The brisk March weather had done little to depress the turnout for the Gryffindor-Hufflepuff Quidditch match. Harry could hear the stadium creak and sway as more students filled the stands, all eager for the game to begin. Somewhere, across the pitch, the professors and staff would be taking their seats as well.
He hoped his father had brought Aunt Amelia, as he had asked. The house rivalry was enough of a hook, but the added benefit of rooting for her niece's house against her godson was too much to ignore.
There were other reasons to keep her close, today of all days.
It was something Seeker Potter had said the week prior, when he talked about his first match against Slytherin. At one point, his broom had gone out of control - but not in an uncontrollable way, as if one of the rune clusters had failed or the broom had been damaged. No, it was as if someone was trying to control its steering and attitude from a distance - a risky move that almost always ended up dumping the rider.
Seeker Harry was convinced that that was exactly the plan. Hermione Granger, convinced it was Snape, had set the man on fire, and the curse quickly ended. And that was that - a clumsy attempt at sabotage to favor his own house, who would have won if Harry had been injured or left the game. He hadn't thought much more about it since that day, given the other goings on in their lives. No one really gave it more thought than that, because truthfully, Snape's opinion of Harry Potter (all of them, as it turned out) was well known.
But when it came up in their conference, Chaser Potter had a thought. "What if it hadn't been Snape? What if it was Quirrell?" Snape, he reasoned, didn't make their scars ache when he was nearby, whereas Quirrell did. And setting a professor on fire tends to distract people nearby who might be casting detailed, intricate curses that require constant eye contact with the target - so Hermione may have stopped the curse, just more indirectly.
"It's possible," said Spellforged. "So why didn't he attack you during the same match, then?"
Chaser had thought about this. "I'm the rookie chaser, so I'm usually flying low and in the center of the pitch. If he tipped me off my broom, I'd fall maybe 20 feet. A good roll and I wouldn't even get scratched. Plus, no one watches the action that low - they're all watching high, where the goals are. So if he's leaning over the railing, staring at me, and I suddenly lose control of my broom? Nope, too obvious. I wasn't a good target that time."
Marigold saw exactly where this was going. "What in the hell do you mean, that time?"
Chaser sighed. "Well, I was thinking…" He laid out his plan, not mentioning that Oliver Wood had already signed off on it. Wood had liked the idea of switching up the formations, to keep their opponents guessing.
Seeker was the first to laugh. "If I lose tomorrow because I have you screaming in my head, we're going to have words, Mister Potter." The rest of the group chuckled at his somewhat successful attempt to emulate Professor McGonagall.
Harry had gotten rotated in the formation, so that he would be flying high on the side of the pitch with the Staff box. And watching would be his father and Director Bones of the DMLE. If Quirrell tried something, they could get to him quicker than a surprised Hermione from across the stadium. And if not, well, he had done falling drills since he was 8.
Best case, he gets a chance to show off for his dad. Worst case, he gets to expose Voldemort. Again. In front of the headmistress and the third highest ranking member of the Ministry. What did they say? On any given Saturday…?
Katie Bell and Angelina Johnson walked up to him then, listening to the crowd. Alicia Spinnet, the team's seeker, followed closely behind. The Weasley twins and Oliver Wood joined them before long. Wood launched into his pregame speech, though the rest of them likely had it memorized by now. It was just a regular match, to all appearances.
And as the teams took their traditional lap around the pitch, before lining up with Madam Hooch, everything felt normal. The crowd, the energy, it felt like a great day for quidditch. The whistle sounded, the teams took to the sky, and the game began.
Harry's pattern kept him to Keeper's left, midway between the goals, a little higher than normal. This let him arc an easy first goal through the hoop, over the head of the unsuspecting Hufflepuff keeper. 10-0. The Puffs returned the favor, coming low on the right side, evening the points. Katie Bell managed another goal from centre, before Angelina followed up with a goal of her own, putting the score at 30-10.
The second whistle sounded at five minutes, signaling the release of the snitch, and Alicia moved from her usual pattern to a more irregular one. Harry kept one eye on the staff box, and missed a pass he could have caught. Wood was unprepared, and missed the block - 30-20. "Harry!" He shouted.
"I know, boss, I know!" Harry replied. He saw Alicia dart after a streak of gold, and wondered if this might be over quickly, when it happened - his broom lurched to the side. Shit, he thought. Seeker really undersold how bad this gets.
His hands remained locked on the broom, but that was proving more difficult by the minute. He tried to inch the broom further to Keeper's Left, hoping to make it to the stands if he had to bail. Fred had seen his problem at this point, and was taking a position underneath him, just in case.
A glance to the staff box told him that yes, Quirrell was staring in his direction and chanting. Their eyes met briefly and Harry felt a stab of pain in his scar. It took all of his willpower not to reach up and touch it, for to do so would topple him easily. He worked his upper body as much as he could, inching the broom left. Wood shouted at him, but he replied without looking back. "She has it, keep playing!"
He was close enough, now. This hadn't been his first plan, but sometimes you catch the quaffle, and sometimes the quaffle catches you. Inching his feet underneath him, he glanced over at his father, and the dawning look of horror on Lord Potter's face. Old man's gonna kill me. With a mighty grunt, he pushed off the broom.
A fall of twenty feet, yes, any good chaser could roll out of that. Unfortunately, there isn't much room to roll in a crowded grandstand, filled as it was with professors and VIPs and family.
Fortunately, for him at least, there was a conveniently placed DADA professor right in his flight path. Harry tumbled in the air, catching Quirrellmort in the chest with both feet. The man fell backwards, knocking over Professors Snape and Sprout.
As Harry regained his feet, the crowd erupted in cheers - but more for his teammate's quick catch of the snitch, he hoped, rather than his miraculous assault on a professor. He rolled his shoulders and began removing his gloves. "Headmistress!" He called. "I seem to have injured Professor Quirrell, Ma'am."
oOoOoOoOo
Ariana Dumbledore had been speaking with Madam Bones, the match only being a few minutes old. So she had not seen the attack on Harry's broom, nor had she caught his aerial acrobatics. Lord Potter had walked off a few moments ago, but she hadn't worried about it - James was probably getting a better look at his son's play.
Well, she was half right.
The Headmistress turned and saw the boy who lived helping Professor Sprout to her feet, while Severus Snape was trying to find reasons to curse the boy into oblivion. Quirrell was still on his back, groaning, but did not otherwise appear injured. Shaking her head, Dumbledore began moving down the stands.
As she approached, she saw Harry reach down with an ungloved hand, offering to help Quirrell up. The Professor, not seeing who it was, took the hand - and immediately screamed, for his bare hand was now a smoking, ashen ruin.
"Potter!" came the unearthly scream from the man - and from his turban, she noted. Out came the Elder Wand, along with half the wands in the box. Harry, meanwhile, grasped Quirrell's arm, his expression even.
"Not today," He said, quietly. What? Ariana's breath stilled. It couldn't be…?
Quirrell let out another howl of pain, before his body began to deteriorate rapidly. A black cloud emerged from the man's turban. It seemed to be a fetid, evil thing, like a pestilence. Except this pestilence had a face, one she recognized. And a voice - a voice that everyone in the staff box heard.
"Potter, you cannot kill me. I am Voldemort! I am beyond your power!" the hissing, serpentlike speech was crystal clear to all who heard it. Before anyone could react, the wraith flew at Harry Potter, who stepped backwards and prepared to dodge.
Three shields appeared in front of him, turning the wraith away. It screeched in rage, before rising high over the pitch, disappearing into the clouds. Harry looked over to see the lowering wands of his father, Madam Bones, and - of all people - Professor Snape. James and Severus shared a look, but said nothing.
Amelia, meanwhile, caught her eye. Nodding, she caught the hint. "Perhaps we should reconvene in my office?" asked the headmistress.
oOoOoOoOo
Harry had enough time to tell the team that he was fine, before he and his father went up to the office. James, for his part, was perfectly willing to ignore the little stunt, seeing as how his son had somehow defeated Voldemort - again - but he had questions that would need answers. He told his son this, and got a quiet "Yes, sir" in return - which was surprising in its own way.
They approached the gargoyle, and James offered the password - "Manitoba." The Potters shared a look as the gargoyle slid aside - the Headmistress had been running down the list of Canadian Provinces for most of the term. It was a relatively safe password, given how much the wizarding world knew about geography.
Madam Bones was already waiting for them, as well as Professors McGonagall and Snape. The Headmistress had conjured seats for everyone, before leaning against the corner of her desk. "Gentlemen, please have a seat."
Dumbledore took her witch's hat off, setting it on her desk, before running a hand through her short grey hair. Then she looked at Harry. "Mister Potter, perhaps we should begin by asking if you knew that Voldemort was currently possessing one of my professors?" The unspoken question, heard nonetheless by everyone, was "And if so, why not tell someone?"
Harry looked around the room at his family and professors. As much thought as he had given to his outing of Voldemort, he had not really considered how to explain the aftermath. Taking a deep breath, he steeled himself and turned back to the Headmistress.
"Ma'am, I did not know with any certainty that Professor Quirrell was possessed by anyone, let alone by Voldemort." He sighed. "If I had, I would have notified my head of house, of course."
Dumbledore raised an eyebrow at this. "But you did have concerns about Professor Quirrell, then?"
Harry looked sheepish. "It's my scar, ma'am. It would hurt whenever he glared at me. I took to avoiding contact with him whenever I could."
Professor McGonagall looked at him with alarm. "If you had pain in your scar, you should have said something."
"Maybe," Harry allowed. "But I don't know of anyone with a scar like this one," he lifted his fringe, revealing the scar on his forehead. "Personally, I chose to believe it was a reaction to dark magic and left it alone. It's not something I enjoy discussing, frankly." His father's hand on his shoulder steadied him down a little.
"No, indeed not." said the Headmistress, thoughtfully. "Mister Wood mentioned that you had changed your patterns for today's game, was that related to this incident?"
"No, ma'am." Harry answered again. "I'm in the junior slot, so I'd be low and center over the pitch. I, well, begging your pardon, ma'am, but I kind of wanted to show off for my father." He turned to James, whose expression had softened considerably. "He taught me how to play chaser, and I wanted him to see me up high, rather than down in the grass. So I talked to the girls and we swapped. They were fine with it."
"And they did win, Ariana. Even with Mister Potter indisposed for the last minute of the game." McGonagall could not keep her house pride out of her voice. Even with all that had transpired, a win is a win.
"Which only raises the question," began Madam Bones. "What happened to your broom, Harry?"
"Quirrell was trying to topple Mister Potter." said Professor Snape, from his corner of the room. "I was attempting a counter curse when Mister Potter's Gryffindor side decided to show itself, and he flung himself into thin air."
They considered that for a moment. With Voldemort in the driver's seat, poor stuttering Quirrell as the assailant made a sort of sense. Madam Bones broke the silence.
"Well, for my part, this seems open and shut." She looked at Harry. "Given what we learned here, I doubt they'd even ask you in for an interview. You had no way to know that the professor was possessed, and certainly not by Voldemort. You're clear, Harry." She turned to the headmistress. "We, however, will want to have a talk about how, exactly, a wraith of Voldemort is still out and about."
Dumbledore nodded. "Of course, Madam Bones."
Snape spoke up, at that point. "We should discuss points, I think."
James reacted poorly. "The boy just defeated Voldemort - AGAIN - and you're going to take points?"
"Lord Potter," Snape drawled. "Think it through, for once. The staff knows what happened. The students will only know that Potter landed on Quirrell, and that Quirrell no longer teaches at Hogwarts. His unseemly manner of death need not be paraded about for public consumption." He turned to Harry. "Now, let me see. Five Points to Gryffindor for escaping a dangerous situation in as safe a manner as could be managed. Twenty points from Gryffindor for assaulting a professor." Snape held up his hand to silence the protests. "And fifty points to Gryffindor for revealing a threat to the school."
Thirty-five points seemed pretty small, given what had happened. But coming from Snape, that was a treasure. "That sounds fair, Professor."
"We're agreed, then. And Mister Potter?" The Headmistress looked at him, a soft twinkle in her eyes. "I trust that your next performance on the Quidditch pitch will not be so dramatic?"
Harry grinned. "Of course not, ma'am."
As James and Amelia led him back to the locker rooms at the pitch, Harry sent his thoughts to the link. So, you remember that crazy plan that no one thought would work? Well, have I got a story for you…
A/N: Sometimes, you write the characters, and sometimes the characters write themselves. Chaser Harry has spent years learning how to be a Chaser, and is more comfortable on a broom than Canon Harry - which says something. So, if he thought this crazy plan had a reasonable chance of success? Yes, he would absolutely divebomb Voldemort from a broomstick in front of the entire staff and his father. No doubt in my mind. It was also a welcome change of pace from the Trials of the past few chapters.
The hardest decision I've had to make, so far, was whether to let a professor give the line "Fifty points from Gryffindor, Mister Potter, for incinerating a Professor." It's not a coverup, here, but it's a very Dumbledore rug-sweep. Which works for all concerned.
Speaking of Headmistress Dumbledore - this is indeed Albus Dumbledore, born female. I choose to believe that the family went with their go-to name on the if-it's-a-girl list, and named her Ariana. How this impacts her younger sister will be discussed much later. I'm not one to fantasy cast my works, but I pictured a taller Judi Dench in the role, fwiw. Your mileage may vary. It's a less important change than one might think, made merely to add flavor to the differences between worlds. For now, at least.
Thank you again for the feedback, the dozens of follows, and the support on discord and elsewhere. All is appreciated and welcome.
