and her tongue darted out, touching Ron's chin for a split second. Ron's eyes flew open. He saw the snake an inch away from his face and promptly screamed. Harry was nearly helpless with laughter. Ron pulled himself up in bed.

"Don't do that again!" Ron and Sandy said simultaneously, Ron in English, Sandy in Parseltongue. Hearing their exclamations overlapping but with the same meaning, Harry collapsed in laughter again, pounding Ron's mattress and leaning on one of the posts at the foot of the bed for support. He looked up at Ron, who glowered at him. He wondered if he'd done it because he was still feeling the effects of the Eutharsos Potion. It had been funny.

Ron threw his pillow at him.

Still laughing, Harry left the room with Sandy, calling over his shoulder, "Get dressed! You have ten minutes!" He practically skipped down the stairs to the common room. It was going to be a good day; he could feel it.

He carefully placed Sandy on the hearthrug, where she curled into a coil and closed her eyes. Quinn's cat had come downstairs to sleep by the fire also. Quinn had found an old basket which now held the bathrobe on which the mother cat had given birth. The kittens were curled in the curve of her body, draped over one another, to Harry's eyes uncomfortably close, but they all seemed happy enough. They were four weeks old. It would be at least three more weeks before they could be weaned. Ron's was the smallest, the runt; he had called her Argent, for her silver stripes. The mother was called Bainbridge, for the street Jules had lived on in his town. Ginny had called her fluffy black kitten MacKenzie, because Parvati and Lavender discussing MacBeth had made her want to read it, and then she came to the conclusion that of course a witch should have a black cat with a Scottish name, and MacKenzie was the Scottish name she liked best.

One by one, the team members came staggering down the stairs, in various interesting types of exercise clothing. Hermione also came down to run as usual. After warming up, they all trooped out of the portrait hole and started down the stairs. Suddenly, Harry stopped and looked around.

"Where's Katie?" Alicia and Angelina looked at each other.

"I thought you were getting her up," Angelina said to Alicia.

"I thought you were."

"All right," Harry said, breaking in. "Could somebody go wake her up? The rest of us will have to wait."

Alicia and Angelina shared the seventh-year girls' dorm with two other girls but Katie was a sixth-year. She was a prefect, too, and Harry had caught her staring at him at prefects' meetings, along with other girls. Angelina went up to fetch Katie. The rest of them sat on the steps to wait. When she returned, she was alone.

"She wasn't in her bed. I had to wake her roommates. They said she'd stayed in the hospital wing last night. She has something called mono—mono—"

"Mononucleosis?" Hermione breathed, stunned.

"What's that?" Fred asked. Hermione looked at Harry and colored.

"It's called the kissing disease," Alicia chimed in. "Usually gets passed on by swapping spit—you know. But sometimes, if you're just in close proximity to someone who has it or you share a glass or something, you can also get it. In the Muggle world it's very contagious, and usually means bed rest for a month or more. But Madam Pomfrey should probably have her up and around by Monday."

"Monday?" Harry cried. He looked at Ginny in her running clothes, a braided ponytail keeping her hair out of her way. "Well, it's a good thing we have a reserve Seeker." He smiled at her; she had a frankly terrified expression. Something else occurred to Harry. "I've got an idea," he said slowly. "Most of you are more experienced than me, so hear me out and tell me if you think I'm mad…" He licked his lips and narrowed his eyes. Hermione looked at him as if she were trying to read his mind. "I know that Rule #5 of Quidditch is that there are no substitutions during the game; if a player is injured, he leaves the game and that team plays with one less player, correct?" The other players nodded in agreement. "But can you switch which players are playing which positions part of the way through the game?" He looked at them all. Angelina and Alicia stared at each other; so did Ron and Fred, Ginny and George.

"There's no rule against it," said George. "What did you have in mind?"

"I think we'll give Slytherin house a little surprise. When the game starts, we'll say Ginny is taking Katie's place as Chaser—"

"But I've never practiced to be a Chaser!" Ginny said plaintively.

"It's okay. It'll be temporary. Ron will start as Keeper, so we know they're unlikely to have scored—" he smiled at Ron, whose ears turned very red. "But since Alicia, Angelina and Katie usually work together to score, it's possible that we'll be scoreless too. Unless I see the Snitch early on. But—" he paused. "If they start scoring on us, or if their Beaters start really coming after us, I'll call for a time-out and tell Madam Hooch we're rearranging our line-up. We'll resume with Ron as a Chaser—we're bound to score, then, if we haven't already—" Ron was getting redder by the minute "—I'll go in as Keeper, and Ginny, you'll switch to Seeker. And then Slytherin will be sorry they woke up today."

Harry smiled at them all; everyone but Ginny appeared to be happily anticipating the surprise the Slytherins would get. Ginny looked rather like she had when she was eleven, and she was afraid Harry wouldn't like her singing Valentine. He put his hand on her arm.

"It'll be fine, Gin. You'll be fine. Don't worry."

She nodded grimly, her eyes very large. She really was scared to play in front of a crowd, he realized. It wasn't just talk.

After running, Harry went up to the showers in the dorm that he used before he was a prefect; he didn't feel like running into Malfoy before the game. The Gryffindor team entered the Great Hall in their red Quidditch robes, carrying their broomsticks (including the four new Nimbus 2001 brooms now owned by the Weasley team members). A cheer went up from the Gryffindor, Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff tables; no one wanted Slytherin to win except Slytherin. Harry looked at Malfoy and grinned, but Malfoy wasn't looking at him. He was staring in amazement at Ginny. He rose and walked over to Harry.

"Potter! We have to talk!"

"So talk."

Malfoy looked around; everyone in the hall was staring at them. He spoke in an alarmed whisper. "What's she doing wearing that?"

"Ginny's playing today. Katie's in the hospital wing. Do you expect us to play a man down?"

"But—"

"Sit down, Malfoy. Eat a hearty breakfast. It'll be the last good thing that happens to you today."

Malfoy returned to the Slytherin table, steam virtually coming out of his ears. Ron peered at Harry suspiciously.

"What was all that about?"

Harry glanced at him, hoping he didn't look as guilty as he felt. "Oh—you know Malfoy. Thought we were pulling a fast one, putting in Ginny, like we were going to play eight people or something. I told him Katie's in the hospital wing."

After the Gryffindor team finished they left the hall to more cheers from all of the non-Slytherins, and then the entire population of the school flowed like lava from a volcano toward the Quidditch pitch.

Harry went to see Madam Hooch to check on the possibility of changing player positions during the game. She consulted Quidditch Through the Ages by Kennilworthy Whisp, and came up dry. "Nothing that says you can't," she told him. "Why?"

"Just in case," Harry told her cryptically. He went to Lee Jordan, who was doing commentary for the game, and told him that Ginny would be playing instead of Katie. He looked alarmed.

"Why?"

"She's laid up in the hospital wing with mononucleosis. She'll probably be fine by Monday."

"She's got WHAT?" he said, his eyes wide. Uh-oh, Harry thought. Has he been kissing Katie? Well, well.

Madam Hooch blew her whistle. Lee sat beside McGonagall, smiling feebly, still aghast by what Harry had told him. Harry and the rest of the team assembled in the center of the pitch, along with the Slytherin team. He noticed that they'd added some girls to replace players who'd left school; Pansy Parkinson and Millicent Bulstrode were the new Chasers. He supposed they'd been there that day when Malfoy had ordered him and Hermione off the Quidditch pitch, but he hadn't taken notice of much other than the new Nimbus 3000 broomsticks. Crabbe and Goyle were Beaters. There's a shock, thought Harry. Malfoy was still the Seeker, of course, and now that he was captain, Harry had to shake his hand before the start of the game.

They stood for what seemed a very long moment, eyes locked, emerald green and storm grey. Harry extended his hand first and Malfoy somewhat slowly moved his hand to meet it. Malfoy's skin felt dry and cold, as if he had a circulation problem. Harry was glad to be able to release it.

They all mounted their brooms and when Madam Hooch gave the signal, fifteen brooms rose into the air and the game began.

"Angelina Johnson gets the first possession of the Quaffle. She passes to Alicia Spinnet. Watch out! Head Girl coming. And Alicia passes to Ginny Weasley, substituting today for Katie Bell who's—under the weather—" Lee choked. McGonagall stared at him strangely.

Harry flew above the fray in an elliptical circuit that covered the whole pitch, keeping track of the action but also scanning for the Snitch. Ginny seemed nervous as she took the Quaffle, and then—

"Oh! Ginny Weasley's dropped the Quaffle. Slytherin in possession, Bulstrode passes to Parkinson, back to Bulstrode who's going to try to score—Yes! Saved by Ron Weasley, the Lions' new Keeper!"

Ron grinned, holding the red ball over his head, then, still holding onto the Quaffle, he had to go into a Sloth Grip Roll to avoid a Bludger that had been hit at him by Crabbe.

Gryffindor had the Quaffle again, but once more, Ginny was the weak link in the scoring dance, and the Slytherins took possession again, though Ron stopped them from scoring once more. This pattern was repeated five more times; Harry hadn't seen the Snitch. There was no score yet.

Harry signaled to Madam Hooch for a time out. He landed on the ground beside her. Malfoy alit a moment later.

"What're you pulling, Potter?"

Harry ignored him and spoke to Madam Hooch. "I want to rearrange our line-up."

"What?" came Malfoy's indignant response. "You can't. No substitutions. That's the rule."

"It's not a substitution. All seven players will be the same. But some will be in different positions than they started."

Madam Hooch looked at Malfoy. "It's legal. Go see Jordan, Potter, and have him announce the changes."

After Harry spoke to him, Lee announced, "There have been some changes in the positions the Gryffindor players will be playing. Ron Weasley will now play Chaser; Captain Harry Potter will play Keeper; and Ginny Weasley will play Seeker."

A collective gasp went up from the spectators; Harry wasn't going to be the Seeker? He looked over to where the Weasleys sat. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley had been so proud that four of the seven players on the Gryffindor team were their children; now they seemed positively shocked that Ginny would be playing Seeker. Charlie, Bill and Percy sat in the row in front of their parents, exchanged knowing smiles.

Harry saw Malfoy's face; he was furious. He saw Malfoy mouth the words I hate you. Harry smiled beatifically. The play resumed, and the difference was like night and day. Ron, Alicia and Angelina tossed the Quaffle back and forth effortlessly. Ron feinted that he was aiming at the goal on the Slytherin Keeper's left and somehow sent it sailing into the one all the way on the Keeper's right.

"Ten to nothing, Gryffindor!" Lee Jordan shouted gleefully. It happened again and again; Harry was growing bored as the Gryffindor Keeper; the Slytherin Chasers couldn't get anywhere near the Quaffle, and George and Fred were surpassing themselves at hitting Bludgers that kept the Slytherins dodging and weaving to protect themselves.

"Fifty to nothing, Gryffindor!" Lee cried. Then, in no time, it seemed, "Ninety to nothing, Gryffindor!" Harry felt like he blinked and Lee proclaimed, "One-hundred twenty to nothing, GRYFFINDOR!"

The crowd seemed to be in the grip of a mass hysteria. The screaming and yelling was all Harry could hear, but somehow he didn't mind. He noticed Cho in the stands, for some reason near the Malfoys. Lucius Malfoy had turned to speak to her. She smiled at him; he wished he could pay more attention to what was going on between them, but suddenly, Harry saw a Bludger heading right for Ginny. Fred and George were heading for her, but Harry could see that they wouldn't be in time. His heart leapt into his throat, hoping it would miss her.

Malfoy swooped in and positioned his broom so that the perfectly groomed Nimbus 3000 twigs would take the brunt of the Bludger, thus protecting Ginny. The impact of the Bludger on Malfoy's broom was so great that Malfoy fell off; he wound up in the Starfish and Stick position, which was usually a Keeper defense where the Keeper held onto the broom with one hand and one foot curled around the handle, while keeping the other limbs stretched out. Malfoy scrambled to regain his seat. Harry could see that Ginny was furious.

"Time!" Harry yelled to Madam Hooch.

Harry soared down to the grass again. Malfoy landed beside him a few moments later. Madam Hooch was impatient.

"Changing the positions again, Potter?"

"No. I just need a word with the Slytherin captain."

Madam Hooch moved away, but kept an eye on them. Harry tried to speak low enough that she wouldn't hear.

"Malfoy! What the hell do you think you're doing?"

"What do you think I think I'm doing? That Bludger was heading right for Ginny!" he whispered back angrily.

"You are the Slytherin captain. Act like it! Ginny's out here to win, like the rest of us. If she thinks you're cutting her slack because of—well, cutting her slack, she'll never speak to you again, I can guarantee it. She's too proud for that. And I'll tell you something else Malfoy: I didn't put her in to throw you off. That's just a fringe benefit. I put her in because she's damn good, and because of her we're going to win. NOT because you're being nice to her. This isn't time to be nice. It's war. I'll thank you to remember which side you're on. No one's going to say we won this game because you threw it. I won't have it tainted."

Malfoy glared at him and looked at Ginny. Harry looked too. Ginny's hair was escaping its braid, and her eyes were wild. She was angrier than Harry had ever seen her.

"Now do you believe me? If looks could kill—"

"Yeah, I get it. You'd be doing a dance over my dead body right now."

"Are you going to play to win now?"

Malfoy set his jaw. "Just watch me."

Harry grinned. "I didn't say you were going to win."

They rose into the air again, and Madam Hooch blew her whistle to restart the game.

Ron, Alicia and Angelina scored forty more points; it was now one-sixty to nothing. Even if Malfoy were to miraculously catch the Snitch before Ginny, Gryffindor would still win the game. Harry flew in a small circle before the goals in one direction, then the other, to avoid becoming dizzy. Then—he saw the Snitch. It was a foot or two off the ground hovering near the middle Slytherin goal post. He itched to get it, but he knew he dared not; that would be a foul called a Snitchnip. Only the Seeker was allowed to touch the Snitch. He glanced up and realized he needn't have worried. Ginny was diving toward the Snitch, Malfoy having been going in the opposite direction. There was no way he would make it there before her, though he looked like he was trying. The next thing Harry knew, Ginny was flying a circuit around the field, holding the Snitch above her head, the crowd roaring its approval. Lee Jordan was practically hoarse.

"AND GINNY WEASLEY HAS THE SNITCH! GRYFFINDOR WINS, THREE-HUNDRED TEN TO NOTHING!"

It was unprecedented. Slytherin hadn't scored once. Harry and the rest of the team flew over to Ginny. They all landed in a tangle of arms and legs, everyone hugging, Ron and Harry, Ron and Alicia, George and Angelina (although not everyone was kissing like that), Fred and Ginny, and finally Harry found himself face to face with Ginny. She was more beautiful than he'd ever seen her, her eyes shining, her face glowing, her hair wild. He grinned at her and threw his arms around her, kissing her soundly on the mouth, quickly, before he lost his nerve. She stared at him, speechless, while the crowd jostled and separated them again, the excited pairings going through one recombination after another. Harry found himself face to face with Hermione, who had come down to the pitch. She was livid. She brought her heel down on his left foot quite hard and turned, pushing people out of her way. Harry yelled and hopped on one foot, his eyes squeezed shut in pain. When he opened his eyes again, his foot throbbing, he realized that no one had noticed. Wait—he was wrong. Malfoy was looking at him, smirking. He would think that was funny, thought Harry.

But he could see that Malfoy had very little reason to go on smirking. Snape, Lucius Malfoy and several teammates were rounding on him, voices raised. Harry could see that Malfoy was raising his hands helplessly, shaking his head and shrugging. Harry remembered that Snape knew about Malfoy and Ginny; he probably suspected that Malfoy had thrown the game. Harry seethed. He would not have people thinking that was the only way they could win.

Harry wasn't sure why, but he walked over to the angry Slytherins who had gathered around Malfoy. He heard things like, "Letting a girl beat you…" He pushed through the crowd until he was facing Malfoy. A sudden quiet descended. Draco Malfoy looked at him, stony-faced. Harry extended his hand. "Good game, Malfoy." Malfoy took his hand, but let it go quickly. He didn't speak, so Harry continued speaking. "I know we surprised you with Ginny. You had no way of knowing how good she is. I didn't know until I played her at the Weasleys this summer. Even Charlie's never beaten her, he says." He let that sink into the crowd; the great Seeker Charlie Weasley had never beaten his little sister? Harry heard murmuring. "And then adding Ron to that, well—you had no way of knowing. Never played either one of them before, did you?"

Malfoy looked at him gratefully. Harry acknowledged it with a nod and turned to go. He caught Lucius Malfoy's eye for a moment; it was the coldest look Harry had ever seen. Harry felt as if he'd drunk ice water. He turned away from Mr. Malfoy and returned to the happy throng of Gryffindor supporters, smiling and anticipating the celebration that would take place in the common room. But then—he remembered Cho talking to Lucius Malfoy during the match. He turned, looking for her. Odd; she was still in her seat, staring into space. No one else was sitting around her. Everyone else was on the field celebrating or had started back to the castle.

He climbed the stands slowly, cautiously approaching her. She was still not moving. Harry's heart thudded painfully; was she all right? What had Malfoy's dad done to her?

But when he was finally standing beside her, she suddenly seemed to come to life again. "Oh, hello, Harry. Good game! Congratulations!"

He looked at her, his brow furrowed. She was acting like nothing was wrong, as if she hadn't been virtually catatonic a moment before. He sat beside her. "Are you all right?"

"Of course. Why wouldn't I be?" He stared at her, still wondering whether to worry. Am I placing her in danger?

She seemed concerned now. "Harry? Is something wrong? Can I give you a congratulations kiss?"

Harry tried to shake off his feeling of uneasiness. He smiled feebly at her as she moved closer to him. When their lips met, she melted into him in a way she'd never done before; he'd always felt before that her kisses were somewhat mechanical and choreographed. This was different, this was—

Harry clutched at her, feeling her hands going into his hair. He opened his eyes a crack; the Quidditch pitch was deserted. There was no one left to see them. He closed his eyes once more, trying to remind himself that it was a good thing that she and Krum seemed to be getting along, so the masquerade could end soon. Is that what this is? Harry wondered. Guilt-snogging? If so, she was very good at it.

Harry was glad he wasn't supposed to be treating her terribly yet. There were some ghosts of doubt in the back of his mind, but he pushed them away. (The ghost that looked like Ginny was a little harder to push away than the ghost who looked like Hermione. Ginny hadn't tried to cripple him.) He released the guilt and doubt and became, for the moment, just another fifteen-year-old boy snogging his girlfriend.

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