Child of Hogwarts, Part II: The Marauder Legacy

by AimeretVivre

Sequel to COH, Part I. Follows Harry through Year Three at Hogwarts. See Part I for the premise... With Remus Lupin returned to Britain and Sirius Black on the move, Harry, Albus, Minerva and Severus continue to adjust to their changing realities and prepare for an uncertain future... while the ghosts of their pasts refuse to lie dormant. Mentorship; Training; Adventure.

39. The Chase The Seeker & The Secret-Keeper

A/N: Hello darlings. Phew – well, I was exhausted this past week… but I finally have another for you! I am sorry it was a bit longer in coming than expected. I'm estimating Chapter 40 will post sometime near the end of the week, although I won't promise anything. A great deal of the final portion of Part II has been written for a while now, so I am hopeful that the instalments can be finalised quickly. I can say, with 99% certainty, that there will be a total of 43 chapters in this book.

My responses to those who reviewed last time are at the end, per usual.

Enjoy 'The Chase, the Seeker and the Secret-Keeper', and please read and review!

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DISCLAIMER: Any and all familiar characters and/or story lines are the property of Joanne Rowling.

Chapter 39: The Chase, the Seeker and the Secret-Keeper

The silvery wolf streaked into Severus' sitting room mere moments after he had shut the door, coming in from his nightly prowl through the grounds. He glared at it, annoyed. He was particularly irritated with the werewolf of late.

Lupin had taken to shutting himself up in the headmaster's rooms almost every evening since the Easter holidays began, with the result that Severus was forced to pace his own quarters when he was not on patrol, waiting for the insipid man to skulk back to his den so that Severus could go and watch that map for himself. He refused to suffer the mutt's company, or look on while Black led the new Potter into further acts of death-chasing. But Albus had insisted that the boy be given time with his godfather… and so Severus had no choice but to pace, and wait.

Lupin had got into the habit of sending a message when they'd finished for the evening – a courtesy for which Severus was grateful and irritated in equal measure. Tonight's was earlier than he had expected. Perhaps Albus did not want his precious Golden Boy over-tired for the resumption of lessons…

But then the Patronus spoke, and Severus' ire gave way to blinding rage.

'He is here – seventh floor, west corridor.'

He bolted for the door before the silvery creature had even vanished, his wand drawn and his robes billowing.

'Where is he?!' Severus hissed, running almost full on into Lupin as he turned a corner off the staircase into the seventh-floor corridor the werewolf's message had indicated.

Lupin shook his head, glancing about wildly. 'He should have been here,' he muttered. He started pulling aside tapestries and peering around the edges of the suits of armour that lined the path. 'Right here! That's what the map –'

'Give it here!' Severus hissed, pulling the ragged parchment so sharply out of the man's hands that it nearly ripped.

He scanned their portion of corridor, but he did not see a dot labelled 'Peter Pettigrew' anywhere on it.

'You're sure?' he asked Lupin, flinging the map back at him. 'I cannot see him anywhere near.'

Lupin's eyes raked over the parchment. 'He's nowhere,' he muttered as he scanned. 'And that doesn't make sense; it was seconds ago that I –'

'Remus, Severus!'

Albus' voice interrupted them as he and Minerva strode briskly around the corner too. 'Is there any –'

But a savage growl drowned the last of the headmaster's words. The insufferable Animagus too had joined the group. He sniffed eagerly at the edges of a tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy, his hackles raised.

'I told you to stay put,' Lupin muttered to the dog. 'Why don't you ever taken precau–'

'What the HELL is he doing here?' Severus snapped, glaring from the mutt to the headmaster. Then another disconcerting thought struck him. 'And who is with –'

'Did you get him?'

The voice rang out through the corridor, and Severus whirled to see the foolish child himself thumping toward the group, sweaty faced and panting.

'Did you find him?' Potter demanded.

Severus snarled. 'Obviously not, you idiotic brat!' he spat at the boy. 'And you should not be anywhere near this regardless. Get back to Gryffindor –'

'I'm not going anywhere!' Potter retorted hotly. 'Pettigrew ruined my childhood. He took everything from me! I want to be here when he –'

'You insolent little –'

The dog barked loudly, and Severus broke off what was promising to be a glorious rant, whirling back to face the others.

'What is it, Sirius?' Lupin asked.

Severus, whose momentary excitement that the mutt might have found something had faded on seeing his jaws were empty, scoffed. 'Can you speak to canines now?' he mocked. 'Or is your companionship so joyously revitalised already that you are capable of telepathic communication?'

Lupin shot him an irritated glance. 'He can smell him, Severus,' he explained in a voice of forced calm. 'That is why he behaves so.'

'Why use the dog?' the Potions Master countered nastily. 'When we have our very own werewolf in attendance? I thought increased senses were a happy side effect of your condi-'

'Severus – not in the corridors, for Merlin's sake!' Minerva reproached.

'Is he here?' Potter put in again, beginning to pace the scene with his wand drawn. 'Is he? Can you find him, Sirius?'

Albus, meanwhile, had his own wand out. He was murmuring long streams of incantation; brightly coloured beams shooting about the corridor and reflecting off the armour.

'Give me the map again!' Severus spat, trying to ignore Potter's presence as he focused on finding the traitor.

Lupin handed it over distractedly, heading to crouch next to the insufferable mutt in his search. Severus scoured the sea of black ink dots, but he could not locate Pettigrew anywhere among them… neither in their corridor nor anywhere else in view.

'I cannot find a trace of his continued presence,' Albus determined, stowing his wand again. He exchanged a grim glance with Minerva.

'Does that mean he's gone?' Potter demanded. 'But that's… how did he escape? It's only been minutes since you said he was here, Remus.'

His irritation taking hold again, Severus whirled to lambast Potter once more.

'You should have been nowhere near here,' he repeated. 'The fact that the wolf and your godfather have allowed you to run wild through the castle again is yet further proof of their inadequate ability to –'

'I did nothing of the sort,' Remus disagreed angrily, straightening from his canine companion. 'I told both Harry and Sirius to remain in the headmaster's study.'

The dog gave a growl, though he did not turn his head from the continued sniffing of the floor. Albus shot a sharp glance at Black.

'Sirius, you should not be wandering the school in any form,' he reminded him sharply. 'And Harry –' he turned toward the child – 'You know I would not have given permission for you to leave my study tonight. You should have listened to Remus.'

'Why?' Potter challenged, crossing his arms over his chest. 'I deserve to face him, Albus. He killed my mum and dad!'

'Keep your voice down,' Minerva shushed in a hiss. She looked up and down the corridor anxiously. 'And do not cheek the headmaster, Harry.'

'There is a time and a place for answers,' Dumbledore said to the boy. 'But it is not achieved by putting yourself into danger. This is a conversation we have had before… and you know perfectly well why we would choose to keep you away from this corridor tonight.'

'There'd have been four adults here, even if Sirius hadn't come,' Potter pointed out. 'It wasn't as if I was going to –'

'Will you cease your childish whinging?' Severus spat impatiently at the brat. 'Not that I am at all opposed to disciplining Potter's recklessness,' he added to the headmaster, 'But there is a more pressing matter at hand. Perhaps we can send the boy back to where he ought to be and deal with finding our quarry.'

'Minerva?' Albus asked, turning to his deputy. She nodded.

'Come, Harry,' the professor insisted, putting a firm hand on his shoulder and steering the student away. Potter still looked mutinous, but even he seemed to be able to tell protesting would be fruitless. Or, perhaps, he could sense as well as the rest of them that tonight's chase would yield no results.

They stayed at the search for a quarter of an hour, but all Severus gained was a growing ache in his temple – which he attributed as much to prolonged exposure to the mutt and the wolf as he did the lack of success in locating Pettigrew. Black continued to pace the corridor, sniffing and occasionally growling at odd corners. Lupin alternated between tailing the dog and scouring the map. Severus and Albus, meanwhile, cast various detection charms with fading hope, until at last the headmaster called an end to the endeavour.

'If he was here,' Albus said, 'Than he has certainly gone. I do not think there is much else we can do, tonight.'

'If he was here,' Severus grumbled, shooting a distrustful glance in Lupin's direction.

The werewolf did not miss it. 'He was here,' he insisted. 'I saw him – it was definitely Peter. I don't know how he could have vanished again…'

Black snarled.

'Take your pet back to his hideaway,' Severus suggested cuttingly, turning for the stairs in disgust. 'Before someone decides he's rabid.'

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Harry supposed he was lucky, on the whole, that Minerva had handed out the punishment instead of Snape. Though spending hours writing endless lines and listening to her lecture him until she'd grown hoarse had been far from pleasant, at least he hadn't had to pick congealed frog guts out from under his fingernails again.

Not that Snape had been content to let Harry receive his due from Minerva alone… he'd made Potions even more exceedingly unpleasant than usual of late, and Harry had been so weary by the end of their second Wandless lesson after the holiday that he rather thought Snape's idea of punishment might be putting Harry into Hospital Wing for the rest of term – something the Potions Master usually took annoyingly great strides to avoid in their tutorials.

'At least there would be far less chance of your escaping Madam Pomfrey's clutches than the mutt's foolish care,' Snape spat, when Harry had unwisely voiced this opinion aloud near the end of April. He thrust a second Invigoration Draught begrudgingly into the boy's hand, before taking thirty points from Gryffindor for Harry's impertinence.

Remus had cancelled their meetings for the time being – ostensibly because he thought Harry ought to be focusing on his regular lessons now that exams were drawing near and he had mastered the basics of the spell. Harry suspected, however, that Remus had done it to better keep a watch on the Map for Pettigrew. He'd seen the professor's constant distraction, even in the Gryffindor Defence lessons, as his eyes swept relentlessly over the old parchment. Remus hadn't laid into him quite as badly as the others… but Harry knew that was because he'd saved the bulk of his own wrath for Sirius. His godfather had told him as much, when they'd met up for the first time since the fateful events a week into the resumption of term.

Harry himself did not have much time to wallow in his recent disgrace… for Quidditch fever had taken over the school once more. The final match – Gryffindor v. Slytherin – was to take place on the second Saturday after the Easter holidays, and the school could talk of nothing else. Malfoy's team led the standings by two hundred points; their superior brooms clearly having done their job in their previous two matches. It made Harry's task in the final even more difficult, for he would have to time his capture so that –

'We must be more than fifty points up!' Oliver Wood reminded him for about the twelfth time as Friday's final practice drew to a close. 'More than fifty points, or else –'

'We win the match but lose the Cup,' Harry finished for him, rolling his eyes. 'I know, Oliver. You've said it a million times now.'

'So we have to be sixty –'

'I KNOW, OLIVER!' Harry shouted, his voicing echoing across the darkening pitch. Madam Hooch, who had been watching them practise, gave a disapproving titter.

'Right then,' Wood said with a terse nod. 'Let's go, everyone. And wands out!'

They trudged back up to the castle and through the corridors in a close-knit huddle. This had been Wood's requirement for much of the past week: no member of the team was to travel alone through the school. With the enmity between Gryffindor and Slytherin at an all-time high and the Quidditch Cup on the line, there had already been several nasty incidents this month. Tonight, Harry thought he saw Marcus Flint sulking around a corner as they crossed the entrance hall, but nobody attempted to curse their scarlet pack as they made their way slowly up to the Tower.

It was tedious, marching through the school like this… but Harry did not complain. As the Seeker and as Harry Potter, he already faced an abnormal amount of pre-match heckling and mischief even before a normal match. In the lead-up to the match that would decide this year's Cup, he could hardly walk to lessons without jumping legs meant to trip him in the corridors or skirting groups of older Slytherins waiting for an opening. And he had not forgotten Malfoy's attempt to sabotage him in the match against Ravenclaw.

So he allowed Wood's over-caution without complaint. The whole House was keen to participate in 'defending' the Gryffindor Quidditch players… and Harry himself had appealed to Mina to place a few of her own charms around his trunk so that his Firebolt could not be tampered with.

When they finally reached the Tower tonight, it was to find most of the House in excited buzz about the upcoming match – lounging in chairs by the fire or settled into chat at the various tables in the Common Room. Even Hermione had cleared her usual workspace, biting anxiously at her fingernails as Ron and Neville debated Flint's chances of foul play and Angelina's skill with a penalty shot at the table next to her. All three whipped round as Harry approached.

'All sorted, then?' Ron asked anxiously, pulling out a chair for Harry to fall into.

Harry shrugged. 'Reckon so,' he replied. 'Can't do anything else for practise now…'

'It'll be fine, Harry,' Hermione put in – her voice thin and cracked.

'You've got a Firebolt!' Ron added bracingly.

'You'll be brilliant,' Neville said confidently, tossing him a chocolate frog from a stash to his left. 'Have something to eat, Harry, you barely touched supper.'

Harry unwrapped the sweet with a nod of thanks, nibbling on the head. He never could eat much when his nerves were prickling.

'Chuck us some of that pumpkin juice, Gin,' Ron called, leaning back in his chair with his feet propped up on the table to get his sister's attention a few tables away.

Ginny Weasley raised an eyebrow but obediently poured a glass from their pitcher, walking it over to the third form students.

'Thanks,' said Harry, taking the juice from her.

'Good luck tomorrow,' she said, flushing a bit but smiling. 'I wish I was playing… should be a great match.'

Ron gave a snort as his chair legs thumped back to the ground – Hermione having pushed his feet off the table with a mild scolding.

'You?' he queried, looking at Ginny. 'When have you ever played at Quidditch?'

The scarlet in Ginny's cheeks intensified, but this time Harry suspected the flush was more in anger than embarrassment. 'Just because you won't let me fly with the rest of you out back,' she retorted, spinning to glare at her brother, 'Does not mean I don't know how to do it!' she spat. 'I'll have you know, I was the best in our form! I'd try for Chaser now, if there was an opening on the team.'

'You should next term,' Harry said fairly, ignoring Ron's sputtering. 'Only Wood's leaving this year, but the next captain might hold open trials anyway. Some Houses do… it's not always good to keep playing the same roster when there might be new talent.'

Ginny shrugged. 'Maybe,' she said noncommittally. Ron snorted again and her eyes flashed. 'Or maybe I'll go out for keeper,' she added, glaring again at Ron. 'Now that Wood's finished. They'll need someone good in that spot.'

She stalked back toward her table without another word, leaving Ron to glower at her retreating back.

'Keeping and Chasing are total opposites,' Ron grumbled. 'She can't be that good if she hasn't worked that out.'

'Mmm… but it's all flying, isn't it?' Hermione opined, floating Harry's sweet wrapper toward the rubbish bin in the corner with her wand.

The boys all gave her exasperated looks.

'That's like saying Transfiguration and Divination are the same, because it's all magic,' Ron criticised when his indignation allowed him speech again. He shook his head, frowning toward his sister's table again.

Hermione waved an impatient hand. 'Are your, er, friends coming to the match, Harry?' she asked keenly.

Harry nodded. 'Yeah, I think so. Last I heard anyway.'

'Who?' Neville asked curiously.

Harry hesitated. He didn't know whether speaking of the headmaster's brother was a good idea…

'Er, Bathilda Bagshot,' he said – truthfully – instead. 'And a friend of hers, I think.' Neville made an impressed noise. 'You know her?' Harry added.

'Ooh, yeah,' Neville said, nodding. 'Famous historian. Gran's had her round for tea a few times, though I'm not sure how they met. She's got to have sixty years on Gran, if not more…' he frowned, a finger at his mouth. 'But how do you know her, Harry?' he asked.

Harry shrugged. 'I don't really… or not much,' he hedged. 'She used to live next door to us – to my parents… when I was small. I don't remember her much from then, but apparently she used to childmind for them on occasion. She got in touch in the autumn, wanted to come round and see a match.'

Neville's gaze grew sympathetic. 'That's amazing, Harry,' he said – a hint of longing in his voice. 'I never knew she lived in Godric's Hollow. You should talk with her, she might have stories. Someone who knew your parents like that… it's a gift, Harry.'

A faded voice echoed in Harry's head… his mother's voice; from one of the memories he'd watched over the summer, speaking as she took a baby Harry back from the headmaster's arms…

'I don't know what we would have done – with the boys working until supper and the Longbottoms out of town.'

Had his mum and dad known Neville's parents? Had he, Harry, known Neville, as a small child?

Where were Neville's parents? Harry knew Neville had been raised by his grandmother, but he had never asked why. That seemed odd to him, now, having known Neville for the past three years. How could he not have asked how Neville had come to live with his grandmother… never bothered to find out what had happened to bring him there in the first place? Had they died, like James and Lily, in the war against Voldemort?

Had Neville too grown up without them; dreamed about them; wondered what they would have done or said or thought as their son grew up?

'Harry… you alright?' Neville asked.

Harry shook himself. Neville, Ron and Hermione were all peering at him closely, looking concerned.

'Yeah,' he said, clearing his throat against the well of emotion and questions. 'Yeah, I –'

'Team – Bed!' Wood shouted, standing up against the centre hearth with his miniature model of the Quidditch pitch tucked under his arm.

Harry welcomed the order as he climbed automatically to his own feet. He gave a forced smile.

'Bit nervous, I suppose,' he half-lied as he reached for his bag. 'Ought to turn in.'

And he followed the male members of the team up the staircase, forcing his mind onto the match once more.

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'Budge up there, old man,' a gruff voice said to his left.

Albus moved politely a few steps to the right, making room for his grumbling brother and little Bathilda Bagshot.

'You do realise that three years is hardly a heartbeat when one passes one hundred?' he commented lightly as Aberforth flung his cloak over the back of the bench in the high box. Albus scooted back so Minerva could slide by, engaging Batty in conversation in moments.

Aberforth shrugged. 'There are more ways to be old than added years, Albus,' he noted.

'Indeed,' Albus agreed.

'How long until they get started?' Aberforth asked as he peered down at the pitch.

'Just a few minutes more,' the headmaster answered.

He had to speak quite loudly. The entire school had packed into the stadium to watch the final, and a thousand excited voices battled each other to be heard through the din. Many heads flicked toward their box at regular intervals, aiming for a glimpse of the silver Cup where it gleamed in the sunlight on its pedestal in the corner. Albus watched as Madam Hooch made her way onto the pitch, the chest of balls floating along in front of her.

'I'd better get on to Jordan,' Minerva put in, leaning across Bathilda so that the headmaster might hear her. 'A Gryffindor-Slytherin final… he'll need constant watching.'

She shook her head in apparent exasperation, but Albus could not help a grin. If she truly minded the sometimes-colourful commentary… she'd have wrenched the megaphone from Lee Jordan's hands years ago. Albus suspected the teenager sometimes voiced the thoughts that Minerva's dignity and position would not allow her to utter herself.

'Of course,' he said, inclining his head. Minerva whispered something further into Batty's ear, and swept off toward the Gryffindor section of the stands.

'Better get a move on, or this lot's likely to grow bored with heckling alone,' Aberforth advised, scanning the crowd of scarlet and green with a frown.

Albus sighed. 'I shall never understand it,' he admitted. 'But you should have seen breakfast this morning… twenty incidents in two hours alone, and all for a piece of silver.'

Bathilda made a noise like Minerva might have done. 'Quidditch is life, Albus,' she said seriously. 'There are few days more important in a pupil's Hogwarts experience than the Final.'

Albus shook his head in vexation, but he was saved his reply as a roar from the stands announced the arrival of the competing teams.

'Merlin, he looks titchy out there,' Aberforth muttered, leaning over the edge of the box for a better view. Bathilda – so much tinier – was bent so far over the rail that Albus wondered whether he ought not cast a sticking charm to keep her from tipping into freefall.

'You ought to have seen him two years ago,' he replied. 'He was not half the size of many of his opponents… perhaps now you will understand my own reservations about this ridiculous sport.'

'Stop your tosh, Albus,' Batty chastised. She dug out a pair of what Albus recognised as omnioculars as Lee Jordan began to announce the names to tumultuous applause. 'Children have been flying since they invented broomsticks. And no child has ever been permanently injured in a Hogwarts match.'

Aberforth gave a low chuckle. 'She would know, Albus,' he pointed out fairly.

The headmaster was not amused. 'Whisper near the goblin's lair…' he said darkly.

Below them on the pitch, the captains were gripping hands while their respective teams mounted their brooms. Madam Hooch released the catch on her chest, and the sun flashed off the glass in Harry's spectacles as he turned his face skyward – watching the little golden Snitch streak out of sight. There was a single blast of the whistle… and the fifteen brooms shot up into the air.

'Ah, I've missed this,' Bathilda said longingly. Her head whipped back and forth as she trained her omnioculars in all directions, trying to keep the action in sight. 'Not the calibre of the professional matches, of course – but Hogwarts has always turned out skilled players.'

'I think the boy with the mic has a point,' Aberforth put in as he squinted up with his arms crossed. 'The Snakes have gone for brawn over broomstick, seems like. Might be they've got gorillas there as Beaters. You ought to mount an inquiry, Albus.'

'And yet, it is Slytherin who sit first in the Hogwarts league,' a waspish voice replied in a hiss.

Both Albus and Aberforth turned to see Severus slipping into the box from behind. The barman and the professor shared mutual looks of loathing. Bathilda, muttering to herself as she continued to watch the match unfold, did not appear to notice the new arrival.

'Way I hear it, the boy's the best one out there,' Aberforth retorted in a grunt. 'So unlikely that honour will hold, Snape. Would've thought you'd be slinking round with your own House to watch the slaughter though… or was my company to tempting to resist?'

'Aberforth, really…' Albus began.

Severus' upper lip curled back in a mirthless smirk. 'Oh I assure you I have no intention of watching the match at your side,' he said silkily. 'But I have a message to relay to the headmaster before I take my own place.'

'Always was fond of your messages,' Aberforth mocked. 'Your information comes from such interesting sources…'

'Aberforth, please,' Albus said, shooting an admonitory glance at his brother before stepping slightly to the side. 'What is it you wish to tell me, Severus?' he asked the Potions Master.

'Merely that Lupin will not be attending the match,' he said in a bored voice. 'He met me in the corridor after my patrol had ended, and he wishes to watch that the Rat does not take advantage of the absence of the rest of the school. He will remain with the map, and sends his regrets.'

Albus inclined his head. 'A wise decision, on the whole,' he opined. 'Though I am sorry Remus will miss Harry's final match of the term.'

'Yes, tragic,' Severus mocked. 'If there is nothing else, headmaster…'

Albus nodded, and Severus swept away toward the Slytherin stands.

'Odious little slime ball,' Aberforth spat as Albus re-joined the group at the railing. 'If your boy bests his minions today, I'll –'

'Aberforth, I do wish you would cease your remonstrations on Severus,' Albus interrupted wearily. 'He is not the man he was that night.'

'Poisonous toadstools don't change their spots, Albus,' the barman rebuffed. 'You keep a watch on him, or I'm warning you…'

'TEN-NIL TO GRYFFINDOR!'

There was a roar from the scarlet supporters, and the rest of his brother's sentence was drowned out. Albus clapped politely as Angelina Johnson took a victorious lap in celebration, then winced as the Slytherin captain went careening into her.

The crowd's boos were nothing to the roar of Aberforth's oath at his ear.

'School children, Aberforth,' he reminded him sharply, as several heads flicked toward their box.

'Blatant foul, Albus!' Aberforth growled back.

Fred Weasley apparently agreed, for before Madam Hooch's whistle had even sounded, his Beater's club thunked off the back of Flint's head, smashing the captain's nose into the handle of his broomstick.

'And this is why Quidditch unnerves me,' said Albus simply.

There was a brief pause in the match as the referee zoomed between the flyers to sort out the mess and shout at the perpetrators, awarding each team a penalty shot.

'Twenty points up!' Batty squeaked gleefully, clapping along with the stands as Wood saved the chance at his own goal. 'How many did you say Gryffindor need to win the Cup?'

'Fifty-one, before the Snitch,' Albus replied. 'They are two-hundred points behind at the moment.'

'Sixty then, as the goals are ten apiece,' Batty calculated aloud. 'My word, this could get interesting.'

It did indeed. Not ten minutes later, the Lions scored their third goal of the match on a second penalty shot, this one induced by Montague's highly dangerous seizure of Katie Bell's head instead of the Quaffle. Minerva was having an increasingly difficult time restraining Lee's angry commentary, though by the fire Albus could see in her own expression he doubted she would put forth a fight much longer.

'That was nasty,' Batty agreed anxiously. Her eyes were pressed so tightly to the brass that Albus thought the omnioculars were likely to leave marks. Aberforth was cursing beside him again, though thankfully in a less booming voice.

Harry suddenly went tearing off up the pitch, bent low over his broomstick. Albus leaned over the rail himself to watch as Draco Malfoy followed immediately.

'Not yet!' Batty squealed as she tracked them. 'They need thirty more!'

'It's a feint,' Aberforth said confidently. 'Boy's not an id-'

There was a strangled cry from the masses below and Albus' fingers clenched over the rail as Harry's broom gave a hairpin swerve, a bludger missing his skull by millimetres. A moment later he was pulling the other direction, as the second Beater's strike grazed his left elbow.

'They'll hit him,' he murmured in panic, as both enormous Slytherin players went haring toward the Seeker, arms raised and clubs at the ready…

But Harry was quicker. He jerked the broom upward at the last moment, and two would-be attackers collided in a tangle of wood and limbs.

Aberforth cheered with the swell of Gryffindor supporters. 'He's better than I'd thought,' he commented to Albus, watching as Harry took to the air high above the action again.

'He's brilliant,' Batty agreed. She lifted her gaze from the omnioculars at last to give Albus a warm smile. 'Might be better even than his father.'

As the morning grew later and brighter, the play on the pitch swelled to levels of vindictive fury Albus had rarely witnessed before, even between these two rival Houses. Harry's besting of their beaters did not sit well with the Slytherin team, who retaliated with the strongest offensive they had shown thus far. Barely a minute later, Marcus Flint put the first Slytherin goal of the match through Oliver Wood's right hoop, giving the sea of emerald something to celebrate.

'Makes it more exciting, when it's close,' Bathilda offered, as Lee Jordan wrestled with Minerva for control of the megaphone again.

Aberforth grunted a disagreement. 'You watch,' he said sagely. 'This'll turn far more nasty before it's finished.'

Albus could tell he was correct. By the time the match reached close to ninety minutes of play, both the Slytherin and Gryffindor teams had taken on several additional penalties apiece – clubs flailing far wide of Bludgers and elbows and knees making suspicious collision with opponents' faces. The score was now 40-10 in Gryffindor's favour, but Albus knew that the tide of the match could shift at any moment.

Harry had not had much to do since his spectacular dodge from the attack of the Slytherin beaters. He was soaring round and round the pitch, above most of the dangerous play, with Draco Malfoy in constant pursuit. Gryffindor managed to keep their advantage, and the House supporters' enthusiasm reached new heights as the score crept up to the seventy-ten lead they needed.

'Where's the Snitch?' Bathilda ranted, hopping up and down on her tiny feet. 'This is it – they'll win if Harry can –'

'He's seen it!' Aberforth shouted.

And it seemed he had. Harry was rising higher still, a tiny fleck of gold just visible several yards above him…

'That BLOODY scumbag!'

The Snitch disappeared again: Draco's effort to curtail Harry's capture by physically restraining his broomstick paying off.

Albus did not even chastise Aberforth for his crass bellow this time. He could feel his own fury pounding too loudly to risk speech; and the crowd's nearly-unanimous reaction drowned the worst of the barman's anger regardless.

Minerva, he noticed, had finally abandoned her attempts to censor Lee's commentary. She looked even more furious than he did: her cheeks as scarlet as her rosette and her hair blowing about her face as she shouted up at Malfoy too.

'Keep it together, keep it together!' Batty muttered anxiously. 'If you go to pieces now, it only encourages them!'

She was quite right. The Gryffindors – infuriated by the thwarted victory – were starting to lose their nerve. Alicia missed the awarded penalty, and the Slytherin return finished in another goal.

Harry had reversed the positions of the Seekers. Rather than allowing Malfoy to tail him as he flew, he was now marking Draco so closely their knees were nearly touching. Albus could see them sniping at each other even from the box.

'That's not on!'

It was Batty who was shouting this time. Angelina Johnson was streaking toward the goal posts, set to take the shot… and from all around her, six Slytherin players were converging to stop her from scoring…

Harry dove at last. But this time, he wasn't going for the Snitch. He tore through the mass of green with a roar like a war cry, sending the blockers scattering. Angelina put the Quaffle through, but –

'Argh, acting the hero never pays off, you fool!' Aberforth snarled, hands above his head in exasperation.

Albus gave him a sideways glance, but he did not have a chance to contradict. All eyes were on the centre of the pitch now, where Draco Malfoy had gone into a steep dive… arm outstretched toward the Snitch that was bobbing almost level with the ground.

Harry hurried to follow, a look of sheer panic on his face that changed almost at once to determined concentration. His dive was even sharper than Draco's had been – so close to vertical that Albus feared fleetingly he might tumble headfirst off the broom… He was pressed flat to the handle from navel to nose, his right hand reaching out as he drew even with the Slytherin Seeker… and…

'He's done it!' Batty cried, tears leaking from the corners of her eyes as Harry soared upwards once again, his fist clenched around the struggling golden ball. 'That was unbelievable – truly. What a match!'

Aberforth was wolf-whistling, pounding the edges of the box. Minerva had clutched a terrified-looking Lee Jordan round the neck, sobbing unabashedly onto his shoulder as he continued to attempt to shout the results through the exploding crowd. The Gryffindor team embraced in a tangled weave of scarlet mid-air, sinking back down to earth where swarms of their supporters were rushing the pitch.

'We must go down,' said Albus, trying to keep his own voice dignified through his private elation. 'It is tradition to present the Cup…'

Bathilda flicked her wand at the corner pedestal, and Albus caught the gleaming Cup by its base as she floated it to him. He let her precede them out of the box, following with Aberforth.

'Your boy did it,' his brother muttered quietly as they pushed through the curtains. 'Pulled that one out of you know where… absolute skin of his teeth. I thought he was lost for certain.'

'Yes,' Albus agreed, with slightly less joy than he'd had a moment before. 'And that, most unfortunately, does seem to be his signature finish.'

He hitched a beaming smile back on his face, and stepped onto the platform to greet the victorious team.

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'You should have stayed after the match!' Harry said, clutching his tea as he sat across the pub table from Bathilda and Aberforth next day.

They'd met up about noon: early enough that the barman could still keep business as usual, as the Hog's Head was not usually crowded much before mid-afternoon. Harry had barely had a chance to greet either of them the previous day in the post-match chaos, but he was grateful Bathilda had decided to stay the night in the village so they might spend a few hours on Sunday together before she headed back to Godric's Hollow.

They'd talked the match through play by play, both Bathilda and Aberforth showing much more enthusiasm for the sport than the headmaster usually did. Albus and Minerva had joined for tea as well. Albus smiled indulgently at the Quidditch chatter. Minerva, meanwhile, was still prone to tears of happiness and regularly clutched at Harry's arm in pride. She hadn't even come up to tell them off for their raucous festivities in the Tower the night before… which told Harry more than anything just how excited she'd been to secure the silver Cup. He'd noted she sat next to Severus in the Great Hall this morning as well…

Rubbing it in, he suspected. Just a little.

Bathilda smiled as she dropped a slice of lemon into Harry's tea for him. 'We wanted to give you the chance to celebrate with your friends,' she told him. 'This worked out well – a chance to chat with you after you'd slept off some of the initial excitement.'

'Or the drink,' Aberforth put in with a chuckle.

Minerva's eyes flashed dangerously. 'Harry is thirteen,' she reminded him in a hiss. 'If I ever find him with more than a butterbeer in my Tower, he will be on restriction until he comes of age.'

Harry flushed. 'I haven't,' he assured her in a mumble.

Aberforth chuckled harder. 'Batty could tell you stories, boy…'

He turned to Minerva with a mischievous smirk. 'Do you want to know how old Albus was, Minnie, when our mother caught him with –'

'I think we would do better returning to the subject of the match,' Albus cut in loudly. 'Minerva, what was it you were saying last night about Oliver's prospects for the summer?'

Minerva took a gulp of tea that might have been hiding a giggle. She coughed and sputtered for a moment before she was able to answer the query.

'There was a scout from Puddlemere United at the Final,' she informed the table. 'He asked permission a few weeks ago to come and size up the talent – a few of their squad are getting on in years now.'

'Decent team,' Bathilda observed with a nod. 'Only one older than the Harpies in the league. Their side's been a bit off these past three years or so, but historically they're always in the top of the standings.'

Albus nodded pensively. 'They were my father's team,' he observed softly.

Harry shot him a curious look. Dumbledore almost never mentioned any of his family. His father, perhaps, he spoke of least of all… except of course for Ariana.

Aberforth was scratching at his beard. 'They want the Keeper, then?' he asked Minerva.

She nodded. 'Seems so,' she said. 'Oliver's keen to join up somewhere – he's been at my door three times a month since his fifth year, looking for information on trials and asking for recommendations to scouts. I didn't tell him Goldfinch was coming yesterday. I couldn't get his hopes up, just in case.'

'But he liked him?' Harry asked eagerly. He knew that Oliver would just about burst with joy if he were taken on by a professional Quidditch team… joining the League was his dearest ambition.

'He did,' Minerva affirmed with a smile. 'I think he'll have him for the reserves, for now. Their regular Keeper has a season or two left in him… but I should think he'll do well if he stays as driven as he is at the moment.'

'He'll be brilliant,' said Harry loyally.

'He was a wonderful Keeper,' Batty agreed. 'Two saves on penalty yesterday… and those are always the most difficult shots.' She turned to Harry. 'Of course, you might well have been the best on the pitch,' she told him. 'A true prodigy, Harry. Your father would have been so proud.'

She ruffled his hair fondly. Despite his awkwardness in their first meeting the previous autumn, Harry found he had already grown used to Bathilda's familiar manner. He grinned back at her.

'Thanks,' he said in embarrassment.

'He asked after you as well,' Minerva said, suspiciously casual. Harry whipped his head back to her so quickly that vague spots danced across his vision.

'What?!' he stammered, shocked. 'He asked about me? The scout? But I'm only in third form! And I… I'm not good enough for the professional league…'

'How do you have charge of someone so modest?' Aberforth ribbed his brother, rolling his eyes.

Harry ignored the headmaster's retort, still staring at Minerva.

'Did he really?' he demanded again.

She smirked. 'He did. Of course, he realises you are still four years out from any possibility of professional play… but he wants to keep an eye on you. Don't look so dumbfounded, Harry,' she added, shaking her head as he stammered. 'You really are uniquely gifted on a broomstick. I shan't be surprised if you're entertaining offers from half the League when it comes time for you to leave school. If you wish to entertain a professional career in sport, of course.'

A wonderful vista of possibilities was emerging in Harry's imagination. He wondered what it would be like – if his job was to fly, all day every day… to play Quidditch around the country; maybe even around the world… He imagined what it might feel like to hear his name announced through an enormous stadium, like the one they'd visited in Edinburgh… to rush onto the pitch to a roar of applause, the English colours on his back…

'A lifetime of Quidditch,' Albus said with a tragic sigh. 'And here I thought my anxiety had a certain expiration date.'

Harry smirked, turning to him. The words were said in jest… but, as Harry caught the headmaster's eye, he found he his laughter died in his throat. Though Albus was smiling, his expression was curiously closed off – almost guarded. Perhaps it was only because Harry knew him so well; but the absence of a twinkle in Albus' gaze gave him the sudden feeling that he'd swallowed something off.

He remembered Pettigrew… and Voldemort. Still out there, somewhere. Still biding their time…

Still hunting him.

He was fooling himself. How could he ever have a normal life, if there remained a chance that Voldemort would come for him again? If, as Albus believed, his return was bound to occur eventually… and Harry remained top of his kill list?

How could he play at Quidditch and zoom about the globe… when at the moment he was not even permitted in the Hogwarts grounds on his own?

'You don't have to play, Harry,' Minerva went on. Apparently, he'd been quiet a touch too long. 'I was only teasing.'

Harry forced himself to laugh, tearing his gaze from Dumbledore. 'I think it'd be wicked,' he assured her truthfully.

And he let the chatter resume around him, careful not to let his mind explore less savoury paths.

'So…' Harry dared to ask as they approached the oak front doors several hours later, 'How old were you, Albus?'

The headmaster merely smiled, his eyes twinkling. Harry did not need to direct Dumbledore's attention to the previous conversation… he knew Albus would not have forgotten.

'Not old enough,' he said enigmatically. 'But some stories, my dear boy, are better kept untold.'

Harry had enjoyed the several hours of banter over tea with Batty and Aberforth. But he missed Sirius.

He knew that Albus had allowed him to go to the match, hidden away as Padfoot under the stands to watch the action. He'd received a note of congratulations late that same night, and was unsurprised that Hedwig seemed informed enough on the secret to carry the correspondence. He read it by wandlight behind the curtains of his four-poster. The note was unsigned… but Harry knew immediately who had sent it all the same.

He wished he'd been able to see Sirius in person, but since the Easter holidays had ended and he'd spent the next few weeks on restriction, Albus had only allowed the single visit the previous Saturday. He'd promised Harry on their walk into the village, however, that he would set aside some time later that week.

Harry compromised his discontent by stopping in to say hello to Remus on his return to the castle, where he spent another two hours giving him a play-by-play recap of the match he'd missed. Remus, to Harry's disappointment, had not had any luck with the map in his absence.

When he at last returned to the Tower, it was to find Ron waiting at the portrait hole.

'Where've you been?' he asked Harry, eyebrows raised.

Harry shrugged. 'In the village,' he said truthfully. 'I told you, I was meeting up with Aberforth and Bathilda today.'

Ron did not look convinced. 'That was hours ago,' he pointed out.

'Well, Batty talks a lot,' Harry said, again truthfully. 'And I went by to see Remus for a bit after…'

Ron huffed, stalking away toward the boys' dormitory. Harry watched him go in some bemusement before making his way over to Hermione's usual table.

'What's up with Ron?' he asked, throwing himself into an empty seat. The Common Room was quieter than usual this evening – many students lounging about and yawning in a post-party lethargy.

Hermione did not look up from One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi. 'He's in a temper,' she answered lightly. 'He's been needling me all day about how I'm getting to lessons again. I swear he'll drive me to distraction.'

Harry grunted noncommittally, plagued not only by the Time-Turner's secrecy but also all the other things he'd had to keep hidden over the past few weeks – from both Ron and Hermione. He spent an hour or so flicking through Arithmancy at the table with her, but his heart was not really in the work. Ron did not emerge from the dormitory at all until it was time to go down to supper, and then he was frosty with Harry all through the meal. Harry was grateful when at last he could reasonably turn in for the night.

Most of Gryffindor Tower was calling it an early evening, after the raucous celebration that had kept them up the whole of the previous night… but even so, Harry was the first in his form to head to bed. Just a few minutes after he'd climbed into the four-poster, however, the door to the dormitory opened again. He heard footsteps approach… and to his surprise, Ron's face appeared in the gap in the curtains.

'Hey,' Harry said, sitting up a bit against the headboard. Ron still had the glower he'd been wearing most of the day.

'Hey,' he said back. 'Look, Harry…'

He widened the gap a bit, moving to sit on the edge of Harry's bed. He was playing with his fingers, and he looked nervous.

'What's up?' Harry prodded, pulling his knees to his chest and leaning forward toward Ron.

'Harry are… are we okay?' Ron asked.

'Course we are,' Harry said in some surprise. 'Why wouldn't we be?'

'It's just…' Ron hesitated again. 'Look, you've been odd, mate,' he said bluntly. 'Ever since before the Easter break. It's like you're there… but you're not really there, do you know what I mean? Like something's wrong with you…'

Harry's heart kicked up a little in his chest. It was usually Hermione he thought of as the observant one.

'Ron, it's nothing to do with you,' he promised, trying to make his voice sincere. The words did not seem to bring his friend any comfort.

'Well than what is it, Harry?' he insisted. 'Because it is something. You've not bothered to find out why Hermione's been shady… we've barely even talked about Sirius Black since the week after he broke in this room… and you've been muttering in your sleep, a lot,' he added, looking up with a crease between his eyebrows. 'A lot, Harry. More than usual. Almost as much as you did back in first year, after… at the end of the term.'

Harry frowned too. He had not had any of the really awful nightmares… not the kind that shook him from his sleep, or rendered him physically ill. But he was certain his dreams had been disturbed, in the more usual way.

He'd have to remember to start practising the Occlumency again. He'd been letting it slide for months now.

'I… it's nothing,' he hedged. But Ron's jaw was set.

'I thought we were better friends than this,' he said brusquely. 'I thought you'd tell me, Harry, if something's going on with you… I didn't think we had secrets like this anymore.'

Harry's stomach gave a guilty pang at the expression of hurt on Ron's face. He cast his mind about desperately.

'It's just… it's… er, it's Hermione,' Harry said wildly, picking the first non-Sirius excuse that popped into his brain.

He regretted it as soon as the words left his lips, but it did not matter. Ron clung to them immediately.

'I knew it!' he said, looking a mixture of frustrated and triumphant. 'You know how she's been doing it – how she's been managing that timetable!' he accused. 'How could you not tell me?! How long have you known?'

'I… since the start of the school year,' Harry admitted. 'Since September. I reckon I've been off lately because I knew you were close to working it out, and I promised Minerva I wouldn't tell anyone – not even you.'

'Why'd she let you know, and not me?!' Ron asked, sounding wounded. 'I'm her best mate too!'

'Because I've been using it as well,' Harry said, laying it all on the table. 'To get to Arithmancy. It meets same time slot as Divination.'

Ron looked outraged. 'I can't believe I didn't catch that,' he muttered to himself. 'All those times you too snuck off after lessons… and here I thought you just popped in the loo…' he shook his head, scowling. 'And using what, Harry?'

'A Time-Turner,' Harry explained. 'It's this hourglass thing on a chain… it let's you go back and repeat –'

'I know what a Time-Turner is,' said Ron, sounding suspicious again. 'I found one at our house once, a few years back now. Dad went mental when he spotted me lifting it from the table in the kitchen… said it was dangerous. He told me what it does. He said it brought from work by mistake.'

Harry shook his head. 'It was probably Percy's, or Bill's,' he opined. 'Depending on what year it was you found it. They would have needed one too: to attend all their lessons.'

Ron shook his head in disbelief. 'I can't believe I didn't put it together,' he bemoaned. 'And I can't believe you and Hermione didn't tell me about it!' he added, looking miffed again. 'How could you?'

'She made us swear, Ron,' Harry said. 'And you know what McGonagall's like. I wasn't about to hear it if we went back on our word. So you can't tell anyone… I'll have to tell her I told you. I'll tell her you worked it out on your own, which you sort of did…'

Ron did not seem totally placated, but he did look slightly impressed as he shook his head again.

'A Time-Turner,' he repeated. 'Merlin, no wonder she's going mental. She's fitting about 30 hours in, every day?'

'Sometimes,' Harry agreed. 'I'm not sure it's such a great idea though…'

He yawned widely. 'Listen, I'm knackered,' he confessed to Ron. 'I think I've got to pack it in, or I'll be rubbish in Potions first thing tomorrow… and Hermione's got us blocked out to about midnight every night this week revising for exams…'

'I know,' Ron said with another moan. He made to stand up from the bed but paused – glancing back at Harry.

'Look – I wish you'd told me sooner,' he said with a significant look. 'But… I'm glad you told me, Harry. And I won't say anything, promise.'

Harry smiled. 'I'm glad you know too, Ron,' he said.

He made to pull the curtains closed again, but Ron put out a hand to stop him.

'Leave them open, tonight?' he asked tentatively.

Harry frowned. 'Why?'

Ron shrugged. 'I don't like it, when you get the nightmares,' he admitted, studying his hands instead of Harry's face. 'Especially since Black…. Just – I feel better if I can see you're alright, yeah?'

'Er… Okay…' Harry relented hesitantly.

Ron nodded, and he shuffled off to the loo to get ready for bed.

Harry laid there – eyes open, even though he'd just claimed exhaustion. He did feel better, having levelled with Ron about the Time-Turner's existence after so many long months of secrecy and lies… though he still wished he could have unloaded his much more serious burdens.

He closed his eyes as he heard the door to the loo creak open again, and started trying to calm his worries by focusing on his empty Quidditch pitch. He did not want to disturb Ron's sleep tonight with more nightmares…

But he left his curtains open, all the same.

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Review Responses, Chapter 38

Sassy973: Thanks for reviewing! Glad to hear you are enjoying the story, and I hope you'll like the next chapter!

Valkyrie-Sythe: Thanks for your review! Things are definitely heating up here as we approach the end… I hope you enjoy it.

StormOwlRage: Thank you for your review! I'm glad I was able to make your day a bit brighter and that you liked the chapter :). Sirius… this bit is really the central dilemma I wanted him to struggle through: the difference, as Albus calls it, between vengeance and justice – and specifically what that means for his priorities. Sirius is certainly genuine in his love for Harry and his desire to protect him and be family for him… but he is also a bit frozen in time at 22, and his thirst for revenge is all-consuming. He doesn't mean to place Harry second, but he does. Remus, as I'm sure you noted, can see that. Hopefully you'll like where all this calamity leads us!

Enjoy the next instalment!

Ches007: Thanks for your review! Great to hear you liked the chapter, and I hope you enjoy the continuation!

Anyeshabaner: Thank you for reviewing! Haha, yes… not so wise to leave any thirteen-year-old too make the responsible decision; Harry especially. Precisely what Remus feared would happen, I dare say. Hope you like the next chapter!

HMRoberts: Thank you for your review! I'm very glad you are enjoying the stories so much, and hope I can continue to meet expectations! I appreciate all your thoughts and am happy you're enjoying the characterisations as we work through the story – it's quite important to me that each character is different and unique, and that we have a chance in this story to explore a bit deeper than canon allowed. I hope you continue to like the tale as it unfolds! These next few instalments (to the end of Part II) should come quickly, as much of each chapter has already been drafted. Enjoy Chapter 39!

Estel Ashlee Snape: Thanks for your review! Haha, yes… Sirius' actions are so frustrating in Chapter 38! But I promise – they'll be a point to this struggle and the way in which the Pettigrew drama ultimately concludes… just four more chapters to go. Hope you enjoy Chapter 39!