Harry was running his fingers over the pattern of elongated diamonds cut from crystal in the stem of the custard goblet when it occurred to him that Professor Lupin never joined them for dinner. He turned to Gemma, touching her arm to get her attention, but she was absorbed in a conversation with Peter and signed "wait" in response.

"Hey, Neville—I thought Professor Lupin was going to join us for dinner?"

"Yeah, me, too. But I saw him talking to Aminah and Mrs. Khan and none of them are here—so maybe they left to try to find that Bill guy?"

"Oh, okay—blimey. I hope they find her dad and can free him from the curse."

"Whose dad? What curse?" Terry Boot asked from Neville's other side.

"Er…" Neville stammered.

"Oh, oops. Nevermind. Hey, Terry—do you know anything about how to sign up for classes?"

"What? At Hogwarts? Didn't you sign up at the end of … oh, yeah. You were gone when we did that. Crikey! I guess talk to your head of house? That's Professor McGonagall, right?"

"Yeah."

"Blimey, I hope you don't get stuck with bad classes—Mum's been worried about Gemma being shunted into something dreadful or something she can't do because she can't speak," Terry shared.

"But she's learning how to do nonverbal spells and anyway, she speaks…"

"Oh, I know… and you know what I mean, verbally—out loud, whatever," Terry explained and sounding frustrated.

"When does she take the placement test?" Neville asked.

"Not until the end of August. She's going to keep working with the Center after this bit of training is done, I guess. It's bloody dull at home without her. I never thought I'd admit this… but I miss her constant chatter. It's just… " Terry trailed off. There was something really bleak about his tone.

"You okay, Terry?" Neville asked quietly.

There was the sound of a chair being pushed back hastily and then a clatter of footsteps and Harry gathered that Terry had rushed away.

"What happened?" Harry asked.

"I dunno. He just seemed rather upset. Like he was going to… cry. I imagine he didn't want to do it here, in front of everyone," Neville whispered to Harry—though Harry wasn't sure why as the only other people left at their table couldn't overhear the conversation as Neville's Gran had left a while ago to go talk to Professor Sinistra.

"Yeah, well. Lots of big emotions here. You, Peter, and Gemma are going back to St. Mungo's, right? To work with your mum? I think it'll be too crowded with me there… so I'll just go back to my room and write that letter to Professor McGonagall about my courses for next year, okay?"

"Oh, yeah, sure. That's a good idea. So, tomorrow—want to meet in the reception area at 9:30 again?"

"Sure. And say 'hi' to your mum for me tonight," Harry said with a small smile in Neville's direction. "And thanks a lot for coming today—it was really great… it meant a lot to me that you were here. Thank you. And your Gran, too... I'll go tell her."

Harry asked his staff to direct him to Augusta Longbottom and it guided him on a circuitous route through the dining hall. He felt the heat rising in his cheeks as conversations quieted when he neared, the ringing of his silver-tipped staff against the chair legs no doubt making his approach more obvious, and then picked up again after he'd passed.

He silenced the navigational voice in his ear when he realized that he could pick out Mrs. Longbottom's voice on his own. He stood patiently nearby as she was speaking animatedly with Professor Sinistra.

"Hey, Harry!" Tony surprised him by speaking loudly nearby.

"Oh! Hi, Tony."

"Say, I just wanted to apologize again about my brother," Tony said.

"No worries, really. I'm just glad the story came out here, not while I was at Hogwarts. That would have been way worse."

"Yeah, you'd think that Graham would understand… when Skeeter wrote about me, he was at Hogwarts and he was really upset about the things folks were saying… and it wasn't even about him. But, he's just fifteen… and well, not the brightest," Tony confided. "I mean, he's my brother and all, and I love him, but, crikey, sometimes is he thick!"

"He's really lucky to have you, you know?" Harry said.

"Oh, I don't know. I think he thinks I'm hard on him. Little brother stuff."

Harry nodded and blinked, not knowing what else to say.

"So, do you wanna go flying tonight? Arig and me were talking about going out on brooms tonight. Maybe over that lake? Though Graham's coming, too, so… yeah."

"Naw, thanks. I have a letter I need to write."

"Oi! Come on, mate! A letter!"

"Yeah—and I'm really knackered after all the ocean swimming this morning. Hey—is Mrs. Longbottom still here?"

"Who?"

"Neville's Gran."

"What does she look like?"

"Er. No idea. I mean. I don't really know… I think I saw her at King's Cross once or twice before… stern, little old witch, I think she had a bird on her hat… she was standing nearby just a second ago."

"Oh. I think I saw her. But yeah, no grandmas around here now, mate."

It did sound like the place had cleared out.

"Drat. Oh well."

"So, can I borrow your broom? And don't you have Arig's extra broom in your staff?"

"Oh, right. Sure."

Harry summoned the brooms out of his staff and handed them over to Tony with some reluctance. He was sorely tempted to skive off writing the letter and just go flying, but he felt jittery ever since he had realized that he hadn't signed up for courses—he needed to put his mind to rest… and flying with Graham didn't sound so fun… he was really tired from all the swimming with whales. As if confirming it, he was overcome with a yawn that just kept going.

"You do look tired. Don't sweat it. We'll fly another day," Tony said as the broom handles thudded together and the bristles scraped on the floor—there was also the sound of something metal.

"You got those?" Harry asked, putting a hand out, halfway expecting one of the brooms to come crashing against him.

"They are just kind of hard to hold with all the other stuff I have. My mum brought me a tin of biscuits and my books for next term. I wish I had something like your staff or Arig's crutches—with all that storage space."

"You should have something. What about your arms? Could Figora add an extendable storage to them?"

"Huh, I don't know. That'd be kind of weird to be fetching things from my arms. And wouldn't it interfere with the magic? Though I guess you do magic with your staff and it doesn't do anything, right? I mean, your stuff in the staff isn't affected by the magic flowing through."

"I don't think so. I've never noticed anything funny. I mean, you lot would tell me if all my clothes came out of it rainbow-colored or something."

"Ha! That would be funny! Like your shield. Yeah—I guess I could talk to Figora. It'd be handy… ha! Blimey."

"Yeah," Harry said and realized that he ached across his shoulders, too.

From climbing the ladder?

Harry summoned his book bag from his staff.

"Here, why don't you put your books and biscuits in here."

He held it open while Tony shuffled around and put them in the bag.

"Oh, thanks! I'll put it on your desk when I'm done."

A broom handle knocked him on the temple.

"Oops. Sorry, mate."

As Tony hurried off to find Arig, Harry made his way slowly to his dorm. He wondered if Mrs. Longbottom had even noticed that he was standing there waiting to talk to her. He hoped that she didn't think he was rude. He ran his fingers over his T-shirt absentmindedly—glad he had changed it.

Not far from Montmorency, Harry heard a scuffing noise in what he thought was a deserted corridor. He stopped and cast Reveleo memento and learned that Terry Boot was standing a few feet away from him.

"Terry?" Harry asked, walking closer. "You okay?"

"How'd you know it was me?" Terry asked.

"It's a simple charm that tells me who is near. It only works if I already know the people, though," Harry explained.

"Oh. Well, I guess that's handy."

"Yeah. So, you doing okay?"

"I'm fine."

"That's why you're out here alone while everyone else is…" Harry stopped as he realized he didn't know where everyone else gone—they weren't in the dining hall nor in the corridor. Maybe there was another event? He hadn't paid close attention to the itinerary for the weekend.

"You're not at the dance, either," Terry said defensively.

"Oh, a dance. Where are they holding that?"

"In the ballroom. I guess it is below the dining hall."

"Yeah, well. I guess Gemma didn't go either?"

"Nah. She said she had to visit someone's mother at St. Mungo's."

"She talks about you all the time, you know?"

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. She misses you, too, you know."

"Hard to tell. Spends all her time with you lot, with that deaf/blind bloke who's twice her age. Kinda creepy, that," Terry muttered.

"What? No, it's not like that. They speak the same language… Peter was deaf before he lost his sight—so he's teaching her sign language. I think she's the only person who he can really talk to here. I mean there's Shannon, but she hasn't been around that much. And I guess I'm also learning how to sign, but I'm really slow."

"You're learning how to sign? Why? You can't even see it."

"Well, Gemma can see it and it helps. Are you learning?"

"What? The hand signals? Naw. I mean what's the point. We can use the charm that writes out our words."

"I think signing is actually easier and faster for Gemma. It would probably mean a lot to her if you learned."

"Where am I going to learn that?"

"Here. You could learn it here. And spend time with Gemma."

"Hey, you know… that's not a bad idea. Oi. I'm going to go ask. Maybe they'll let me. Thanks, Harry!" Terry said over his shoulder as he rushed off.

The dormitory room was uncharacteristically quiet. Harry did a quick Reveleo memento charm and confirmed that he was the only one in the room.

Harry summoned parchment and his quick quotes quill from his staff once he was seated at his desk. He smoothed out the parchment and set the quill to write normal text (he figured that Professor McGonagall would not be amused if he sent her a letter in braille—though the thought made him smile a little).

He started composing the letter working slowly and glad that he was alone. He could have cast the silencing charm around himself, but was thankful that he didn't have to as it was always so stuffy inside that bubble and he was having a hard time breathing as it was.

He sneezed a few times and had to summon a handkerchief to blow his nose… then go back over the letter because the quick quotes quill had transcribed the sneeze. Finally, it was done and he hoped it was enough to convey his concerns. As he rolled up the parchment, he had to fight down the quiescent fear that he'd not be allowed to return to Hogwarts because of his blindness. He tamped that fear back into a little box in his chest. It had plenty of company.

He sneezed some more and found that his handkerchief was soaked. He scourgified it and then did a drying charm on it. His back was aching even more. He was tempted to crawl into bed, but forced himself to get up and navigate out of the room and down the corridor.

He meandered to the owlery, sneezing and snuffling along the way. The corridors were empty—he had a vision of everyone gyrating to the kind of music that Mrs. Weasley listened to on her wireless.

In the Owlery, he was happy to sink his face and hands into Hedwig's snowy-soft feathers, inhaling her comforting scent—though he was snuffly and couldn't smell as much as usual.

However, Hedwig made it known that she did not appreciate the sneezing and flew off in a huff after he attached the scroll to her leg. It made him feel abandoned and unreasonably sad. He sniffed and blew his nose as the echoes of her flapping wings bounced off the courtyard walls and then disappeared completely as she soared away.

So, when the portrait commented on his morose aspect, it wasn't that surprising that he lashed back with a bitter retort.

"Who asked you anyway?!" Harry demanded.

"Impertinent ruffian! As if! As if! And if I waited for the likes of you to ask me, I'd never have any conversation at all! As it is there is nothing that provides me relief from the constant hooting and crapping of these ruddy…" but the rest of the tirade was cut off by the Owlery door closing behind Harry as swung his staff in slicing arc that carried him back to his dorm and saw him tucked into bed.

oO0OooO0OooO0OooO0Oo

Harry woke up because he couldn't breathe. His nose was clogged and he ached all over. Gulping air and suppressing the urge to moan, he pulled on his robe, grabbed his staff from his desk and made his way to the toilet as quietly as he could manage. The floor was icy cold under his bare feet and he cursed himself for forgetting his slippers. Trembling and feeling wobbly on his feet, he went over to the shower—thinking that a hot shower could help warm him up and also help relieve his stuffy nose, but his staff tinged against something hollow and metal sounding. Feeling thick and clumsy, he couldn't figure out what it was until he reached forward and found the lip of a porcelain bathtub. He collapsed his staff and fumbled with putting it in the pocket of his robe.

"Where did this come from?" he muttered to himself, his voice rough and broken.

It hurt to speak. Then he remembered that there was a bathtub in the room—he must have wandered off his usual path to the shower. He had forgotten about the bathtub. He followed the rim of the tub trying to find the taps and along the way smashed his toes into something hard and metal.

He yelped, sitting down hard on the floor, grabbing his toes and discovered that they were slick with blood and that his skin was peeled back in thin slivers. He felt along the base of the tub until he found what he'd run into—a sculpted paw.

Harry flicked out his wand and tried to heal his scrapped toes with the Episkey charm but his voice was too thick and cracked and he didn't feel the healing tingle or relief that he normally felt when it worked. Tears squeezed out from under his eyelids as he rocked back in forth in pain and frustration.

Wiping his tears and running nose on his pajama sleeve, he summoned the dittany from his staff and applied it liberally to his toes, smoothing the layers of skin back into place. The stinging stopped almost immediately and he leaned his head against the cool porcelain tub.

After a bit, he stood up again, but used his staff this time to feel around the base of the tub with one hand and with the other, felt for the taps. Before he turned them on, he felt inside the tub to see if there was a plug for the drain. He found the drain, but not the plug, then went back to the taps to see it was hanging nearby. He couldn't find one. He tried a summoning charm, but his voice was still getting in the way of pronouncing the charm and nothing zoomed to his hand. He ran his fingers over the lip of the tub, around the tap, tracing the path down to the drain and still he couldn't find it.

In frustration, he tried summoning it nonverbally, holding his wand in one hand and his staff in the other. He had a clear mental image of the plug in his mind—visualizing the plug used in the sinks at Hogwarts and also imagining their texture and shape in his hands. Nothing happened at first. He tried breathing to calm his racing heart—he inhaled to a count of four, held it for a count of four, then exhaled slowly for another count of four until he felt his anger dissipate. He tried again and heard a metal chain ting against the tub. He ran his hands behind the tub and found the chain and on the end of it, the plug. It had been flung out of the tub and was hanging below. The chain prevented it from moving all the way to his hands when he summoned it.

I just cast a nonverbal summoning charm and it worked!

He pulled the plug up and placed it in drain, then turned on the taps and adjusted the temperature of the water. While it was filling, he found a towel and shed his robe and pajamas, then eased into the hot bath, welcoming the warmth that quieted his tremors.

The steam from the hot water helped clear his nasal passages and he could breathe more easily, the heat seeped into his aching muscles and he started to relax and feel drowsy. He braced his feet against the side of the tub to keep from sliding underwater completely—he was a little worried that he'd fall asleep and drown.

When the water started to cool, he climbed out and dried off, dressing again in his pajamas and went back to bed. He had cast the drying charm on his hair now that he was able to say it because his nose was clear before snuggling down into his warm blankets. He reached for his staff to cast the Tempus charm and learned that it was a quarter past four am. His roommates shifted in their beds, but didn't say anything. He could sleep for a few more hours before breakfast.

oO0OooO0OooO0OooO0Oo

When Harry awoke again, the room was quiet, but he could tell it was daytime because of the light in the room. He wondered if he'd missed breakfast. When he reached for his staff, the muscles in his back protested. He was stuffy again, but not as bad as he'd been in the middle of the night.

His staff informed him that it was 9:45 am—not only had he missed breakfast, but he also slept through the time he was supposed to meet Neville in the reception area.

He sat up slowly—still feeling muddled and slow, despite the adrenaline that rushed through his veins at the thought of being late to meet Neville.

There was an impatient knock on the door and Harry wondered if that was what woke him up. He pulled on his robe, remembered his slippers this time, and shook out his staff and walked slowly to the door. The knocking got more frantic in the meantime.

Harry opened the door.

"Hello?"

"Oh, Harry! Gosh. You look awful. Are you sick?" Neville said, his voice sounded almost relieved.

"Yeah. I have a cold. Sorry—I just woke up and found out what time it was. Sorry, I wasn't there in the reception area," Harry said thickly.

"It's okay. I was just worried." Neville asked. "You should see the healer—she can get this sorted out right away."

Neville chuckled as he came into the room.

"Why are you laughing?" Harry wasn't able to keep the grump out of his voice.

"Oh, it's just always so easy to tell who was raised by muggles when colds start going around. Wixen run to the infirmary as soon as they start to sneeze and muggleborns always try to tough it out—blowing through handkerchiefs and keeping everyone up at night."

"Ugh. I didn't even think of that!" Harry slouched as he led the way into the room. He stopped to blow his nose and Neville ran into him.

"Oh, sorry. I wasn't looking where I was going," Neville said. "This room is really amazing. The stained glass windows…"

"No worries. I'll just get dressed," Harry said, though he really wanted to crawl back in bed.

When he emerged from the toilet, he listened for a second and couldn't tell where Neville was. He felt like he was listening through wads of cotton. "You still in here, Neville?"

"Yeah, I'm over here looking at Gemma's books. She said I could."

"Oi. I'm surprised she let me sleep."

"She said she thought you needed it… that's why she didn't wake you when she left for breakfast, but she was worried when you didn't show up to meet me." Neville said as he thumbed through pages of a book. "So, you ready for some Pepper-up potion?"

"Yeah, that sounds brilliant."

oO0OooO0OooO0OooO0Oo

Emerging from Healer Jordan's office with steam pouring out of his ears, his sinuses clear, and the ache in his muscles only a memory, Harry felt like he was floating.

"Hey, Neville, have you seen Aminah this morning? Have you heard if they found her dad?"

"I haven't seen her and Gemma hadn't heard anything either."

"Drat. I was hoping… well. They better get that guy. Do you think the … hey, are there police? Like wixen police?"

"Po-liz? What's that?" Neville asked.

"Police. Well, with muggles… it's their job to make sure people follow the rules… you know, they send people to jail if they break the law?"

"Oh, I guess that's what Aurors do. Yeah, they'll probably talk to some Aurors and see if they can catch this McCarthy guy. And they'll need Aurors to know about the dark magic, right? I mean using the Imperius spell on someone is really bad. He'll be sent to Azkaban for sure," Neville said gravely.

"I hope her dad is okay."

"Me, too."

As they walked quietly in tandem down the hall, Harry couldn't help but wonder if Neville was also thinking of the gaping hole in his own life where his father should have been.

"Neville, sometime when you feel like it… could you tell me about your mum and dad—their story?"

Neville stiffened and then slumped, "Uh. Yeah. Sometime. Maybe."

Neville was quiet for a long time, then said, "thanks, Harry. For asking…"

oO0OooO0OooO0OooO0Oo

Sunday passed by rather uneventfully… the staff's efforts to quell the talk about Skeeter's article seemed to have mostly worked and no one really bugged Harry about it. He, Gemma, Peter, and Neville attended some sessions together… they were mostly geared at the adults and so kind of dull, but they were able to sign to each other (even with Neville's rudimentary knowledge of sign language).

"My brother wants to learn sign language!" Gemma was excited to tell Harry, Peter, and Neville. "He talked to Healer Jordan and she said that he could take some courses here before school starts."

After they all conveyed their delight to Gemma, Neville asked, "Do you think we can keep using the Egress to the Center once school starts?" His question was telegraphed through the group.

Harry's response—a shrug—was more quickly transferred through the friends. Harry wondered how often Neville would visit his parents if he had access through the Egress. He wondered if he would, if it were his parents—not dead—but not really living either—sitting in that drab ward. He wondered if Neville had memories of his parents before whatever happened to them happened. He imagined a cauldron accident like what blinded Peter or … what? A cursed teapot?

What would cause a married couple to be reduced husks of the people they must have been?

He shivered… there was so much about the magical world he still didn't understand.

They were headed toward the dining hall for tea after the session when Harry realized that Peter's mum must have been sitting on Peter's other side. Her robes sounded stiff—as if they were heavily starched and her footsteps had the sound of hard-heeled boots or high heels—but he had a hard time imagining the witch in the kind of high heels that Aunt Petunia wore to posh events and went back to his first image of tightly-laced witch's boots.

This was Professor Sinistra. His Astronomy teacher. His former Astronomy teacher?

"Professor Sinistra, could I ask you a question," Harry asked, dropping his hold on Neville's arm and turning toward the sound of her boots.

"Certainly, Harry," the professor said as she stopped in the corridor.

Harry realized that she must have been signing with Peter—maybe telling him to go on—then she put a cool hand on Harry's wrist while the group moved around them with the added sound of Peter's staff tapping away.

"Um, Professor, do you think I should continue studying Astronomy?"

"Well, of course! It's a core course! You can't drop it in, what, your third year?"

"So, do you think I'll be able to do well in it if I can't see the stars?"

"Well, being able to chart the stars for yourself—of course, learning how to do that is a big part of the work… but accommodations will be made—as they were for Godric and other students—but really the magic in Astronomy is the understanding of our relationship to the stars and interpreting their movements in correlation to our own and that does not require sight. And any true astronomers worth their weight in orichalcum feels the pull of the stars and planets—for us the visuals are just aesthetics." Professor Sinistra had put a hand on Harry's elbow and guided him gently to a bench that was fit into a small alcove in the corridor (the echoes of the corridor were muffled a bit) while she explained.

"Oh, is that taught at Hogwarts then—how to feel the pull of the stars?"

"Yes, certainly. You've already had some of those lessons. Surely, you remember the lesson when I had you all lay on the floor of the Astronomy tower and close your eyes while mapping your stars with cobalt stones? That's always a popular lesson."

"Oh, right," Harry muttered, feeling his neck grow hot. He'd manage to fall asleep during that one and it was only Ron's sharp kick to his ankle that woke him up before he was discovered. Ron had taken the mickey out of him for weeks. He'd been snoring!

"Ha! You weren't the only student to fall asleep during that lesson!"

"What? You knew?" he sputtered.

"It happens. And sometimes it is needed to channel the pull… and, of course, sometimes students are just sleeping."

"Oh. I didn't sign up for my electives for this year," Harry blurted. "I was… sent away before the end of term."

"Surely your head of house took care of that? What house are you in?" Professor Sinistra said.

"I'm in Gryffindor. But Professor McGonagall hasn't said anything and I just remembered. I sent her a note yesterday." Harry tried to keep the anxiety out of his voice. It was hard to let go of his fear that he wouldn't be allowed to return to Hogwarts.

"Well, if I know anything, I know that Professor McGonagall is on top of it. She doesn't miss details like that. Don't you fret about it. She may have been waiting for recommendations from the Center before she finalized your schedule. I'm sure she'll respond promptly to your letter." Professor Sinistra patted his knee. "Come now, let's go to tea."

oO0OooO0OooO0OooO0Oo

Throughout the day, Harry kept his ears open for news of Aminah—but she and her mother were not at the Center. Neither was Professor Lupin, though Harry wasn't sure if that was significant.

"She didn't sleep in her bed last night," Gemma told him.

When Arig and Tony invited Neville, Gemma, Harry, Mei, and Peter to go flying after dinner, none of them had seen or heard anything about Aminah. Since they didn't have enough brooms for everyone, they used the Egress to Hogwarts, so that they could use the school brooms. Professor Sinistra gave them permission after a quick floo call to Hagrid who said he'd open the broom shed for them.

Harry sucked in a breath when he felt the Quidditch pitch under his feet and felt a prickle at the corner of his eyes.

"Hiya, Harry!" Hagrid called out to him and Harry braced himself for one of Hagrid's bone-crushing hugs. He wasn't disappointed.

"Hiya, Hagrid. Are you going to watch us fly?" Harry said when his feet were on the pitch again and he could breathe.

"Wouldn't miss watchin' yeh fly, Harry—yeh know that! The bowtruckles can wait!"

"Hey, we can play Quidditch—the balls are here!" Tony announced to the group. They had pulled Terry, Graham, Ivan, Tahmina (Arig's sister), and Godric as well and had enough people for nearly a complete team—minus a chaser on each side.

Godric charmed the snitch to chime as well as everyone's brooms with various bell sounds—there was a cacophony of bells while they got it sorted and it was hard for Harry to sort out who was who—he wondered how Peter was getting on—he had to rely only on vibrations from his staff in his broom to tell each of the players apart as well as the balls—but he seemed thrilled.

Godric and Tahmina were declared team captains since they had the most experience. Harry couldn't help but notice that aside from Arig, Tahmina chose the able-bodied players for her team, while Godric selected Peter, Harry, Gemma, Mei, and Tony for his.

Neville was really nervous about his role as keeper for Tahmina's team and seemed to jump every time she spoke. Harry squeezed his arm and whispered reassurances and tips in his ear as they walked to their spots on the pitch about how to sit on his broom until they had to part ways. He also reminded Neville that they were just playing for fun. Neville replied with a heavy sigh.

The balls were released and the play began.

From the bleachers, Harry could hear Hagrid's whoops and hollers as he watched them. He turned his face in Hagrid's direction and smiled his biggest grin as he rose into the air, tracking the sound of the snitch as best he could as it chimed distinctively in the chorus of bells. It sounded like a discordant bell choir, all tuning their bells before playing.

As Harry rose above the pitch, he could hear Terry's bells mirroring his own, while the other bells faded in resonance as he put distance between them. The quidditch goal posts were charmed with high pitched tinging and before them, Harry could hear the keepers' low gonging bells—Neville on the other side, Peter on theirs. The chasers (Godric and Gemma, Tahmina and Ivan) had bells that sounded like sleigh bells, while the beaters' (Mei and Tony, Graham and Arig) bells sounded deep and heavy.

The balls each had sounds that rang in harmony with the players—and Harry marveled at Godric who had been the one to pair the bells with the players so that when it was all working, it sounded more like accidental music than complete chaos and there was some logic to it… a pattern that could be sussed out, just by listening.

Harry had a moment of realizing that Gemma and Peter were missing out on all this beauty… he felt it and he let it go to float away behind him, into the ether. The letting go was helped along by the fact that he could tell by Peter's exalted shouts that the beauty was not lost on him.

Harry heard a new sound when a goal was made—it was like a firework exploding—and he could tell it was for their team by the direction of the sound. He felt bad for Neville at the same time that pleasure spread through his mouth just as if he'd tasted it knowing that Gemma had scored. He realized that he had a better sense of the game with the sounds because he didn't have to be looking at the pitch to know what was going on.

It wasn't until the chiming snitch entered his awareness and he sped toward it that he heard the bludgers near him, but he was able to evade them—both by listening and by feeling the vibrations in his broom.

He nearly ran into Terry at one point, but pulled up quickly, and then rolled around him in his pursuit of the snitch. He knew they were up by at least 30 points when his fingers closed around the fluttering snitch.

There was a resounding gong that announced his capture of the snitch and it nearly bounced him off his broom, but he clung onto it and zoomed down to the pitch where his team enveloped him in arms and broomsticks. It seemed like they had won more than just a pick-up game and their friends from the other team joined in the celebration until they were just a heap of arms, legs, and brooms—giggling and struggling to get free.

The icing on the cake was when Tahmina exclaimed, "how on earth did you pull that off? That was brilliant flying!"