Author's Notes:  Here it is, the third and final part of Charlie Weasley's escapades at Hogwarts. I had a blast writing it, and I hope you enjoy it just as much. J My reviewers are, quite simply, the s---. Sorry to leave you all hanging! ::cackles::

TheSparklingDiamond-GreenFairy: No, this Massachusetts girl has never been to England! All the British lingo included in my stories I've picked up from canon and other fanfics, but I will be going to London in May for three weeks! I'm sooo excited. I'm leaving on June 4, so maybe I can go to see PoA at midnight before I head back home.

Susan D: Glad you like it! Thanks for your nice comments. ::feels warm and fuzzy inside::

Gaia: Thank you, dahlin'! You are too kind!

Iesa: Aww, thank you! I like to think I'm a pretty good writer, but it's always nice to hear that from other people! You wonderful reviewers are really making me take my writing more seriously.

Tonks: I know, I'm evil, I really am. Hope it's worth the wait: enjoy!

The Legendary Charlie Weasley

Part Three:

Humiliate, Annihilate, and Destroy

~ * ~

Charlie awoke to utter darkness.

He blinked; there was no difference when his eyes were open and closed. His head ached. Had he gone blind? He was bewildered.

Where --

Memory came rushing back. The attack. The Stunning Spell. The MATCH!

He sat bolt upright and yelped in pain as his already aching head crashed into something hard. Holding his head as he swore steadily under his breath, he felt around more carefully. There was room to stand, but just enough. He got to his feet gingerly and realized that he was in some kind of broom closet. Wire hangers made a clanging racket as his head bumped into them. He stepped on a mop handle and almost slipped as he felt frantically for the door.

There was a tiny keyhole, letting in a microscopic shaft of dim light, but no handle. Through the keyhole he could see the corridor where he'd been ambushed. The door was, as he had guessed it would be, locked.

"Come on!" he hissed in frustration, and hammered on the door, hollering and hoping vainly that someone would hear him. "CAN SOMEBODY HEAR ME? I'M IN HERE!"

            Nothing. He slid to the floor and put his head between his knees, gripping his hair. How long had he been out? The corridors were usually fairly busy, particularly this one, as it led to the entrance hall. If it was empty, it could only mean that everyone was down at the match.

Okay, Weasley, get a grip on yourself. Think. What are your assets here? He stood up, again setting the wire hangers clanging, and felt around carefully. Brooms, plenty of mops…

He irritably pushed the hangers away from his face.

A couple of crates, bottles … probably some kind of cleaning solution, these bollocking hangers…

A light went on in his brain.

Feeling rather dim for not having thought of this in the first place, and thanking his lucky stars that he was related to Fred and George Weasley, he took one of the hangers, straightened it out, and bent it with feverish fingers into a lock pick.

Come on, come ON, you'd better bloody work . . .

After a few tense moments, the lock clicked and the door swung creakily open, blinding him with the morning light.

"YES!"

He tore down the corridor, praising Merlin that the Slytherins were too thick to produce a long-lasting Stun spell. He headed for the front doors, hoping harder than he'd ever hoped before that he wasn't too late.

He practically flew down the marble staircase and his heart gave a huge bound as he saw a few straggling Ravenclaws making for the doors, a Gryffindor banner in tow. The match hadn't started yet. He wasn't too late.

"Oi!"

They turned to stare at him in surprise, no doubt alarmed by his wild-eyed appearance.

"I need to use one of your wands!" he blurted. "No time to explain -- it's really important! Thanks -- Accio broomstick! Accio wand!"

He had to concentrate rather harder than usual because he wasn't using his own wand, and for a panicked second he thought it hadn't worked, but then, with a great rush of relief, he saw them speeding through the air toward him from the direction of the dungeons.

"Thanks, I owe you one!" he shouted over his shoulder as he plucked broomstick and wand out of the air, tossed the bewildered Ravenclaw his borrowed wand, and burst through the doors onto the grounds, blinking in the blinding sunlight.

It was a perfect day for Quidditch, and he could hear the buzz of the crowd as he neared the pitch. The familiar sound set him on fire. He was going to play Quidditch! And he was going to kick some slimy Slytherin ARSE!

He burst into the locker room and it was as if someone had set off an entire box of Dr. Filibuster's Fabulous Wet-Start, No-Heat, Extremely Angry and Frantic Gryffindor Quidditch Player Fireworks.

"WHERE THE HELL HAVE YOU BEEN?" they screamed. They were all looking as though they wanted to strangle him and hug him at the same time.

"Sorry," he gasped, heading immediately for his locker and fending them off so that he could pull on his Quidditch robes under a steady barrage of questions.

"Shut up!" he bellowed. "How long have we got to be out on the pitch?"

"About ten seconds!"

"Could you have cut it any closer? Bloody hell, Charlie!"

"We thought we were going to have to use Wayne Sheffield!"

"Where were you? We looked everywhere!"

"Wayne Sheffield, Charlie!"

But Mickey was staring at Charlie's face. At his split lip, to be precise.

"The Slytherins," she said flatly.

The rest of the team shut up. Identical looks of comprehension dawned on all their faces.

Charlie steadfastly ignored them and concentrated on putting on his shin guards.

"What happened to you? What did they do?"

"Nothing." Charlie checked that his elbow guards were secure. "Everyone ready?" He picked up his broom and walked to the door, where he found his way barred by Shea, Paddy, and Drake.

"You're not going anywhere until you tell us what happened," Drake said flatly.

"Then we're going to miss the match," Charlie snapped, "because nothing happened."

"What kind of idiots do you take us for?" Shea demanded.

"We have a Quidditch Cup to win," Charlie said, unmoved. "I promise I'll explain everything to you later. Come on, you lot. Are you ready to humiliate, annihilate, and destroy?"

The sound of their motto was not without effect on the team. A familiar light came into their eyes and they began to grin. They exchanged looks.

"All right, Captain." Drake said. "Lead the way. But we expect a complete and detailed explanation later."

His heart pounding with deadly resolve, Charlie led the way out to the pitch. He wasn't afraid anymore. He was itching for this match. And he was pissed off.

There was an explosion of cheering as the Gryffindors walked out onto the field. The Gryffindors and most of the Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws deafened them as they waved scarlet banners and rosettes. The Slytherins' boos could scarcely be heard.

"And heeeeeere's Gryffindor!" Chase Jordan bellowed through his magical megaphone. "That's Weasley, Chapman, Doherty, Donnelly, McBroome, Payton, and Quinn. Winners of the Quidditch cup for four years straight, soon to be five -- ouch, Professor!"

As they walked toward the center of the pitch, Mickey pulled Charlie aside.

"What happened, Charlie?" she said fiercely. "I know they did something. Are you just going to let them get away with it?" She sounded incredulous.

He sighed, looked around, and put his hands on her shoulders, looking her very seriously right in the eyes.

"Look, Mickey, if I rat on them, they'll be disqualified, and there won't be a match. We've come way too far and worked much too hard. I want to beat them fair and square, I don't want to win by default. You can't tell anyone, promise me?"

She looked back just as seriously and he could tell she was thinking it over. "Well, when you put it that way . . ." She grinned suddenly. "I don't like it, but I do see your point. All right. Humiliate, annihilate, and destroy, it is. I can live with that."

"And here come the Slytherins!" Chase shouted. "Biggs, Grayson, Kirk, Pearce, Warrington, and the famous -- or infamous -- Beater pair, Fergus Floyd and Captain Angus Boyd. Angus Boyd and Fergus Floyd, ah, that just never gets old . . ."

Angus Boyd met Charlie's eyes across the pitch and his jaw dropped. His face turned purple and he looked daggers at his teammates, who were gawking at Charlie; Conan Kirk, the Seeker, was looking slightly the worse for wear with a nose that was red and terrifically swollen. Boyd looked back at Charlie and glared out of a truly spectacular black eye, and in the glare Charlie saw a sudden burst of understanding as Boyd realized that Charlie didn't mean to tell anyone. As the two Captains locked gazes, each understood the other perfectly. Their eyes blazed across the field, passionate for the match to begin.

That's right, Charlie told Boyd silently. I'm not going to tell on you like a little first year. But you are going to wish I had. I'll have my vengeance, but it will be in the air.

"Captains, shake hands," Madam Hooch said.

"Bad idea," muttered Shea as both Charlie and Boyd stiffened and set their jaws. Neither moved.

"Captains," said Madam Hooch sharply.

The air between the two Captains was so charged it was practically crackling. They shook.

"Mount your brooms!"

"Watch your backs," Charlie warned his team in a low voice as they all mounted their broomsticks. If the Slytherins weren't above kidnapping him, he didn't want to think about what they might try fifty feet in the air.

Madam Hooch put her whistle in her mouth. "Three . . . two . . ."

Come on, he urged mentally, every muscle tensed and ready. He was hungry for this match. Come on . . .

The whistle blew.

Charlie kicked off and his eardrums nearly exploded with the force of the crowd's roar.

"Aaaaand they're off!" Chase bellowed. "Quaffle taken immediately by Gryffindor, that's Paddy 'Your Boyfriend's Worst Nightmare' Quinn up there, ladies and gentlemen, a veteran Chaser -- a nice pass to Doherty -- no! -- wait, never mind, thought it was intercepted by Pearce for a minute there, but Doherty's got it, that's Shea Doherty of Gryffindor flying up there -- dodges a Bludger from Boyd -- and another from Floyd -- beautiful Porskoff Ploy! Fiona 'Mickey' McBroome times it perfectly and comes up with the Quaffle -- Slytherin didn't expect it, she's got nothing but clear space in front of her -- YES! GRYFFINDOR SCORES!"

Mickey pumped her fist in the air as Gryffindor House screamed its excitement. Paddy flew over for a celebratory hug.

"And it's Gryffindor who draws first blood!" Chase shouted. "Remember that Slytherin leads the tournament by a hundred and ninety points, so Weasley must hold off the Snitch until they're at least fifty points up in order to win the Cup. Shouldn't be a problem, not with Weasley at the helm. Slytherin gains possession, that's Kermit Grayson with the Quaffle -- ouch, that had to hurt, hit in the stomach with a Bludger, nice Beater work there by Wes Payton -- Doherty grabs the Quaffle and heads for goal -- come on, Shea! Argh, no, pass intercepted by Owen Pearce. He dodges Chaser Quinn, heads toward Gryffindor goal -- stop him, damn it!"

"Jordan!"

"Sorry, Professor, sorry. Reverse pass to Biggs -- nice shot, Drake! Ooh, Beater Donnelly misses, but Biggs was this close to leaving the pitch minus a couple of teeth -- he's nearly there --"

"STOOGING!" the crowd roared.

As Emma had hovered in front of the goalposts, ready for Cole Biggs to make a shot, she hadn't noticed Kermit Grayson flying straight toward her from the side. He sideswiped her, causing her to spin violently and nearly fall off her broom. She clutched at it for dear life. The Quaffle went through.

"NO GOAL!" Madam Hooch screeched. "Penalty to Gryffindor!"

"WHAT!?" howled Grayson. "I hardly touched her!"

Charlie's murderous thoughts toward the offending Chaser were suddenly interrupted by a flash of gold close to the ground by the Gryffindor goalposts.

Instantly, he spun his Cleansweep around and urged it upward in the opposite direction. Conan Kirk, hovering perilously close to the Snitch and watching a heated argument unfold between the Slytherin Chasers and Madam Hooch, gave a start and took off after Charlie with a panicked look on his face. When Charlie finally chanced a look the Snitch had disappeared.

"HA!" Chase yelled gleefully. "And the Slytherin Seeker takes the bait! Excellent diversion by Weasley, drawing Kirk away from the Snitch, which he was practically sitting on, by the way . . ."

Kirk shot Charlie a mutinous glare.

Shea came forward to take the penalty for Grayson's foul. Warrington dived and missed.

"Twenty to zero, Gryffindor!" shouted Chase. "A brilliant shot by Chaser Doherty!"

"And that, Warrington," Shea crowed, "was for the Somnolent Shrub! Ha! Kiss my --"

"And Gryffindor has possession once more, that's McBroome with the Quaffle. I tell you, that girl was made to play Quidditch --"

Charlie was marking Kirk closely, scanning the pitch for any sign of silvery wings. When Paddy scored off of a reverse pass from Mickey he kept even closer. Just two more goals and he could go for the Snitch . . . just two more.

"Charlie!" Emma shrieked suddenly from behind him. "Look out!"

Charlie jumped at the urgency in her cry and dived immediately and without asking questions. He felt a breeze ruffle his hair as a Bludger whistled over his head and, sensing something even larger bearing down on him, rolled over in midair. A green blur passed inches away from him.

Rotten bastard, Boyd!

He heard smug laughter and with a growl and considerable effort he managed to straighten himself out.

He scanned the pitch and felt his stomach clench. Conan Kirk was diving.

He tore after him. He was probably feinting, but you never knew . . . he flattened himself to the handle of his Cleansweep as Floyd sent the other Bludger toward him, let out a growl of frustration -- he was directly behind Kirk, so he couldn't tell if the Snitch was really there or not -- and suddenly the ground was rushing up at him and he had to wrench his broom handle straight to prevent himself from plowing headfirst into the pitch.

"FOUL!" Chase was screaming as three-quarters of the crowd gave voice to outrage and the Slytherins cheered. "That was blatching!"

Charlie was seething. He'd never been Wronski Feinted before. Ever. If Boyd hadn't nearly killed him he'd never have fallen for it, but, distracted, he had been forced to honor the feint.

Boyd was grinning at him. It had cost him a penalty, but he had rattled Charlie, and that was worth far more than ten points.

"Chaser McBroome puts away the shot, no problem, and we continue, Gryffindor still in possession."

A Bludger sent Shea's way by Fergus Floyd put the Quaffle in the hands of Cole Biggs. He sped toward the Gryffindor goalposts and lobbed it to Owen Pearce, who hurled it with all his strength. Emma flung herself forward and managed to get a finger on it, and it was enough; the Quaffle went wide.

"Chapman with a spectacular save!" Chase cried. "I don't know how that girl does it -- the Quaffle is bigger than she is! Are you taking notes, Warrington?"

"Would you like me to find a new commentator, Mr. Jordan?"

"Sorry, Professor, sorry! I was just caught up in the moment! That's Paddy Quinn of Gryffindor with possession -- just one more goal will open up the door for Charlie Weasley --"

"Come on, Quinn!" Charlie bellowed.

His face set in concentration, Paddy ducked a Bludger and took off down the pitch, zigzagging to shake Pearce and Grayson, who were closing in rapidly. He feinted left and passed the Quaffle to Mickey, who tucked it under her arm, rolled over on her broom as Biggs sped toward her and aimed a fake punch at her nose, came up smoothly, and flung the Quaffle toward the left hoop.

With a grunt of effort Warrington stretched his arm to his utmost, but the Quaffle whistled past his fingertips and bounced off the rim of the hoop as it soared through.

"YES!"

The roar from the crowd went up as though from one throat. Flushed and jubilant, Charlie spied Bill in the crowd, jumping up and down and hollering till he was blue in the face. Their eyes met for an instant and Bill pointed at him, mouthing, "You! It's all you!"

As Chase ecstatically shouted through his magical megaphone and Paddy and Shea pounded her enthusiastically on the back, Mickey turned to Charlie. She gave him a thumbs up. He nodded and squared his shoulders.

Now was his time.

"Pearce with the Quaffle, the Slytherin Chasers using a variation of the Hawkshead Attacking Formation . . ."

The Slytherins were growing increasingly frustrated by their inability to score a fair goal; the Gryffindor Chasers and Beaters were simply too good. As the play increased in intensity, the game was rapidly becoming the dirtiest, nastiest, grimmest Quidditch match Charlie had ever seen.

Pearce locked broom handles with Shea, who came perilously close to crashing into the stands. When Emma made another sensational save, Boyd grabbed the tail of her broom and tried to dump her off. Paddy put the Quaffle through the Slytherin hoop and doubled over as Wade Warrington's elbow crashed into his stomach. Mickey dropped the Quaffle and nearly fell from her Comet 260 when Kermit Grayson seized her ponytail as she was in full flight. The penalties mounted and the Slytherins played even dirtier as Gryffindor's lead increased.

The sun crept across the sky as the game went on into the afternoon, and still there was no sign of the Snitch.

"Gryffindor leads by a hundred and ten points to zero, Doherty with the Quaffle…"

Charlie's eyes roved the pitch. Where was the bloody thing? In all his time at Hogwarts he had rarely seen it keep out of sight for so long.

The whistle blew. "BIGGS!" Madam Hooch roared.

Charlie's head snapped over to Madam Hooch, who was looking angrier than he had ever seen her. Cole Biggs looked up guiltily; he had been flying toward Conan Kirk and had something grasped in his hand.

"What?" he said, his face reddening, his tone too innocent.

Madam Hooch advanced on the Chaser and he cowered as she pried open his fingers, pulled out the Golden Snitch, and began bawling him out.

". . . haven't seen a Snitchnip at Hogwarts in years! Pull something like that one more time, Biggs, just once more, and you will not be playing in this match anymore, you will be watching! Have I made myself perfectly clear? I am disgusted, absolutely disgusted that a player would even consider such tactics. . ."

When she finally finished with him, Biggs looked slightly shell-shocked. She flew off to the side, blew the whistle, and play resumed. The Snitch had vanished once more.

A penalty and a goal later, the Slytherins still had yet to score and Shea had the Quaffle.

"Gryffindor leads a hundred and thirty points to zero," Chase was saying enthusiastically. "At this rate, Gryffindor isn't even going to need the Snitch!"

Shea ducked as Floyd approached with his club at the ready and passed the Quaffle to Mickey. As she tucked it under her arm and sped up the field, Grayson fell into place on her left and Pearce closed in on her from the right. Charlie's heart fell into his stomach with an unpleasant thunk as he realized that Cole Biggs, still smarting from Madam Hooch's tongue-lashing, was hurtling straight toward her from the Slytherin end.

"Mickey, get out of there!" he yelled frantically, his heart thumping. He urged his Cleansweep forward, but there was no way he was going to make it in time.

"Get off!" he heard Mickey cry, struggling to turn her Comet upwards, but she was tightly sandwiched between Pearce and Grayson. Charlie watched, horrified, as Biggs closed in rapidly.

A split second before impact, a second figure in scarlet darted in front of Biggs. With a sickening thud they collided; the green-robed figure lurched away dizzily, but the Gryffindor let out a cry of pain and began to spiral toward earth.

The crowd went suddenly and eerily quiet.

Paddy.

~ * ~

"Paddy, you great bloody prat!" Mickey cried. "What did you think you were playing at?" She sounded close to tears.

"Stand back, please," Madam Pomfrey snapped, hurrying out onto the pitch where the Gryffindor team was gathered around Paddy.

Paddy was grey-faced with pain, but he managed to grin feebly as Madam Pomfrey felt delicately to see where he was hurt. "I was . . . rescuing the damsel in distress, of course," he said. "Come on, Mickey, you can't deny your love for me anymore -- just kiss me better and I'll be ready to go."

"Paddy, honestly --"

"Just let me hear you say it once: 'Paddy, you're my hero.'"

Despite the gravity of the situation, the team sniggered and even Mickey laughed reluctantly.

He winced as Madam Pomfrey finished poking around.

"Broken rib," she said briskly. "Or two. Or three. It's off to the hospital wing with you, sir."

"No!" Paddy protested vehemently. "I can play . . . the Cup!" He tried to sit up, but turned even paler and sank back with a moan.

"Quidditch!" Madam Pomfrey said disgustedly. "Students risking life and limb, no, you most certainly will not be playing any more Quidditch today, Mr. Quinn, you need immediate attention."

Charlie and the rest of the team exchanged grim looks. If a player went down, there could be no substitutions. That was the rule. No exceptions.

Bloody hell.

Paddy was looking devastated. For, despite his customary devil-may-care attitude, Charlie knew how much Quidditch meant to Paddy. He looked like he wanted to cry.

Paddy clenched his hands into fists and closed his eyes. The team exchanged helpless looks. They didn't know what to say. Paddy was always so cocky. It hurt to see him lose his swagger.

Finally, he looked up. "I'm sorry, Charlie," he said, sounding furious with himself. "I'm an idiot. I thought Biggs would back off when he saw me coming. It just happened so bloody fast . . ."

"It is not your fault, Paddy," Charlie said sharply. "If that cheating scum hadn't tried to Parkin's Pincer Mickey, none of this would've happened."

Paddy stopped berating himself, but he adamantly refused to go to the hospital wing. Madam Pomfrey was going to have to work on him where he could watch the match, he announced, or his ribs could bloody well stay broken. Madam Pomfrey was initially speechless at such a proposition, but Professor McGonagall intervened and arranged for a cot to be set up in the stands.

"All right, men," Charlie said to the team as they prepared to resume play.

"And women," said Emma and Mickey automatically.

"And women. Listen up. The Slytherins had it coming before. Now they have it coming so much there aren't words to describe what they have coming to them. Let's do it for Paddy, all right?"

They nodded fiercely, as determined as ever, but Charlie noticed with a sink of the heart that they were looking exhausted. They were bruised and battered from two straight hours of being fouled without mercy. They were tired from Beating and Chasing and Keeping. They were drained emotionally.

Still, they had a good lead, Charlie reminded himself, and gave himself a mental shake. No room for fear here.

"All together now," he said, his heart beginning to drum again.

"Humiliate, annihilate, and destroy!" they shouted.

They went to their brooms galvanized and resolute. But by the end of the first five minutes, it had become clear just how sorely they were going to miss Paddy Quinn.

With the absence of an opposing Chaser, the Slytherins were finally playing smart Quidditch. They didn't need to foul Mickey and Shea; instead, they harassed them, pressing their advantage. When either Gryffindor Chaser needed to get rid of the Quaffle, the Slytherins were practically glued to their only option.

"Argh!" Chase groaned. "Pass intercepted by Pearce and nothing but open space in front of him -- come on, Emma, you can stop it!"

But a thunderous cheer went up from the green-clad section of the crowd; Slytherin had scored its first goal of the match. Chase was beside himself, swearing so loudly and violently that Professor McGonagall pulled the magical megaphone out of his hands and cracked him smartly over the head with it.

And that was the way it continued to go. Slytherin closed the gap almost as steadily as Gryffindor had made it, despite the best efforts of Gryffindor's remaining players. Wes and Drake were drenched with sweat from constantly swinging their Beater clubs. Emma was looking wild-eyed, for with their superior numbers, the Slytherin Chasers were able to shake off Mickey's and Shea's best defensive efforts with ease, and they were having great success keeping her confused as to where the Quaffle was coming from. Shea and Mickey were looking increasingly desperate as they struggled to keep Gryffindor up and give Charlie more time. Paddy, in the stands, was tearing his hair out.

"Gryffindor leads by a hundred and forty points to eighty," Chase said tensely. "Still sixty points up . . ."

Charlie searched the pitch frantically; if Slytherin scored just two more goals they could kiss the Quidditch Cup good-bye. He had to catch the Snitch now.

Wiping sweat from his brow, he spun around and shot away from Kirk, who was marking him with maddening persistence. There was a smug grin on his face that Charlie itched to wipe off.

"Grayson scores another goal for Slytherin," Chase said, sounding panicked. "Gryffindor with possession. Doherty gets the Quaffle -- ducks a Bludger --"

Every eye in the stadium was upon Charlie. His eyes desperately roved the stands, the air, the pitch . . .

And he saw it.

A glint of gold -- the flutter of silvery wings just above the pitch on the Gryffindor side --

He dived. The wind tore at his face and hair and screamed in his ears as he shot toward earth. This was it -- his only chance -- it was now or never --

"GO, CHARLIE!" Mickey and Shea screamed together.

"Come on, mate, it's all yours!" Paddy bellowed from the stands, half-rising from his cot. Madam Pomfrey planted a hand in the middle of his chest and pushed him firmly back down.

Charlie swerved as one Bludger and then the other whistled past him, his eyes never leaving the golden glint. He was closing in. He was nearly there.

A green blur streaked toward him -- he caught a glimpse of Angus Boyd, lips curling in a snarl and eyes narrowed in deadly determination -- he kept his eyes on the Snitch as Boyd hurtled closer -- he reached out his arm with a thrill of victory and made a wild snatch --

Boyd slammed into him with the force of the Hogwarts Express.

Bright lights exploded behind his eyes; his hand was torn from the handle of his Cleansweep and he was thrown violently from his broom. The world spun dizzyingly around him in a blur of color as he tumbled onto the grassy pitch to land painfully and jarringly on his side. There was a loud thud beside him as Boyd hit the ground heavily a split second later.

The stadium was silent as the entire crowd held its breath.

Breathing hard in the sudden quiet and not quite prepared yet to open his eyes, Charlie mentally checked off a list of body parts that seemed to be working. It was hard to keep track; his head was spinning with dizzying speed. It was a moment before he was fully convinced that he was, in fact, alive. He opened his eyes.

And he held up the Golden Snitch.

The pitch quaked as hundreds of throats let out an earsplitting cheer and the Slytherins let out a universal howl of dismay, and suddenly Charlie was grinning so hard that his face hurt. Glorious triumph swept through him. They'd won the Cup! Ha! Take that, you cheating scum!

"DID YOU SEE THAT?" Chase was screaming over the crowd's uproar. "DID YOU BLOODY SEE THAT?"

Exultantly Charlie struggled to sit up, but suddenly slammed back into the ground as a shape swooped down out of the sky and tackled him, yelling like a maniac.

"You did it, you crazy bastard! You did it!" Shea yelled as Charlie, laughing madly and gasping for air, tried to push him off so he could breathe. But a series of thumps signaled the arrival of Mickey, Wes, Emma, and Drake; Charlie found himself buried under a tangle of jubilant teammates, all of whom were cheering and laughing in sheer exultation, screaming his name and pounding him enthusiastically. Mickey shrieked, "Charlie, you mad, wonderful lunatic!" flung her arms around him, and kissed his cheek (luckily there was too much chaos for anyone to see him blushing); Wes was yelling incoherently; Drake was bellowing "YES! YES!" and ruffling Charlie's hair violently with one massive hand; Emma was giggling uncontrollably and trying not to get squashed.

"You were all brilliant!" Charlie yelled hoarsely. "Bloody brilliant!"

Elated spectators were streaming onto the pitch. The Gryffindors got to their feet just in time to be assailed by jubilant fans. Charlie caught sight of a familiar tall, red-headed figure making its way toward him through the pandemonium, and a moment later Bill had tackled him, bellowing, "That's MY little brother!"

"Get off me, you sap!" Charlie yelled in mock fury, pulling Bill's hair out of its neat ponytail and mussing it enthusiastically. Bill yelped, let go of him, and felt to see how much damage had been done. An instant later Charlie heard another familiar voice shrieking his name; looking around, he spied Percy trying to push through the boisterous crowd and in danger of being trampled.

"Get over here, runt!" he bellowed, striding through the crowd and tossing his brother up in the air.

"That was brilliant!" Percy shrilled. "This is even better than banging Eben and Cecil's heads together! Ha! They won't even be able to look at me!"

Out of the corner of his eye, Charlie caught sight of the Slytherin team glumly pulling a groaning Angus Boyd to his feet. As they helped him limp off the pitch toward Madam Pomfrey, he glowered over his shoulder at Charlie, a second black eye darkening on his face. Charlie just looked at him with fierce, contemptuous satisfaction.

"I DON'T CARE!" came a yell from above. "I'M GOING, AND YOU'LL HAVE TO TIE ME DOWN TO STOP ME!"

"No, Mr. Quinn -- stop that, lie down!"

A moment later, the Gryffindor team was racing up into the stands, where they found Madam Pomfrey panting but flushed with victory, standing with her wand held over a Body-Bound and furious Paddy Quinn.

"Madam Pomfrey!" Mickey gasped, clapping a hand over her mouth. She sounded very much as though she wanted to be indignant but instead was finding it difficult not to dissolve into gales of laughter.

"Don't 'Madam Pomfrey' me!" the nurse huffed. "It's his own fault -- determined to get himself killed -- never, in all my years . . ."

Charlie himself was trembling with suppressed mirth, but at the increasingly wrathful and desperate look in Paddy's eyes he took pity on his teammate and performed the counter-curse.

Paddy blinked and looked round at the circle of grinning faces.

"It is not funny," he said darkly.

The team roared with laughter, and Paddy couldn't hide his grin for long. His shoulders shook and he began to snicker, and a moment later the whole team was bellowing congratulations over the din of the crowd, they were clapping him on the back with more enthusiasm than was probably wise, Mickey was telling him that he really was her hero, and a glint of silver was catching their eyes; Dumbledore had arrived with the gigantic Quidditch Cup.

The Gryffindors in the crowd renewed their screaming to a fever pitch as Dumbledore handed Charlie the enormous Cup with a murmured, "Congratulations, Mr. Weasley. I imagine that split lip came from walking into a door?" His sharp, light blue gaze regarded Charlie with knowing mirth.

Charlie grinned; Bill had always maintained that Dumbledore was able to read minds.

"Yes, sir," he said. "You know me. I have no coordination."

"None whatsoever," Dumbledore agreed, shaking his hand, and Charlie could have sworn that there was a note of something like approval in the old man's voice. "Again, congratulations."

"Thank you, sir," Charlie said, still grinning. He turned around and with a hoarse yell the team lifted the gleaming Cup into the air to wild cheers.

"You know," Mickey said musingly, so that only he could hear, "I almost feel bad about what I slipped into the Slytherins' pumpkin juice this morning."

            He stared at her.

"You didn't."

She raised an indignant eyebrow. Her eyes narrowed and flashed at him dangerously, and Charlie abruptly found that he didn't care too much either way. He took a deep breath.

"Mickey?" he said, his brain miraculously clear and unafraid. "Do you want to go out some time?"

Her mouth fell open. Charlie braced himself to be slapped, but…

"Of course I do, you idiot," Mickey blurted, and as she threw her arms around him to kiss him, the cheering took on a different sort of tone and the part of Charlie's brain that was still capable of rational thought reflected that Mickey was just insane enough to have been telling the truth.

~ * ~

THE END