The rhythmic thumping of feet on the wood above his head shook small clouds of dust loose as they marched in unison along the walkway. Harry licked his lips as he clutched at his broom in his right hand. He looked to his left to see Angelina, who gave him a reassuring smile.

They were all dressed in their respective armours, with the bright red coats of Gryffindor over them. Harry couldn't help but notice that they appeared as if they were marching off to war.

The last week had progressed quickly. Once he had been given the all-clear by Madame Pomfrey, Oliver had wasted no time in dragging the team down to the pitch almost every night – his excuse being that Slytherin had likely taken advantage of the extra time to prepare for the match while Harry had been bed-bound.

The Captain had been ruthless in his drills, and Harry had often thanked the fact he had grown up riding a broom when Oliver would inevitably call it a day. Each night after practice, he would stumble up the stairs, utterly exhausted, before collapsing into his bed.

He took a deep breath as the chanting above became a little louder. He had played the occasional game with Sirius as he had grown up – his Godfather having played alongside his father in the Gryffindor team as a Chaser. He had developed a love for flying as the years went on, relishing in the freedom of riding a broom. In later years, once he had bonded with Clara, he and his Phoenix would often dance around one another in the sky above Blackwall on clear days.

There was little that could compare with the feeling of the wind in his hair or performing a successful manoeuvre. Perhaps he would get the chance to try some today? If he didn't choke in front of the entire student body and the guests that had come to the castle to watch.

He had caught a brief glimpse of Arcturus, Sirius and Remus as they had arrived for the match, but in the hustle and bustle of a morning before a match, he hadn't had much of a chance to speak to them. He'd seek them out after the match.

They all came to a stop before a small flap that gently wafted in the breeze. Oliver was in front of them all, with Harry and Angelina behind him, then George and Alicia and finally Fred and Katie.

"Nervous, Harry?" Oliver asked over his shoulder.

Harry nodded a little and licked his lips, bouncing on the balls of his feet. "A little."

"That's alright. I felt the same way before my first game."

That made Harry feel a little better. "What happened?"

"Uh," Oliver winced, turning back to look ahead. "I don't really remember. I took a Bludger to the head two minutes in. Woke up in the hospital a week later."

Harry gulped, his spirits plummeting into his boots. "Excellent. Really rousing speech there, Wood."

The team chuckled at their Captain's expense and Harry shifted nervously from foot to foot.

"Remember Harry," Fred – at least he thought it was Fred, began.

"Catch the Snitch or die trying!" George shouted; his voice deepened in an attempt to mimic Oliver. The girls snickered, while Oliver didn't appear to have heard the twins' joking.

"You'll do just fine, Harry." Katie added. He felt himself nod – he wasn't entirely sure if he believed her, but he appreciated the thought.

"Just remember not to end up in a hospital bed." Alicia grinned, punching him lightly in the shoulder. Harry rolled his eyes.

"That's the last place I want to go back to."

A voice called out about the muted cheers above them, "Please welcome to the field… Gryffindor!"

The voices above them went wild, and Harry scrunched his nose as some dust fell in front of his face and tickled it.

The team all held their brooms in front of them as they swung a leg over the handles. Harry was immensely glad for the cup he was required to wear – with all the flying he was likely to do, there was a very real threat of rupturing something.

As one, they left the walkway one at a time and the cheers became much clearer. It was an enormous racket, he couldn't help but grin and revel in the noise. There was an energy about the place that simply went beyond his understanding – the air felt alive and crackled with an anxious energy.

Harry flew in formation as the team circled the large wooden stadium, taking in the sights of all the students at Hogwarts lining the pitch on tall walkways, while large towers stretched high into the sky for those who were visiting. Each quarter of the stadium was draped in the colours and sigils of the four houses.

His eyes sought the Gryffindor stands as they passed, and for a moment he could make out Neville cheering him on with the most enthusiasm – although Hagrid seemed to be a close second. Hermione looked torn between pained and excited.

They weaved around the Slytherin team who were evenly spaced out on their side of the pitch, sitting idly on their brooms with their arms folded and looking down-right bored.

"Go on, Harry!" Wood called from ahead of him, and Harry grinned.

Harry broke off from the formation and steered his broom in a lazy one-eighty as he took off towards the Gryffindor section. As he approached, he tightened his thighs around the handle and allowed himself to tip to the side. He grinned as he flew lazily past the stands with an arm extended, gently slapping his hands against those of his fellow house-mates as they cheered louder.

"Go, go, Gryffindor! Go, go Gryffindor! Go, go, Gryffindor!" They chanted in unison, stomping their feet to the beat, waving red and yellow scarves in the air.

With a twist, Harry was once more upright on his broom and he took his position on the Gryffindor side of the pitch above the rest of the team.

"Hello, and welcome to the first Quidditch match of the season! Today's game: Slytherin versus Gryffindor!"

Cheers erupted around the field as Harry watched from above as Madame Hooch walked out into the centre of the field in her black robes, trimmed in white. A broom and a large trunk were already in the middle of the field, awaiting her arrival.

As she came to stand below them, she summoned her broom to her right hand and levelled a steely glare at all assembled players. "Now I want a nice clean game. From all of you!" She ordered. There were nods from both sides before she kicked the trunk open.

The lid sprang back, and both Bludgers shot into the sky so quickly, Harry felt his broom rock back and forth. A smaller, golden ball barely half the size of his palm flittered up far more erratically – the Golden Snitch. He blinked, and it was gone.

Madame Hooch bent over to pick up the remaining ball – it was larger than the others and had large chunks missing from it. The Quaffle. With a mighty heave, Madame Hooch launched the ball into the air, each player following it with their eyes.

As it began to fall, the two teams launched towards the ball – the game was on!

"And the Quaffle is taken immediately by Angelina Johnson of Gryffindor – what an excellent Chaser that girl is, and rather attractive, too –" Lee Jordan, a close friend of the Weasley twins began, his voice echoing across the pitch.

Harry ducked under a Slytherin Chaser that was closing in on Angelina.

"Jordan!" McGonagall's voice snapped.

"Sorry, Professor."

Harry pulled back on his handle and shot up from under the Slytherin, forcing the dark-haired boy to swerve out of the way – he'd bought Angelina a little time, but it wasn't much.

He was about to make a move on another Chaser when he heard the familiar whistle of a Bludger on his left. He dropped his broom a few metres, not risking a glance as to where he had been. His eyes searched the field for a moment before he took off.

He raced across the field, ducking, and weaving around players as he made his way over to the Slytherin goal posts. He watched out of the corner of his eye as the three Chasers passed the ball between themselves, only for a Slytherin to intercept at the last moment.

Harry grimaced and tilted his body a little. Until he could spot the Snitch, it was his job to help out the team and run interference. He pointed his broom at the lone Slytherin Chaser, noting that his team-mates were pre-occupied avoiding Bludgers – the Weasley boys were in fine form.

Harry ignored the on-going commentary for the match as he narrowed his eyes at his target. The Chaser was leaning forward on his broom with the Quaffle under one arm and a grin on his face. Time slowed as he drew near – he could see each individual ripple in the thin green coat of the Slytherin player. He had to time this perfectly.

As he cut diagonally in front of the player, he kicked out with his right foot and punted the Quaffle up into the air. Harry wrapped himself tightly around the handle and stretched out a hand – and caught it!

The stadium erupted in noise as time felt normal again.

"Potter has the Quaffle! A magnificent steal from Flint!"

Harry lurched his broom over a Bludger and threw the ball back to Angelina with a grin.

"Johnson has the Quaffle, and a clear pitch ahead of her!" Lee called out, the excitement in his voice palpable. "Johnson takes the shot – Keeper Bletchley dives – misses – Gryffindor Score!"

"Go, go Gryffindor! Go, go Gryffindor! Go, go Gryffindor!"

Harry pumped his fist as he circled around and clapped Angelina's hand as he passed.

The game continued on, with Gryffindor pulling ahead in points, though Slytherin managed to get their first goal past Oliver when he had to duck under a Bludger. The Gryffindor crowd booed their displeasure – even the Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws were shouting their protests at the Slytherin stands.

His thoughts idly turned to his two Slytherin friends – who would Daphne and Tracey be cheering on? He wouldn't blame them for cheering on their own house, but he would be quite smug if they beat the snakes.

Harry patrolled high above the match, watching as players zipped this way and that, the colours of their coats the only distinguishing feature between them. It wasn't an overly bright day, with it being the tail-end of November, and the air was chilly and had a sharp bite to it. No doubt he'd have frostbite by now, if not for the runes and charms woven into the broom beneath him.

He winced as he saw Katie catch a Bludger to the back end of her broom, spinning her wildly into the grassy pitch beneath them. After a moment of shaking her head, her dark braid whipping back and forth a little, she was mounted on her broom once more and streaking through the air.

He watched as a Slytherin grabbed the Quaffle and took a shot at the goal, only to be denied by Wood. The Slytherin hovered there a moment before streaking across the field – had Oliver said something?

Harry took off through the air once again, aiming for a pair of Slytherin Chasers who were passing the ball between themselves. He flew between them with such speed that they appeared to simply be blurs, though as he looked over his shoulder, he was proud to see that his distraction had allowed Alicia to intercept a panicked pass.

He was turning his broom in a lazy turn when it stopped suddenly and began to buck wildly from side to side, back to front, up and down. Harry held on for dear life, very aware of the large drop should he lose his grip.

He wasn't sure for how long he managed to hold on for, but at some point, the back of the broom bucked so violently, that Harry was tossed into the air. Luckily, his grip on the handle was so tight, he managed to hang on.

His legs swung back and forth and side to side as his broom attempted to shake him off. The wind wasn't doing him any favours. All around him, the game continued on as if nothing were amiss. He grimaced and tried to swing himself up onto the handle, but the broom was bucking too wildly to do it.

Eventually, thankfully, the broom stilled. He eyed it warily before swinging his legs back and forth. He grimaced as he swung himself up, his arms burning from the effort. He took off immediately but wasn't quick enough to help Oliver intercept the Slytherin Chasers, who managed to score another point.

Cautiously, Harry removed one hand from the handle, wincing as he flexed it, then repeated the action with the other – they had become sore and stiff as he held on for dear life above the field. If it weren't for his leather, fingerless gloves, he was positive his hands would be red and blistered, despite the smooth varnished finish of the handle.

With what little feeling he could recover in his hands, he tore off across the pitch, swooping past a Slytherin Beater. The Beater panicked and crashed into one of the nearby stands as she lost control of her broom.

Then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw it. A little glint of gold just behind the Hufflepuff benches. He tore off towards it, his eyes refusing to give up the glimpse they had caught.

It seemed the students in the stands were completely oblivious to the ball hovering just behind them, and some called out in surprise when they saw him hurtling toward them. Just a few metres from the Snitch, the tiny winged ball darted out of the way and began leading him on a chase around the pitch.

It stayed low for the most part, flittering just a metre above the grass before it suddenly sky-rocketed upwards. A powerful shunt to his side revealed the mousy-haired Seeker from Slytherin who grinned challengingly at him. Harry grinned back and tore off into the sky, his opponent not far behind.

As they reached the peak of the towering stalls, the Snitch dropped back down to the floor, whizzing past his ear as it did so. He cursed himself for not reaching out and snatching it. The tell-tale whistle of a Bludger racing towards him reached his ear.

His Slytherin counterpart pulled back on his broom, performing a tight flip as he chased after the Snitch. Harry caught sight of the Bludger rapidly closing in on him, and he had nowhere to go in time. He grimaced as he brought his feet up onto the broom beneath him – Sirius would either kill him or applaud his decision – maybe both. Just as the Bludger was about to collide with his ribs, Harry pushed off with his feet, and hauled himself up and over, putting all of his weight on his hands and forcing his legs up and over his head.

The Bludger shot through where his body had been, and he used the momentum of his body falling back to the broom to twist it around. He landed cleanly on the wood, silently thanked his cup, and took off. The distraction provided by the Bludger had given the Slytherin Seeker a few seconds advantage.

The air whipped around him as he charged after the Snitch – the scores were so close, whichever of them caught the golden ball would decide the game. The pressure was on.

He caught sight of the Snitch darting to the left – this was his chance! He cut left just before the Slytherin had a chance and closed the gap. The two of them were side-to-side again, lightly jostling one another back and forth with their shoulders.

The Snitch levelled out for a few seconds before plummeting once more – the two of them followed relentlessly. Harry narrowed his eyes at the ball, ignoring his fellow Seeker. The ground came closer and closer. Any moment now.

The Seeker next to him pulled out of the dive a dozen metres above the ground, and Harry pulled out the second the Snitch did, the bristles of his broom rustling the grass. Harry tightened himself around the broomstick, willing it to go a little faster – he could almost reach it!

He stretched out his right hand, his fingertips just grazing it. He looked below him with an idea forming in his mind. It was a desperate shot, but it could work – he was only two metres up, though that distance was slowly increasing as they travelled towards the Gryffindor hoops.

He pulled his feet up underneath him once more and took a steadying breath.

Now!

He leapt forward, his broom dropping to the floor beneath him from the force of his kick as he dove at the Snitch. His right hand clasped around it as he saw the grass coming up to meet him.

He rolled as he landed, his legs flailing as he tried to use his arms to protect his head. It was easy to forget all the way up in the air, but the grass was solid – particularly with the cold chill in the air. He groaned as he came to a stop and stared up at the sky.

"Not one of my best ideas." He moaned to himself, wincing as he sat up slowly. He couldn't help the grin that appeared on his face as he held the Snitch up in the air. All around him the game came to a halt as the stadium erupted in applause.

"Potter has caught the Snitch! Gryffindor wins!"

The cheers rocked the stadium as he got to his feet, stumbling a little as he did so. His team-mates landed next to him, throwing their brooms onto the pitch as they swept him up in a hug – the twins throwing him up on their shoulders the moment he was free.

Above him, the Slytherin's looked on with pouts and scowls from their brooms. Their Seeker caught his eye and gave him a small grin and a nod. Harry nodded in return before the thundering feet of the students rumbled across the field.

Harry twisted around to see Gryffindor leading the charge across the pitch, with Neville in the lead. The twins lowered Harry to the floor and took a quick step back as his best friend collided with him, throwing the two of them to the floor, laughing.

"Harry, you won!" Neville yelled above the cheering, laughing as the two of them scrambled to their feet.

"Let's see it, Harry!" One of the first years shouted – Lavender Brown.

Harry held the Snitch above his head, grinning as the cheers became louder. By this point, Harry could make out the scarves of Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw and even a few Slytherins. The teachers were slowly making their way across the field.

"Harry Potter!"

Harry cringed as the shrill voice cut through the air. As one, every student around him took a step away. Harry scowled at them all. Cowards.

"Yes, Madame Pomfrey?" He asked, grimacing. The Healer was hurrying through the crowd, evidently having made her way over the second she was able.

"Are you trying to end up in my care again?" She snapped as she waved her wand over him once she had pushed her way to the front.

"Uh…" He tried, only to be cut off by the irate Healer.

"You're lucky you didn't break your neck, Mr. Potter! You're lucky I don't suspend you from the team for reckless behaviour."

"Surely it can't be that bad-" Oliver began, only to silence himself as she directed her glare to him instead. Well, it was the thought that counted.

"Madame Pomfrey, I trust young Mr. Potter is in good health?" Dumbledore asked as he stepped through the crowd of students, peering over his half-moon glasses at the Healer.

The woman huffed and angrily shoved her wand into her apron. "Indeed, though I would advise him not to repeat such a foolish thing again!"

"Yes Madame Pomfrey." He muttered, ignoring the playful knocks to his shoulders from the twins behind him.

"Now, may I suggest we all return to the Great Hall? I believe we're all quite cold." Dumbledore called out, shooing the students towards the exits of the pitch.

"Players, return to your changing rooms before you leave the pitch. Stow your brooms and armour away." Madame Hooch called out from above, the spiky-haired woman still perched atop her broom.

Many among both teams groaned audibly at that, and Harry could imagine there were a fair few on both teams that were tired and sore. Even as he was handed his broom by Tracey – who had appeared out of nowhere with it in hand, he could start to feel the aches in his body.

His thighs were the worst, followed quickly by his arms and shoulders. He'd be taking a long shower before he got into bed. Until then, he would have to make do with the quick rinse in the changing room.

The crowd dissipated quickly, with the two teams returning to their changing rooms. The changing rooms were located underneath the Quidditch pitch, in a short set of tunnels with moderate sized rooms for male and female players, with each house having their own rooms.

Harry had thought that the smooth stone walls and the echoing drip-drip from the showers had been eerie and suffocating before the match, but now it was a welcome change from the open air and screaming crowds.

The tunnels had a musky smell to them that was an odd combination of sweat, leather and broom polish. It was a strange combination to be sure, but it was pleasant. He breathed deeply as he was led into the male changing room while Fred and George bantered back and forth about their best plays throughout the match.

There were sixteen lockers set above wooden benches in the room, each in the deep crimson of Gryffindor with golden hinges and handles. How many players had used this room over the years? How many times had his father and Sirius bantered back and forth as they got ready for a match, or returned from one?

Harry hadn't had time to really consider it before the match, having been caught up in the terror of his first match. In a way, he felt like he was walking in his father's footsteps – using the same bed, joining the Quidditch team… It made him feel closer to him.

He grimaced as he pulled the coat from his back, seeing the large letters across the shoulders that proudly displayed his name in gold. It was covered in grass stains and smears of soil – luckily the weather had been clear for the last few days. He dreaded to think what he would have looked like if the weather had turned.

He dumped it unceremoniously on the bench as he began peeling the armour off of himself. It pulled away with a sickening squelch, and for the first time he realised just how wet-through with sweat he was. The odour assaulted his nose next, and he forced himself not to gag. That shower couldn't come quick enough.

Harry pulled out a change of clothes and his towel before rushing towards the stall. The twins already occupied one each a little further down the way, singing some jaunty tune he didn't recognise. He went through his shower routine quickly, before drying himself with a towel and hurriedly pulling on his clothes.

It was with a contented sigh that he stepped from the cubicle and moved back to his locker. He had stored his wand inside it before the match, along with the holster. As it was a weekend, he hadn't bothered to wear his uniform – instead, he opted for the large leather doublet that hung down to his mid-thigh with the prowling wolf of Potter on his breast. It was long sleeved, comfortable and warded off the chill.

He had noticed a that the children from families that were far more progressive, such as the Weasleys, opted to wear wool jumpers with jeans, or some sort of trouser – something the Muggle-born wore. He thought the colours were sometimes a little garish, but the clothing looked fine enough – not to mention it all looked a little easier to put on.

His hands moved automatically, doing up the few ties along his front, before strapping his holster to his wrist. Once it was secure, a flick of his wrist sent the wand into his hand, which he quickly used to dry his hair. Once the wand was holstered once again, it was all neatly tied up at the back of his head.

He sighed happily to himself, feeling much more relaxed than he had when he had entered the changing room, and gathered up his dirty clothes. There were hampers by the door for laundry, and along with the others, he unceremoniously dumped his clothes into one of them.

The others, he'd noticed, were already waiting for him outside the door. He blinked at the sight – he had thought he had been quite quick in getting changed – apparently not.

"There he is, our little Seeker, looking all pretty for his adoring fans." Alicia grinned. The changing rooms for the fairer sex were located directly opposite their own.

Harry frowned and self-consciously patted his doublet.

"Ignore her, Potter – she's just jealous that she's not as pretty." Katie smirked, elbowing her fellow Chaser in the side with a smirk.

He rolled his eyes as one of the twins threw an arm around his shoulders and began leading him down the corridor. "Little Harry here is the man of the match!"

"Why am I suddenly nervous?" Harry asked, looking between the two boys. They clambered up the steps in pairs.

The air felt fresher than it had when the game had been running, and the sun seemed a little brighter. It wasn't as overcast as it had been, or perhaps it had entirely been in Harry's head. He took a moment to breathe deeply of the fresh Scottish air, basking in the smell of pine, and the crisp, cool air.

"Come on Harry, time for your grand entrance!" The other twin grinned at him – he'd stopped trying to tell them apart.

They marched back up to the castle with their shoulders back and their heads held high as they basked in the glow of their victory. As they stepped through the threshold of the main entrance, they could each hear the loud bellowing laughter from the student body as everyone chatted, laughed, and attempted to re-enact parts of the match.

The second the team stepped into the Great Hall, they were met with loud cheers as students rushed them, wanting to congratulate the players in some fashion – each voice clamouring to be heard over the others.

Harry received his fair share of well-wishers, but at every opportunity he could get, he made sure to extoll the virtues of the rest of the team. He hadn't won the game single-handed, and so he made sure to give credit where credit was due.

It took some time, but eventually he managed to slip from the crowd and made his way to the Gryffindor table, where he spied his small group of friends. As he approached, they all stood excitedly.

A brown missile struck him in the chest, and Harry looked down to see a mass of fuzzy brown hair. Hermione pulled back after a moment and pointed her finger in his face.

"Harry Potter, don't you dare scare me like that again!"

Harry blinked as he looked to Neville, Daphne, and Tracey, who appeared amused at the whole thing.

"Do what?" He asked dumbly, turning to look at the witch, who looked positively furious.

"That stupid handstand!" She shot back, placing her hands on her hips.

"You'd have preferred I took a Bludger to the ribs?"

"Well, no, but-"

"He's been wanting to try that move for the longest time." Neville chuckled, though he quietened when Hermione's glare turned to him.

"As amusing as all of this is, I'm sure Harry's ready for a drink." Daphne smirked, having sat back down on the far side of the bench. Harry mouthed a quiet Thank you to his blue-eyed friend before he took his seat.

The long table was covered in goblets and jugs of various juices. There was a nice chilled jug of apple-juice he spotted before he quickly poured himself a cup. He took a deep pull of it, relishing in the sweet taste on his tongue.

He sighed as he placed the goblet back on the table and took in the bemused expressions of those around him – even Hermione's initial anger seemed to have given away to a small grin. "What?" He asked. "I was thirsty."

"I'm surprised you didn't need to come up for air." Tracey sniggered, rolling her eyes.

Harry narrowed his eyes playfully at his Slytherin friend. "You're just sore Slytherin lost."

The girl stuck her tongue out at him and scrunched her face a little. Harry chuckled quietly to himself. "We thought we had you when you lost control of your broom." Daphne said, a single, dark brow raised.

He shrugged, not having given it much thought. "I'm not sure what happened."

"We do." Neville said darkly, glancing at Hermione next to him. "We caught Snape-"

"Professor."

"jinxing your broom." Neville finished, ignoring Hermione's correction.

"Jinxing my broom? Why would he do that?" Harry asked, frowning. He peered up towards the head table. None of the staff were seated, instead choosing to mingle with those that had visited the grounds to spectate the match – it was mostly parents of students. He even caught a glimpse of Sirius, who threw him a wink.

"Could be because he didn't want you to beat the snakes." Neville shrugged, taking a sip of his own goblet. "Or maybe it had something to do with why he's been so hard on you in Potions."

"So, how did you get him to stop the jinx?"

"Oh, Hermione set him on fire." Neville answered casually with a grin.

"Wait, what?" Harry demanded, eyeing the girl on the far side of Neville who was attempting to appear like the picture of innocence.

"I set his cloak on fire, Neville. It's two very different things." She said matter-of-factly, shrugging her shoulders. Daphne and Tracey were laughing into their goblets across from him.

"Did I take a Bludger to the head when I wasn't looking?" Harry asked loudly, his head whipping back and forth. He could feel a headache coming on.

"I had to break his concentration." Hermione replied, sitting a little taller as she rolled her eyes. "Do try to keep up, Harry."

"I'm dreaming. I'm still in bed, and this is all a dream." He murmured, rubbing at his temples.

"Honestly, Harry – you should see her when she gets an idea in her head." Neville murmured around his cup. "Bloody brilliant, she is. Scary, but brilliant." Neville shuddered a bit.

Harry could only nod as he saw the bushy haired girl in a new light. In the short time they had been friends, he had quickly discovered that she had a very particular worldview. Rules were there for a reason, and those in positions of authority were to be respected – and yet, here she was freely admitting to setting a teacher on fire.

"I for one, commend Hermione, even if it did cost us the game." Daphne chimed in, raising a goblet in the blushing girl's direction.

"You're just sore you owe me five Galleons." Neville smirked.

"You were betting on me?" Harry asked incredulously.

"Are you really surprised?" Tracey asked, rolling her eyes.

"Not really, but it's the principle of it." Harry shrugged, reaching out to grab the jug once more. He hadn't realised just how thirsty Quidditch made him. "What was the bet?"

Daphne let out an exaggerated sigh, "Neville was sure you would pull some foolhardy stunt to end the game."

"Privileges of being your best friend, Potter." Neville chuckled, throwing his arm around Harry's shoulders. "I get to throw you in the dirt and make some money on the side."

"Since when have you ever thrown me in the dirt?"

"We were seven, and I tripped you up when we were fighting with sticks." Neville grinned proudly, puffing out his chest a little, causing the girls to laugh.

"That doesn't count!" Harry protested, putting his goblet back on the table after taking another sip. He frowned and poked his friend in the chest. "You used dirty, underhanded tactics – and it was one time!"

"Boys." He heard Hermione grumble, and caught Daphne and Tracey nodding solemnly at her.

"I think they're both forgetting the time I threw them both in the dirt." Daphne smirked, and Harry caught the glint in her eye.

Whatever words were about to be shared between the two best friends, died quickly on their tongues. Both Harry and Neville looked at one another and gave a little shudder. Neither of them enjoyed being on the receiving end of whatever Daphne thought of when she had that look in her eye.

"Good, I hope they learned from the experience." Hermione sniffed, refilling her own goblet with more juice.

"Oh, we did." Harry and Neville replied in unison, glaring at the table.

Harry looked up to see Daphne looking rather smug. "We're both well aware who the boss is around here." He sighed, wincing as he felt the girl opposite kick him in the shin.

"Harry! Still being pushed around by Daphne, I see!" Sirius bellowed, sliding into the seat next to Harry, a bottle of Butterbeer in his hand.

"Queen Greengrass demanded our fealty on the first day we met. We are naught but loyal Vassals." Harry announced in a pompous voice, chuckling as Daphne rolled her eyes and Sirius wrapped an arm around his shoulders and kissed the top of his head.

"As you should be, pup. Now, how about that game? You did fantastic, Harry!" Sirius gushed, grinning down at him – it was an odd sight, seeing his Godfather grinning down at him while dressed in his leather gambeson and armour.

"You expected anything less from him?" Neville snickered, rolling his eyes as Harry thumped him in the arm.

"True, he was born to fly. Did I ever tell you about the broom I bought him as a baby?"

"You didn't!" Tracey gasped; her eyes wide. Hermione, likewise, was just as surprised.

"First birthday. He took off giggling and clapping around the house – damn near dive-bombed the cat." Sirius replied proudly, beaming at the table at large.

"You dive-bombed a cat? The poor thing!" Hermione cried, glaring at Harry.

Harry held his hands up in front of him in an effort to delay the inevitable. "Hey, I was a year old – it was this old dog that's to blame."

Neville started snickering, "Is this the time Lily Potter set you on fire?"

"Okay, so the end result wasn't ideal, but, my point is, is that Harry has been flying a broom almost his entire life."

"Oh, to have seen Sirius Black with his arse on fire." Daphne smirked around her goblet.

Sirius looked at her, about to say something, before he closed his mouth and looked at Harry instead. "I'm beginning to understand why you say she's scary."

Both Neville and Harry joined Sirius in shuddering in fear at the look Daphne shot them. "I call it survival instincts." Neville muttered. "Anybody stupid enough to anger Daphne is looking to get killed."

"I could take offence to that, Longbottom." Daphne replied quietly, her eyes narrowed at the Longbottom heir.

Neville shrugged, "Take it however you want – doesn't make it any less true." He chuckled, wincing with a jolt. Harry was thankful he wouldn't be the only one with bruised shins.

"Now, Harry – tell me about that handstand you did." Sirius said, taking a swig of his Butterbeer.

"It was awful." Hermione muttered, glaring at her goblet on the far side of Neville.

Harry shrugged as he leaned back a little, Sirius having finally released him. "I've been doing it ever since I started flying with Clara. She likes to try to plough into me – it's her way of playing, I suppose."

"Clara's such an interesting bird – nothing like I expected a Phoenix to be." Tracey grinned.

"It was as much a surprise to us, as it was to Harry." Neville chuckled, gesturing to himself and Daphne. "You should see Hedwig and Clara when they start competing for his attention. It's ridiculous."

"Has she singed Hedwig yet?" Sirius asked with a grin. Harry rolled his eyes.

"Not yet – she knows I'll stick her in the Owlery if she does that. Although, Hedwig's getting a little braver – I've never seen an owl with so much attitude."

"They'll settle eventually." Sirius sighed, his eyes darting to the head table.

Harry followed his gaze and caught a glimpse of Arcturus talking with Professor McGonagall. "Where's Remus?" He asked, not spotting the man.

"He had to rush off, I'm afraid. The Wards triggered on Blackwall halfway through the match – nothing threatening, mind you – just someone requesting access."

"You have Wards on… Blackwall, is it?" Hermione asked, leaning around Neville.

"Aye, we do. Most families have protective Wards around their ancestral homes and properties. Some Wards function as defences, other's alarms, that kind of thing." Sirius answered with a smile.

"And Blackwall is your home?"

"That's right – Backwall Manor is the ancestral home of House Black, in Nottinghamshire."

"That's fascinating." Hermione sighed, before she looked at Harry. "Do you have something similar? I don't mean to pry, it's just I read that House Potter were a powerful family, and I thought it stood to reason you might have something similar, and-"

Harry chuckled as she began babbling. "I do – it's on an island just off the coast of Wales. Rosestone Castle."

Hermione blinked, "An actual castle? Not one of those Edwardian Estates that call themselves castles?"

"Aye, a proper one – it was built in five-eighty-nine, so it's good and proper."

"Wow." She breathed. "Could I see it one day?"

"Of course." He smiled, before nodding towards Neville. "Neville has one too – Long Valley Keep, in Lancashire."

"That's right – the Potters and the Longbottom's are old families. There aren't many of us left."

"More than you'd think." Harry muttered, earning a flick to his temple from Sirius. Of course, Harry couldn't mention anything of House Trevelyan, and the hundreds of old families from their visits to the Capitol.

"Fascinating. I'll have to see if the Library has anything on the subject." Hermione grinned with a far-away look in her eyes.

"Careful, Granger – wouldn't want your ranking in the classes to slip." Tracey chuckled, earning a glare from the girl.

"Yeah, if you slip, that means Potter's head will grow so big he won't be able to fit it in the Hall." Daphne smirked, hooking a thumb at him. Harry frowned as he looked at Sirius, who was struggling to hide his laughter behind his hand.

"I don't know why you're laughing, you big bloody dog."

"Language." Hermione reprimanded him, reaching around Neville to swat his arm. Harry rolled his eyes and elbowed Sirius playfully in the ribs.

"Me? Laughing? Perish the thought!" Sirius snickered, winking down at him.

"You're all impossible, you know that?" Harry muttered, glaring at those around him. Harry noticed for the first time that the Hall was far emptier than it had been. How long had they been here, just talking?

"Where'd everyone go?" He asked after a moment.

"Back to the common rooms, most likely – or down to Hogsmeade, I suppose." Daphne shrugged, her gaze falling upon the approaching Dumbledore and Arcturus.

Harry stood and hugged Arcturus, before bowing politely to Dumbledore. The Headmaster returned the gesture with a small smile.

"I just wanted to pass on my congratulations, my boy. Excellent performance today – you did my old house very proud."

Harry smiled at the Headmaster, "It was a team effort, Headmaster. I'm just proud to have done my part."

"Indeed. In any event, well done my boy. I'll take my leave – I fear all the excitement has made these old bones quite weary. Children, Sirius, Arcturus."

The small group watched as Dumbledore walked from the hall, his hands clasped at the small of his back, and his garish pale-blue robes floating around his feet.

"Well done, Harry." Arcturus grinned, clasping him on the shoulder. "You were brilliant. We're all very proud of you."

Harry blushed at the praise and scratched at the back of his neck. "I just caught the Snitch and ran interference." He sat down as Sirius slid along the bench for Arcturus to sit beside Harry.

"Indeed, you did, and you did it magnificently. You parents would be just as proud as we are."

"All joking aside, Harry – you were brilliant today." Neville smiled at him.

"I appreciate it." He murmured, shrugging a little.

"Now, tell me what you've all been up to since I last saw you." Arcturus grinned, pouring himself a goblet of juice.


The Common Room had quietened down somewhat with the closing of the celebrations. Most students had either retired to their rooms or were murmuring quietly amongst themselves. It hadn't escaped his notice that ever since he had awoken, he had been eyed differently by a number of students across all the houses, and that hadn't stopped simply because he'd caught the Snitch earlier in the day.

Harry sighed as he thumbed a page of his book, The Permutations of Dynamic Charms. It hadn't been on the reading list for the course, but he simply had to read it once he'd discovered it in the Library.

Across from him, Hermione had her nose buried in her copy of Phenomena of Rare and Arcane Familiars, which she had checked out from Madame Pince two days ago and had been annihilating it ever since.

Neville, who was sat on Hermione's left, had his back against the wall and his feet propped up comfortably on a spare chair and was perusing his personal copy of Weird Shrubs.

It had been a pleasant afternoon once Sirius and Arcturus had left, and the three of them had retired to Gryffindor's Common Room when Daphne and Tracey had returned to Slytherin. They had stepped through the portrait of The Fat Lady to see the house in the middle of their own private post-game celebrations.

There had been more than he expected, having believed some of the older students would have taken a quick trip down into Hogsmeade. The party hadn't even taken note of their arrival, and, as such, the three of them found themselves tucked away in a small alcove in the corner with their books.

The Weasleys had been the loudest – the youngest of the three putting the twins to shame as he stood atop a table, re-enacting plays from the game to the other assembled first years, extolling the virtues of each player, pointing out their strengths and weaknesses.

Hermione had immediately busied herself with her book, pulling it out of the small satchel bag she had been carrying around, that he hadn't even noticed until she removed it. Neville and he had quickly darted up into their rooms and returned with their own books, joining the cardigan clad girl at the table.

The had remained in companionable silence as the party wound down and its participants dispersed. As it was, they seemed to be the only three in the room. The fire continued to crackle and spit, while beams of moonlight shone through the large windows. Had they really been here that long?

Harry sat up with a groan, his back stiff. Neville looked up from his book, while Hermione scrunched her nose a little at the sudden noise – she continued to read, however. "You alright, Harry?" Neville asked.

"Aye, I'm fine. I think it's past curfew, though." He replied with a shrug.

Neville flicked his wand out from the holster that was covered by his own doublet's sleeve. A muttered spell later, and the shimmering orange mist of magic formed into a clock-face – the last time Harry had seen this spell, it had been when he had cast it shortly before his wrestle with a Mountain Troll. Harry shuddered a little at the memory.

He had found himself far calmer about having killed the Troll, and even the events leading up to it, than he would have expected. Perhaps it was a delayed reaction to it all, or perhaps his ordeal two years prior had numbed him to an extent. He hadn't had any nightmares or woken up in a cold sweat since – even his usual night terrors seemed to have excused themselves for now.

As a result, he had slept far better than he had in years.

"You're right, it's eleven." Neville sighed, swiping his wand through the spell, and dispersing it into a fine orange cloud that faded after a few seconds.

"I can't believe we missed the meal." Harry sighed, closing his book gently and placing the leather-bound tome on the table.

Neville gently placed a hand on Hermione's shoulder and gave her a quick shake. Instantly, the index finger of her left hand shot up and hovered before Neville's face. His friend went cross-eyed before moving his head back as he looked at it.

There were a few quiet moments, and Harry could see Hermione's eyes darting back and forth across the bottom of the page as her mouth moved ever so slightly. Harry chuckled – nobody got between Hermione and her books.

"Yes, Neville?" She asked eventually, dropping the hovering finger, and delicately closing the book.

"I think it's time we got some sleep, Granger."

"Oh, must we? I'd just gotten to the most fascinating passage about Mooncalves – did you know they will perform a mating ritual that looks like a dance once every two years when exposed to a full-moon?" She gushed, pulling the book to her chest as she grinned and looked between the two of them.

Harry blinked, "No, I didn't know that." Harry admitted – Mooncalves had never really been at the forefront of his mind, never mind their mating habits.

"You read some of the most peculiar things, Hermione." Neville muttered, rubbing his eyes with the palms of his hands.

"There's just so much to learn about being a witch." Hermione replied, blushing a little as she ducked her head.

"Oh, there is. We grew up in it, and there's plenty of things we don't know." Harry grinned, waving a finger between himself and his best friend. "In any case, we should probably get to bed."

"I'm with Harry, I'm exhausted." Neville yawned as the two of them stood.

"Are we not going to talk about what happened?" Hermione asked after a moment in a quiet voice. Harry found himself looking between Hermione, who was staring intently at the varnished wood, and Neville who looked equally as confused.

"Talk about what?" Harry asked, frowning.

"Professor Snape jinxing your broom, Harry. You almost died."

"Oh, that." He sighed, falling back into the chair slowly.

"Yes, that."

"Okay, why don't the two of you tell me why you think it was Snape." Harry muttered, folding his arms on the table as he leaned forward. Neville had retaken his seat, and now that the topic was clear, looked equally as serious as his newest friend.

"I was looking through the Omnioculars, and that's when we saw your broom start to try to throw you off. Hermione worked out it was jinxed right after she grabbed them to see for herself." Neville shrugged, pursing his lips thoughtfully as he frowned.

"To perform a spell like that, one must maintain eye-contact at all times. I was looking through the stands when I saw Professor Snape staring at you and muttering to himself constantly." Hermione added.

"Okay, so what happened then?"

"Well, Hagrid was worried, obviously. He was behind us in the crowd and we told him – said Snape would never do something like that to win a game of Quidditch." Neville replied.

"Professor." Hermione muttered, rolling her eyes as both Harry and Neville smirked at one another.

"So how did he get set on fire?" He asked, fixing Hermione with a pointed look. "Also, just to be clear, it's perfectly acceptable to set Professor Snape on fire, so long as he's referred to as such?"

"Honestly, it's not like I did it maliciously. I did it to save your life – if you'd have lost your grip, and nobody could have caught you with a spell, you'd have died. I stand by what I did." Hermione replied, lifting her chin in the air a little.

"In any event, I simply snuck into the faculty stand and used an Inflamare on his cloak – it was easily put out, but it distracted him from you."

"Thank you, by the way." Harry nodded, returning the smile Hermione gave him.

"You're welcome, Harry."

"So, what do we do about Sna- sorry, Professor Snape?" Neville asked. "It's not as if we have any proof."

Harry frowned. There wasn't much they could do, truth be told. With no proof, it would simply be their word against a member of the faculty that had been teaching here for years.

He chewed on his bottom lip a little – he could ask Sirius and Remus, though Sirius would most likely explode at the thought that Severus Snape had attempted him harm, and then mercilessly prank him into the next century. While the idea of Snape walking around in pink polka-dot robes was amusing, and would likely be what carried him through the next Potions class, he had no desire to be the one that would ultimately be the subject of his retaliation.

Going to Dumbledore or McGonagall was out of the question as they lacked evidence. Perhaps Arcturus? There were precious few who were not cowed by the man when he was vexed and hearing that Snape had been responsible for his brush with death on the Quidditch pitch, would definitely get the wizard's blood pumping.

What if they did nothing at all? That was another idea – simply watch. Surely the man would let it slip if something were amiss.

"I propose we do nothing at all." Harry said after a moment.

Neville looked surprised, while Hermione frowned. "We have to tell Dumbledore, Harry."

"Headmaster." Harry corrected with a smirk, and Hermione rolled her eyes.

"Why would doing nothing be the best thing to do?" Neville asked, frowning as he shifted in his seat – the wood squeaked a little as it rubbed against itself.

"If he wants something to happen to me, he'll mess up eventually, right? We just have to catch him in the act."

"Harry, we are not using you as bait!" Hermione scolded, wagging a finger at him.

"Do you have any better ideas?" He shrugged, looking between his two friends.

"We could sick the twins on him?" Neville suggested, looking back and forth between Harry and Hermione. "We wouldn't get the blame for it then, either."

"That could work…" Harry muttered, rubbing his chin.

"I much prefer that to using you as bait. I've had quite enough of watching you be reckless for one year." Hermione said, finally standing with a sniff, pulling the book she had been reading earlier to her chest. "Now, I trust the two of you will head to bed yourselves and cease thinking of any more hairbrained ideas that could see one of us killed, or worse expelled?"

Without awaiting a reply, Hermione spun on her heel and marched across the room and disappeared up the stairs towards her dormitory. Harry and Neville remained sitting there for a few moments, staring at the spot she had previously occupied.

"Those are some skewed priorities, right there." Neville grunted, pushing himself to his feet. Harry followed, sliding the tome off of the wood and tucking it under his arm.

"Aye, I won't argue that." He murmured, feeling his back pop a little as he stretched.

"Come on, we should probably head up ourselves – I wouldn't want to subject myself to a Granger scolding first thing tomorrow morning." Neville chuckled as he began walking to the staircase across the room.

"Had many of them, have you?" Harry grinned cheekily as he fell into step beside him.

"One or two, while you were in the Medical Wing. She's just as terrifying as Daphne when she gets going – you expect it from Daphne, not from Hermione." Harry laughed as Neville shuddered a little – evidently the boy was reliving something as they clambered up the steps.

"I'm glad you all befriended her; you know. She seems nice."

"Aye, she is. Scary smart, too." Neville chuckled, shouldering open their door.

The candles were low in the small common area, their warm orange glow illuminating the room just enough to be able to manoeuvre around the tables and chairs.

"Shall I meet you in here or the Common Room before we head down for breakfast in the morning?" Neville asked as he moved to his door, looking over his shoulder as he grasped the handle.

Harry shrugged, not at all fussed. "Common Room would be the best, I'd say. We can wait for Hermione too."

"Sounds good to me." Neville grinned, shouldering open his door. "Goodnight, Harry – and well played."

Harry waved once before the door closed with a quiet click, and Harry shouldered his own door open. The noise must have woken Clara, because as he stepped through the threshold, he caught her glare from her perch and winced.

"Sorry, girl." He whispered, noting Hedwig's absence at the window – most likely out hunting. He sighed as he placed the book down on a side table and pulled his wand from his holster.

With his wand carefully placed on his nightstand, Harry kicked off his boots and fell backwards onto the soft mattress. He groaned as he stretched out, feeling his tense muscles relax, and joints pop. Merlin he was going to be sore in the morning, but it would all be worth it.

Harry felt his eyes close, the smile still on his face.