38 (Meeting the Chief)

In the middle of the gloomy night, Harry woke up on his four poster bed. Careful not to make any annoying noise, he quietly took out the brilliant Marauder's Map. The reason behind this was his unbearable curiosity. Harry was so eager to know where the Rangers, who had just arrived this evening, stayed. Perhaps he'd want to meet them one day, and get to know them personally. Friendly conversations could go on between them, and he might just be lucky enough to spy on their plans, although he knew how mischievous it would be. Nevertheless, as Snape had said, like father, like son. After all Harry had seen this very night, he predicted that the Rangers might be so secretive. It was so clear in their actions that they did nothing unless instructed by their master, Chief Altazark.

"Lumos!" muttered Harry quietly. At once, a beam of white light emerged from the tip of his wand, spreading the light across his bed, and revealing the map clearly in his palm.

"I solemnly swear that I'm up to no good," he whispered and the usual welcome note from the four Marauders appeared.

As he had seen a lot of times before, Harry noticed what seemed to be like millions, billions of tiny little dots, footsteps, and figures. Each dot had a name above it, indicating a particular person. It, of course, showed where they were, and if they were moving, in what direction. As Harry moved his eyes to the trophy room, Peeves was messing around, probably planting some dungbombs. Argus Filch, the caretaker, was currently petting his dear cat, Mrs. Norris, in his old office. But none of that satisfied Harry's curiosity, because he was actually searching for the location of the Noble Rangers of the South.

Gradually, Harry's eyes moved across the intricate map, passing by every single dot at a sea turtle's rate. The light beam from his lit wand displayed more regions that he hasn't been able to see in the darkness. His eyes bypassed the corridors on the third floor, indicating several statues. He instantly ceased, having a flashback of his first year. It so happens that he, Ron, and Hermione had ventured into the corridor on the right hand of the third floor. Eventually, they had managed to uncover the secret, discovering a pet of Hagrid's, Fluffy.

Desperately and wearily, his pupils narrowed, focusing even more closely. Harry thought he saw the capital letters 'N' and 'R' somewhere on top of the map, possibly resembling the seventh floor. Most unfortunately, his eyes were out of focus momentarily, and then he tried his best to regain concentration. At last, he saw a label 'The Noble Rangers of the South' scarcely moving around in one tight spot. What astounded Harry more than that was the label just above it, 'The Room of Requirement'. Professor Dumbledore had led them to that interesting and incredibly bizarre place. Accordingly to his previous knowledge, Harry remembered that the Room of Requirement was a remarkable place in the castle. It seldom revealed itself to people who had just passed by. In fact, the one seeking to enter it should have a certain purpose, a particular desire. Only then can a door open at once, showing the way into the threshold. Harry had great use of it last year. All of the DA members, including himself, held their meetings in that very room. That was where he and his fellows carried out different spells, hexes, charms, or jinxes. And as an aid, as Harry remembered Hermione's enthusiasm the first time they entered it, the room was full of Defence books.

Then, Harry's mind came back to the present. Why did Dumbledore select that room in particular? The Rangers could've dug vast holes in the ground, like badgers, and descended to lower levels underground. After all, it was the best habitat for them, wasn't it? Yet, Harry thought of that idea as preposterous and absurd. Furthermore, the Headmaster had done numerous things that couldn't be easily explained, and still, he had his reasons. But as Harry recalled Dumbledore's speech this evening, the old man wanted not disturbance whatsoever to the Rangers. Possibly, he attempts to keep the students away from them as hard as he can.

Reluctantly, Harry tapped the Marauder's Map softly with this wand, muttering 'Mischief Managed!'.

"Nox!" he hissed, and immediately, the light from his wand slowly waned, then at last vanishing. It was also lucky for him that he did such thing, because Ron on the other side of his bed was mumbling vaguely. He clearly was dreaming, or more likely having nightmares about vicious eerie spiders. At one point, he practically slid out of his bed and jumped on Harry, intending to slay him, holding an imaginary sword in his grip. Perhaps the light disturbed his mind. Fortunately, when Harry unlit his wand, Ron went back to normalcy, and fell to his bed on his back, instantly resuming snoring.

Harry laid his head on his fluffy pillow, after he set the map in a near drawer. Hedwig, his white wintry pet owl, who was sometimes bored of sleeping in the school Owlery, had her head masked under her feathery wings. She was sleeping soundly, seldom hooting. Harry smiled at her. At least, she didn't have a busy mind as he had. Seeing her comfortable made him somehow happy. Still, animals' minds differ from those of humans. Therefore, he wasn't entirely sure.

It's been nearly five wearisome, tiring days since the Noble Rangers of the South had come to Hogwarts. No one has ever run into the yet. But once, poor Colin Creevey, who happened to be overly friendly, thought of greeting a member of the group. He was so shocked by the way one Ranger ignored him. It was so noticeable that they rarely spoke, and dubious that they'd welcome you with open arms. Unluckily to Colin, Professor McGonagall, who happened to be his Head of House, saw that very incident, and then more or less gave him a scolding, reminding him of Dumbledore's wise caution words. She apologized to the Ranger, who in turn merely nodded his head. He had his five fingers run through his soft sleek yellow beard, and then eventually glided away. Colin suspected if the Rangers had normal feet like humans. Nevertheless, that remained yet to be mystical, for the long green leather cloak was sweeping the floor behind it, leaving no space whatsoever to catch a glimpse of feet…or something else.

"Ron, Hermione," whispered Harry at breakfast, "I've been kind of keeping a secret from you."

They grinned at him.

"What's new Harry?" asked Ron intriguingly. "I mean…other than Crookshanks flirting with Mrs. Norris."

If that didn't make Hermione laugh, it only made her more enraged.

"Ron! Stop this rubbish!" she mouthed furiously, feeling somehow insulted and offended.

"Sorry," he apologized quietly, still giggling from the inside.

"So, what's that you've got to tell us? I hope it's important to know," said Hermione, tucking her shirt in.

"Well…the night those Rangers came," reported Harry, "I really felt like I should know their whereabouts in the castle."

"Harry, Dumbledore told us to…"

"Keep away from them; yeah, I know, Hermione," interrupted Harry abruptly, "but anyway, the curiosity was killing me."

"Tell us, what did you do?" queried Ron, pushing the Daily Prophet aside.

"With the aid of Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs," joked Harry, referring to his father, Sirius, Lupin, and Pettigrew, "I finally discovered where Dumbledore took them to."

"And?" enquired Ron impatiently, as if awaiting a Christmas present.

"I couldn't believe it myself at first, but then it made perfect sense," philosophized Harry, destroying Ron's impatience, "he'd led them to the Room of Requirement."

Ron clumsily fell from seat when he heard that bit of information.

"Say what?" he whispered in disbelief.

"The Room of Requirement," repeated Harry, "our dear old DA hideout."

"Well, it's suitable for them, isn't it?" pointed out Hermione matter-of-factly, taking off her hair band.

"It might be so," said Harry uncertainly.

"That old man has clearly got some crazy thoughts!" purred Ron enthusiastically, nearly banging his fist against a mug of orange juice.

"They'll find their own environment there," continued Hermione, analyzing the truth, while spreading some jam on her toast.

"I just hope they don't get bitten by any earthworms," commented Ron humorously. "Fact of the matter…I don't really care, as long as they're a good distance away from me."

"I wonder how they sleep?" spoke Harry in a calm mysterious voice, ignoring Ron's opinion.

"Well, they're part human," explained Ron, "so…um…they might just lie down on a dirty muddy floor and shut their eyes."

"Very funny, Ron," talked Hermione sarcastically, turning away to chat with Parvati Patil about the upcoming Quidditch match.

"Those bloody Rangers are surely curious," yawned Ron, looking at Harry, who somehow had the same thought.

"Wait for the flower to blossom, Mr. Weasley," snarled Professor Sprout, as she instructed him for some patience. He and the rest of his mates were testing Zentadol, a brown semi-solid potion, on blooming plants. Apparently, Ron had spilled a few drops of Zentadol earlier than expected; he poured the drops of brown thick muck while the seeds of the plant were still germinating. Consequently, the flower had very dry petals that eventually fell off, instead of a normal result, characterized by the flower doubling its size and releasing a ravishing fume in the air. Later on, Ron lost his house five points due to that lapse. Harry and Hermione merely gave him a mournful look, while Malfoy and his cronies from Slytherin jeered. But surprise of surprises, Professor Sprout took away five points from Slytherin as well.

By the end of the lesson, virtually everyone succeeded in doubling the size of their flowers, and nearly all of them detected a fine splendid essence of peach and strawberry traveling around in the air.

"Tomorrow," began Professor Sprout, as she was summoning all the pots back to a rather large crate, "we shall be testing Zentadol on vicious attacking plants…just as an extension for today's lesson. Mind you concentrate well on the differences…they ought to come on your pre-N.E.W.T examination."

Those last words inevitably filled Ron's heart with despair and loathe. Couldn't anyone possibly stop taking about those what seem like exhausting tests?

As Harry and his fellow Gryffindors pushed their way through the narrow door of Greenhouse one, they heard Malfoy complaining with Professor Sprout about the point loss, which earned him a detention. Unluckily for him, but to Harry, Ron, and Hermione's delight, he had his last detention with Professor McGonagall this evening. Pity, he got himself landed in another dreadful one, only this time it was with the Herbology teacher. Somehow, Harry doubted whether Malfoy should be a prefect by any chance.

"Miserable old grey-haired pumpkin," Harry heard Malfoy muttering to himself, cursing Professor Sprout.

"Whoa! Someone's finally getting on his nerves," mouthed Hermione in delight.

"That should teach him a lesson," quacked Ron.

"No way," objected Harry, giggling, "Malfoy's cruel attitude never changes, does it?"

After several grins, the three of them giggled their way out the Greenhouse, heading to Care of Magical Creatures. They accidentally ran into a member of the Rangers. He shot them a cold, plain, and vague look, and then strode away. After him, four of his friends were beckoned, all lifting their chins up, looking straightforward. A gentle breeze of the January frosty weather blew through their yellow hairs, frequently pulling it up.

"The rotten weasels," groaned Ron, as he turned his head away from them, "can't they even talk? Even though just a little bit?"

"We know," agreed Harry and Hermione, for Ron had said that over and over again ever since their unexpected arrival at Hogwarts.

Moments after the end of their Care of Magical Creatures lesson, which composed of properly handling Sorrowtuckles, Hagrid caught up with Harry, Ron, and Hermione, his hands tied fast behind his huge back.

"What've you got, Hagrid?" interrogated Hermione, setting her book aside on a jagged rock.

"I've got a little fer ya!" he grunted happily, and brought out his hands. To their bewilderment, three oval shaped, mega-sized eggs were seized in his hands. The eggs were so bulky that they could've been the exact measurement of the diameter of Harry's head.

"What are these supposed to be?" questioned Ron, mystified, but intrigued at the same time.

"These, Ron," grunted Hagrid gladly, "are none other than Honey Treat Eggs."

"What exactly do we use them for? Do they have a certain magical purpose?" asked Harry, reluctant at first, but then stroking the shell of one egg with his whole palm.

"Ya don' use 'em," explained Hagrid briefly, "they pop out whenever ya feel ya need somethin' sweet ter taste…latest invention o' Honeydukes, they are. Been there me-self las' night, an' I picked up a bunch o' the beauties."

"How does the honey come out?" Hermione posed another curious question.

"Well, since it's a magical product," whinnied Hagrid, "it don' drool out. Nah, instead, ya'll see the honey circlin' in waves inside o' the eggs, an' then, it forms a crunchy block o' honey ya can take out later on. I jus' thought o' rewarding ya three for yer good excellence in handling them Sorrowtuckles!"

"That's brilliant!" giggled Ron, hauling his heavy egg to the rock next to him.

"Thanks a dozen Hagrid!" laughed Harry, trying to sound polite, as he received his gift.

"Ya go ahead an' have 'em fer dessert," joked Hagrid, waving goodbye, and pushing his cabin's door open.

"See you!" cried Hermione aloud, as she waved a farewell.

"This is just cool," muttered Ron, examining the egg's texture with his itchy fingers.

As they reached the castle, Harry, Ron, and Hermione concealed their eggs under their cloaks. Otherwise, Filch would've spotted them instantly, and misunderstood their actions as smuggling illegal goodies into the school. When they were finally out of his eyesight, Hermione remembered something very urgent.

"Ron…how could you forget? We've got detention with Professor Snape!" she reminded.

"What? Detention? During lunch?" queried Harry. Ron and Hermione nodded their heads.

"Why…that thick old greasy fool!" growled Harry in anger. "This is absolutely unfair! How can he give you detention during lunchtime? You'll be starving!"

"Well, you know how Snape is," muttered Ron in grief, "some things in life never change."

"Harry, could you do us a favour and hide our eggs in your dormitory? They're too massive to carry around the corridors," asked Hermione hopefully.

"Sure," replied Harry tentatively, taking Ron and Hermione's eggs, adding extra weight already.

"Thanks mate," Ron showed some gratitude," see you later."

They both left Harry alone, as they ran at top speed to reach the dungeons.

Despite the fact that Ron and Hermione's eggs added more weight to his own egg, a favour is a favour. Harry wasn't feeling entirely hungry at the moment. Besides, he would've felt a little guilty enjoying some meat platters and grilled steaks without his two best friends.

Shortly after pondering decisions, Harry walked up the staircases to reach Gryffindor Tower, thus proceeding towards the Gryffindor common room. Finally, there stood the portrait of the Fat Lady, chatting with her old friend, Violet.

"Lemonade Fresh!" mouthed Harry, remembering that the previous password has been changed last midnight.

"Enter," chattered the Fat Lady, as he made his way through the Portrait hole.

Hastily, Harry walked into the common room, turning his legs to the left, climbing up the stairs. By now, the bed sheets have been changed into new clean ones, the pillows were fluffed, new wood was hauled to the fireplace, and the curtains were opened to allow some sunlight to penetrate into the windows. Harry truly felt grateful to the house-elves, seeing that Hermione had a point with S.P.E.W. Nevertheless, some of them remained obnoxious, and especially Winky.

One wave from his wand was enough to unlock his trunk. Before his eyes was the phenomenal Invisibility Cloak that her inherited from his disastrously mischievous father, James Potter. On the other side lay the gorgeous, incandescent Firebolt X6. Carefully, Harry stationed the three heavy eggs that were greatly tiring his arms by now beneath the Invisibility Cloak, confirming that they were perfectly masked. For a moment, Harry sensed a sweet fine smell secreted from the eggs, indeed, much like bees' honey. He felt his tongue water now, but his egg didn't crack open by itself. He also knew that he couldn't just slice it open, fearful of betraying Hagrid's trust, and simultaneously ruining the splendid surprise.

Harry lay on his bed for as long as fifteen minutes, empty minded. What would he do for lunchtime, when his best friends were absent because of detention? Harry thought of using this valuable time, for the first time thinking like Hermione often did, to complete his Astronomy assignment. He took out the textbook for reference, his unfinished roll of parchment, his quill, a bottle of ink, and then flipped through the dusty pages till he ended up with the recently studied chapter.

He searched through lines, sentences, whole paragraphs, and diagrams having the need for an appropriate answer. If there was a multiverse, how would the galaxies interact to decide humans' fait? That was the first questioning which made Harry stuck and perplexed. When he wasn't able to find any answer to the somehow absurd question, he lazily scribbled down a few statements of his prediction and imagination.

There seemed to be dozens of questions to respond to, which made Harry give up. In such free time, he wanted to do something fun, not boring. What else could come to his mind? He had already planned on practicing new fancy moves and maneuvers during the Quidditch training this evening. Other than that, what could possibly be entertaining?

In a flash of seconds, he had a great idea rushing to his head. Believed to be instinctive, inherited naughtiness and mischief passed down form his father, Harry made up his mind to visit the Room of Requirement.

Harry didn't want to be seen or caught by anyone; therefore, he put on his precious Cloak, disappearing under it. As a precaution, Anystal was already secured deep down in his robes. Fleeting thoughts of utilizing the Marauder's Map had fled by; however, Harry perfectly knew all the secret passageways and shortcuts, thankful to Fred and George Weasley.

As quiet and as silent as a dead cat, Harry budged out of his deserted dormitory, climbing down the stairs. He saw a figure beside the glowing fire; it was vague. Of course, that made Harry uneasy. He didn't Moody talking to him through the fire, but when he crept closer to the hearth, it was actually Crookshanks, wagging his tail slowly, warming it against the flames. He seemed to be drowsy, for neither purr nor meow was sounded when Harry accidentally banged his shoe against the rough wood of an armchair.

Minutes have run by before he finally scurried out of the common room. Through the corridors he fled, and up the marble staircase he went. Harry was cautious not to bump into Cho Chang, who apparently was heading to Ravenclaw common room to get some hair ribbons for her gossiping girlfriends. Harry's best idea was to avoid having conversation with her.

After over thirty flights of steps, Harry got off the marble staircase, moving along. On his way, Nearly-Headless Nick flew through him, which made Harry a bit disgusted. He was lucky that he was concealed under his Cloak, or else, the Gryffindor ghost might've been suspicious.

At last, a very familiar looking corridor came to his eyesight. Although the door to the Room of Requirement didn't display itself, Harry suddenly heard a squelching noise emerging from the wall. Instantly, one of the Rangers exited, looking on either side of him. Eventually, he glided away, off to his business. Before the door could be slammed shut, Harry rushed to the handle, and stormed into the room through narrow space.

Harry was frantically astonished when he saw what he saw. The room was damp, and had immensely dim light. He felt wet sand, dirt, and muck under his cold feet. The walls and ceiling were all muddy, and there was a smattering of wild mushrooms on the floor, scattered unevenly. They were big enough to step on, as Harry observed. Then, when he turned his head he noticed that the room was bulkier than usual. He even saw a holed dug in the ground. Harry was completely taken by the enormity of the room.

Besides that, what grabbed Harry's attention from underneath the Cloak was the way the Rangers reclined, slept. As he quietly counted them, there were only fifteen of them present; the remaining six must've been on duty or something. Each one of them was tied with green vines, around the torso, wrists, and ankles, making it appear as if their bodies were adjoined to the wall. Also, some mud was oddly circulating around their faces. Possibly, as Harry would've thought, it might've been how they got their faces moistened. What surprised Harry even more to just that was that they had no feet at all. Indeed, Colin Creevey's suspicion happened to be correct. Instead of normal feet with five toes, they had roots, thick, twisted, brown roots. Queer was the right word to describe what the roots were doing; they kept the Rangers hovering inches above the filthy forest-floor.

Though quiet and calm, Harry was utterly fascinated by the Rangers' habitat, or what Muggles would scientifically refer to as an ecosystem. This had created some sort of questioning inside of him. What did Sir Wilberg the Seventh really look like?

Harry was instantly distracted from his thought when he noticed a silver furry hood come out the hole that was dug into the floor. Then came a very determined but pale face, with waist-length blonde-yellow hair and beard. It was Chief Altazark himself, arising out of the hole.

"Who dares force entry into our chambers?" he said grimly.

Speedily, Harry held his hand to his mouth, almost choking himself, careful not to squeak.

"You cannot hide," growled the old man, "I know you're in. Reveal yourself, or else, suffer the consequence."

Fearful of getting hurt, Harry made up his mind to immediate obedience. Gradually, he slid off the Cloak, showing his anxious face.

"Ah," muttered Chief Altazark, as he took a few moments to recognize Harry's visible scar, "I should've known that you were heading our way, Mr. Potter."

Harry was stunned, apparently not aware that his scare was showing.

"How do you now me…sir?" he asked softly, trying to sound polite.

"Do you perhaps not know?" questioned the old man, gliding forward. "You're the Boy Who Lived. Who doesn't know you?"

"Muggles…presumably," suggested Harry earnestly.

The old man had a wicked but satisfied grin on his mouth, much like a mixture of Snape and McGonagall.

"Over and over," he continued, "your headmaster expected this to happen. After all, he had foreseen it before the departure from our lands."

"Foreseen it?" said Harry in a puzzled voice.

"You don't know that either?" muttered Chief Altazark. "My dear, Dumbledore surely is filled with surprises."

"Since when did he foresee stuff?"

"Professor Dumbledore claims that it's a gift," explained the chief, "passed on from his great-great-grandfather."

"Why didn't he tell me before?" asked Harry, perplexed.

"He thought you were still too young in age to receive such information, for even I couldn't have understood it distinctly at your age," acknowledged Chief Altazark.

"So…you mean…everything that had happened over the years…he had seen…seen it…and…and kept quiet?"

"Oh yes, my dear boy," responded the chief, playing with his beard. "You know, I think my friend Dumbledore and the centaurs have something in common."

He joked sarcastically, stepping over some of the mushrooms.

"How do you know all of this?" Harry was seeking more information.

"Haven't you heard that curiosity killed the cat?" giggled the old man ironically, rubbing his crooked nose, "Well, if you insist to know, Potter, we went to school together."

"You….you were friends? But how come? He's a human…a wizard…and you…you said you're part of the ancient…"

"The ancient wizard race, oh yes," he said, "but what you might not yet know, is that your headmaster is a very gifted wizard. He started learning simple magic at the age of six from Sir Wilberg the Twelfth, a descendent of Sir Wilber the Seventh."

"What?" asked Harry, astounded.

"By the time Dumbledore was nine years old," continued the old man, "he mastered the Confundus Charm."

Harry's mouth was wide open in astonishment. His heart was pacing faster than ever before. He was extremely thrilled to hear about such past.

"The golden days, I call them," muttered Chief Altazark, "your headmaster and I were very close pals. Only then, at the age of eleven, he had received an owl from Hogwarts, accepting him to study magic here."

Speechless as he was, Harry desired some more.

"Now, remind me again, young man," spoke the chief, focusing his eyes determinedly at Harry's, "for what point and purpose have you come here?"

"Oh…" he was lost for words, "I was just…I thought of meeting you and the rest of the Rangers…up-close."

"Why so?"

"I don't know," replied Harry uncertainly, "I guess I…fine…well, I wanted to know how you were going to stop Voldemort and his Death Eaters from their business."

To Harry's amazement, there was no wince at all from the Chief. Instead, he had a bold vivid expression on his old face.

"Nosing into other people's business, are we now, Potter?" he scoffed, virtually indignantly.

"Well?"

"Well what?" proclaimed Chief Altazark. "What we attempt to do remains none of your concern."

"But I need to know! I mean…"

"No you do not!" yelled the man, enraged. "You are young in years, and not of age."

"Well I'm as good as! You don't know what I've gone through for the last…"

"Mr. Potter," chattered Chief Altazark, "don't you tell me what I already know of you. You may have ventured into adventures and dangers that no adult wizard sane enough would agree to go into. You've been in battle with Lord Voldemort, not to mention his Death Eaters. Yet, you still aren't prepared for what awaits you out there…in the real world."
"Fine!" shouted Harry, waking up the sleep Rangers. "What was that all about, then? Huh? What about 'although caution can sometimes be vital, it is also essential to learn how to co-operate from outside your lands'? Don't tell me you've already forgotten that?"

"I know what my tongue speaks, Harry Potter," said the chief, "now, please leave us in peace."

"I shall not leave this place unless you tell me something, and I mean something worthy of informing!" Harry was totally enraged, and reached for his wand, raising it to the old man's chest.

"Now I think you've gone too far!" snapped Chief Altazark. Momentarily, and before Harry even had seconds to realize it, one of the thick roots that were hidden under the green leather cloak shot out in the air, dashing like lightening, and then wrapping itself around Harry's wrist.

"These roots can crush you like an insignificant filthy cockroach, Mr. Potter," mouthed the chief, wickedly grinning. A wave of spasm ran up Harry's arm.

"Leggo!" he winced terribly, his wand slipping out of his fingers.

"Professor Dumbledore may have said some words that you possibly didn't hear, thus I am reminding you of them right now," he bellowed, tightening his grip on Harry's wrist, "he had warned you to stay away from us and certainly not to be intruding."

After another shock of excruciating pain, he finally set him free.

"YOU'RE MENTAL!" shouted Harry as loud as he could, rubbing off the mud on his wrist.

"Do not interfere into what doesn't concern you ever again, Mr. Potter," declared Chief Altazark, his Rangers gathering behind him. "It'll be for your own good."

"Fine, then," responded Harry, almost dead silently.

"Oh and Harry," muttered the old man, "I believe these belong to you."

Held safely between his moving roots were Harry's Invisibility Cloak and wand.

Quickly, and yet rudely, Harry grabbed his possessions, and set off to leave. The Rangers and their chief were still staring vaguely at him.

Totally exasperated, Harry slammed the door shut behind him, putting on his Cloak, and grasping his wand firmly. He was breathing so heavily and gritting his teeth. Why did the Rangers have to treat him that way? Why does every grownup in the school thinks he's still just a child? Why were they secretive in their plans? Also, Harry was wondering why Dumbledore never told him about foresight. Perhaps he also cared about Harry too much that he believed such a smattering of knowledge would hurt his feelings. He was beginning to slowly lose his faith in the Headmaster, for he had incredible things.

"Harry!" came a strong echoing voice. When Harry pulled off the Cloak and turned around, he saw Ron, accompanied by Hermione.

"How did you see me?" he asked, somehow bewildered.

"The muddy foot prints left behind you," explained Ron, pointing at the track.

"Where've you been, anyway? Haven't you had lunch?" questioned Hermione all at once.

"Actually…no," said Harry, uncertain to tell them his tale.

"Then how come you have mud under your shoes?" queried Hermione, grinning.

"What, Hermione?" he began dully. "You think I ate some Muddy-muffins?"

Ron burst into laughter, but Hermione stopped him in no time.

"I really didn't go to lunch, although I regret it now," admitted Harry solemnly.

"Then where were you?" interrogated Ron curiously. "You couldn't have been seriously in the library researching Oil-Headed Tremors for Hagrid, have you?"

"No," giggled Harry, when Ron received a that-could've-been-for-his-own-benefit look from Hermione. "To be truthful, I was in the Room of Requirement."

"WHAT?" yelled Ron loudly; Harry and Hermione had to cover his big fat mouth with both of their hands.

"Sorry," he apologized quietly, "but you went on without us? Traitor!"

"I couldn't have just sat on my bed staring at my trunk, could have I?" chattered Harry, folding his Invisibility Cloak, hiding it under his robes.

"Well, to be honest Harry," said Hermione, "Ron's got a point…not about us not coming with you, but I mean…you could've used your time to research Oil-Headed Tremors in the library. I hear they've got a whole series of books pertaining to filthy creatures such as them."

Ron glared at her in disbelief, and Harry's facial expression was rather plain.

"But…well, anyway," she continued on, "what happened in there?"

Along the way to History of Magic, Harry had informed them of all that happened within the Room of Requirement. Hermione, as Harry concluded, was right about the used of the room. Indeed, the Rangers found their own living conditions and habitat in there. Add to that, Ron was right, too. The Rangers scarcely spoke. All in all, that led to them being somehow selfish, arrogant, and rude.

"I'd like to see those roots," muttered Ron excitedly.

"Did Chief Altazark really squeeze you wrist?" asked Hermione anxiously, raising her eyebrows.

"Yes, he nearly fractured it," babbled Harry, saying hi to Zacharias Smith, who had just gone out of the bathroom.

"The rotten dingbat; you should tell Dumbledore about it," suggested Ron, only that enraged Harry gradually.

"Dumbledore?" he asked in a what-the-hell-are-you-talking-about way. "Don't you two get me started on him."

"What's the matter with him?" asked Hermione worryingly.

However, Harry ignored her question, and stormed into the History of Magic classroom, occupying an empty seat, closely followed by Ron and Hermione.

"What's gone into Harry?" whispered Ron, looking perplexed at Hermione.

"It's definitely something about Dumbledore," she explained, sitting beside Ron, leaving Harry alone for a while, afraid that he might snap.

"Good afternoon everyone," said Professor Binns coolly, leaving his body beside the usual fireplace.

"Afternoon," everyone replied dully.

Except for Harry. He was so silent and was looking at his textbook. Ron and Hermione were really concerned about his condition. They kept trying to attract his attention by making soft noises in their mouths, or kicking the leg of his table.

"Mr. Weasley, Miss Granger," began the ghost grimly, "will you please stop fidgeting in your places and pay attention?"

They were both embarrassed, although Ron was used to it. But Harry didn't look like he noticed it at all. He was in deep thought about the Headmaster now. He felt ice-cold shivers run up his veins. He was sixteen, and that was old enough for him to know what's going on, and to cope with danger. Instantly, he was reminded of the summer before fifth year. The Order had finally consented to give him a general idea about their meetings and business, for he had been stuck four weeks with the Dursleys, indignant about everyone's ignorance. And as Dumbledore put it, he need to know what was just enough for him to know, but no more than that. Harry had a firm grip, and starting rubbing his knuckles against the rough wooden table.

Finally, as the school day ended, Harry zoomed out of the Transfiguration classroom, not a word emerging from his sealed mouth.

"Harry! Harry!" mouthed Hermione, her voice high pitched. She was running at turbo speed, with Ron lagging behind her.

Harry happened to be at the top of the stairs leading to Gryffindor Tower, while Ron and Hermione were desperate to catch their breaths, jogging up the flight of steps.

"Harry, what's going on?" asked Hermione truthfully, her knees buckling. Ron was shooting Harry petrified looks, as if he was done for. He didn't experience what Harry was going through.

"I think I just need to be alone for a while," said Harry calmly, as he gazed at his friends.

"That's exactly the opposite of what you need," breathed Hermione. "Harry, we're sorry if we said something…we didn't mean to hurt your feelings or anything…that's the last thing we'd do to you."

"Yeah mate," added Ron, "I'm sorry for what I said…I must've made you a bit uneasy. But really, what's with Dumbledore?"

Harry had his troubled eyes wide open behind the glasses. He felt like attacking the Headmaster. Harry would've loved to see his own headmaster vulnerable against him. He wanted to injure him for good. And suddenly, a coincidence. Only last year, he had gone through a similar situation, where he was beginning to notice that Voldemort used him.

"Harry, are you allright?" queried Hermione anxiously, when he suddenly realized that she and Ron were standing a feet away from him.

"I'm…fine," he lied in denial.

"Of course you're not, Harry," objected Ron, "you've been in such a bad mood all afternoon."

"Ron, stop!" hissed Hermione, kicking his foot. He winced fleetingly, but managed to regain some balance.

"You wouldn't want to know what I heard," mumbled Harry in depression, slowly walking backwards. Ron and Hermione moved behind him, patting his shoulders.

By the time they had reached the common room, Harry felt remorseful. They were his best friends, and he felt hesitant to tell them about Dumbledore's past and actions. But of course, it would never cross Harry's mind that either of them would betray him.

Gradually, Harry's mouth opened, and his tongue moved rapidly as he told them the tale. He stopped every now and then for a heavy breath, when a sudden figure of an old calm face sitting in an office in the Ministry of Magic. Hermione amicably helped him continue, and Ron thought that a few Bertie Botts Every-Flavour Beans would sooth him.

Awfully, Harry moaned when he mentioned how the Headmaster had the splendid gift of foresight. Just a blur of Chief Altazark talking about hit in his mind made him sort of retch.

"I don't know why…he's been so selfish…not telling me about it," affirmed Harry, his eyes watering, "he could've stopped everything…everything…but he insisted on destiny implying its definition."

Ron inevitably felt sorrowful for the shock of news to Harry, and sympathetically clapped him softly on the back.

"Hey," murmured Hermione, a tear dangling from her eyelashes, "Harry…I know that sometimes, you begin to hate Dumbledore for things…unexplainable things…but…oh, Harry….what happened had happened….and couldn't have occurred in another way."

"What do you know about it?" whimpered Harry in a slightly shaky voice. "You didn't save the Philosopher's Stone…you didn't kill the basilisk and get rid of Riddle…you didn't risk your neck to finish off over hundred Dementors…you didn't come out of a maze with the dead body of Cedric Diggory…you didn't see him rise again…you…you didn't…"

He difficultly swallowed a heavy lump in his throat, trailing off.

"Harry," whispered Hermione, kneeling down on the carpet, "whatever happens…we'll always be there for you….like you've always been there for us…"

"Right," continued Ron, trying his best to be sentimental, "and I just want you to know that I'll do my best to keep you away from Dumbledore's past."

"You don't understand," argued Harry, grinning sarcastically, "I need to know more about him and his past; it's like a jigsaw puzzle that needs to be solved."

"Just relax for now, ok?" directed Hermione, helping Harry up. "Take a nap before Quidditch training, allright?"

Harry nodded his head, ignoring his Potions homework that was to be finished. Slowly, many students were beginning to reappear from their dormitories, gathering in the common room. Ron was still downstairs, owing the need to talk to Lavender Brown about a new moved he looked up in 'Quidditch Throughout the Ages'.

"Harry," spoke Hermione one last time as she approached the boys' dormitory's door, "you'll be fine. Trust me, you'll be fine…"

He gave her a little reluctant grin.

She brushed his lips with a quick kiss, hugged him for a moment, and then stepped back, still gazing at his green eyes. Momentarily, he felt flattered, and disappeared into his dormitory.

Harry was so overwhelmed with feelings. He couldn't tell his friends what it really meant to him. Having the all on his side in dire depression made him feel grateful. He truly needed warmth and comfort along this difficult task. Harry thought he couldn't have done it alone.

That evening, Harry and his teammates were practicing some old and new good moves and techniques. Harry was quite impressed with Ron, for he had pointed out more than five remarkably stunning moves on a broomstick. He later confessed that he actually spent three and a half hours flipping through the last couple of pages of 'Quidditch Throughout the Ages'. All the same, it made the whole team fascinated. They spent most of time given to them concentrating on the performance of the Twister Attack. It was such an intricate move to perform. For the Twister Attack to take place, the three Chaser and two Beaters had to stick together, and simultaneously watch out for nasty Bludgers. They would then form the shape of a funnel. At the same time, the five would begin swirling around quickly like a destructive tornado. When the opponents approach, the five hastily narrow the space between them, closing the cone. They would also have to be extra careful not to crash into someone. The purpose of the brilliant technique was ultimate distraction.

Another splendidly fine discovery of Ron's was the Hurricane Collapse. As briefly explained in the very pages of the book, again, the three Chaser and two Beaters would get closer to each other, but this time at a low level near to the ground. Gradually, they would rise from the floor, moving in a circle at the meantime. While holding the Quaffle, the opponents would most likely get attracted, in order to capture the balls. Only then, when the five reach the very top of the pitch, they would scatter. Shortly after that, they must rejoin in the bottom, handing each other the Quaffle, zooming through unwatched spaces of the pitch.

On the other hand, after Harry had distinctly watched them practise loads of tiring times, he focused all his concentration on the Wronski Feint. He needed to completely master it before he set foot on the Quidditch pitch. Much like Krum, thought Harry.

Although Ron came up with the intelligent ideas, he ironically was going to be stuck in his place, hovering in front of the goalposts.

"Thanks for everything Ron," muttered Harry amicably, as he descended to a lower level on his Firebolt X6, "you've given us lots of help."

"Don't mention it," babble an exhausted Ron, slowly setting his feet on the wet cold grassy ground.

"We're so grateful to you, Ron," said Ginny, beaming.

"Ah, it's nothing," he said, trying to sound not so pleased, "any dumb fool could've easily looked through pages."

The sun had just peered from the horizon, spreading its warm golden rays across the many hills and lands. The Gryffindors have definitely had a nice luxurious sleep, conserving some energy for today's Quidditch match.

Harry yawned, stretching out his arms, as if they were going to touch the ceiling. He hastily put on his glasses, which were set on a nearby table, and moved to the bed directly in front of him.

"Ron," whispered Harry urgently, "Ron, come on, wake up!"

Over and over, Harry shook what he thought was Ron's head.

"Stop it…it tickles!" giggled a sleepy Ron; his head was on the opposite side of his four poster bed.

"Get up Ron," hissed Harry softly, now switching his hand's position to Ron's head.

"Allright…allright," yawned Ron greatly, blinking his eyes, shutting them rapidly as the sun's brilliant light stroke against them.

Harry spent the next few hasty minutes washing up in the bathroom, trying to cheer up his face. When he returned back to his dormitory to change, he regretted waking up Ron earlier. Seamus, Dean, and Neville were in what looked like disastrous trouble, for Ron had been jumping enthusiastically on their beds.

"Quiet down, Ron," started Harry, "you'll wake the girls up in no time!"

"It's about time they wake up too," pointed out Ron, a smile appearing on his cheerful freckled face. Poor Neville had fallen off his bed due to the immense vibrations Ron caused with his horse-play.

"Ouch!" winced Neville in pain, as his head slammed against the cupboard beside him.

"Sorry," apologized Ron in embarrassment, bouncing off Neville's messy bed.

"Ron," bellowed Neville in some agony, "you nearly broke the wood log under the bed! And guess what? You could've been responsible if I broke my skull! My gran wouldn't be too happy, you know!"

"Sorry again," he murmured quietly.

Minutes later, the five boys have practically been ready, speeding out of their dormitory, abandoning it. Although Harry, Ron, and Neville knew they were going to change into the Quidditch robes, it was also obvious that they couldn't just wander along the castle in their pyjamas.

As they walked downstairs, rubbing their eyes with their knuckles, they heard a couple of fourth year girls chattering about the match against Ravenclaw. It was no doubt very noticeable that almost everyone was intrigued. After all, Gryffindor and Ravenclaw were commonly known as tough opponents, whose performance greatly thrilled the audience in the pitch.

"Here, have a bite Dean," said Ron, as he shoved some scrambled eggs into Dean's mouth, "you won't be watching us with a bony face like this."

"Ron, you're choking the boy!" growled Seamus, sputtering some corn bread.

"Am I?" asked Ron, and then realized what he had just done. Dean Thomas was coughing his guts out, desperate to reach some water. After he was done rushing the soothing liquid down his full throat, he glared at Ron like a starving lion would when it eyes a doe. Immediately, the angry Dean desired vengeance, chasing the regretful Ron around the Gryffindor table, like a fox chased a hen. From afar, Harry and Hermione laughed loudly, and so did many others, including the jeering Slytherins led by Malfoy.

"Mr. Weasley!" a sharp voice shook Ron's nerves. Professor McGonagall came lagging after him and Dean.

"Do you find yourself incapable of control?" she asked furiously.

"I was just joking with Dean, when he fiercely started chasing after me…" explained Ron, trailing off.

"There was a reason!" added Dean. "He nearly killed me with those scrambled eggs. My throat was as dry as hard firewood, Professor!"

"That'll be enough, Mr. Thomas. You can go back and resume your breakfast," she growled, shooting Ron enraged petrifying looks.

"Mr. Weasley," she whispered when they both made sure Dean was out of earshot, "if you continue this foolishness, then you won't be setting a model for younger students as a prefect. Should you act stupidly anymore, I shall ban you from your broom, you hear? Possibly, Professor Dumbledore wouldn't even give a mere thought about selecting you as Head Boy for next year!"

Ron nodded, vexed.

"Look at who got himself scolded at," joked Malfoy, who mimicked Ron's feet buckling as Professor McGonagall spoke.

Ron didn't say any word, fearful that his noise will attract the Professor's attention again. He, however, smirked at the blonde arrogant Slytherin, and sat down.

"You're one mighty comedian, Ron," laughed Hermione, trying to lower down her giggles by sticking her mouth to the table.

Harry grinned at him, believing that Ron was a magnet for trouble and chaos, much like his twin brothers.

Now came the moments at last. Harry, Ron, Hermione, Neville, Ginny, Lavender, and Parvati left the Great Hall to get their broomsticks, and polish them one more time before the match began.

After that, they all marched enthusiastically to the changing rooms.

"I just can't wait to see Cho's face when you catch the Snitch," muttered Ron, as he put on his Quidditch robes, added to them were the protective pads for the forearms and legs.

Everyone came out momentarily, tightly grasping their broomsticks.

"I have faith in you all," spoke Harry emphatically, "do you best, and remember the training yesterday."

"Now you're sounding like Oliver," commented Hermione, pulling her hair away from her face.

Those were Harry's last encouraging words before the game. In some seconds, the seven mounted their brooms, and took off as the doors were lifted up for them.

"Hello everybody!" spoke the magnified voice of cheerful Colin Creevey. "Welcome to the first semi-final match for this season. On the left of this pitch you'll be seeing the blue, clever Ravenclaws, while the might red Gryffindors shall soar form the right!"

The spectators, including the staff, were all cheering in loud noises, waving for their friends.

"Players," screeched Madam Hooch from the ground, "please take your positions."

They were al neatly lined up where they belonged, while Harry flew forward on his shimmering Firebolt X6.

"Captains, shake hands," directed old Madam Hooch, squinting her eyes.

Harry was absolutely stunned to see who the Ravenclaw Captain was.

"Good luck, Harry," it was Cho, the pretty black-haired Seeker of Ravenclaw, former girlfriend of Harry's.

"You too," he muttered back confidently, as he pulled back his hand.

Hastily, Madam Hooch kicked the crate open, revealing the balls. She lifted the reddish-brown Quaffle, and tossed upwards.

"Aaaaaaand they're off!" yelled Colin Creevey watching in delight.

It seemed that the Ravenclaw Chasers moved their brooms by instinct, following their thoughts.

"The Quaffle is passed to Jefferson…cut off by Granger…passed to Weasley," commentated Colin Creevey, holding up his binoculars. "WHAM! That's got to hurt!"

Neville was tragically hit in the stomach by a Bludger, which carried him off his broom, falling at a very high acceleration. Just in the right time, Hermione took out her wand, and summoned him back to his broomstick.

"Are you allright, Neville?" she asked.

"Yeah," grimaced Neville, "I'll be fine…watch out!"

Another Bludger came zooming in the air towards Hermione's head. She had not time whatsoever to avoid the impact.

"And Miss Brown savers her mate's head with the club," hollered Colin Creevey, moving his binoculars towards the left.

"Thanks…" Hermione was relieved, and went back up in the air.

"When are they going to score?" enquired Ron, with Harry's legs two inches above Ron's head.

"I don't know…you just don't leave your position, and make sure that you hover around the hoops," murmured Harry, as he winged upwards.

"MISS GRANGER SCORES FOR GRYFFINDOR!" shouted Colin, awarding their team ten points.

Harry smiled, while simultaneously meandered around, hunting for a glimpse of gold.

"Look at them go!" yelled Colin, as he noticed the three intelligent Ravenclaw Chasers dashing towards the lower goalpost of Gryffindor.

This was Ron's first chance; either the Quaffle went in or not.

"Great job Ron!" screamed Ginny from afar. Luckily, Ron managed to kick the Quaffle away, millimeters before it penetrated into the hoop.

"Good try Miss Peterson, but no points yet!" giggled Colin.

The game got the audience standing up, seeming so excited. Ravenclaw managed to score a few goals, but thanks to Neville, he made that up, and amazingly threw the Quaffle five times in a row in each of the three hoops.

"Good going, Mr. Longbottom," quacked Colin, pulling on his hood , for he felt chilly wind blow on his mousy hair, "so far the results stand thus: Gryffindor: Sixty points, Ravenclaw: Thirty points."

"Hermione!" mouthed Harry, as he matched the acceleration of his old Firebolt that now belonged to his girlfriend. "Twister Attack!"

At once, she understood the message, and pulled sharply to a right angle, frequently lowering her head to avoid being hit by Bludgers, seeking her teammate's gathering.

"Do my eyes deceive me?" Colin was virtually dazed. "Apparently…no, it couldn't be…oh, well….get ready Ravenclaws…for the Twister Attack!"

Ron felt like shoving some dung into Colin's mouth. Indeed, they were stunned to see what their opponents were up to.

Some brave Chasers ventured into the tornado funnel formed by Hermione, Ginny, Neville, Parvati, and Lavender. Slowly, Hermione, who was in the lead position, gave signals for her friends to close in. Suddenly, the Ravenclaws were absolutely astonished by how they entered the funnel and got out without noticing the Quaffle. Once the five spread out again, Ginny, who cunningly headed to the goalpost, attracted the Chasers' attention.

"Jefferson, Peterson, and Douglas turn at a sharp difficult angel," observed Colin, "will they manage to get there in time before Miss Weasley?"

But the Ravenclaws were tricked by an amusing joke. Neville, who was flying alone, had the Quaffle masked under his brooms, tightly held between his shivering legs.

"What's the matter?" questioned Max Douglas, confused. "Who's got the Quaffle?"

Instantly, Neville ascended in the air, handing the Quaffle calmly to Hermione from the back. With her magnificent Firebolt, she cruised at a very fast velocity, just passing by Harry for a brief moment. She was getting closer to the goalposts of Ravenclaw. The Keeper, however, did not have the slightest notion of what was sneaking up on him from behind.

"Come on Hermione," whispered Ginny, crossing her fingers. And in a flash of heartbeats, she crept forward out of nowhere, and threw the ball straight into the middle hoop.

"ANOTHER TEN POINTS TO GRYFFINDOR!" screamed Colin Creevey happily.

"Clever move, Hermione," complimented Parvati Patil, lowering her head as she discerned a Bludger flying closer.

"The results so far seem to be on Gryffindor's side," chattered Colin Creevey, "seventy to thirty."

Harry was so amazed by how deftly and skillfully Hermione moved on the Firebolt. For ages, he learnt that Hermione's almost biggest fear was to be flying. Nevertheless, her fears looked like they have fled this year. She was a remarkably astonishing flier.

Harry's thoughts were quickly disturbed when a strong wind glided over him. Minutes after he lifted his head, he saw Cho Chang flying at top speed, in a zigzag pattern, moving her hand forward.

At once, he accelerated his broom at a great speed, and followed her lead.

"It looks like," began Colin, pressing the zoom button on his binoculars, "the two Seekers are after the Snitch!"

What Harry didn't truly realize was that Cho was fooling him. She didn't actually see a sign of the little Golden Snitch. Under the pretence of eyeing it, she set off, hoping that Harry would copy her.

"ANOTHER SCORE FOR RAVENCLAW! FOURTY POINTS IN TOTAL!" roared Colin, as Professor McGonagall, who sat on a seat directly behind him, pushed her ear muffs tightly inward.

Harry stopped in his place, just concluding what happened.

"Fooled you, didn't I?' came a girlish voice, Cho's. She was hovering several feet above him, grinning at him, and giving him a wink.

Harry was desperate for sensible words, but continued on circling around the pitch, like a scavenger, hunting for the small golden ball.

Then, in no less than a few moments, he saw it. The Golden Snitch, with its feathery wings spread on either side, was flying upwards near one of the stands. As fast as spreading bonfire, Harry flew in the middle of the pitch, through burly looking Ravenclaws, cautious for Bludgers. Down and up he went. Around the columns he winged, chasing after the wicked fast Snitch.

He heard the breaths of a girl behind him, getting closer every second. At once, he came to a complete halt, and reversed his movement. Harry transported himself back to the other end of the stadium, as the frosty wind blew on his back.

"Go Harry!" yelled Ron from afar, waving one hand, and the other grasping the tail of his broom.

"Harry Potter is currently lagging after the Snitch, while Miss Chang follows," commentated Colin.

Finally, Harry managed to get a fingertip on the winged Snitch.

"Just a bit further!" he yelled to himself. Out of nowhere, Harry was distracted again. Two Bludgers came rushing in his path.

"Not now," he whispered, when Cho came in front of him. He stared at her with wild eyes.

"Look out!" he hollered, pulling her from the tail wig. The Bludgers disappeared into a very far distance.

"That was close!" shrieked Colin in excitement.

Speechless, Harry flew back into the thin air, like a mountain eagle. The Snitch came back to his sight, and he happened to be diving at a sharp slope. Cho was right behind him, pleading for time to slow down.

"He's gonna crash!" grunted Hagrid in between his friends in the Gryffindor Top Box.

"No he's not!" protested Dennis Creevey, watching fervently.

Harry felt the green grass come closer to his eyes, while Cho constantly flew downwards. Momentarily, his mind was taken away when he turned his head. And in instant seconds, the Snitch was gone again. He almost crashed into the floor, had not the smooth movement of his Firebolt X6 saved his neck. He could sense the heat from Cho's face behind him as he incessantly flew forward, looking for any sign of the Snitch.

"JEFFERSON SCORES FOR RAVENCLAW! THAT'LL ADD TEN MORE POINTS!" cried out Colin, as Ravenclaw's total became fifty now.

Harry continued circling above the ground, rising hastily, attempting to deceive Cho in turn. He was going to feint now. He was going to perform the Wronski Feint. Cho grasped the front of her broomstick firmly, and then again, dove, following Harry's scent. Down they came, and Harry could feel the smell of the grass penetrate his nostrils. In a flick of seconds, he pulled out sharply, while Cho tragically crashed. Bits of her broom's tail were cut off, hovering in the air. Meanwhile, she was aching, rubbing her right shoulder, while her left hand ran down her back.

"OOOH! THAT WAS A BRILLIANT DEMONSTRATION OF THE WRONSKI FEINT! LONG LIVES HARRY POTTER!" screamed Colin, beaming, while Professor McGonagall yelled into his ear, scolding him.

After he had succeeded, Harry escaped Cho, not wanting to see her in pain, though it made him a bit remorseful. And then, it was sighted. The Snitch, not two inches above the ground, was flying, and as Harry approached, he could hear his teammates' cries of encouragement. He wasn't going to surrender to the tiring weather, nor did he give up to the pain. He was going to achieve his goal no matter what happened.

"HARRY POTTER CATCHES THE SNITCH! ONE HUNDERED AND FIFTY POINTS TO GRYFFINDOR! TWO HUNDRED AND TWENTY IN TOTAL! IT IS DONE! THE GAME IS OVER!"

Harry saw the calm face of Professor Dumbledore grin, and then his old hands were clapping, and so were the staff's.

"You did it Harry!" shouted Hermione, flying closer to him, shaking her hands in the air. "You did the Wronski Feint! Didn't I tell you you'd succeed?"

He grinned with satisfaction.

"You've done a great job too," he responded, beaming.

"Well done Harry!"

"Brilliant move Harry!"

"You've mastered the Wronski Feint Harry!"

"Excellent work Harry!"

He constantly heard familiar voices praising him.

"Congratulations," interrupted a soft voice. Cho Chang came near Harry too, shaking his hand.

"Thanks," he murmured, "you've got such a brilliant team this year…and…look, I'm sorry you crashed…"

"No it's allright," she said, smiling, "just a few bruises I'm used to…well, bye then!"

She smiled, fleetingly, called back by her friends.

At this moment, Harry gazed at what looked like a million shining beetles. If only his beloved ones who have gone were here too, he wouldn't have felt any happier.