The next morning dawned bright and bitterly cold. Harry woke to find himself reluctant to get out of bed even as the rest of the dorm began to shuffle into clothes. Thankfully, Neville murmuring cheeky things in his ear while Ron tugged playfully at his covers did wonders to put a smile on Harry's face.

Hesitant to wreck his good mood, Harry did himself a favour and made a point of ignoring the Amortentia recipe still carved into the hallway wall. The smell and the papers had mercifully disappeared with a simple vanisher, but the carvings had refused to be moved by hand or magic. The only upside was that Dean seemed to be making a personal challenge of the wall. Every time he passed through, he paused critically and mumbled artistic noises until Seamus had no choice but to pull him away. If all else failed, Harry trusted that the man who would one day introduce muggle street art to the magical world would be able to make something amazing of the mystery attack.

If we could just figure out who did it, Harry mused, we'd be golden. Unfortunately, Susan and her war council continued to remain tight-lipped about the matter. There were many theories on the table, she had insisted when questioned, but they wanted to be sure before they said anything. Naturally both Harry and Draco had been eager to push her, but there had been something forbidding in Susan's eyes. The pale complexion Blaise had adopted and the weariness in the faces of the elder Weasley brothers had only knotted Harry's guts further.

With much difficulty on both his and Draco's part, they had managed to tame their curiosity. Had they truly been eleven, such a feat would have been impossible. Harry supposed they must have learned how to let things simmer since then. Or, at least, he hoped they had. It was either that or they were losing their touch.

Harry continued to mull over the last few days as he made his way into the Great Hall, flanked by Ron and Neville. He felt content, truth be told, which marked the day as one of his good ones. Or, at least, he had thought so. Then the delicious smell of fried sausages and the cheerful chatter of everyone looking forward to a good Quidditch match sunk into his skull.

"Today's the damn match, isn't it?" Harry asked, bug-eyed. His significant others exchanged significant looks, then ushered him down into his place at the Slytherin table.

Ron sighed as they settled in. "We knew it would hit you at some point. Just remember you're already quite handy at Quidditch, yeah?"

Harry nodded dumbly.

"You've got to eat some breakfast," Neville prompted. He was already buttering a piece of toast with which to reinforce his argument.

"I don't want anything," Harry said, his gut suddenly queasy. How had he forgotten the match? The last time around the nerves had haunted him for days!

The last time around you had quite a bit less to think about, his subconscious reminded. Harry reminded it to shut up.

"Just a bit of toast," Neville insisted. Beside him, Susan looked up from the mess of notes on her lap to nod firmly in agreement.

Harry pushed his still-empty plate away. "I'm not hungry."

How could he be? In an hour's time, he would be walking onto the field to play his favourite game… against Gryffindor. Though he was grateful to play Quidditch at all now that he was a Slytherin, there was a part of him that still felt guilty. That Alicia Spinnet, Angela Johnson, and Katie Bell still glared daggers at Oliver Wood and the twins when they crossed in the halls did little to alleviate his feelings. The three had been a bit like elder sisters to Harry, once upon a time.

Around the rest of the table, Harry could see that the other former Gryffindors were feeling similarly. The twins seemed to bend into each other like a pair of weeping willows, while Oliver had his head turned into Marcus' whispered words. Even Lee, who had retained his place as announcer despite switching houses, looked solemn as he picked at his eggs. Interestingly, Cassius Warrington seemed to hover over him like a shield.

"Harry, you need your strength," Seamus cut in, interrupting Harry's observations. "Seekers are always the ones who get clobbered by the other team," he added, grinning cheekily. Harry kicked him under the table.

"Dick," Harry grumbled. If that line hadn't helped him the first time around, it certainly wasn't going to do anything good on the second shot.

Seamus blew him a kiss before turning back to his full-time occupation: helping the dozing Dean navigate the perils of breakfast.

Casting a quelling glare at the lot of them, Ron nudged some eggs toward Harry. "Come on, Harry. You love Quidditch—and look! Even Oliver's perked up a bit!"

Harry cast another glace towards the co-captains and did, in fact, see a wobbly smile on Oliver's face. Apparently even a change of team could not quite kill Oliver's love for the sport. The reminder did indeed cheer up Harry, and slowly he felt his earlier happiness return.

Unnoticed at the head table, Dumbledore also offered the Slytherins a smile. But had anyone looked up right then, they would have said his smile seemed rather sad. Regretful, even.

By eleven o'clock the whole school seemed to be out in the stands around the Quidditch pitch. Binoculars flashed from between wooly hats and scarves, held by mittened hands belonging to bodies buried under bulky layers of cloaks and blankets. It was not a good look on anyone. Not eager to repeat their pygmy-puff huddle in the frigid courtyard but also undeniably vain, Draco had looked up some more advanced warming charms and dowsed their whole court in them. This allowed the first years to for-go some of the more unfortunate and desperate clothing bundling. The rest of Slytherin House had caught on quickly and soon the only reason anyone looked like a furry marshmallow was to conceal the odd bottle of bootlegged butter beer.

Ron sat beside Neville, a single blanket spread across both their laps as an excuse to sit closer than they should with a contract. Draco and Blaise, sat beside them, were absorbed in each other, as were the rest of Slytherin's couples and friends. They were all so focused on each other and the excitement in the air that not one of the Elite noticed they were being snuck up upon.

Grinning, Draco prattled on about Quidditch. Blaise paid attention with a humoring eye. "I can't wait to be on the team next year. Though, obviously, I won't be trying out for Seeker," Draco confided. Pausing for a moment of thought, he added slyly, "Perhaps Father can even be convinced to donate new brooms. It's not like the Gryffindors will ever win even with equal brooms, but—"

"Now, now, Draco. We never know what surprises there may be before they happen," a voice murmured silkily. The Slytherins snapped to attention, whipping around in their seats. They were greeted by the commanding form of Lucius Malfoy, a smattering of other adults trailing after him.

With barely more than a smile, Draco rose and accepted a quick hug from his father. Perfectly respectable for a public welcome. Only those who knew him well saw the tremor in Draco's hands as he pulled away. Hidden in his perfect posture, Lucius' figure seemed to sympathize. Neither stepped away and instead they stirred up a soft conversation layered in double meanings.

Half a step behind Lucius' immaculate figure, Remus Lupin grinned broadly at the pair. He was obviously awaiting his own hug from Draco, his future son-by-marriage. The werewolf looked a good sight better than Blaise had ever seen him, his form hale and whole. Three months of Lucius' affections and the safety of his friends and family had done wonders for the man. Clean-shaven and his hair curling slightly with a little extra length, he appeared years younger in smart robes and a charcoal cloak that was obviously hand tailored.

Blaise's felt his expression gentle. Never let it be said that Lucius Malfoy wasn't the world's most fastidious mother hen, terrifying politician or not. Yet there was something missing from the couple. Or, more precisely, someone. A little swirl of sorrow stirred in Blaise's chest as he noted the absence of the youngest Malfoy. Theodoric "Teddy" Narcissus Malfoy had been a bright, energetic child who adored his big brother. Draco, in turn, would have died for Teddy. As history stood, Draco had only been in time to cut Teddy's corpse down from the gallows before Light urchins could desecrate it. Blaise knew from experience that most of Draco's nightmares stemmed from that night.

A hand over his queasy stomach, Blaise reluctantly acknowledged that the night was also the one he'd started keeping secrets from Draco. Almost immediately, he brushed the thought away. There were times for those sorts of thoughts, he justified. A Quidditch match was not one.

Amelia Bones crested the stairs next, giving Blaise something fresh to focus on. She appeared both severe and stylish in trim navy robes. Susan waved at her madly, then gave up on respectability and pushed her way to her aunt. The new Minister Bones accepted a tight hug, leaving one arm around her niece instead of pulling away. Susan beamed up at her adoringly. Out of the corner of his eye, Blaise caught Lavender snapping a picture he was sure he would see on the front page of the Prophet next week. Assuming the Weasley reunion didn't push the photo back, of course.

Though confined to the tight seating of the Quidditch stands, Blaise would insist to his last breath that Ron and Percy had flown in their rush to wrap their arms around their father. Arthur held them desperately, his lean frame clinging to his boys. There didn't seem to be any plans to let go between them. It was eventually Ron's frustration with Lavender's clicking camera that drew the three apart, laughter and suspiciously red eyes spread liberally between father and sons.

As Arthur turned to greet the rest of the group, Blaise could barely hide his surprise. He knew that Amortentia took a toll on the consumer; however, seeing Arthur Weasley three months free gave the fact new depth. Gone was the haggard, worn tone to the man's face. He had filled out a little, taking on a wiry physique that reminded of Bill and Ron. His hair shone brightly, thicker and glossier than before, growing out into curls like Percy's. His mossy eyes glimmered with mischief that matched the twins, and he wore Charlie's confident grin. Many of the lines and wrinkles around his face had evened out, leaving him with the agelessness most pureblood magicals maintained long into their years.

Blaise had never known Arthur Weasley, though he had become very close to the Weasley brothers over the years. Looking at the man—tall, unbowed, and so very kind even after facing so much cruelty—Blaise felt regretful of that. Such an awful world they had come from, Blaise thought. Perhaps it was only right that they had a chance to fix such a mess. To gain a little peace.

"It's okay, Dad," Ron murmured, just a touch louder than he needed to. Arthur's shoulders slumped like a man cut from the cross, Percy's fingers tangled together with Arthur's.

Restless ghosts, Blaise thought, are powerful creatures indeed.

Sucking in a breath, Percy plastered a 'prefect' smile on his face and straightened. "Right, then," he cleared his throat and motioned to a few nameless Slytherin hangers-on. "You lot, budge over! Can't you see we have some important people to seat before the match starts up?" The Slytherins scattered, eyes large in the face of Percy's imperiously raised eyebrow and glare. Obviously, Percy had hit his emotional threshold for the day.

Laughing, Ron returned to his seat beside Neville, his father now sandwiched between he and Percy. Amelia Bones joined Susan's side, with Blaise, Draco, Lucius, and Remus filling up the rest of row. The remaining Slytherin elite adjusted accordingly, repositioning to best spy on the new, most unusually important faces in the crowd.

"Bill and Charlie send their love," Arthur said after everyone had finished shuffling about. By some miracle no one had tripped down the stands in all the commotion. "Charlie had some business at the reserve to clear up before the holidays. Bill, ah, mentioned something about his boyfriend."

Arthur still wasn't too sure what to make of Fenrir Greyback. He hadn't managed to meet the man before he'd died, but he was familiar with his crimes. However, Arthur thought wryly, if there was anyone who knew about judging books by their covers, it was him.

Ron grinned wickedly. "I bet he did. Probably has his hands all full." Neville smacked him across the back of the head, cuing a round of snickers. However, Ron found himself frowning as he scanned the assembled adults. "Didn't Sirius and Narcissa want to come? And did no one stop to drag Severus out of the dungeons?"

Pausing, Neville nodded his agreement.

Lucius sighed. "You wouldn't believe the lengths Narcissa went to in keeping her dear cousin from charging up here. However, we had concluded that seeing Sirius here in the audience might encourage Harry to fly into the damn stands if he didn't have ample warning. As the castle is mostly empty for the game, I believe Severus is at Malfoy Manor with the mutt as we speak."

Remus nudged his—boyfriend? Ron didn't see a ring yet. "Honestly, Lucius. If Severus can get over his rivalry, I don't see why you can't."

Lucius' eyebrows shot up. "'Get over his rivalry?' I'm sorry, but I wasn't aware I was the only one to realize that Severus has merely come up with a more creative way of working it out."

"I thought Dumbledore didn't allow adult visitors!" Susan cut-in, both quickly and loudly. She did not need any more images of Severus Snape and Sirius Black in her head than that one sentence had already given her.

Her aunt laughed, Amelia's hand settling warmly on Susan's shoulder. Susan could have wept for how good the contact felt. "Who is Dumbledore to deny the Minister of Magic and her associates a tour, especially after the Troll Incident?" Amelia winked. "Dumbledore must step carefully now."

Susan smiled at her aunt's words. She liked the sound of a world like that—a world like this. She would give her all to keep it.

Thinking of the mess in their dorm hallway, Susan just hoped it wouldn't have to come to that.

Harry took a deep breath. Just like the last time, his Quidditch uniform fit him perfectly. But that didn't stop him from fiddling nervously with his arm guards until Marcus affectionately threatened to cut his fingers off. Harry took another deep breath and tried to let the nerves wear away. In the background, he could hear Oliver chewing Marcus out:

"—Traumatizing my prize Seeker with your brutish idiocy right before the game!"

"Love, hate to break it to you, but we're all on the same team now—"

"Doesn't matter, love, I'm still the one who trained him!"

It was almost soothing, really. Oliver, for all that he was a driven bastard of a captain who thought nothing of kicking his team out to practice in the dark or freezing cold, was very protective of his. Be it his Quidditch players, his raiding party, his lover, whatever—woe betide he who tread on the toes of Oliver Wood's nearest and dearest. Honestly, Harry was still a bit confused about how Oliver hadn't would up in Slytherin the first time around.

"Sorry, oh captains ours—"

"But if you don't get a move on right about now—"

"Gryffindor might just take our delay as a forfeit!" The twins pronounced together. They smiled winningly as the older years blinked at them.

"Right," Oliver said, pretending he hadn't had a leg all but slotted between Marcus' thighs. Marcus similarly removed his possessive hand from Oliver's arm, allowing them to stand shoulder to shoulder again. On either side of Harry, Graham Montague and Adrian Pucey raised an eyebrow.

Oliver cleared his throat, probably wishing he looked a little less flushed. "Right," he said again, "This is the best team Slytherin's had in years—"

"Oliver," Marcus cut in grandly, "Slytherin's had the best team for the last six years. You should know," he added teasingly.

Oliver's eye twitched violently. "Marcus, so help me Merlin—"

"You'll tie me down? Beat me up? Oh, darling, only if you want to." Marcus hummed, fluttering his eyelashes.

"You wish," Oliver hissed.

Marcus winked. "You know I do."

"Alright!" Adrian called, prefect-instincts kicking in. "I think that's enough—whatever that was. How about we just get out there, kick some arse, and then," he looked pointedly at the co-captains, "You can finish this."

Harry and Graham nodded fervently. The twins looked considering, but nodded sharply once Harry glared their direction.

Oliver sighed dramatically and gestured for everyone to get into lineup. "Fine. But if we lose because I didn't get to give my lucky speech, it's on Flint."

Marcus smirked. "Now, there's what I call a no-lose bet."

And with that last quip, Slytherin finally strode out onto the pitch.

Harry smiled as crisp, fresh wind assaulted his face. His cleats sunk into the frozen ground with a satisfying crunch and the roaring crowd turned up the heat in his blood. Over in the Slytherin section he could pick out Dean, Seamus, and Millicent, a giant banner spread between them. Instead of the muggle slogan he'd done in their last life, Dean had drawn a stylized snake. It wound across the sheet slowly, spelling out Harry's initials. HJP hung proudly for a moment before exploding off the page in a wave of green sparks, revealing the proud Slytherin emblem.

Harry whooped, waving so they would know he had seen it. The three roared back, proud and happy, and damn was it good to be on the Quidditch pitch again! Why had he ever been nervous?

In his head, Harry could imagine Neville and Ron's exasperated smiles. They obviously knew him much better than he did himself. Frankly, he was lucky they put up with his nonsense. He just loved them all the more for their persistence.

Grinning like a loon, Harry followed the twins into the Slytherin lineup. Opposite them, Alicia Spinnet, Angela Johnson, and Katie Bell glared from a line of Gryffindors Harry didn't recognize. Madam Hooch was refereeing. She stood in the middle of the field, waiting for the two teams. Her broom stood ramrod straight in her hand.

Once they were all around her, she leveled a mild glare at them. "Now, I want a nice fair game, you hear me?" Harry noticed that she seemed to be speaking particularly to Marcus, who smirked. Oliver kicked him when he thought no one was looking. Or perhaps he just didn't care who saw. Regardless, Harry rolled his eyes. Was this what he, Ron, and Neville were like? If so, he couldn't imagine how they hadn't been hexed yet.

Out of the corner of his eye, Harry caught another sight of the fluttering banner high above. His heart skipped. His worries seemed to melt away as he wrapped his hands around his broom more firmly.

"Mount your brooms, please," Madame Hooch called.

Harry grinned, swinging a leg over his Nimbus Two Thousand.

Madam Hooch gave a loud blast on her silver whistle.

Fifteen brooms rose up high, high into the air. They were off.

"And the Quaffle is taken immediately by Angelina Johnson of Gryffindor—what an excellent Chaser that girl is, and rather attractive, too—"

"JORDAN!"

"Sorry, Professor!" Lee laughed into the microphone. He sounded happier than he had in days. "And she's really belting along up there, a neat pass to Alicia Spinnet, last year only a reserve—back to Johnson, and—no, the Slytherins have taken the Quaffle! Slytherin Captain Marcus Flint gains the Quaffle and off he goes—Flint flying like an eagle up there—he's going to sc—oh, he scores! Ten points to Slytherin! The Slytherins receive the Quaffle again and Flint passes it, Pucey dodges a Beater as he scores another ten points for Slytherin!"

Harry spiraled higher as Lee's announcements drifted through the air. A giddy feeling coursed through his veins, encouraging him to throw his head back and laugh to the wind. Merlin, but he had missed Quidditch. In this life, Harry swore, he was going to pull an Oliver and dive straight into professional Quidditch after Hogwarts, evil wizards be damned!

Chuckling at his own fantasy, Harry turned his attention to hunting the snitch. The Gryffindor Seeker was still on the other side of the pitch, so Harry had felt confident playing around a bit before flying for the kill. He had been tracking the snitch idly since it had been released, so zeroing in on it now wasn't any hardship.

Lee's voice came again from below, calling the current score as, "360–20, Slytherin House! And that last one only flew in because co-captains Flint and Wood were making kissy-faces through the hoop!"

"Jordan, I am warning you!" McGonagall screeched. Harry decided to hurry things along before Lee lost his job.

Picking up speed, Harry angled his broom down and dropped sharply. A wave of gasps ran across the bleachers and Harry let the tension fuel him. Just as he was about to splat into the frosty ground, he jack-knifed up, puling himself into a glide just a bit above the ground. The crowd went wild and Merlin, Harry knew he would be hearing about that move from absolutely everyone. However, it paid off as his fingers curled around the glimmering golden snitch, stopping the game and—

Harry's broom snapped roughly, jerking his head back. His broom thrashed like a feral thing, rising quickly without his consent and twisting so violently Harry felt his gut bottom out. Sure, he had been doing the usual shifts in the Room of Requirement, but he still definitely did not have the strength needed to keep on the damn broom. Fucking gods, how had he forgotten about this little fun fact of his first match? Oh, shit, Harry thought, if I forgot about this, does that mean Severus did, too?

It certainly seemed like it. The jerking was much more violent than Harry remembered, and he seemed to be going much faster, much higher than before. If this had happened the first time around, Harry definitely would have fallen to his death. As it was, he was just barely holding on when he caught a flash of silvery magic and felt the broom gently, firmly pull down.

The curse magic fought the new opposition bitterly, as it had before, but the new caster was just as strong as Severus. No longer in panic mode, Harry was just feeling safe enough to curse Quirell viciously when a burning cold made him whip his hand away from his broom.

"What the hell?" Harry choked, eyes wide. Little black lines were spreading across the broom handle, shriveling the wood as a Dementor might a flower.

"Well, that's new, at least," he dithered. Not needed or wanted, particularly now, but new. Gingerly, Harry moved backward on the broom, hyperaware of his achingly slow descent. If he upset the broom's weight balance too much, he could risk tilting the battle of magic around him in a very unfortunate way. However, the cold leeching along the wood was unearthly, possibly lethal. Harry's Quidditch glove was blackened and cracked where it had contacted the cold, his flesh under the leather numb.

"What the hell," he hissed again, almost wonderingly. He had never seen anything like this outside of Azkaban. What could cause? And more importantly, how did he stop it?

Harry hissed again as the cold caught his other hand. He carefully slid back on the broom as far as he dared. Alright, Potter, so not the time for questions. Especially as he was, oh, still about eighty-ish feet from safety. Would someone cushion-charm him fast enough if he jumped? Maybe, if he hung by the hand for a minute or two before he let go. But that would definitely throw off the broom's balance. Surely Ron or Neville would be quick enough on the draw. It wasn't like Harry had much other choice—there was barely any uninfected broom left.

Keeping a leery eye on the creeping black, Harry carefully adjusted himself to sit side-saddle. Below him, the crowd hissed and screamed. Those with binoculars were shouting anew, calling over teachers. Probably noticed the black shit, Harry thought with a petulant glare. Harry Potter couldn't even fall off a cursed broom normally, apparently.

Sucking in a last breath, Harry adjusted his grip—damn, that fucking murdered his injured hands, fuck—and swung down. The crowd screamed, Harry joining them. Quickly, he pulled himself up enough to hook his elbows around the broom, unable to use his hands. Both were screaming at him, blood seeping through his ruined gloves. Beneath his elbows, the broom bucked and jerked, jarring Harry's shoulders. However, he had obviously made the right choice. The very tip of the handle was black now, mangled and twisted. Little pieces flaked away with sharp motions. The veins seemed to be moving faster, now, too.

Feeling ill to his very bones, Harry looked about the stadium, hoping to see a wand raised.

"No, none of that," a voice jeered. It was an ugly, strangled thing, feminine only in the most basic of senses. Harry whipped his head around, instincts shrieking, but all he could detect was a sudden wave of suffocating rot. Coughing as the smell sunk into his lungs, Harry fought to withhold his nausea.

A snapping, cracking sound brought Harry back to the broom above him. The damn thing was disintegrating, the first half gone in seconds. Below Harry, the screaming intensified. Fleetingly, Harry thought of Ron and Neville at breakfast. How he wished he had eaten the damned toast, just so he could have seen Neville's pleased smile one more time. Taken the eggs from Ron, just so Ron would puff up his chest, confident in knowing he had taken care of Harry. It was always the little things that meant the most. A pity Harry had forgotten that.

"Goodbye, snake," the voice wheezed, high and satisfied. The broom gave way like it was made of tissue paper.

Angry, angry eyes were the last impression Harry caught before everything was falling,

Falling,

Black.

So, how'd you guys like this one, haha? *Cringes* Please don't hate me! I promise we'll be getting into some happier, more holiday stuff next chapter! And Sirius, too!

Um, changes to Lone's story should be pretty obvious here. Reason why Sirius, Cissa, and Sev weren't with the adults was because it works better for the next chapter. You'll see what I mean. Also, this is newly edited as of 8/14/2022. Anyway, hope you liked this one! As always, feel free to send me a review with questions, comments, worried screaming, you name it! Hearing from you guys is the best part of my day!

Hope to hear from you soon!

Sincerely,

BlackRoseGirl666