0o0o0o0
Harry's Soul - 3
Harry grinned, a tight feral smile that would have startled his opponent had she had time to look over at him. He guided his broom flawlessly through the scrum of chasers; eyes fixed ahead, his whole body screaming 'snitch'. He changed direction without warning, sending his broom into an almost vertical dive, hearing the rush of air that meant his opponent was behind him, and tight on his tail. At the last moment, Harry pulled up, feeling the grass brush his robes, streaking along the ground at an incredible pace and not quite smiling in satisfaction as the crowd yelled it's approval and his opponent bounced along the ground for a moment, out of control.
This was his first match of the year, and the new Slytherin seeker was good - brilliant even. Harry had to psyche her out now, to avoid getting ploughed later. She chose to shadow his every move, relying on him to find the snitch and some undoubtedly dirty trick to beat him to it. She'd just received her first lesson - Harry didn't play around when it came to Quidditch. If he could only treat his classes like a Quidditch match he'd probably be smarter than Hermione, and also exhausted. The passion he put into his flying was not something he could deal with every day.
The crowd roared and a quick glance showed that Ron had once more kicked the quaffle out of goal, straight into Ginny's hands. She streaked up the pitch, dodging bludgers left and right, so Harry ran interference for her, harassing Slytherins beaters mercilessly. Although they still flew on the Nimbus 2001's that Malfoy's father had 'donated' to the team, the people that flew for Gryffindor outclassed them. No one knew better than Harry that it was the quality of the rider, not the broom that mattered.
Interference run, goal scored and house cheering, Harry resumed his position in the field, his eyes moving busily as he searched for the snitch. He kept a watch on his opponent, who had finally regained control of her broom, though it wasn't flying as smoothly as before and had a distinct forwards tilt to it. He grinned and swept the pitch with his gaze, keen eyes seeking that little glint of gold that could end this match and bury Slytherins hopes for the house cup.
For a moment he thought he was seeing things, and he squinted in order to see better. There was the glint all right, but just behind it was a second one. Two snitches? That wasn't possible. Madam Hooch was no amateur and she certainly wouldn't forget that she'd already released a ball. As he watched the snitch in the rear caught up with the snitch in the front and there was a bright flash that his fellow seeker noticed. Now there was only one snitch instead of two, and Abigail Poncelby was hot on its tail.
"No!" Harry shouted and surged forward, wringing every last ounce of speed from his broom, "Poncelby! Get away fro m it!"
She was drawing much closer and stretched out her hand, triumph written in every line of her body. As if sensing her, the snitch arrowed away sharply, and by then Harry was close enough for it to 'see' him. It headed right for him and Harry did the only thing he could think of. He put his broom into a desperate corkscrewing one eighty-degree flip and fled.
The crowd watching started to laugh hysterically as Harry barrelled through the scrum once more, desperately trying to avoid the snitch. He wasn't sure what would happen if he touched it, he only knew it would be bad.
Harry twisted and turned, sensing that the snitch was matching him movement for movement. If whatever the change was happened surrounded by students innocent people would get hurt. He slammed his feet onto the tail of his broom, hauling up on the handle and making a nearly vertical assent into the cold, clear blue sky, pouring as much of his magic as he could into the broom to get it to go faster. The tiny whirring sound of the snitches wings drew ever closer, and Harry waited until the last moment to pull his magic away from the broom and put it into a defensive shield for himself.
He'd acted just in time as a huge concussive blast roared in his ears, causing the broom to buck and falter as the huge explosion buffeted it. Once more, size proved not to be a factor as Harry desperately tried to maintain his shield against the fireball he was now flying through. A single breach and he'd be fried to a crisp. Dazed by the noise, instinct once more took over, and he fought to right his failing broom, letting it drop towards the ground quickly as the fireball ceased to expand and defied all known laws of physics by starting to contract. Harry felt that if he were still caught in the nimbus of the fireball he'd be trapped forever in a burning hell.
Desperate to escape he did the only thing he could think of and let go of his broom. Even badly damaged, the protective spells on the broom would try to lower it slowly to the ground. Harry needed freefall, and needed it now. He let go of Sirius first gift to him, and plummeted for the ground, straining to keep his shields in place long enough, until he was falling into blessedly clear air as the fireball contracted with a pop.
There was a whoosh of displaced air and the next thing he knew strong arms and a broom were beneath him, and the familiar scent of his Ron overwhelmed him. Harry managed to make his fingers close tightly around whatever part of his friend he was in contact with and then let the peaceful dark take over for just a little while.
0o0o0o0
"Two snitches?" Madam Hooch's voice had a distinct waver in it, but she sounded better after drinking the first stiff shot of liquor that Professor McGonagall had poured for her. She was now on her second and Harry was eyeing her glass with something approaching longing. He'd only fainted for a moment, coming to himself as Ron landed and called his name, the fear in his voice so evident that Harry would have come back from the dead to dispel it.
Professor McGonagall gave him a considering look, poured a second stiff glass, and handed it to Harry without a word. Harry smiled at her and willed his hands steady long enough to get the glass to his mouth. He'd been forced to let go of Ron and send his love to the Gryffindor tower, with the rest of the school similarly banished to their dormitories, the teachers demanding to know what had happened and leading him to the staff room. The Headmaster and Professors Snape, Flitwick and Heggerty were even now combing the pitch and the surrounding area for evidence. Harry managed to get the cup to his mouth and took an injudicious gulp.
"HHHHHHHH!!!! Hit the spot!" he wheezed, eyes watering and throat on fire. McGonagall smirked at him, but not unkindly. He took a few steadying breaths and his next sip was much more discrete. It felt like a little bit of liquid fire, warming and steadying his nerves as it worked through his blood.
"Should we be feeding a student liquor?" Hooch mumbled into her glass and McGonagall raised an eyebrow at her.
"Number one, he is of age and has just had a nasty shock. Number two, in this room he is not my student, but the school's apprentice, and as far as I know the staff are allowed to pour each other the occasional drink, and number three…"
"I'd never drink anywhere in the school without the approval of the teachers," Harry interrupted, and his head of House subsided, patting his wrist fondly and topping his glass up. It was true - Harry didn't want to risk his apprenticeship or let his teachers down.
"You saw two snitches?" Madam Hooch returned to the other bone of contention, deciding to ignore McGonagall's snit for now. Harry nodded and told his tale for the third time since he had been stuffed into the squashy paisley armchair by the fireplace. This fire was well contained and let off soothing warmth, so Harry didn't have to add a phobia of fire to his list of worries.
"There was one behind the other at first, and then there was a flash which attracted Poncelby's attention. The snitch seemed to notice her, and flew away from her, and as I was heading right for her, it latched onto me. I only knew that something bad would happen if I touched it, so I tried to get away, and when I realised that it was faster than me anyway, I headed for clear sky in the hope that whatever happened wouldn't affect the others."
"And a good thing you did," Madam Hooch shivered, "If that ball of fire had unleashed while you were still in the playing area it would have vaporised half the stands and both teams. You were nearly five hundred feet straight up when it hit you, and even then the edge of the fireball scorched the very top of the highest viewing platforms."
"No," Harry paled and sipped his drink for courage. Now he was used to the taste it was rather pleasant and very soothing. McGonagall nodded, her face pinched with worry.
"How on earth you managed to get so high so fast I'll never know. You were a blur," she murmured and Hooch looked up sharply.
"That's a point! How did you get your broom to fly so fast? The Firebolt is quick, but not that quick!"
"After you and Professor Flitwick stripped it down that Christmas, I was curious about the charms and spells on the broom. I decided I needed to know more about it, so I got out a couple of books and did some detection spells of my own. I located each one, and today, when I needed to be faster than the snitch was, I poured my own magic into the speed spell to go faster. I'd just taken it out to put up a shield spell when the snitch caught me," Harry sighed, and McGonagall put an arm around him, urging him to finish his drink. The liquor dulled the tensions he'd been feeling, and he leaned into her touch for a moment, enjoying the protection he could feel emanating from his teacher.
"That was very lucky, Potter," Hooch muttered, "Very lucky indeed."
"It was," the Headmaster agreed from the doorway. He strode over to Harry and bent to look him over while Harry and McGonagall asked what he'd found - almost simultaneously. Dumbledore chuckled and patted Harry's hand, tactfully ignoring the empty glass and smell of alcohol.
"Unfortunately, we found nothing out of place," he sighed, straightening, "Who ever cast the spell to combine the two snitches was very skilled at covering their tracks. I am confident that this was not the work of someone at the school, but a long distance operation, probably carried out by Voldemort himself."
"Goodness," McGonagall fretted, and Harry put the glass aside.
"If there's nothing else I con do, sir, I'd like to go back to my house," he smiled when Dumbledore gave his permission with a nod and a pat to the hand and got up, his head swimming a little, but otherwise no worse for wear. As he headed for the door he heard Dumbledore instruct his Head of House to ask the elves in the kitchen to ensure that there was a bit of calming potion served in the evening meal, for the students consumption. It sounded like just the ticket to Harry and he headed into the corridor with a slight drag to his step.
A door opened in the wall right in front of him, and Harry headed through it gratefully, mumbling a quiet thanks. He patted the wall as he climbed the five shallow steps, and the door swung open, letting him into his dorm, bypassing the common room and the Fat Lady. A glance over his shoulder showed that the door disappeared the moment it was closed, but by then he was concentrating on other things, namely the redhead sobbing in the middle of his bed, still wearing the red and gold woollen Quidditch uniform and white pants.
Harry trudged to Ron's side, rolled onto the bed and tugged Ron to lie on top of him. Ron struggled for a moment until he recognised who was manhandling him, and then clutched Harry tightly.
"Prat," the mumble was audible to Harry only because Ron has his face buried in Harry's neck.
"Git," Harry replied warmly, "You're my hero you know."
Ron contested that statement with a rather vigorous squirm and Harry had to hold on tightly to stop the redhead getting away. No matter how much Ron bucked and wriggled, Harry managed to keep them both on the bed, though the covers were messed up beyond hope. If either one of them wanted to sleep in that bed tonight it would have to be remade.
"You are," he insisted, "You didn't give up Ron! You were right where I needed you to be, and in the end, that's all that matters! You trusted in me to get halfway out, and were there to catch me when I was falling."
Ron subsided, muttering imprecations into Harry's collar that he didn't listen too hard to. He simply rubbed one of Ron's arms and lay there, happy to be alive and thoroughly pinned down. He was feeling a little floaty from a combination of shock and alcohol, and the vigorous gymnastics of a moment ago didn't help.
Heavy footsteps sounded outside the dorm, but Harry recognised them as Hermione's and didn't try to move Ron off too hard, knowing that she'd be joining the redhead on top of him at any moment, and wouldn't think twice about the fact that Ron was hugging Harry to death. Sure enough, she didn't get much past his friends name before squealing and throwing herself on top of the boys, making it a very untidy jumble of arms and legs for a moment. Her cry attracted the rest of Harry's dorm, and he would later swear that he heard Neville say, 'what the hell' before piling on too. Dean and Seamus joined him, as did Lavender and Parvati who had followed them up.
It was hard to breathe under that mass of giggling, slightly insane teens, and Harry protested as best as he could. Ron and Hermione added their voices to his and eventually he was able to sit up, unencumbered and breathing heavily.
"Sounds like Harry had fun," Dean's sly tone had everyone laughing or blushing - or both - and the green eyed teen did his best to put his robes in some kind of order.
"I think I need to get changed, and we all definitely need to get to dinner," Harry said when he'd regained his breath, and the others drifted towards the door or their own trunks. As it was the weekend they were allowed to wear casual clothes, and after glaring to get Lavender to leave, Harry pulled out a set of casual Wizarding robes.
"Just Harry, tonight then?" Ron's voice was soft in his ear as he fiddled with a bit of Harry's collar, and he grinned at the red head in relief. He did want to be just Harry tonight, not the school's apprentice, or Gryffindors seeker, or anything else. Only Ron, and possibly Hermione, would realise that from a clue as subtle as his clothes. Ron smiled at him as he pulled back and Harry followed his friend down to the common room, urging everyone there to head to the Great Hall.
He ended up walking in the middle of a very protective crowd, which parted for Mark when they reached the main staircase and then closed around him and the upset child. Harry held the boy close and sat with an arm around him at the table, Ron's arm also holding Mark close. Their eyes met over the top of the boys head and Harry's gaze promised Ron that they'd sleep in the same bed that night, no matter what.
0o0o0o0
The Daily Prophet got hold of the story and made as much of a fuss as it could. The day after the story hit the headlines, broom catalogues from all over started arriving for Harry in the mail. He'd decided to keep playing, but only after getting the approval of his Headmaster and the rest of his team. His fellow players hadn't been worried about the possibility of another attack, because as Ron said 'Voldemort is many things but subtle isn't one.'
The shock of hearing Ron say the dreaded name broke the tension and Harry had laughed with the rest, silently vowing to ensure that no harm came to them that he could prevent. Hence, the broom catalogues. Mark and Ron were fascinated, and pored over them no less avidly than Harry did. Between the two of them they had long lists of features and details for Harry to look at, comparing each model of broom in the catalogues. Hermione was heard to complain that Ron didn't work this hard on his homework. Knowing that Harry didn't want another Firebolt or Nimbus kept the list to a reasonable length, but his friend and boyfriend were so excited about what Harry might choose to buy that the lists became quite complex.
Harry also had the additional worry about security. Ordering a broom by catalogue didn't seem like such a smart idea. The company was bound to 'leak' the order to gloat over their competition, and that meant there was a risk that the Death Eaters would get their hands on it first and add a few jinxes of their own. Harry didn't want to have to wait until Madam Hooch and Professor Flitwick had once again stripped his broom down and gone over it inch by inch. In the end he went to Professor McGonagall to ask her advice. He realised that he'd never bought a broom before - he'd always flown gifts given to him by others.
"As a student of this school, you are only permitted to leave the grounds for the sanctioned Hogsmede visits," McGonagall twinkled just like Dumbledore sometimes and it really worried Harry. He didn't need his Head of House to go as batty as the Headmaster. If both the adults in charge of the school were nutty as a fruitcake then they were in serious trouble.
"However, members of staff are not restricted to the grounds providing their absences do not clash with their duties. As the school's apprentice, you are eligible to leave on legitimate errands, provided you have applied for a leave of absence."
Harry was on to her game in a flash and he hid a smile behind his own teacup. He put it down in the saucer and tilted his head inquisitively. This was a sort of game they played with each other from time to time, a gentle sort of teasing that Harry cherished more than words could ever express. Since she'd become his mentor, McGonagall had showed herself to be quite the human being, and their positive relationship was one that would impact forever on Harry's life.
"To whom should I apply?" he asked politely, and watched his mentor stifle a smile behind her cup for a moment, fighting not to laugh.
"Your mentor would be able to authorise that for you," McGonagall fixed him with a look and Harry smiled sweetly, a look she had once told him sent shivers down her spine. Apparently his father used the same smile when trying to get around her.
"Professor McGonagall, please may I have leave to visit Diagon Alley this Saturday?" he asked formally, batting the conversational ball firmly back into her court. She put her teacup down and pretended to think it over, smoothing her skirt over her knee and tapping a finger on the arm of her chair.
"Why yes, I believe that would be convenient," she smiled when he did, and they finished their tea in silence. He offered to run errands for her while he was in town, and she promised that if she had any she'd leave a list on his desk, Friday evening. Harry had a sneaking suspicion that he'd be running errands for quite a few of the staff, but didn't mind. He was planning to pull aside both the Weasley's, Hermione and Mark at some point and make the same offer. With his ability to 'pop' things back to Hogwarts, he wouldn't have to worry about walking around with lots of bags or packages.
0o0o0o0o0
Mark had been a bit tearful that he couldn't come with Harry, and Harry had been on the verge of losing his temper before realising that Mark probably wanted to get him a present. Harry had promised that they'd travel back to London on the school train for the Christmas holidays and go straight to Diagon Alley to do some 'last minute shopping'. Mark could Floo to the Burrow from the Leaky Cauldron, and Harry would 'pop' home. The boy cheered up at that promise, and Harry accepted the short list of presents that he could buy for his ward, along with Hermione, Ron and Ginny's lists.
Harry left early in the morning, heading first to Gringotts to check on the amount of money left in his vault. It seemed odd to him that it never really diminished, but this was explained when he took a closer look at the spells on the vault itself. The money was being paid from a trust account that had originally gone to his father. Harry made a mental note to look further into this when school ended, and didn't notice the odd looks that his Goblin escort was giving him. If he'd stopped to think about it, staring intently at the wall while he tried to read the spells on it was less than subtle.
Banking completed, Harry spent the morning shopping for others. The Apothecary dispatched Professor Snape's order immediately, and Harry was glad he didn't have to worry about hauling the smelly ingredients somewhere quiet to send them back to the school. The teachers' errands didn't take long, and Harry sent them to the appropriate offices with receipts and change. His friends took a bit longer as he wanted to ensure he got just the right thing, but eventually he'd sent them to sit on the beds of the Gryffindors, or to his office. His own Christmas shopping didn't take long either and was made easier by knowing what the others were getting each other. He had a lot of fun picking a gift for Mr and Mrs Weasley and the twins as well, as Ron had told him that the whole family would be at the Burrow. He found a cool earring for Bill and a really decent cloak for Charlie that was flame retardant. Those gifts also went to his office, away from prying eyes, and Harry had a quick lunch at the Leaky Cauldron with the feeling that the morning had gone well.
After lunch Harry headed straight for Quality Quidditch Supplies, a sense of purpose in his stride. While the various broom wrights had sent him brochures, the only place he'd be able to pick up a broom in Diagon Alley was the famous sporting shop, which stocked all the current lines, from family value to extreme luxury, to top of the line sporting. The door opened easily under his hand, and Harry grinned, feeling right at home as he moved through the racks of flying cloaks, team strips and protective gear. He stopped for a moment to pick up some merchandise for Ginny, Ron and Mark, as well as a book on the history of broom making for Hermione. The brooms were in the back, held on racks along the walls and in freestanding floor displays. There were even a few suspended from the roof.
He spotted the familiar Firebolts and Nimbus range and drifted over for a nostalgic look, stroking the Nimbus 2000 with wistful fingers. That model was still very popular, especially with the younger market. It was more affordable than the later models or the other brands, but still light and manoeuvrable. He left those racks with a sigh, having decided privately that once he broke, destroyed or otherwise demolished a broom he'd go to a new brand or model, until he found one that was sturdy enough to outlast him, and yet fast enough to suit his needs. He didn't want to play Quidditch on a clunker, even though Ron had proved to Harry that the Gryffindor Seeker didn't need an internationally recognised racing broom to catch the snitch. He could do it on one of the schools banged up brooms if he put his mind to it, but didn't like the minute shudders, list and drag that each broom had developed after flying for hundreds of students.
"If you'd like me to take that to the counter for you sir," the sales assistants voice made Harry jump, but he smiled at him in thanks and ignored the way the dark eyes flicked to his forehead. Among the brochures that Harry had received had been a single piece of parchment with the specs for a broom that sounded just right. It was called the 'Swift' and if it could do what it claimed, Harry would be very interested in giving the broom a test flight.
"We have a testing room in the back, Mr Potter," the sales assistant had returned, and Harry's eyes spotted a badge that read 'Bartholomew Hibbert - Manager' on the front of the sporting robes he was wearing.
"That would be great," Harry smiled, "Because I was wondering if you had a model here called the 'Swift'. I thought the write up sounded good, but I want to check it out first,"
"Ah," Hibbert's voice sounded very pleased, "A young man after my own heart. The smaller companies often make the better brooms, because they can focus. Cleansweep is a good solid broom, but not a racer - they do better for beginners and every day things. The Firebolt and Nimbus line are all well and good, but the Swift…"
As he spoke he was leading Harry over to a small display off in the corner. The brooms on this rack were simple and undecorated but for the name of the model, which was branded onto the handle. Each one was a different colour wood, and Harry recognised the rich sheen of mahogany, the pale colours of beech and the silver shine of ash. There was the usual oak and birch, though Harry didn't fancy riding one of them. Hibbert waved his wand and the stand floated up off the floor and led the way through the aisles to the back of the store, through a door that appeared when the managed softly commanded it to and into a room that appeared to hold an international Quidditch playing pitch, complete with blue sky.
"Right then," the manager waved the door shut and looked Harry over, "Do you want to change, young man?"
"No, thanks," Harry shook his head, "If I can't fly in normal clothes then what's the use?"
He'd deliberately worn casual Wizarding clothes today, with the knowledge that they were similar in style to his school uniform, which he'd first learnt to fly in. The manager nodded and gestured for Harry to make his first choice. He looked the rack over carefully and decided to try the mahogany broom first. It's tail twigs were in a similar shape to the Nimbus 2000, and it leapt from the ground to Harry's hand upon his gently spoken command. He mounted carefully and then took off, flying only a lap before landing beside the manager and shaking his head. Something about the way it dragged in the tail - only slightly - told him it was better suited to a heavier player, and the manager nodded in approval when Harry voiced his opinion, couched in a question.
"You're right," Hibbert nodded sagely, "That's designed more for a Beater - they tend to be the heavier players on the field and need a solid base for their beating."
The beeches tail twigs were longer than the mahogany, and tapered abruptly at the end. This one also responded instantly to Harry's command and seemed to vibrate eagerly as he mounted. Harry took it for a lap and then a sprint. When that seemed to go well he gained some height and then went into one of his trademark dive-and-roll combinations that Ron always said made him sick to watch. The broom did well enough in that Harry didn't end up ploughed into the ground, but wasn't as responsive as he'd like.
"Chasers broom?" Harry asked lightly as he put it back on the rack. His face was flushed, and the heady feeling that he always associated with flying was strumming through him.
"Precisely," Hibbert beamed in a very fond fashion at him, "Well spotted young man."
"It's well balanced, but not up to flights of fancy," Harry patted the handle as he returned it to his rack, "I need something a little more responsive. I'm guessing that the oak is for keepers."
"What makes you say that?" Hibbert seemed to be testing him, and Harry pointed to the tail of the broom, which was a lot wider than the others, though still quite sleek. The handle was a bit thicker too, which made it a useful club to knock the quaffle aside. Harry explained what he was thinking and Hibbert confirmed it with a bounce.
He tried the birch, which seemed to be quite streamlined. The tail was sharply tapered and much shorter than the others. The handle was quite short too, though Harry fit on the broom easily. It did well in the laps and sprints, and was responsive to his request to climb, but the moment he tried to roll it he knew it wouldn't suit him. The broom resisted quite fiercely, and Harry took it back to the rack.
"I give up," he grinned at Hibbert who laughed and clapped his shoulder. Harry - who was used to Hagrid's shoulder claps - managed to stay upright and not whimper in unexpected pain. The manager had quite the arm on him.
"Referee's," Hibbert said shortly, "And couriers, longer distance flights. It's for the crowd that have to get from a to b quickly, and aren't interested in fancy flight."
"Well, I hope the ash is up to it," Harry lifted it from the rack and looked it over. It was beautifully balanced, from the tapered handle to the oddly shaped tail twigs. These were fastened to the broom with the usual weave, and then halfway down they were fastened again before tapering to an elegant point. Harry walked into the middle of the pitch with it and placed it gently on the ground before extending his hand.
"Up," he said softly, and it leapt from the turf, coming to a stop the second it brushed his palm. He mounted carefully and kicked off gently, sensing that this broom was particularly responsive. He lapped the pitch a few times and then did the usual sprints, climb, dive-and-roll. It performed superbly through all these moves, and Harry expanded his repertoire with a few sloth grip rolls and Wronski Feints.
There was a loud whistle, and Harry looked down to see Hibbert holding a familiar shape in his hand. Harry nodded consent, hovering with eyes closed for a count of fifty. He opened his eyes and looked around for the familiar glint, setting his broom into gentle motion, letting him circle the pitch watchfully. Two minutes later he'd spotted the snitch, and eight minutes and several incredible series of broom acrobatics later he'd caught it. Thoroughly winded he took the snitch back to Hibbert, who was gaping at him in astonishment.
"It took the English Seeker fifteen minutes of chasing to catch that one!" Hibbert said faintly, "This is an international standard snitch!"
Harry shrugged it off, mumbling something about beginners luck. The snitch had been hard to catch, leading him a very merry dance and forcing some very fancy flying out of him. The eight minute chase had been a blur of exhilaration from beginning to end, a feeling that was dulled a little by the look in Hibbert's eyes. Harry was only glad the manager hadn't been taking pictures like Colin Creevey. He guided the broom back into the sky until he was hovering at head height and performed the final test. Often during Quidditch practice, Ron would ask him to hover to one side and watch the new plays that he was drilling the chasers on. The redhead liked to have a second pair of eyes watch the plays. Harry had found that he could sit on the Firebolt, his hands on his thighs as he watched the chasers go through their paces. He'd flown the Nimbus 2000 at top speed with no hands as well.
Harry sat back on the saddle spell, and put his hands on his thighs lightly, letting his body and the broom adjust. When he felt no change in his posture, he closed his eyes and slowly lifted his arms out to the sides. Once more the broom remained perfectly balanced, though Hibbert gasped in astonishment. Harry opened his eyes and leaned forward a little, urging the broom into motion, his arms still stretched out wide. He did a lap and then landed in front of the manager easily, his eyes sparking with excitement.
"I'll take it!"
0o0o0o0o0o0
Harry carded his hand through Marks hair absently as he watched the snowfall outside his office window. Since the exploding snitch incident, Mark had steadily become quieter and more emotional. The first anniversary of his parents murder was also coming up, as was his first Christmas without them. The holiday was only a few days away, and though Mark had initially been full of plans and questions, those had slowly slid into the background.
A huge, ugly, purple paisley chair had appeared in his office, courtesy of the castle, with a matching footstool, just the right height to support the cumbersome cast he'd worn at the start of the year. It had stayed around after the cast came off, and perfect for cuddling his adopted little brother when the boy was upset. Harry didn't mind doing this as they hadn't had much time outside of classes together this term, what with the sittings for the school portrait and the various accidents and incidents. The painter had been horrified by the clunky white object on Harry's leg, and shuffled Harry's sittings to the very last slot, to give him time to get the ugly thing off. He'd been relieved at the reprieve, and grateful that the artist had allowed him to work while she painted.
The portrait process was fascinating. Harry sat in his pose and worked, ignoring the artist as she cast spell after spell over him, recording the results on the canvas accurately. Now and then she would request that he perform a certain action or look in a certain direction. They'd discussed at the start what he'd wear, and in the end he'd chosen one of the casual sets of Wizarding clothes in the deep green that Ron liked best on him. He'd pulled Ron's gift from last summer out to hang where it could be seen clearly, and Hedwig had come to perch on his raised knee as he sat in the window casing of his office. The artist had told him that the window's outlook would reflect the seasons, and had Hedwig fly in and out of the window, landing and launching from his knee. Harry was glad that his beautiful owl would be preserved for all time.
Mark shifted in Harry's lap a little and Harry hugged him closer automatically. The portraits would be revealed today; in fact he and Mark were going to the Great Hall to view them together. Ron had been very understanding about Mark's need for some time alone with Harry, and the green-eyed teen had made a promise to his love that he'd be rewarded soon. Ron had gotten a very lusty look in his eyes and Harry had kissed him soundly and left him scheming. He trusted the redhead not to want anything they weren't ready for yet.
The clock on his desk chimed and Harry looked away from the peaceful scene outside. He was curious about the portraits of the rest of the staff, and definitely wanted to see Professor McGonagall's. The past year had shown him a very human side to his Head of House, one that he'd enjoyed getting to know and talking to. Minerva McGonagall was a wonderful woman, with more experience under her belt than most people thought.
"Time to go, Mark," Harry murmured into hair that was beginning to brush the boys shoulders. Mark shook his head and tightened his grip in response. This called for extreme measures, and the use of a nickname that only saw light of day rarely.
"Little brother," Harry sighed, "It's going to be ok."
"Promise," the whisper was fierce and Harry tightened his arms even more. He hadn't been able to discover what was upsetting Mark so badly, but was determined to comfort the boy back to a semblance of his usual self by Christmas. Molly Weasley was a fantastic mother, but Mark just didn't want anyone else when he was in this mood and Harry would hate to see her feelings hurt by the boys rejection.
"Promise," he vowed and Mark let him put the boy on his feet and lead him by the hand to the office door. They walked in silence together, and joined the throng of students waiting in the school foyer. He spotted Ron's flaming locks and Hermione's bushy hair on the other side of the foyer and waved to them.
The doors swung open and Professor Dumbledore twinkled at his students as they entered eagerly. The paintings had been hung along the Great Hall, down the long sides, and the House tables had been cleared out for the moment. The paintings would hang in place until dinner that night, when they would be moved to a long gallery in the wing near the school library. Eventually they would be dispersed to join the many paintings through out the school. Professor Dumbledore's would of course be moved to his office once he retired from his post, to advise the next Head.
Nearest the door, Argus Filch and Mrs Norris stood scowling down at the throng of students. The painting said nothing, just glared, and Mark shifted a little closer to Harry in response. Professor Flitwick was next, waving merrily and standing on his usual stack of books at his crowded desk, his formal robes in his House colours making a striking statement and his eyes twinkling brightly at the many students. Harry let Mark lead the way, passing some teachers without a second glance. Professor Sprout was also in her formal robes, but outside, a few carefully chosen plants set around her. There was just a tiny bit of earth on her fingertips, as if she'd just turned from potting a plant. Madam Hooch was in her referee strip, posed on her broom, and Hagrid and Fang sat together on Hagrid's front steps, the door to his hut open. He beamed and waved at the people passing, winking now and then to a few. Mark had stopped and grinned up at the half giants portrait and confided to Harry that 'he was awfully nice to me'. Given that Hagrid had a soft spot for those who were troubled, Harry wasn't surprised.
The Headmaster and Fawkes started the other wall, and Harry beamed up at his role model. He'd finally understood that Dumbledore was as human as the rest of them, and just as prone to making mistakes. The Headmasters robes were as bright as ever, and a tin of lemon drops sat close to hand. Professor Snape was next, glaring down at them all, his silver and green robes splendid against a dark background. The artist had captured not only his temperament, but also his profession in the careful placement of several books and phials. Three pictures down, Professor McGonagall beamed at them regally, splendid in her gold and crimson tartan robes, one of her trademark twisted hats firmly affixed to her head with a Gryffindor badge in the brim. She held her wand in her hand, and Harry detected the shadow of her animagus on the curtain behind her.
Lavender and Parvati were standing stock still in front of the next picture, and after a glance, Harry could see why. Professor Trelawney's portrait was still, yet the likeness was perfect. Her name and the usual dates of birth and death were affixed to a plaque in her frame, as well as the words 'in kind memorial'. Harry patted the sniffling girls shoulders and let Mark move them along. Two pictures down, Ron and Hermione were staring at the last picture on the wall and Harry glanced up at it, curious to see who had captivated them so. His mouth ran dry when he realised it was his. Hedwig was ruffling her feathers, and the snow in the window matched the fall outside.
"Harry," Mark breathed, "It's great."
"Thanks," Harry rubbed a hand through the long hair of the other boy, "It was kind of fun in the end."
'Wicked,' Ron mouthed at him and Harry grinned a little shrugging and urging them all out of the hall. He had a vague idea that a snow fight was just what Mark needed to take his mind off things, and it would be more fun with four of them than two. He left his portrait without a second glance.
0o0o0o0
The trip to Diagon Alley with Mark had been fun. The two of them had enjoyed a hot chocolate at Forlean Fontesques parlour before heading into the jostling crowd of last minute shoppers. Harry had picked up a few books and some treats for the various owls in the family - Ron's, Marks, Mrs Weasley's and his, as well as sending some to Hermione's owl by courier - and Mark had darted from his side a few times with a breathless instruction to 'wait here for me' while the boy completed his own last minute secretive shopping.
Mark had Flooed to the Burrow with his parcels and Harry had popped into the kitchen a few moments later. Mrs Weasley greeted him with a hug, and then caught Mark as he flew out of the fireplace. She had him upright, soot free and cloakless within minutes, and then started fussing over his hair.
"What's this? A fellow long hairier?" Bill called from the front room and entered behind Ron, "Hello, there!"
Mark was backing away from Mrs Weasley's wand and turned to fling himself at Harry, a reaction that had Mrs Weasley's eyes wide with shock. Harry gave her a very significant look of warning, one hand cupped protectively over the long locks that Mark used as a curtain to hide behind at times.
"I'll make sure he keeps it clean and groomed," Harry broke the silence and Mrs Weasley put her wand away, agreeing in a warm voice that was at odds with the sadness in her eyes, and patting Mark's head lightly.
"I sent your packages to your room on the bus, Mark," Harry firmly peeled the boy off, "If you're going to wrap them you should go now while there's no one there. Ron and I need to look it over later. You'll find wrapping paper and tape in the library, and the scissors in the usual spot in the kitchen."
They would be staying on the bus as all the Weasley's - Percy included - were coming home for Christmas. Having Ron's room free would make it easier to fit everyone in, as the adult children were no longer used to sharing rooms with each other - except for Fred and George who lived above their store.
The kitchen door closed behind Mark and Ron - who was going to show the boy how to get through the canvas panels that had acted as a door while the bus was shut up. Mrs Weasley had suggested installing them as weather shields, though they weren't used on the trip at all, because they'd enjoyed a run of really warm weather.
"Sorry, Mrs Weasley," Harry apologised immediately, "But he won't have his hair cut no matter who suggests it. He ties it back for lessons. I can tell him to do it here, as well."
"That's all right, dear," Mrs Weasley smiled, "We want him to be comfortable with us too."
"If he's having problems I can give him some hints," Bill offered, and Harry grinned at the eldest son, grateful for the support.
"No earrings," Harry said firmly, "I can just about cope with the hair, and Hermione and Ginny both let me practice pulling theirs back so I could teach him not to look like a scarecrow, but if you talked him into an earring as well…"
Bill laughed, and Mrs Weasley kissed his cheek, muttering about 'such a dear boy', and making him blush. Mr Weasley opened the kitchen door and shouted his usual greeting, getting a chorus back. He kissed his wife and then pinned Harry with a stern look.
"What's with the 'Mr Weasley'? You may as well call us mum and dad now," the balding Wizard said firmly, "What with you and Ron together and all."
Harry blushed and stammered something that was unintelligible, much to the family's amusement. Molly took pity on him and sent him into the kitchen to help with dinner preparations, asking for a couple of cheesecakes. He started crushing biscuits for the base automatically while some butter melted in a saucepan, trying to come to grips with the knowledge that Ron had apparently come out to his parents without telling his lover that he'd done so. Deciding that he and Ron would have a little 'chat' later about not making important decisions without telling the other person what you'd done, Harry focussed on getting the bases moulded just right and then started whipping up the fillings.
Ron came in with Mark about an hour later, and they both lit up at the thought of some of Harry's lemon cheesecake, which was the flavour he'd decided to go with. Mrs Weasley kicked him out of her domain once he'd completed his set task and Ron had smiled in pleasure when Harry called her mum. He also paled at the look that Harry shot him, then grinned kind of weakly. Revenge was a dish bet served cold, though Harry was relieved that the family knew and he wouldn't have to feel like a sneak all holidays.
They went into the front room with the others. Charlie was due to arrive in time for dinner, and the twins had Flooed over while Harry was in the kitchen. Ginny was already there, and Mr Weasley decided that now would be a good time to decorate the family tree, which was sitting in the corner of the front room, sending a nice pine scent wafting all over. They all traipsed up to the attic to retrieve the boxes marked 'decorations' and made an incredible amount of cheerful noise as they set to work. Each member of the family had a bauble with their name and a likeness of them to set on the tree, where they could smile and wave at the family, and Harry was grateful that there was one for himself, and Mark.
The magical ornaments were a novelty to Harry, and if he hadn't felt secure with the Weasley's he probably wouldn't have let his curiosity get the better of him as he poked and pried into each fascinating box. Even Mark was grown up compared to Harry's behaviour, though the Weasley's didn't seem to mind, teasing and indulging him as the mood took them. He didn't realise that Arthur and Molly both watched him with something akin to sorrow in their eyes as he enjoyed the first family Christmas that he could remember.
The ornaments moved and twinkled and sang as the mood took them, and Harry soon learned that they would even fight with each other and some had to be kept separated. Ron knotted a wooden soldier to its branch quite tightly while Bill knotted a maid on the other side of the tree over her shrill protests and the soldier's imprecations.
"They tend to crawl around to the back of the tree together if you catch my drift," Ron muttered and Harry laughed, handing Ron another figurine. Mark and the twins were struggling with the garland, which was trying to wrap around them instead of the mantelpiece. Ginny was smirking, her wand concealed in a fold of her skirt, and Harry decided to leave the four of them to it. Mr Weasley was hanging mistletoe in the doorway, and called his wife over to test it out.
0o0o0o0