Stormy Match

It was October and Harry found himself in the usual Hogwarts daily routine: too much homework, Quidditch, the typical little disasters, in short: he was happy. The team played so well together as if the one-year break did not exist, his performances in Transfiguration stabilized because it was too strenuous for him to hide bad marks from Hermione and he spent a lot of time with Ginny. They made forays across the lands where they were undisturbed - except the one evening when they were caught by Grawp - and walks through the castle, where they talked over Quidditch, annoying classmates (Romilda Vane was at the top of Ginny's List) and strenuous teachers. Gradually, Harry recounted Ginny everything that had happened last year, which made her alternately horrified and sad, or angry at Ron, who had left them.

"So that's why he spends so much time with Hermione in the library?" she asked mockingly. "He still has to pay for it?"

Harry shrugged. 'I don't think it's like that. He learns a lot - I guess not to embarrass himself in front of the other aurors later."

Ginny snorted amusedly. "Shouldn't you learn a little more, too?"

Professor Trelawney, who suddenly emerged behind a wall hanging, spared Harry the answer. As always, she was surrounded by a strong smell of cooking sherry. Her eyes behind the thick glasses widened as she recognized Harry, who wished himself to be far, far away.

"Harry!" she exclaimed.

"Hello, Professor," Ginny and he said politely.

"I was very sad that you didn't come back to Divination, to tell the truth, Harry," Professor Trelawney said in her smoky voice. "Very sad, indeed."

"My OWLs were too bad, Professor," said Harry, who was extremely glad to no longer have to listen to weekly prophecies of his own death. Professor Trelawney made a face.

"OWLs," she said derogatorily, expressing her displeasure at the fact that the high art of divination was expected to be confronted with something as profane as exams. "You are gifted, Harry! Surely another way could have been found."

Her face darkened, Harry believed to know why, and really…

"... but of course you would have ended up with this mare anyway, which is allowed to take over the seventh year... I don't understand it, you know? He has been taken back into his flock, so what else is the mare still doing here?"

Harry noted on the sidelines that Ginny was inconspicuously looking for nosebleed nougat and puking pastilles in her pockets, but her stock seemed to have been used up at this critical moment. What saved him was Ron's silver Jack Russell terrier, which suddenly emerged from one of the walls and said:

"Important news from Savage. Common room."

"Sorry, Professor," Harry said hastily. "Um, this is an emergency!"

Ginny and he sprinted off, away from the outraged-looking Trelawney and past a terrifying bunch of first-years. What had happened, Harry wondered as he skipped a trick step. Had anyone been murdered again? Had the Death Eaters been caught? It had to be something serious, otherwise Ron would not have sent his patronus.

"Since when can he do this patronus trick?" Ginny asked.

"Must have learned it from Hermione," Harry said, opening a door that pretended to be a wall.

Ron and Hermione were waiting for them next to the portrait hole, and both seemed extremely relieved to see them.

"What?" Harry asked breathlessly.

Ron waved a letter he had apparently just received. "They caught Nott's father in Hogsmeade."

"That's good," Ginny said, confused. "Isn't it?"

"He's dead," Hermione said earnestly. "Died in the arrest."

Harry cursed quietly. "How could this happen?"

Ron shrugged. "Savage thinks Zeas caught him. Apparently she saw him by chance because he lost his invisibility cloak. She has an examination on her neck..."

- "And Selwyn?"

- "No trace of him."

Hermione bit her lip. "He was in Hogsmeade, Harry. Almost here. I bet Selwyn is somewhere nearby.'

- "And then you thought, he suddenly appears in the castle and does me in?"

" No," Ron growled. "We thought it would be good that you wouldn't accidentally walk around Nott down the road when he hears about it."

Harry covered his face. They were right, of course, he thought. But sooner or later he would meet Nott anyway. Still, it might have been better if he stayed in Gryffindor Tower for the rest of the evening.

Ron and Hermine's caution about Nott's reaction turned out not to be exaggerated, although, contrary to expectations, it wasn't the insidious attack from behind they had expected. Instead, Nott approached him the next morning before their lesson with Dawlish, the moment he saw him.

"Duel, Potter," he said hoarsely and with feverish eyes. "You and I, tonight."

- "Forget it," Harry growled.

"Scared, Potter?" screamed Pansy Parkinson.

"Keep your stupid mouth shut," Hermine hissed. "Come on, Harry""

She pulled him away and a moment later he saw Neville's alarmed facial expression, which could only mean one thing - Harry reached for his wand, but it was too late.

"Stupefy!"

Ron's stunning spell hissed just past his ear and as Harry swirled around with a raised wand, Nott lay unconsciously on the ground while Zabini and Goyle pulled out their wands.

"WHAT IS GOING ON HERE?!" thundered an angry voice.

Dawlish was there and looked furiously from Zabini and Goyle to Parvati and Seamus, who were also armed.

"Weasley shocked Nott," Pansy Parkinson shouted, pointing accusingly at Ron.

The Slytherins nodded affirmatively. All but Malfoy, noticed Harry, who had not moved.

"Is that true, Weasley?" asked Dawlish sharply.

"He wanted to attack Harry, professor" Ron said angrily.

"From behind!" Seamus added aloud.

"I see", Dawlish said, pointing his wand at the still unconscious Nott. "Rennervate."

Nott came to himself, drove up wildly and then stopped when he saw Dawlish standing between himself and Harry.

"What happened here, Mr. Nott?" asked Dawlish calmly, though he still held his wand pointed at Nott.

"Potter attacked me, sir," Nott growled.

"Strange," Dawlish said stretched. "Your classmates said it was Weasley."

"Of course," Nott said hastily. "It was both. Potter and Weasley, Sir-"

"Enough," Dawlish said calmly. "Fifty points deduction from Slytherin, Mr. Nott. Contact Madam Pomfrey and get your head looked at, and if you ever attack another student, it will be the last thing you do at Hogwarts."

Nott briefly looked like it was worth it, but then he noticed that Zabini and Goyle had put their wands away, unlike the Gryffindors, and he growled "Yes, sir," and scurried away.

"Thank you," Harry whispered to Ron after they had sat down.

"Constant vigilance," Ron whispered back.

Harry spent the rest of the week on high alert, but neither in the hours they had together nor at meals in the Great Hall, Nott made any further attempt to cool his mind on him, so that on Saturday he was still unharmed to experience the first Hogsmeade weekend of the school year.

"They actually wanted to cancel it, you know," Hermine said as the four walked down to the village through the cold autumn wind. "Because of the thing with Nott's father. But in the end, they chose to only increase the security measures."

Harry nodded anxiously. It was quite possible that Selwyn was hiding somewhere in the area and was waiting to attack him or who knows what to do. Then there was Nott, who walked to the village with Malfoy and the other Slytherins a little in front of them and turned every few meters to give him a hateful look. What's it like to live a quiet life, Harry wondered, but then they arrived in the village and Ginny and he went over to the Three Broomsticks and he banished Selwyn and Nott from his thoughts.

The pub was filled with students, teachers and villagers who chatted loudly. Harry was able to identify Hagrid's wide back at the counter and briefly nudged Ginny, whereupon she changed direction and pulled him over to the counter. It wasn't until Hagrid had discovered them and waved cheerfully that they saw who he had talked to: none other than Slughorn.

"Hello, Professor," Harry said. "Hey, Hagrid."

" ''lo, you two,"" Hagrid said with a broad grin. "Pretty full is it, what?"

- "Harry, my boy," Slughorn beamed. "And Miss Weasley with you, adorable!"

"Yeah," said Harry, who feverishly sought a good excuse to stifle that conversation in the beginning, but Ginny couldn't save him because she was just ordering butterbeer and Slughorn was too fast for him.

"As I hear, your biography will be published soon, Harry!"

"That's how you can put it, Professor," Harry said.

"Aaaaah," Slughorn said with a wink. "So the whole thing goes on without your consent?"

- "I hope so," Hagrid growled into his pitcher. "As if Harry had anything to say to this ruddy, lying..."

Ginny, who came back with two butter beers, nodded affirmatively.

"Of course, of course," Slughorn said, rubbing his hands. "Rita Skeeter's writing style isn't particularly flattering, isn't it? But, Harry," he added softly, leaning over to him confidentially, "it's easy to sort it out, my boy."

"I'm all ears, professor," Harry muttered.

"You remember Eldred Worple, Harry?"

- "Uh..."

- "The author of Blood Brothers: My Life Among Vampires?" Ginny interjected. "Do you know him, Professor?"

Now Harry remembered the man he had met at Slughorn's Christmas party.

"Of course, Miss Weasley! You know, I even introduced him to his publisher at the time - a former student of mine, by the way - but Harry, Worple would certainly love to write your biography, and if you give him a few interviews, signal your support, Well, then no one would even mention Skeeter's book... and good for business it would certainly be for both of you. I'd be glad to write the preface!"

"Thank you, Professor," Harry said. 'I'm going to think about it. Excuse us," he added, because he couldn't think of anything more sophisticated. Slughorn's disappointment was limited as Madam Rosmerta had just brought him a new pitcher. "See you, Hagrid."

- "You won't really think about it, will you?" asked Ginny, as they grabbed a free table in one of the corners.

"Of course not," Harry snorted. "It's enough for me to have written one book about me, I'm not so stupid to make it worse."

- "Good," she sighed, taking a sip of butterbeer.

"Thank you, by the way," Harry said. "For not dragging me to Madam Puddifoot's."

Ginny laughed. "Do you seriously think I like that place? I was there with Michael, it was a disaster."

"With me and Cho too," Harry muttered.

"Well," Ginny said contentedly. "So everything has worked out right. Chang can go there with whomever she wants and we have our peace here."

"Right," Harry said, smiling.

A little later they left the Three Broomsticks again and forced their way through the crowds of students in the streets over to the Hog's Head, where they were received with loud cheers. The small pub was packed: Dean, Luna and Seamus sat at one table with Parvati, Lavender, Hermione and Ron, Ernie Macmillan, Neville, Hannah Abbott, Terry Boot and Dennis Creevey at another.

"A casual little DA meeting," Neville announced with a grin.

Aberforth Dumbledore slammed two butter beers on the counter.

"Six sickles," he growled.

"Six?" asked Ginny, stunned.

"Prices have gone up, Miss Weasley," Dumbledore's brother said calmly. "My pub was on everyone's mouth because of this tunnel, I have to make something out of it."

Harry put six sickles on the counter smiling. "That's okay, Ginny."

- "Here to rub it into my nose that you were right, Potter?" Aberforth growled softly.

"No," Harry said succinctly. "We just wanted to look, well, how you're doing."

"I can't complain," Aberforth said bluntly, and began to clean a glass that desperately needed it. "Without these damned Death Eaters and their curfew, things are much better. Was damn good for the business that I helped you children."

- "Do you still have contact with the others from the Order?" asked Ginny.

Aberforth snorted. "I've never had much to do with them, Miss. No, Shacklebolt contacted me once, but that's it. Dung can't be seen here since you brought him to Azkaban, Potter," he added. "He still owes me six galleons and twelve sickles."

"How do you know about it?" asked Harry.

"In my job, you hear a lot, Potter," Aberforth said. "In addition, I read the Daily Prophet from time to time. There's a lot about you in there lately."

Harry bit his tongue. "I don't have to tell you that this woman is just spreading lies."

- "No, Potter," Aberforth growled, banging the still dirty glass on the counter.

As the conversation was obviously over, Harry and Ginny took their butter beers and sat down with the others. As always, when he saw Dennis Creevey, his stomach pulled together painfully because he had to think each time of his dead brother, who had resembled him so much. Dennis was much shier than he used to be, he noticed. At that time he had not been able to hold his mouth for five seconds, but now he only spoke when Neville and Ernie asked him something directly, otherwise he sat silently in his corner and sipped on his butter beer.

"We kind of had to drag him along," Seamus muttered to him as they brought a new round of butterbeer from the counter. "The little one has been worrying us all year round."

Harry turned bright red with shame for running out of Dennis Creevey's way.

"I should have talked to him," he muttered.

"Don't be ridiculous, Harry," Seamus growled. "You've got enough on your plate."

Dennis wasn't the only one who had changed, he noticed once again as he listened to them. They were all no longer the same in their own way: Parvati, who had lost her sister and, like Lavender, who had been attacked by Greyback, almost didn't gossip at all any more. Seamus, who still had scars all over his face from the night Amycus caught him at night. Dean and Luna, who had spent the year alone on the run and in Azkaban, Neville, to whom they all looked up now and whom he had not experienced as liberated the whole school year as now when Hannah was there. Ernie and Terry who had lost so many good friends... and of course Ginny, who had suffered the Carrows day after day because her whole family had been in the Order and Harry had been her friend... they had held the fort when Harry, Ron and Hermione had been out there, and their year had been as tough as theirs. To be harassed every day by the Carrows and to be forced to stand by idly as their friends were hurt and tortured... but they had persevered, Harry thought proudly, they had always persevered, never given up hope.

When they went back to school in the evening, Dennis trotted behind them with his head lowered, and Harry fell back to him.

"All right, Dennis?" he asked quietly.

"Sure," Dennis muttered, staring at his feet.

"You know, I never asked you how you got back to Hogwarts," Harry said bravely.

"That was Colin," Dennis muttered. "We didn't go to the ministry to register and stayed at home, but then they came to get us."

He produced the story in fragments: Colin and he had not been home when the Death Eaters came, who had instead murdered their parents and their little sister. The two brothers had fled for half a year until they decided to go to Hogsmeade, where Aberforth had smuggled them through the tunnel into the room of requirement.

"I should have gone with him," Dennis whispered after telling him how Colin had slipped away from him. "I wanted to follow him, but the tunnel was closed, so I couldn't, and then I found him in the morning."

- "Where do you live now?" asked Harry, as soon as his voice obeyed him again.

"With Neville and his grandma," Dennis muttered softly.

That was typical for Neville, Harry thought. To take a poor little boy, who had nobody left in the world, into his house and not tell anyone about it.

"How is it?" he asked softly.

"Okay," Dennis muttered. 'But it's not home. "

Harry put his hand on his shoulder.

"You don't have a family, Harry," Dennis said after a while, when they could already see the castle gate. "How...?"

"I have a family, Dennis," Harry said kindly. "Even if they are dead, I know that they will always love me. And there are others - the Weasleys, Hermione and my friends. Friends are the family you can choose, Dennis. I'm not alone- and you're not.'

Dennis nodded slowly. "Thank you, Harry."

"Don't mention it," Harry said as they walked through the open gate of the castle, past the aurors, who were keeping watch. "We are Dumbledore's army, Dennis. We are there for each other."

The rest of October was pleasantly uneventful, apart from the fact that the weather was getting worse and worse. Hardly a day went by when it didn't rain heavily and added an icy wind that caused the entire Qudditch team to catch a cold at the Halloween feast, but it didn't help: they had to practice, because the first game of the season, Gryffindor against Slytherin, was imminent. The whole school was looking forward to this event, because it would be the first game in more than a year, and it brought with it the usual side effects: players who were bewitched by members of the opposing house (Dean Thomas spitting fire salamanders that set everything around him on fire), talking in the corridors ("Hey Weasley, enjoy your pretty face as long as you can!") and spies at each other's practices (Coote and Peakes were caught as well as Vaisey and Goyle). Added to this was the obvious partisanship of some teachers: during Thursday's hour of Potions, Slughorn praised Malfoy's sadness essence in the highest tones, even though, according to Hermione, it was "okay" at best, and Professor McGonagall did not give them any homework on Friday.

"Good that there's Quidditch," Ron said contentedly as they walked out of their classroom.

"Not with this weather," growled Harry, who was slightly annoyed because, as always when he was moving in the corridors, half of Gryffindor house was around him, so that nothing could happen to the Quidditch captain and seeker. Outside it was raining in torrents, just like all week, and the sky looked more like it was going to get worse than better.

"We're still dry," Ron said. "And the Slytherins are training tonight in this soup, they will surely all be pitch-AAAARGH!"

The water bomb hit him in the middle of the head and made sure they all three got wet to the bones. While Harry was pulling out his wand, he recognized the source of this attack: Peeves hovered over their heads and hurled another water bomb into a group of screaming Ravenclaw second-years who fled to the dungeons.

"WHAT IS THIS!?" shouted Argus Filch, who suddenly emerged from behind a wall hanging. "Everywhere mud and mud- PEEVES!" he thundered, as the poltergeist hurled another water bomb with a laugh. "WAIT TILL I GET YOU, I'VE CLEANED AND SWEPT ALL SUMMER-""

Professor McGonagall's arrival ended the turmoil, as Peeves hastily vanished at her sight.

"I bet Malfoy persuaded him to do that," Ron cursed as they dried themselves with their wands.

"Then you can pay it back to him tomorrow," Hermione said calmly.

As the weather outside turned into a terrible thunderstorm, Ron spent the rest of the day in the common room making angry death threats against the whole House of Slytherin, which entertained all the Gryffindors so well that they were in a great mood. When it was belatedly noticed that Dawlish stood at the portrait hole, Hermione hastily rammed her elbow into Ron's side before he could finish his brilliant plan to throw Malfoy off a dragon.

"Professor," Neville said surprised, and folded A Thousand Fungi and Aquatic Plants. "What happened?"

"Nothing serious, Mr. Longbottom," Dawlish said. "Potter, I have to speak to you briefly."

"Yes, sir," Harry said, surprised, and followed Dawlish outside.

"What's going on, Professor?"

"A lightning bolt struck during the practice of the Slytherin Quidditch team, Potter," Dawlish said without hesitation. 'Several players are in the hospital wing and Madam Pomfrey insists they'll stay in over the weekend. Professor Slughorn has informed me that Slytherin will not be able to compete tomorrow."

- "The game is cancelled?" asked Harry hopefully, who didn't have much desire to fly in this crappy weather.

"No," Dawlish said. "Instead, you will play against Ravenclaw."

Harry groaned. "Thank you, Professor."

"You should go to bed, Potter," Dawlish said, critically scrutinising him. "Tomorrow you will need your strength. And tell Mr. Weasley that if Mr. Malfoy is ever thrown off a dragon, I'll scrutinize him closely.'

Unsurprisingly, the news that they would play against the Ravenclaws instead was not received enthusiastically in the common room.

"Hopefully the lightning caught Malfoy," Ron growled.

Hermione threw an angry you-don't-make-jokes-about-that look at him and shook her head.

"It just makes it more tense - now you're playing against Slytherin in the final game, and when it's about the cup, it's going to be just as much a brawl as it was in third year."

"That's what I'm worried about when it's done," Harry said. "For the first time we have to take care of the Ravenclaws, and the weather doesn't make things much easier."

"We haven't looked at a single practice of them," Jimmy Peakes moaned. "I don't even know who's playing seeker for them this year!"

"Lisa Turpin," Neville said, and everyone looked at him in confusion.

"What?" asked Neville, smiling. 'That's what Terry said, he was pretty excited about her, she's supposed to be pretty good.'

"She can be as good as Viktor Krum for all I care," Harry growled. "We're going to go play to our strengths anyway, then we can beat everyone. And now off to bed, folks!"

It took Harry a long time to fall asleep, and it wasn't just the terrible thunderstorm that was still raging outside. The last time he had played in such catastrophic weather, they had lost and he had woken up in the hospital wing, he recalled tiredly. But this time at least no Dementors would show up...

The next morning it was still raining like buckets, but at least it had stopped flashing and thundering for the time being, so that he could eat at least halfway normal without throwing critical glances at the ceiling every five seconds like the others.

"They should really cancel the game," Hermione said softly.

"Don't talk rubbish, Hermione," Ginny said calmly. "The little bit of rain doesn't matter to us."

But she was wrong: when they stepped out of the locker rooms onto the field later, they were soaked after a few steps. Added to this was the wind that whipped through the stadium so storming that Harry and the others could hardly hear Madam Hooch's whistle when she opened the game, and he didn't get anything from the comment, not even who was actually commenting now. The Ravenclaws' seeker, Lisa Turpin, a third-year, flew as blindly over him as he did. What made the whole thing even more treacherous was that the two bludgers were only seen appearing at the very last moment, which, after a good hour, gave him a considerable bump on his left shin. Harry cursed and made a slingshot over to the Ravenclaws' goalposts, where Bradley, the opposing captain, had just taken the Quaffle from Dean, but again he found no trace of the snitch.

"How's it going?" he yelled at Ron as he passed their own goalposts, but Ron merely shrugged.

It seemed to Harry that the game would last half an eternity, but wherever he looked through rain and wind, there was nowhere a golden blinking.

"HARRY!" Ginny suddenly yelled as she came past him, "TO RON!"

He tore his broom around and shot back to her goalposts, followed by Lisa Turpin, who came down from above, and then he saw that Ginny was right: the snitch fluttered around the Gryffindors' left ring. A moment later, his now deaf fingers closed around the tired, fluttering little ball and he ripped his hand up and landed in the mud.

"Did we even win?" he yelled to Ron, who was the first to land next to him in the mud.

"I got 12 goals!" Ron roared back, patting him vigorously on the shoulder. "So, yes!"

The final result was 300 to 120, as Madam Hooch shouted at them on the way to the locker room.

"Good game, folks," Harry said contentedly as everyone had got in through the rain.

"Party in the common room!" shouted Dean exuberantly as he scrubbed his hair with his towel. "Come on!"

Demelza, Coote, Peakes and, after a short hesitation, Ron followed him out.

Harry and Ginny went back together later, crowded together under his towel, which he had successfully transformed into a somewhat holey, wind-sloping umbrella in the fourth attempt.

"Tell me about the game," he said after getting a particularly strong gust of wind.

"It was okay," she said, shrugging. "Ron was pretty stupid at times and Demelza was terribly nervous because she's crazy for this Ravenclaw keeper, but it was enough."

"Demelza likes Chambers?" asked Harry, grinning.

"Where love falls," Ginny sighed. "Speaking of the devil, what are they doing here?"

Ron and Hermione were sitting on the stairs in the entrance hall, obviously waiting for them. Good that they didn't come back to the locker room, Harry thought nervously.

"What's going on?" asked Ginny. "Is the party already over?"

- "Yes," Ron growled. "Harry, someone has scrambled through your stuff!"

"What?" he asked, confused.

"Your suitcase," Hermine said. "Your bed, just everything!"

"But why," Ginny began, but Harry cursed out loud.

"Malfoy!" he cursed. "Or Nott- that's why they let the game be moved-"

- "Where should they have heard the password, Harry?" asked Hermine with her eyebrows raised. "Also, there was no one in the tower who wouldn't have been able to get in there, Dawlish has already questioned the fat lady."

"It was a Gryffindor," Ron said, nodding vigorously.

"Like last time," Ginny muttered.

"I don't want to believe that," Harry growled. "Come, let's see what's missing."

Dawlish awaited them in the common room amid what should have been a vociferous victory party. Instead, all Gryffindors sat nervously on armchairs, chairs and pillows, exchanging uncertain looks.

"Potter," Dawlish said. "What stopped you?"

"The weather," he said succinctly. Romilda Vane, he noticed, was biting her lips furiously. "Is there any indication as to who is responsible for this?" he added as they followed Dawlish up the stairs.

"No," Dawlish said with a ruffled forehead. "I asked the Fat Lady, but no one got into the tower during the game as far as she knows, which suggests to me that he was either already here or has made a confusion spell."

- "You can bewitch a portrait?" asked Harry, confused himself.

Dawlish shrugged and opened the door to her dorm room. "This requires an extremely strong confusion spell, but it is possible."

Harry cursed softly when he saw what the culprits had done with his belongings. The bed, suitcase and bedside table had been thoroughly scrambled, books, ink and feathers lay scattered all over the floor.

Luckily, he still took his invisibility cloak everywhere out of habit, he thought furiously as he began to collect his possessions. The Marauder's Map and Kingsley's two-way mirror had not been stolen either, nor anything else.

"There is nothing missing," he said aloud.

"Then he either just wanted to devastate your things-"

"Or he didn't find what he was looking for," Hermione said, worried.

"What do you think they were after, Potter?" asked Dawlish sharply.

"I think you know that, Professor," Harry said succinctly.

Dawlish nodded, visibly distressed. "I'm afraid, yes. Watch out for yourself, Potter," he added grimly, then he walked out.

"Good that you buried the elder wand again," Hermione muttered softly as she began collecting his books.