Classes resumed as usual after that, and life in Hogwarts went on. For Harry, it was like a weight of some kind had been lifted off of him, but there didn't seem to be much difference since he'd 'said' goodbye to Sirius that day. He wasn't sure. It had felt good, in a way, to do that after holding onto his godfather since that night in the Department of Mysteries. But, ultimately, he still felt a bit empty. He supposed he would continue to feel that way for awhile. With Sirius – like with his parents – he grieved for the time they didn't have. The time they should have had.
So, he went on as usual. It wasn't hard to do so, after all. It was now two weeks after the end of break, and the day of the Gryffindor/Slytherin Quidditch match. It was the last match of the year, and the deciding factor for the Cup. The day was a beautifully perfect one with a bright blue sky, little cloud coverage and a high, shining sun. There was a light wind and the day was comfortably warm. It was just perfect weather for flying.
Harry smiled to himself as he finished lacing up his shoes. He was really looking forward to this match. Draco would be determined as ever, if not more so, to win. The Slytherin wouldn't go easy because of whatever was between them, and neither was Harry going to. Harry was sure Draco would be pulling every dirty trick he could, and for once, Harry was looking forward to it.
Turning around, he leaned against a locker and waited for the team to gather together to give a pep talk as the team captain. Finally, when everyone was dressed and present and gathered around, Harry began to speak.
"Alright, this is Slytherin we're playing, and, while we've beaten them before, that doesn't mean we can get overconfident. Overconfidence could be our mistake and lead to failure for us. Sloper, Kirke; watch Crabbe and Goyle carefully. We all know how Slytherin uses their Beaters to try and knock around players rather than Bludgers. Keep on them to intercept any Bludgers. And if necessary play their way," Harry said, smirking at their looks. "Sometimes to beat the opposition you need to think like they do; play like they do.
Chasers, look out for yourselves and others. They like to double team the one in possession of the Quaffle – it's their tactic. Work together and double team them back," Harry said, looking at Ginny, Katie and Euan. They nodded, looking determined and eager. Harry smiled at them, and then looked around at the team. "We're going out there today and playing our best. Slytherin will probably play dirty, but it won't get us down. We won't let it! We'll play dirty right back, but on a smaller scale. Remember what we did from practice. We will do what we need to do, no matter how hard it gets out there and we'll win. Now let's go kick some Slytherin ass!"
A roaring cheer ran through the locker room as the team got themselves hyped up. His captaincy was one thing he really loved. He watched as the team rose and began filing out of the locker room. Harry slung his Firebolt over his shoulder and began heading out with the rest. Ron walked towards him and slapped him heartily on the back.
"You're going to show Malfoy whose boss, aren't you mate?" Ron grinned wildly at him, eyes shining brightly. Harry grinned back.
"Of course! I don't plan on losing," Harry said confidently.
"That's the spirit, Harry! Pound the ferret's arse into the ground," Ron exclaimed. Harry choked on his own saliva at the innocent phrase from his friend. He really didn't need that mental image playing in his mind when he was about to be on a broom for an indefinite amount of time – ferret part aside.
"Uh, yeah, Ron," he replied awkwardly. They headed out onto the field and met in the middle with Hooch and the Slytherin team. The crowd was roaring with applause, screaming with excitement.
"Alright you lot, I want fairly clean game. I know this is the final match this year, and I know how determined you all can get. Captains, shake hands," she commanded briskly. Harry and Draco stepped forward, clasped hands tightly – all the while trying to break the others – while looking at each other with narrowed, challenging eyes. Then, they let go and stepped back. "Mount your brooms!" Once Hooch blew the whistle the players all zoomed into the air. Harry flew up above the others, as did Draco, waiting for the balls to be released.
"Ready to lose, Potter? I plan on wiping the pitch with you," Draco said, smirking at him.
"Please, Malfoy," Harry replied condescendingly. "Don't get delusional on me before the game's even begun."
"And the Snitch has been released…followed by the Quaffle and the Bludgers! Slytherins Theodore Nott in possession," Seamus announced. Harry glanced down briefly to look at the playing going on, before looking back up at Draco again.
"I hope you're not too sore when you lose, Malfoy. After all," Harry said casually, floating slowly towards the blond. He leaned on his broom handle, eyes glancing around the field. "I'd hate to not get that blow job you promised me." With that, Harry zipped off towards the Slytherin end of the pitch, laughing quietly to himself. This was already turning out to be a good game.
"…Gryffindor scores! That's ten to zero in Gryffindors favor. The Quaffle is tossed back out and Pucey takes possession. He speeds across the pitch and dodges Abercrombie, who cut a path in front of him. He rolls out of the way of a Bludger…and gets double-teamed by Weasley and Bell who take up position on either side of him. They're tailing him, but Bell gets the Quaffle out of Pucey's hand and Weasley takes possession – does she ever look good on a broom –"
"Finnegan!" McGonagall's stern voice is heard, tone warning.
"Sorry professor! Weasley swerves an on-coming Bludger sent by Goyle, dodges Pritchard – ooh! – and gets sideswiped by Nott who steals the Quaffle – dirty Slytherins; I know professor. Nott heads for the goal post, dodges Bell, cuts past Abercrombie and tosses the Quaffle towards the ring – only to have Keeper Weasley stop it at the last second!"
Harry clapped for his friend, even as he glanced around for the Snitch. He noticed Draco not to far from him, searching also. He could just imagine the blond scowling at the miss and he chuckled to himself.
The game continued on with each team scoring now and then, even as each team was blocked by its opposing Keeper, too. Ron was holding his own in the game just as well as Malcolm Baddock, Slytherin's Keeper. The Gryffindor Chasers were playing just as determinedly and rough as the Slytherin Chasers, and the Gryffindor Beaters were working their hardest to intercept Bludgers and give as good as Crabbe and Goyle dished it. It was a very intense game; hard and fast, and the roughest Harry had ever seen his team play. It was amazing and exhilarating. The team was taking his advice to heart and playing just as dirty as the Slytherins. Each team had gotten themselves at least two fouls as well.
Of course a game like this couldn't go without a few injuries on both sides. Ginny had been hit in the arm by a Bludger that had sent her into a brief downward fall. Luckily she hadn't broken anything, though she was guaranteed to have a nasty bruise. Ron had been hit pretty hard in the stomach by a Quaffle he stopped that had caused him to fall off his broom. Fortunately, he didn't suffer more than the hit and fall, which proved not fatal and only sprained his wrist which was secured for him to continue playing. Euan Abercrombie got barreled into by two Slytherin Chasers, which sent him flying into a set of stands. He dislocated his shoulder, but Pomfrey was able to fix it quickly, and he was back on his broom and out on the field playing even more determinedly.
As for Slytherin; Theodore Nott's broom was hit where he gripped it with his hands, and the Bludger caused him to gain a few broken fingers. Graham Pritchard flew into one of the ring's posts after trying – and failing – to dodge a double-team maneuver by Katie and Ginny. And Crabbe had been hit in the shoulder by a Bludger that had caused the large boy to swerve into Goyle, who had been near him. It really was an intense game.
And all the while Harry had been looking for the Snitch. There had been a few close calls, but the golden ball had disappeared before either Seeker could grab it. It was now almost an hour or so into the game, and the score was eighty to seventy in Gryffindors favor. Harry was getting anxious, though. Slytherin was never more than twenty points behind them, and he really needed to catch the Snitch soon. He floated about the middle of the pitch, up above the other players, looking around for the Snitch. He was tense, and clutching the broom in an iron-like grip. Draco was several feet from him, also looking. Harry licked his lips and glanced towards the Slytherin end of the pitch, beyond the blond. He was just about to turn and look elsewhere when a golden glint caught his eye, down near the ground.
Without hesitation, Harry zipped past Draco, and – in a somewhat downward tilt – Harry began flying towards the Snitch. He vaguely heard Seamus announcing his sighting of the ball and that Draco was catching up, but he blocked everything out as he focused on his goal. He jerked the broom up when the Snitch became active and changed course. Harry followed it up, through two people on brooms, and then – swerving a Bludger, – he cut across another player. Out of the corner of his eye he caught sight of Draco. Glancing over Harry noticed the blond was basically neck and neck with him. He quickly refocused on the Snitch, as he pushed himself – and his broom – to go faster.
The Snitch took another dive towards the ground and the two Seekers dove with it. Harry leaned forward, inching on the golden ball, and then cursed loudly when it changed course again, heading back up. He did a quick side roll and turned his broom to following it. He caught up to Draco, who had gotten turned around quicker and swiftly leveled with him.
As the Snitch ascended, Harry pushed himself determinedly to stay on it, to catch it first. Draco bumped into him harshly, pushing him slightly off course. Harry grunted, and then grinned, a somewhat feral grin, bumping Draco back. He didn't plan to lose to Draco, no matter what. A shoving match occurred as they neared the Snitch finally. Harry had his hand stretched out, reaching for the ball, pushing himself towards it when he felt the different wind pattern from the beating of its wings. But just as his fist closed around it – Seamus was yelling about his catch, causing the crowd to go crazy – a wave of absolute cold washed over him. He gasped, and spun around sharply, looking frantically around. He was sure he hadn't imagined it, especially when he heard Draco swear loudly behind him. And then he saw it, or more appropriately, he saw them. A wave of Dementors came sweeping onto the pitch like a blanket of shadows, and when Harry looked up he saw several more gliding around in the clear, blue sky.
"Fuck!" Harry spat and glanced at Draco who looked back, wide-eyed. Then he began zipping across the field, heading for the Gryffindor section of seats. He looked around as he did so, watching the Dementors. People were panicking, and Harry watched as they moved into action, some trying to defend against the Dark creatures (which were very few) and the rest fleeing for safety. But it seemed like a futile effort.
Pulling up in front of the stands, he looked to Hermione. "Hermione, throw me my wand!" he yelled to her. He looked around frantically as he waited, noticing Dementors heading his way.
"Here, Harry!" Hermione's frantic reply brought him back to attention. He caught the wand levitated up to him – barely registering Hermione's "Please be careful!" – and bolted just as two Dementors came at him. They followed. Harry pushed the speed on his broom, did an abrupt turnabout, and pointed his wand, holding onto the happy thought he had used when he first learnt the spell.
"Expecto Patronum!" Harry grunted, and watched as the blinding white stag appeared and charged the – now – three Dementors ahead of him. They shrieked and flew away from the stag. He sensed the cold at his back, but instead of turning around, Harry shot forward, and then into the air. He could hear the screams, though they were completely muffled.
Damn, damn, damn! It ran like a mantra through his head. Harry looked behind him and moaned in desperation. There were five Dementors on his tail, and closing fast. He clenched his jaw in determination and darted his eyes around the pitch. Getting an idea, Harry headed for the three rings ahead of him. He bolted through one of them and cut a path towards the Forbidden Forest, panting with the exertion. He could hear people screaming, and vaguely thought he may have heard his name, but he ignored it and went on.
Reaching the forest, he ducked down into the tree tops and began weaving through them. He glanced back again, briefly, to see that the Dementors were still after him, if a bit more slowly. Dodging a tree, he cut a vertical line up and out of the forest and into the sky a great height, before turning sharply. He pointed his wand down at the tree tops and the approaching creatures. Happy thought, Potter, happy thought! "Expecto Patronum!" he was jerked back with the force, as his stag Patronus began galloping towards the Dementors. They shrieked and scattered, backing away from the blinding light of the Patronus. He sighed in relief as they flew away. He glanced towards the pitch, but couldn't see what was going on too well.
Harry pocketed his wand and clutched the broom handle with both hands. Closing his eyes, Harry breathed out, willing away the lingering chill and headache. He had caught images as he flew by the Dark creatures, images so brief and quick that he had easily shaken them off. But now he remembered them, and it unsettled him a bit. Breathing deeply and slowly, he gradually pulled in his control, pushing everything else away for the time being. With one final sigh, Harry opened his eyes, feeling a little more in control. And then he swore harshly.
Several trolls were emerging from the forest and making their sluggish ways towards the Quidditch pitch. This wasn't good, and Harry had a pretty good idea who was behind this attack. Flying back toward the pitch, he dived towards the ground, jumping off his broom and running up towards Dumbledore.
"Trolls," he gasped out, pointing towards the forest vaguely. "They're coming from the forest, and headed this way!"
Dumbledore's eyes widened and he looked towards the forest, as did everyone else around who had heard Harry. Sure enough, one could just see the small legion of trolls making their way towards the pitch.
Harry felt something latch onto his arm, and turned around to see worried brown eyes. "Harry, are you alright? We saw you head for the forest with those Dementors after you," Hermione asked, worriedly.
"Yeah, I'm fine, but we have other problems," Harry replied quickly.
"How many trolls, Harry?" Dumbledore asked.
"About seven, maybe eight," Harry replied. He was still panting, adrenaline running through his body wildly. But he couldn't stop, and he couldn't sit back and do nothing. He threw a leg over his Firebolt and lifted into the air, floating several feet above the crowd.
"Harry, what are you doing?" Dumbledore demanded, looking at the young man like he already knew. He probably did.
"I'm going to help! I'm not sitting around and doing nothing," Harry replied firmly, and before anyone could respond he flew up into the air. Next thing he knew, most of the Gryffindor team were floating around him. "Wha–"
"We want to help, mate," Ron said, looking pale, but determined. "What do you want us to do?" Harry stared blankly at the lot of them for a moment, before snapping out of it.
"Each of you can conjure things, right? If not, levitate those rocks over there. Either way, we're going to drop them over the trolls. That should hopefully knock them out." The group nodded to this and took off for the trolls. Working together they managed to knock out all ten – Harry had counted – trolls. Each one fell to the ground with resounding thuds, but some of the students didn't get away without injury. Some had gotten to close to the trolls, and had been swiped at by them and almost trampled before they got out of the way. With the trolls out of action, the group headed back to the pitch.
Harry felt pain spike in his scar as he flew, and he inhaled sharply, rubbing his fingers over it. He hadn't had any scar pain since back in February when Voldemort had sent him that horrible 'gift.' The pain was sharp, leaving a burning sensation afterwards that made Harry grimace. He lost the grip on his broom with his one hand when another sharp pain shot through his scar. He tried to clutch the broom with his thighs, but the pain made him feel weak, and he slipped off his broom. He heard gasps and people cry out, but fortunately the fall wasn't too far.
"Harry," what sounded like Dumbledore's voice said, just as the man himself leant down beside him. Harry was on his hand and knees, the other hand pressed to his scar. "Harry."
"Scar…" Harry choked out. Focus damn it! Shield your mind, Harry, come on! Harry's thought, taking deep breaths and focusing on that forest that guards his mind. He had too many secrets that needed protecting, for Voldemort to find out.
"What–" Dumbledore stopped, but Harry couldn't look up to see why.
"Albus! Albus," he heard being shouted vaguely through the pain in his head that was pounding like a drum.
"What is it, Arthur?" Dumbledore said, and Harry was sure he could hear a hint of anxiousness in the old man's tone. He wanted to snort in amusement at that, but he was still half concentrating on keeping his shields up.
"Oh Albus, it terrible…just got word," Arthur babbled. "It's Azkaban, it's been broken into! Apparently – oh it's horrible – You-Know-Who, and his Death Eaters…The prisoners have been freed!"
There were gasps and murmurs at this news, as those within the vicinity heard the babbled words. Harry took a deep breath, feeling a bit more in control, and stood shakily to his feet, brushing off Hermione and Ron's worried looks with a shake of his head. Another sharp pain in his scar made him gasp and clutch his head, feeling a wetness he just knew was blood. "I hate you, you snake-faced son of a bitch!" he muttered in a strangled voice, before darkness claimed him.
He stood in the middle of a forest and he was pretty sure he was inside his own mind. He looked around at the lush and vibrant foliage, at the trees and many shadowed areas. It really was a beautiful place, but what was he doing there?
"Ah, I see you have improved on defending your mind, Potter," the voice made Harry's head snap up, and he looked in the direction of where it came from. There, standing by the pond in the middle of the clearing, was none other than Lord Voldemort.
"What can I say, Tom? I didn't much want you prowling about in my private thoughts," Harry said sarcastically. Voldemort's eyes flashed at that, but he immediately smoothed his expression into a smirk.
"Well, after your pathetic godfather, I guess you would want to protect yourself better," Voldemort said in a thoughtful tone, underscored with malice. Harry tensed at the words and clutched his hands into fists at his sides. How dare this disgusting monster talk about Sirius!
"Shut up, you good for nothing bastard! You have no right to talk about Sirius," Harry hissed, glaring into red eyes unflinchingly.
"Hit a sore spot, I see," the Dark Lord commented with a mocking chuckle. "You know Potter; I have been wondering how you enjoyed my little present. You know the one I speak of. That lovely Mudblood's heart; how was it?"
Harry remained silent, glaring poisonously at the monster before him. He refused to consciously think about that day, to remember the red, bleeding heart in the box.
"Ah well, it doesn't matter, I suppose," Voldemort said dismissively, waving a hand carelessly. "You kill one Mudblood, and you kill them all. I'm sure you were quite distraught, though." Voldemort drawled in a bored tone, smirking lazily.
Harry clenched his jaw and tried to calm himself. Don't let him rile you up! He snapped at himself. Show him you're not as hot headed as he believes. Show him you can react in other ways besides anger. Harry forced himself to smirk back at the man – a hard, cold smirk.
"Poor, poor, Tom, still throwing tantrums over the fact that his father didn't want him," Harry taunted, smiling maliciously when Voldemort went rigid. Hatred burned in the red eyes, and Harry chuckled lowly, feeling powerful that he was causing such a reaction in the supposedly most evil Dark Lord in hundreds of years. "I mean, really," Harry continued. "how pathetic are you? You're fighting for the rights of purebloods when you, yourself, are a half-blood – and all because your dad didn't want you because you are a wizard. And you're supposed to be feared? Yeah, right," Harry snorted, shaking his head in mock-pity.
"How dare you disrespect me, boy! How dare you mock me!" Voldemort yelled in rage, glaring, eyes glowing with the promise of a red death. "That wretched name died along with that accursed muggle. You will fear me, Potter, you mark my words," he hissed, the last word coming out a bit serpentine.
Harry arched his eyebrows at this. "Do you say that to everyone you try to kill, or am I special?" he asked. The man glared harder, and Harry thought: if looks could kill. Of course if they could, he'd probably be dead more times than anyone else in the world.
"Gryffindor stupidity, I see, hasn't been lost on you," Voldemort sneered.
"And I see being a complete and total bastard hasn't been lost on you. Good job," Harry quipped. He briefly wondered where this sarcastic behavior was coming from. The recklessness of his behavior, really, wasn't much of a surprise. Note to self: think of a second sort of defense. I really prefer not to have Voldy this far into my mine.
"You won't be so cocky soon, Potter," Voldemort drawled, smirking slyly. Harry looked at the monster before him, hate burning through him like a wave. He didn't say anything. "Let me tell you something, Potter." Voldemort said his voice dropping to a lower pitch. He stalked closer to Harry, and Harry refused to step back and give Voldemort the satisfaction of thinking he was afraid. Voldemort raised a hand, and then caressed it – feather light – down his cheek. Harry clenched his jaw, and struggled not to flinch, but he did a bit anyway. His skin was crawling in disgust at the mockingly loving touch. Voldemort's smirk widened at this and Harry silently cursed himself.
"My followers that had been captured because of you and your worthless friends, are now free," Voldemort whispered, now leaning close to his ear. "And soon, you'll know why people fear me. Soon…you'll suffer the same fate as your pathetic parents and godfather."
Harry felt unimaginable rage build up within him at these words, and he raised his hands and shoved the Dark Lord back, hard. Voldemort stumbled back, but he was chuckling cruelly. Harry clenched his fists, and – with all his might – thought of pushing the man from his mind. He blacked out, but not before seeing Voldemort disappear as if being sucked away through some weird vortex of black swirling energy.