What a Strange and Mysterious Thing It Is

Disclaimer All characters and references to Harry Potter mythology are the sole property of the amazing J.K. Rowling. I write for fun only, besides lawyers make me nervous.

Summary: Following the death of Sirius, truths emerge from everywhere. Harry must learn to cope with them and perhaps find what he has been seeking. This story, in keeping with the style of Ms. Rowling, is in Harry's point of view. It is mostly about Harry and Professor McGonagall, but there is a lot of AD/MM as well. It is rated PG-13 for some violence in later chapters. Please read and review! Enjoy!

A/N: Wow, you are all so fabulous! Your reviews are almost as rewarding as writing the story! Thank you, thank you to everyone, but most specifically to Aurinko, BlindJedi, Lou. McGonagall, Quill of Minerva, Nightwing 509, and Joelpup62! I also have a favor to ask...can someone let me know if they are now receiving their Author Alert messages? Because I am still not getting mine! Anyway, enjoy this next installment!

Chapter Eight: Revelations

The upcoming quidditch match with Slytherin was beginning to play heavily on Harry's mind. Only one week remained before the Gryffindors would be facing their biggest foe. The Saturday after Harry's last detention was spent practicing. The whole team felt infused with an intense desire not only to win the next weekend, but to win handily. Each member of the Gryffindor team wanted to wipe the incessant smirk from Malfoy's face once and for all. The time for Slytherin's arrogance on the quidditch pitch was at an end. By and large, Slytherin may own better brooms, but it was the Gryffindors who owned the talent.

The Quidditch Cup was in the bag for Gryffindor again this year. They had already easily beaten Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff earlier in the season. Though Slytherin had done the same, Gryffindor's margin of victory had been much larger. So much was the spread that Gryffindor would have to lose by over three hundred points to lose the cup. The odds of this were extremely small. Gryffindor's team was simply too good.

The team practiced every night. Harry and Ron, as team captains, pushed his Gryffindors without overwhelming them as Oliver and Angelina had sometimes done. He was feeling more and more confident with each practice, but every night his feelings of content were dashed. Each evening as he and Ron slumped back up to the castle. It had become Harry's habit to scan the edge of the lake whenever it would be within view. And sure enough, Dumbledore was almost always there. The thought gave him an odd sensation in the pit of his stomach. It had been a full week since Harry had given Professor McGonagall what he thought was a nudge in the right direction. Yet, day by day, Professor Dumbledore continued his walks around the lake. McGonagall seemed to be avoiding him. At least she must be thinking about it, Harry thought.

The morning of the big match arrived. Harry awoke early, but had no desire to go back to sleep. He arose and dressed quickly. Ron was still sleeping soundly, though he was half hanging off his bed. Neville, Dean, and Seamus were also still asleep as evident by their muffled snores emitting from their blankets. Harry saw no reason to wake Ron and descended the stairs to the common room. He went to his usual spot by the fireplace and sat down. The fire was not completely extinguished, but it was little more than glowing embers with an occasional trickle of flame.

Harry rested his hands upon the arms of the chair and it is then that he noticed a bit of parchment stuffed halfway under the chair cushion. Curious, Harry took out the parchment to see who it belonged to. It looked to be a note that had been passed back and forth between to people who wanted to have a conversation without being overheard. Harry quickly recognized Hermione's perfect, loopy handwriting and Ron's untidy scrawl. He went to stuff it back under the cushion, but stopped when he noticed his name in one of the first few lines. He had not wanted to read it or invade their privacy, but the temptation was overwhelming. Had they been talking about him?

Why do you think Harry's been so distant lately? Hermione's writing said.
I don't know, Ron had scribbled in return. He seems preoccupied though.
Ron, I think it might have something to do with us, or Dumbledore, or both.
What do you mean? Ron had asked. He said he was really happy for us.
I know, Hermione had continued. But I think there is something he isn't telling us either.

At that moment Harry heard footsteps stomping down the stairs from the dormitory. He quickly shoved the parchment into the chair once more. He was not entirely surprised when it was Ron who shuffled into view.

"Good morning, Ron," Harry said sounding falsely cheery. Ron eyed him suspiciously, but rather than harden, his expression softened to that of worry or concern.

"Harry," Ron began, "what is going on with you, mate?"

"Ron," Harry stated trying to make it sound as though his friend was imagining things. "I'm perfectly fine."

Ron shook his head and sat down on the ottoman in front Harry's chair. "Harry, we have been friends for almost six years. I have known you since you were the awkward eleven year old in baggy clothes until now when you are the unfairly handsome, popular, talented sixteen year old." Ron paused for a moment allowing Harry to chuckle lightly. "I know you," he started again. "I know when you are not entirely happy."

Harry's face fell. "You're right, Ron," he replied. "That doesn't mean I can tell you what's up."

"Why not?" Ron asked reproachfully.

"Because," Harry hesitated, "because I don't want to lose you as a friend."

"You won't," Ron stated confidently.

Harry laughed mirthlessly. "You can say that now."

"It's the truth."

It was Harry's turn to shake his head. He looked down at his hands, hoping Ron would go away if he didn't say anything. However, Ron seemed to be more insistent than Harry had ever known him. Harry knew his friend was worried about him, but he also felt that the situation had a far too dangerous potential of pushing Ron's friendship away. He was torn.

"Tell me," Ron prodded at last.

"You really want to know?" Harry shouted unsure why his anger was rising. "I'm jealous of you!"

Ron's eyes widened in disbelief. He could not imagine why Harry would be envious of him in any way. "Of me? Why?"

"Because you have Hermione," explained Harry flatly.

Ron's eyes closed with understanding. "You love her."

"Yes," was all Harry could muster. He felt his friendship slipping away by the second.

"Did you tell her?" Ron asked.

Harry was completely flabbergasted. Ron's tone was soft and inquiring, not at all accusatory or resentful. Harry shook his head in response.

"Harry, you should," Ron advised. Harry could not believe the conversation was going like this. How could Ron, Hermione's boyfriend, suggest that he tell her his feelings for her?

"How can you say that?" Harry asked as his jaw dropped.

"Harry," Ron laughed, "I trust you. You are my friend and I know that you would not come between Hermione and me. You love her, yes, but she has a right to know too. She cares about you. I care about you. We want to see you happy. Like I said before, I've known you for six years. I know you bottle things inside, but what good does it usually do? Besides who knows if Hermione and I will work out." Harry arched his eyebrows questioningly. "Oh, don't get me wrong," Ron laughed again. "I hope it does."

Harry allowed the smallest of grins to grace his lips. "Thanks, Ron."

"Are you going to tell her then?" Ron queried.

"I can't, not yet," Harry responded.

"You don't need to, you already have."

The two boys wheeled around to see Hermione standing by the stairs, her eyes brimming with tears. Harry and Ron stood quickly and Harry could feel the embarrassment flush his cheeks. Hermione rushed over to them and flung her arms around Harry's neck. Harry stood stunned with his arms at his sides. Ron was grinning stupidly at the two of them. Harry finally relaxed and returned her embrace. It was wonderful and Harry felt has though a thousand pound weight was leaving his chest.

"Stop looking at me like that you idiot," Harry said sheepishly lightly punching Ron on the arm as he and Hermione pulled apart at last. Hermione smiled and gave Ron a tender kiss on the cheek. Ron closed his eyes and softly leaned into it. Hermione finally knew. Harry felt free. This will be a great day, indeed, Harry thought.

By ten o'clock Ron and Harry had eaten breakfast and were making their way with the rest of the team to the locker rooms to change. Katie, Ginny, Euan, Andrew, and Jack were nearly to the locker rooms and as Harry observed them he allowed himself a small smile. It was amazing how much his team had grown.

Katie had always been a superb chaser, but had not always been confident of her own abilities. In the past she had worked well on the team, but preferred to give Angelina Johnson the glory of scoring. This year she had come into her own.

Ginny had proven herself an outstanding seeker the previous year, but once Harry had returned to the team, she changed to chaser. She proved just as outstanding in her new role. With all the talent she possessed Harry suspected she probably could have played beater or keeper and been just as successful.

Then there was little Euan, the second year. Euan had taken to Harry in a reverence unlike that of the Creevey brothers. Colin and Dennis saw him as something like a god. Harry detested this distinction. Euan on the other hand had begun to look up to him like a older brother. Because he had always been an only child, Harry relished this role. Harry had taken great pleasure in nurturing the younger player into the fine chaser he was. Euan was by no means brilliant, but his desire for the game more than made up for any shortcomings.

Harry chuckled to himself when he thought of Andrew and Jack. He remembered how pathetic they had been the year before. Their turn around was more startling than anyone's. Harry knew he would always consider Fred and George the best beaters, however, he could not deny that Andrew and Jack could now probably give them a good run for their money.

Mere feet from the locker rooms Harry noticed movement from the corner of his eye. Habit caused him to look toward the lake. Sure enough, Dumbledore could be seen nearby staring out over the water with his hands clasped behind his back. Yet, it was not he who had triggered Harry's gaze. Approaching slowly behind Professor Dumbledore was the one person that made Harry's heart leap with hope. It was Professor McGonagall. Dumbledore's arms had dropped to his sides and his shoulders were stooped depressingly.

"What are you waiting for?" Harry heard Ron ask.

"Go on," Harry hissed. "I'll be there in a minute." Ron shrugged but obeyed. Harry returned his eyes to his two professors before him. "Yes," he whispered, "what are you waiting for?" His anticipation was becoming unbearable, but he dare not even move lest they realize he was watching them. Dumbledore was not yet aware that McGonagall was creeping behind him. Once by his side, Harry watched as she tentatively eased her fingers into the Headmaster's hand. Professor Dumbledore did not respond right away, but even from a distance Harry could see his fingers close around McGonagall's. He turned to face her at last. Harry was too far away to overhear their conversation, but he could see Dumbledore was avoiding her eyes. It was not until Professor McGonagall had gently guided his chin to force him to do so that Harry could tell they were both crying. This worried Harry greatly. Was she confronting him because she realized that Dumbledore must have disclosed their prior relationship with Harry? For a moment Harry's worry seemed justified as any composure that had remained on Dumbledore's face vanished. As Professor Dumbledore made to leave, Professor McGonagall gripped his wrist and pulled him back to face her. She was speaking so adamantly that with each passing second Harry's nervousness compounded. However, his anxiety quickly melted away when McGonagall pulled Professor Dumbledore into a tight embrace. She then cupped his head in her hands and kissed his forehead. The truth had been demanded to be known, and with it brought a revelation of unimaginable proportions.

They turned to walk arm in arm toward the quidditch field before Harry could suppress the emotions rising inside him. "Woohoo!" he yelled happily punching the air. Realizing he had just blown his cover, Harry ran quickly into the locker rooms to change. It would have taken ten scourgify spells to wipe the grin off Harry's face.

The teams were now out on the field. For some reason Ron seemed to be taking twisted pleasure in the expression on Malfoy's face. "Look how worried he looks!" Ron bellowed. Madame Hooch had called the team captains over to shake hands. Malfoy looked almost as green as his robes. Harry smiled at Malfoy. This move only seemed to incense Malfoy more, which is of course what Harry was after.

As Harry and Malfoy shook hands, trying to break each others fingers, Harry whispered, "Don't worry Malfoy. It'll be over soon." Harry couldn't help but notice that Madame Hooch was barely suppressing a grin herself.

The game was just as lopsided as Harry thought it would be. Ron could have taken a nap if he had wanted. The quaffle never even made in down to the Gryffindor end of the pitch. In ten minutes time the score was already one hundred seventy to zero in Gryffindor's favor. It was then that Harry saw it. The sun caught a tiny glint of gold underneath Ron's goals. Harry knew that Malfoy had not seen it, and he could not resist performing a loop to loop around the Slytherin seeker before zooming off to catch the snitch. He was upon it in a flash. Harry closed his fingers around the tiny ball, feeling its wings fight against his grasp. The match was over in a mere fifteen minutes and the stadium exploded into thunderous applause. Though Gryffindor had soundly beaten Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw, they had at least scored a few goals. Harry could hardly contain his glee that Gryffindor had blanked the Slytherins three hundred twenty to zero.

His happiness was short lived, however. While taking part in the Gryffindor victory lap, Harry's scar exploded with pain. The agony was so intense, but as Harry lost consciousness mid-flight, he heard laughter escape his own mouth. The laughter contained not a trace of humor, it was a laugh of perverse triumph.

"Harry," said a worried woman's voice. Harry could not move. The pain in his head had subsided somewhat, but now he felt it in his neck and back. His face felt warm and wet and Harry struggled to open his eyes.

"Harry," the voice said again. Harry finally opened his eyes and saw Professors McGonagall and Dumbledore around him. McGonagall was trying to support him on her lap and Harry could see the tear stains on her cheeks. When he saw his reflection in her square spectacles, he noticed that his face was covered in blood spewing forth from the multiple lacerations there. Dumbledore too, looked incredibly grave. He had both hands around Harry's neck stabilizing it. He was mumbling softly, but Harry could not understand him. People were standing around them talking. Harry could hear the voices of the other teachers trying to keep the students back. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a hysterical Hermione and adamant Ron trying to reach their fallen friend, but were being restrained by Snape. The Potions master had a peculiar expression on his face.

"What happened?" Harry asked. His voice sounded raspy and strained in his ears. He could taste the blood filling his mouth, choking him.

"You clutched your head," McGonagall explained, her voice quivering, "and lost control of the broom. You crashed into the stadium wall before you could recover."

McGonagall's words quickly stirred Harry's memory. "Voldemort!" Harry announced trying desperately to sit up. No matter how he tried, he could not do so. "I can't move," he whispered hearing the fear creeping into his voice.

Dumbledore spoke softly to try and soothe his young charge. "Harry," he said, "take deep breaths. We will be taking a portkey to the hospital wing momentarily. You have seriously injured yourself and I must ask you to remain as calm as possible so that we will not worsen those injuries."

"Yes, Sir," Harry said. He was scared, but he must tell Professor Dumbledore. Harry breathed trying to speak before the pain and fear overwhelmed him and he lost consciousness once more. The portkey whisked the three of them away to the hospital wing.

"Voldemort has a new ally."