Chapter Nine: Sense and Seek-ability.

It started with sweating. Then there was the itching. Itching was followed by mild insomnia. By the time the game arrived, the Slytherin Seeker was shaking so badly that he split pumpkin juice down himself that morning at breakfast. Montague was losing his mind, as Draco's little club gathered around him offering words of kindness and forced empathy.

Over at the Gryffindor table, Daphne could see Harry, Ron and the twins smirking. Hermione was glaring at them, before rolling her eyes and settling down with that morning's edition of the Daily Prophet. She was probably the only student Daphne ever saw reading the rag. Newspapers, in her experience, were sensationalist reporting. Always looking for a story, even when there wasn't one. Though that, she knew, had more than a little to do with her father's obituary and the countless reporters she had had to endure camping out at the outskirts of Greengrass Manor.

She turned back to her breakfast and began buttering her toast, while Tracey who had said nothing all morning sat glumly in front of her. The plan was simple enough. Draco would, one way or another, be unable to play and as soon as that was decided, Daphne would recommend Tracey for the team. Originally Tracey had been responsible for putting her own name forward, but that part of the plan had gone out the window as soon as Daphne had seen the state of her friend when they awoke that morning. It had been like waking up with a zombie or a vampire starved of blood.

"That's it," Montague snarled when Draco, in a bid to tell his captain he could play, shook so violently that his fork nearly fell out of his hand. "Hospital Wing, Draco. Now. Finchley, Moon, you two take him."

Two burly seventh years, looking to be two men very much in the same mould as Crabbe and Goyle, grabbed Malfoy under the arms and hauled him bodily from the table.

"What are going to do?" asked one of the chasers.

"Yeah, we can't play without a Seeker." said the second, a tall boy with sandy hair and unfortunate acne.

"Hooch'll call the game off, surely. He can't help being ill." finished the third, with more confidence than his friend.

"Yeah, and show that lot we can't play." Monatgue muttered darkly, looking over at the Gryffindors who had started cheering when they noticed Malfoy was being carted out of the Great Hall. "Fat chance. You know anyone who can play? Just for today."

They all shook their heads, Crabbe and Goyle looked as though they were a few minutes behind what was being said, much to Montague's frustration.

"I do," Daphne said loudly, so that he could hear her from her position a few seats down from him. "My friend, Tracey. She's a good flyer. Really good."

"Yeah right," Montague scoffed, looking at Daphne. "You just want your pet Gryffindors to win."

"Who I'm friends with has nothing to do with whether Tracey can fly," Daphne said coolly. "And I like seeing Draco lose, not you. Besides, I don't exactly see anyone else offering. Do you?"

There was a resounding silence from the table around her. Nobody wanted to take Draco's spot, for fear of either being too good that the team would replace him or too bad that he would seek his revenge for causing the team to lose to Gryffindor. Tracey herself was staring at her plate and looking at no-one, apparently wishing that she had not agreed to Harry's plan to get her to play.

"Now, what I'd suggest is asking her to play. She says yes, you go on your way and do whatever it is Quidditch players do. Give her Malfoy's broom too and don't look at me like that, Montague," she said sadly, when his face curled up in disgust. "She doesn't have a broom, you know why as well as I do, and do you really want to risk using one of those ancient brooms they keep in the sheds?"

Montague glowered at her in a combination of admiration, rage at being told what to do, and annoyance that he couldn't come up with a better plan faster than Daphne had. The chasers were all staring at him in wide-eyed confusion, ready to condemn or support Daphne's plan at his word. True to form, Crabbe had started eating a plate full of bacon and eggs, while Goyle was looking stunned at Daphne.

"Alright, fine." Montague snapped, "but she better be good, Greengrass. Oi, Davis. You're with us. Team meeting, five minutes down at the pitch."

And with that he stalked off out of the Great Hall, the three chasers hurrying behind him. Daphne retook her seat, watching Tracey go from grey to white as she continued to stare at her plate.

"I can't do this," she breathed. "I thought I could, I did, but Daph, this is insane. Draco's broom, are you kidding me? What if I break it? Or I suck? Or…" she gulped at this, actually audibly gulped. "I'm better God, what if I'm better?"

"Well, first of all," Daphne began, looking as close to her friend's eyes as she could given that Tracey looked as if she was about to start folding in on herself like a collapsing star. "You can do this, you're great. So that's nonsense. Second, you won't break it and if you do I'm sure daddy can get a new one. Third, you will be better than him. He's useless. But he paid for their brooms, he's on the team regardless. Just show up, do a good job, and let's show that little ferret he's not the only one who can fly a broom."

Tracey nodded, her jaw clenched. "Yeah, okay, sure. That all makes sense. And didn't help. Why can actual logic not help?"

"Because you're panicking and because this is your first match. You're stepping into the unknown, it's scary and it's terrifying and in a few hours you'll look back and wonder what in Merlin's name you were worrying about. You'll see. Now, eat. Something. Anything. Then go, give Potter a run for his money."

"Yeah. I'm fine. It's fine. Is it fine? It might not be fine," she blew out a long breath she'd somehow been holding, before adding. "You know you can call him 'Harry' in public now?" Tracey pointed out, half-heartedly dragging a piece of toast onto her plate and beginning to butter it slowly. "We hang out. People see us. With their, you know, eyes."

"That was one time," Daphne pointed out, ignoring Tracey's pinballing brain. It had been two nights previous, they had been working on a particularly long essay for Flitwick and Harry had turned up with Ron in tow. He and Tracey had started chatting, as they always seemed to these days, which left her with Harry. It had been nice just talking to him, and occasionally the others, outside the DA. Rumours had started to spread, again, but it was nothing she couldn't handle. Had Draco been at full health, she suspected some form of interrogation would have come her way. Luckily, for more than one Slytherin, he had been victim to whatever the twins had cooked up for him. She made a mental note to thank them later.

"Still, you loved it."

"It was good fun," Daphne admitted, "but don't think I'll be cheering for anyone but you today."

"Do I really ne' to do fis?" Tracey asked, a mouthful of toast spraying crumbs all over Daphne's defenceless plate.

"Yes, you do." Daphne said bluntly, pulling her plate away from the onslaught of Tracey's flying toast crumbs and banishing the ones that remained with a flick of her wand and a muttered banishing charm. "It's just like we practised. It'll be fine, just think of it as training for the tryouts."

"Training, yeah, sure. That works. Thanks." Tracey nodded vigorously, closing her eyes and taking showy, steadying breaths. After all of twenty seconds she stopped nodding and went back to anxious panicking. "Okay, no. Not helpful. Still thanks, I appreciate it. Really. Sorry that I'm being so…"

"You're not, you're fine. Though I would finish that bite and go before Montague kicks you off the team before you've even started."

"If you're going for inspirational," Tracey said glumly, "this isn't helping."

"I was thinking instead more tough but fair," Daphne shrugged, "but I am pretty inspirational."

"You're funny, you should be on TV."

"Still don't understand what that is, but sure." Tracey had tried explaining the concept to her, but from what Daphne could gather it was like a portrait that you couldn't talk to or the wireless with pictures. She had to admit it sounded more fun than being holed up in her library trying to avoid her mother.

"I'll show you one day, you'll love it."

"I'm sure I will, but on that cheery note, I think you'd better get going." She nodded to Crabbe and Goyle, who were mopping up the last of their meals. "Don't want to be late."

"I hate you," Tracey bit, but without any real malice.

"Good luck, you'll do great."

"Thanks," Tracey sighed before getting to her feet and trudging out of the Great Hall. Daphne wasn't the only one watching her, she noticed Ron too watching their friend leave the Hall. He was roughly the same colour as Tracey herself, and Daphne was unsurprised to see the same conversation she had been having with Tracey happening between the three Gryffindors she now deemed to be friends. Ron was, sadly, rubbish at Quidditch.

No, correction, he was rubbish when people were watching him. Every Saturday Daphne saw him fly quite well, nowhere near Tracey or Harry's level, but still decent. Put a training session or a crowd in front of him and from what she'd heard it was like seeing a troll try to fly. That was where that bloody song had come from. It had ruined every evening Daphne had tried to spend in the Common Room, not that she really did these days. One of Malfoy's little inventions before he'd gotten ill. 'Weasley is our King'. It was going to be a trainwreck.

A few minutes later, Ron and Harry along with the rest of their team, left the Great Hall. Then everyone began filing out, as they did for every Quidditch game. It was a strange kind of organised chaos, hundreds of students sticking in their own packs as they all stampeded towards the pitch. Most were chatting happily, around Daphne she could hear Slytherins sniping and Gryffindors and vice versa. Some Ravenclaws were giggling and pointing at her. Chief among them Marietta, Cho's friend. Cho was conspicuous only by her absence, so Daphne settled for smiling and waving at the girls. It annoyed them more than glaring.

"There you are, I've been looking for you everywhere."

"You found me," Daphne said levelly as her sister and some of her friends fought their way through the throng of people that surrounded Daphne and pretty much everyone else.

"Thought you might wanna sit with us," Astoria offered cheerfully, she was always happy.

"Unless you're sitting with the Gryffindors?" piped up one of her friends. There was a chorus of snickering.

"With me then," Astoria said coolly. Astoria was many things, many annoying and better things than Daphne, but she had never once slighted her about Harry. Astoria took her sister's wrist in defiance and led them away without another word. Guess that settles that then, Daphne thought aware that she hadn't actually said she wanted to sit with her sister. She didn't really fancy being quizzed on Harry all game, or Tracey, or Draco for that matter.

"Come off it, Stori, she was only joking." said another friend, a tall and good-looking boy that Daphne was sure fancied Astoria.

"Yeah, Stori. Just a joke." said the first friend, in a voice that made it quite plain that it wasn't a joke.

"Not funny, I'll see you guys later."

"It was not lovely seeing you," Daphne said with a fake smile before being dragged by her sister through a group of Hufflepuffs, one of whom was Hannah Abbott who waved at them. Daphne tried to wave back before being buffeted away, Astoria's hand still firmly wrapped around her wrist.

"Since when did your friends start calling you 'Stori'?" Daphne asked curiously. They were nearing the pitch now, Daphne could already hear cheering from the stands. The teachers were by the various entrances, as they always did for the first game of the year in a bid to stop the first years getting lost.

"Don't make me ditch you too," Astoria said evenly.

"Be fair, Tori, it does sound stupid." Daphne pointed out. "And you didn't have to ditch them, I wouldn't have minded."

"I know, but we stick together, Daph. Always will." That wasn't true, but Daphne was too appreciative of the sisterly love to say anything. "Besides, they're getting quite annoying to be honest with you. They're not exactly what I'd call approving of your little friendship with Potter and his friends, which means I either get asked about it all the time or have to hear them bitch about you."

"Sounds fun."

"Loads," Astoria said sarcastically. "Besides, I haven't seen you properly for ages. Thought it'd be good to catch up."

"Are you saying you miss me?"

"Would it be so bad if I was?" Astoria shot back as they started up the stairs and their long climb to the Slytherin section. Daphne didn't answer, making a show of focusing on where she was going in the confined space of the staircase. It had never occurred to her that her friendship with Harry would affect Astoria, nor that her sister would actually miss her. They had spent her first three years at Hogwarts close-ish, not especially. A conversation here or there, sitting in the Common Room together every so often, but Daphne had never considered that Astoria actually valued this time. When they were at home they barely spoke to each other, with their mother spending much of her time teaching Astoria the 'right way' to think, like a good little pureblood. Daphne, who had had more than one stand up row with her mother over this, was not privy to such teachings.

They stepped out into the Slytherin section of the stands. Daphne could see plenty of the tiny crown badges, the ones that Draco had made, adorned on almost everyone's chest. There were some who were badge-less though, and they were sitting a little way away from the main throng of people. A couple of fourth years, third years and a tall boy who had to be a seventh year that Daphne didn't know. They, though, seemed to know her and they all nodded to her when the boy pointed her out. Some of them even smiled. It was weird to say the least.

"Do you believe any of what mum says?" Daphne asked when they sat at the back of the stands, a little away from the crowd at the front. The back was the best to watch the Seekers as you were higher, but most people liked seeing the frenetic back and forth of the chasers and so piled to the front.

"Not really," Astoria answered indifferently.

"Then why go along with it?"

"Because it's easy, I guess," she shrugged, not looking at her sister but instead staring out at the empty pitch. "And because we've already lost one parent, Daph. I don't want to lose another. Mum might be, well, mum. But she's there and that's better than nothing, I guess."

Unsaid was the fact Daphne did remember their father. She had never considered what it would be like for Astoria, living with that knowledge. It must have been horrible, longing to remember a parent you could never know and having a sister who refused to talk about it. To anyone. A pang of unwanted guilt washed over Daphne. She looked at her sister, wanting to apologise, say something, anything. But Astoria's eyes were fixed firmly on the pitch.

"I get that," was all Daphne managed. What else could she say? That she'd never understand their mother's stupid ideals and that she had spent years both jealous of the affection she poured onto Astoria and resentful of the price that affection might cost her. That every summer she wished it would be different. Merlin only knew what Melissa Greengrass would say if she knew. Probably that she should shut off her emotions and start being a good little pureblood heiress. A day didn't go by that she wouldn't obsess over the fact that Daphne had an obligation to improve their family name. 'Improve' because of what her father had done, Daphne was sure.

"Is that why we don't talk, you think I actually believe that rubbish?"

"In fairness, Tori, you are quite convincing."

"I learned from the best, or did you think I really bought that you were 'studying' over the summer?" Astoria, in Daphne's eyes, had always been the better sister. It was odd to think that Astoria herself might think the same of her.

Daphne was saved from answering by the arrival of the two teams on the pitch. Madam Hooch stood at the centre as they approached. She wasn't sure who was the most visibly nervous, Ron or Tracey. The former's jaw was clenched as if he was going to be sick, the latter was looking at the crowd warily. Fred, George and Harry looked like their normal selves and as the teams kicked off at Hooch's whistle the vast majority of the Slytherins began singing Malfoy's little song — all except Daphne, Astoria and the small gaggle of Slytherins that had eyed Daphne as she found her seat.

Tracey and Harry were doing laps around the pitch, while the chasers frantically flew in between each other, tussling for possession before Angelina's misplaced pass sailed straight into the arms of Montague.

"And that's Montague with the Quaffle," Lee Jordan was shouting with dread, "dodges a bludger from Fred, or is it George? Oh, who cares. And another. Reverse pass to Pucey, who dodges Spinnet, back to Montague with just the keeper to beat. C'mon on Ron!"

Ron was floating around his middle hoop and dived wildly at Montague, failing to block the Quaffle as it sailed into his left hoop. There was a loud groan from the Gryffindors, followed by renewed singing from the Slytherins and jeers towards the lions.

"Bad luck, Ron." Lee said, with his usual failure to provide balanced commentary. "That's 10-0 to Slytherin, with Angelina now in possession. She passes to Katie Bell, her first touch of the game. She dodges Montague, dodges Pucey, and now Warrington! C'mon Katie, you can do this!"

Katie was streaking up the pitch, with Bletchley the only player now between her and scoring.

"Katie Bell scores!" yelled Lee, ecstatic. "10-10 and now Pucey has the Quaffle."

The match carried on like this for five more minutes, with Ron making mistake after mistake and Angelina and the other chasers doing their best to deal with Montague, Pucey and Warrington. Neither team was willing to lose and it was starting to show. Crabbe was sending Bludger after Bludger towards Harry, who was having to do his best not to get thrown from his broom. With Malfoy out of business, and the Slytherin team apparently unwilling to put their trust in Tracey, their tactic was instead to put Harry out of the game as much as they could.

"And that's 80-60 to Slytherin," Lee was saying, his voice far less animated than it had been before. "Still no sign of the Snitch as Harry Potter dodges another bludger from Crabbe. Take it as a compliment, Harry! Tracey Davis, standing in for Darco Malfoy, yet to see the Snitch either as Montague takes possession again. Now it's Pucey, who swerves away from Bell, then ducks a Bludger. He passes to Warrington, then Montague, back to Pucey. This is looking dangerous."

Pucey, who was a few feet from Ron hurled the Quaffle with pinpoint accuracy to the Gryffindor keeper's far post. Unlike every other time, however, Ron dived not at the player but for the Quaffle and managed to pull off a fingertip save, knocking the Quaffle onto the hoop before catching it gratefully.

"What a save!" Lee was screaming. "That's absolutely heroic stuff from the Gryffindor keeper, Ron Weasley! It's a beautiful fingertip save to deny Pucey, I don't think we've seen something that good in a long time! And we stay at 80-60. Wood'd be proud, Ron."

Even from her vantage point, Daphne could see that Ron was beaming. Relieved to have finally made a save he sent a wickedly fast pass to Angelina, who caught it gratefully and shot up the pitch away from the chasing Montague. It was then that the game, unfortunately, turned in favour of Gryffindor. Spurred on by his first save, Ron was now the keeper that Daphne recognised from their Saturday sessions. Better.

Crabbe and Goyle were now forgetting the chasers entirely, and aiming everything they could at Harry, who was being forced to perform what looked like a one-man dance act through the air to stay on his broom.

"And it's 130-100 to Gryffindor," Lee announced, happily. "Another excellent save from Weasley! And now it's Johnson — but Davis has seen the Snitch."

Tracey, who had spent most of the match freely circling the pitch, had dived for something Daphne couldn't see at the foot of Ron's goal hoops. Harry, who had been dodging a particularly nasty bludger from Crabbe, dragged his broom around in mid-air and shot towards the goal hoop. He lay so low that he and his Firebolt became a blur, and before Daphne could fully process it, he was almost neck and neck with Tracey. Harry went left, Tracey went right, avoiding the post and rolling as she went to gain more speed in the turn. Harry leant somehow lower on his broom, desperately trying to gain speed, but Tracey was with him all the way. In all the years Daphne had watched Quidditch at Hogwarts, she had never seen Harry pushed like this. Not unless she counted the rogue Bludger that had basically tried to kill him in his second year.

Her stomach clenched as she watched them whizz through the air. If someone had asked her at that moment who she wanted to win, her honest answer would be that she really had no idea.

"Merlin's beard, she can fly!" Lee was shouting as the crowd screamed for their respective Seeker. "Watch out, Malfoy. Looks like Slytherin have got a new Seeker! But she's no Harry Potter, c'mon, Harry, you can do this!"

It was over in three seconds. The Snitch shot upwards, whizzed right, avoided a snatch from Tracey and darted left. Harry rolled, avoiding a bludger that had somehow appeared from nowhere, and lunged catching the Snitch. The Gryffindor crowd went wild. Swearing, moans and jeers erupted from the Slytherins. But as Harry pulled up, the Snitch in his closed fist, Crabbe swung one final Bludger at him. It caught him square in the back and sent him flying. Daphne felt her stomach lurch as she watched him seem to hang in mid-air, as if in slow motion, before hurtling for the ground.

Her stomach, which had been tied in knots, plummeted as fast as he did. A gasp echoed across the stands, as the onlookers presumably saw him slam into the ground.

Madam Hooch's whistle blew loudly and the Gryffindors exploded in protest. The Slytherins were split between ashamed silence and jeering. Daphne squinted through the crowd of people but couldn't see what had happened. She wanted to rush forward, push them out of the way, hex them if she had to, but what good would that do? She'd just get shoved back, or told that he was hurt out of some kind of sick joke.

"You dirty, cheating —"

"Jordan!" yelled Professor McGonagall.

"Sorry, Professor." Lee said without any real truth in his words. "Vincent Crabbe, Slytherin's new beater, is having words with Madam Hooch. Tracey Davis is with Harry, hopefully he's alright."

The rest of the Gryffindor were streaking towards Harry, Ron leading the way as it had been his hoop Harry had been nearest. A gap appeared in the gaggle of Slytherins and without thinking Daphne hurtled forwards, not sure if Astoria had followed and in all honesty not caring. She squeezed her way through until she could make out what was happening on the pitch.

The entire Gryffindor team had landed by Harry, all except Angelina who had flown over to Madam Hooch and was apoplectic with rage and concern for her Seeker. The Slytherin team had mostly demounted and were smirking amidst the boos that were being sent their way, all except Tracey who was knelt by Harry. Her ashen face filled with concern.

"Serves you right, Potty!" Pansy was yelling happily.

"Yeah, take that, Scarhead!"

"You suck, Potter!"

It took everything Daphne had not to jinx the chanters, especially Pansy who was miming falling from the sky to sick laughter from the rest of Daphne's roommates. Instead, she focused her attention on Harry who was being dragged to his feet by Fred and George. His eyes were closed and he ragdolled in their arms, a dead weight. One hand was still clenched around the struggling Snitch, but his other arm was sticking out at an alarming angle from where he had broken his fall.

Pomfrey could fix that though Daphne tried to assure herself. He'd lost all the bones in one arm once, and besides she fixed breaks all the time. It was going to be fine. He'd be fine. Merlin's beard, she sounded like Tracey.

"And it looks like Potter's broken his arm," Lee announced over the chorus of boos from the Gryffindor section. "Nothing too serious, thank Merlin. That means Gryffindor wins 280-80."

"He'll be fine," Daphne heard a quiet voice say from behind her, it was Astoria who had shoved a small second year out of her way to reach Daphne. Down on the pitch, Harry was being carried away. Ron had snatched up his broom and was hot on their tail. Katie Bell and Alicia Spinnet trailed after him. After a moment's hesitation, Tracey followed suit, ignoring the shouts from Montague and Warrington who were heading in the opposite direction towards their changing room.

"C'mon, let's go. No point staying here."

Daphne let her sister pull her out of the crowd, ignoring the chants and shouts that followed Harry and the abuse the Gryffindors were sending at Crabbe and the other Slytherins. They walked in silence, reaching the exit faster than anyone else and in the distance she could see the others heading into the castle. She was about to rush after them, when she was interrupted by a cool voice that she recognised all too well.

"Going somewhere?"

Professor Snape, his black cloak drawn tightly around himself, watched them from the entrance to the teachers' stand. His eyes darted to the retreating Gryffindor team and then back to Daphne.

"My office, the both of you, now."