Serpentine Virtues Chapter 2

Thank you for your support thus far. I welcome anybody with advice/suggestions, and suggest that they leave a review or PM me. If anybody wishes to beta for the story, then PM me and we'll talk.

One thing that I wanted to clear up about relationships: For those who think that I rushed into the Harry/Daphne, let's just say that it won't happen for a while. Ginny isn't dead because I want Harry/Daphne. She's dead because it's the tragedy that causes this whole story to happen.

My muse started singing, and so I wrote the chapter in a day.

Enjoy Chapter 2.

oOo

Harry opened his eyes. It was dark in the hotel room. He wondered why he was alone in bed, until he remembered. He remembered everything that had happened.

The night before, Harry had tried to drink his sorrows away. While he still hadn't fully accepted Ginny's death, he'd still gone to the bar because even considering the possibility of Ginny's death was too painful to bear.

Harry had half-expected her to be in the hotel room, smiling, waiting for him, like she always did.

It was not to be, and that was where it really hit Harry.

Ginny was gone. He'd never see her pretty face, make love to her, or go out on anymore dates with her.

The cause of death was so ridiculously ironic that Harry had the strangest urge to laugh. Ginny had been caught in a freak car accident. A drunk driver had lost control of his car and careened into many bystanders. One of them had been Ginny. Harry had wanted to find the man responsible. He'd wanted to kill him, tear him to shreds, until he was informed that the driver had died as well in the accident.

As always with people in this situation, Harry was plagued by survivor's guilt.

What if he had brought Ginny with him to the promotional signing? What if he'd asked Ginny to do something else for the day?

Daphne had been there for him. He was grateful to her. Maybe Oliver was right. Maybe she did fancy him, in some way or another. Still, he pushed that all to the back of his mind.

Harry was quite hungover. He felt awful. There was a nasty taste in his mouth. He had no idea how long he'd slept, and he really didn't care.

He had a match today. He knew that. For some reason, the shine of winning the World Cup was severely diminished. He found that he no longer cared.

He reached over at the nearby table, groaning when dizziness began to set in.

"Here, Harry." A soft female voice said.

Harry gave a start when he realized he wasn't alone. Daphne must've stayed. She was probably the one who got him into his room in the first place.

Harry made a mental note to give her a raise sometime soon.

"Thanks Daphne." Harry said, as Daphne guided his hand to his glasses.

Putting on his glasses, he propped himself up in bed with a struggle.

Daphne looked at him with a tender look in her eyes. She handed him a hangover potion, and he downed the contents, grimacing at the foul taste. Still, it was a small price to pay, as his head immediately began to clear, and the urge to vomit was rapidly diminishing.

"What time is it?" Harry asked, adjusting his glasses as he extricated himself from the blankets.

"It's almost ten." Daphne replied, catching him when he stumbled over his shoes on the way to the bathroom.

"Thanks." Harry muttered, embarrassed that he'd fallen right into her, and that he'd stared into her tender, caring eyes for about two seconds, much longer than he should've.

He headed into the bathroom, locked the door, and stripped off his clothes. He looked in the mirror, and winced at what he saw.

His hair was messier than ever, sticking up, and his eyes were red from crying (yeah he'd done that a lot the night before) and bloodshot from alcohol. There were bags under his eyes. All in all, he looked like a mess. He wasn't even sure if he could play in the match today. Everything in life paled in comparison to what Ginny had meant to him.

Harry took a shower, relishing the hot water. It woke him up, somewhat, and it was soothing. Relaxing. It was what he needed at the moment.

Still, there was a dull ache in his heart.

When he got out of the shower, Daphne was nowhere to be seen. The curtains had been opened, and light flooded into the room.

Harry recalled what he'd said the day before to Ginny about light. It seemed like an eternity ago. He noticed a note on the table.

Picking it up, he read:

Harry,

I've got a business meeting to get to. I'll be back around twelve. I've ordered room service for breakfast for you. It should be up in a few minutes. The match is at five, so we'll have an hour if you want to…you know…talk.

-D

He was still expected to play. He was England's sole hope at earning the title at the World Cup. He wished he could just pass on the responsibility to his back-up. He knew that he was in no condition to play, and he really had no wish to get thrashed by the Irish in the Final.

But his team needed him, and he'd never left anybody who needed him, friend or foe.

A knock on the door interrupted his thoughts. He answered the door, and found a hotel waiter with a cart that carried breakfast. Harry thanked the man, tipped him some money, and took the plates of food inside.

Harry really had no appetite. Still, he knew that he'd regret it if he didn't eat something. Plus, Daphne had ordered it for him, and he really did appreciate the gesture.

He uncovered the plate filled with eggs, bacon, and other breakfast foods. It was way too much for him, but he ate a decent amount, making sure not to overdo it.

After finishing, he headed down to the hotel's exercise room. He had nowhere to go. However, on his way down, he ran into Oliver. His expression was filled with sorrow and sympathy.

"I'm sorry, mate." He said quietly.

Harry shook his head, forcing down the tears that were threatening to appear again. He'd done enough crying last night.

"It's alright." Harry said, his voice cracking.

Oliver, seeing that Harry wasn't ready to really talk about Ginny, just fell in step with him, not saying a word. Oliver followed Harry to the exercise room and watched as Harry ran a couple miles on the treadmill, before doing a series of exercises to improve his fitness. Oliver knew that his friend was here only because he wanted something to do, not because he actually needed exercise. Harry was one of the fittest members of the team.

After a little while, Oliver himself left, saying that he'd had arrangements for lunch. That reminded Harry about Daphne, and so he went back to his room, took yet another shower, and was just toweling off when Harry heard the knock on the door.

Quickly dressing, Harry made his way to the door, opening it.

Daphne looked him up and down, pleased with what she saw.

"Well, it's nice to see that you're looking better." She said, placing her purse on the counter.

Harry just sat down heavily on his bed, staring at his hands.

"Well, are you ready for the match today?" Daphne asked.

Harry shook his head. He was nowhere close to being ready for the match mentally.

Daphne sat down next to him, and hesitantly cupped his hand in both of hers.

"Look. All of England is looking at you to lead them to the title. I know for a fact that Ginny wanted the Cup just as much as you did. Don't squander this opportunity, Harry." Daphne said gently, trying to help Harry. She knew it was too early for him to come to terms with Ginny's death. Yet, she wanted the best for him, and she knew that he'd regret it forever if he didn't seize this chance and try to win the Cup.

Harry, on the other hand, was filled with pent-up anger. He was angry at what happened to Ginny. He raged against Fate, against the hand that life had dealt him. He'd had a normal life for the first time in his life, and then Ginny was killed in some sort of freak accident.

Unfortunately, there was nobody else he could vent his anger on other than poor Daphne.

"Why do you care so much about the World Cup? Are you just trying to earn more money off me if I win the stupid, damned thing?" Harry snarled. As soon as the words left his mouth, he regretted them. He regretted it instantly. The look of hurt and pain that crossed Daphne's face just made things worse.

However, before he could do anything, Daphne had fled jumped up and ran out of the room. Before she left, Harry caught a glimpse of the tears in her face.

He was mentally kicking himself. Daphne had been nothing, but kind to him all these years he'd known her. He'd have to make this right.

He grabbed his wand, some money, and Daphne's forgotten purse, before heading out the door.

Now, where would Daphne go?

oOo

After two hours of fruitless searching, Harry was helpless. He had no clue where Daphne could possibly be. He'd Flooed Greengrass Manor, where Astoria currently resided, and Harry felt that there was a likely chance Daphne had gone home.

She hadn't. Or at least, Astoria had told him that she wasn't around. And he knew that Astoria rarely lied.

He'd then tried Tracey Davis's house, but Daphne wasn't there.

The one good thing that Harry took out of the calls was that at least she hadn't gone back to England.

Now he was stuck in a dilemma. He wanted to find Daphne and apologize for his actions, but he had to get to the team's training area in ten minutes to board the bus that would take them to the pitch where the Quidditch World Cup Final would be held. He wanted to find Daphne badly.

But, he knew that Daphne would want him to play in the match. Shaking his head, he knew that he would have to go to the stadium.

He arrived, just in time, to change into his uniform, and grabbed his broom, which someone had evidently been kind enough to bring back after he'd left it at the promotional event. His teammates and coach said nothing about his rather hurried arrival. They'd all heard the news, and decided that giving him some space was the best thing possible.

For some reason, he just knew that it had been Daphne who'd done it for him. Which brought pack another pang of regret. He pushed it to the back of his mind. The best way to make it up to Daphne would be to perform his best at the Final.

He followed Wood onto the bus, and they made their way to the stadium. When they arrived, they were greeted by cheers from British supporters and jeers from the Irish. The fact that British-Irish relations weren't the best just added to the tension and hype surrounding the match.

Schooling his features into a mask of indifference, a handy trick that Daphne had taught him a while ago, he followed his teammates off the bus and entered the locker rooms designated for their team. On the way, the coach pulled him aside.

"Potter. I'm sorry for your loss."

"Thanks, Coach." Harry said quietly, wondering where the conversation was going.

"Look, if you think you can't compete, no one on this team, least of all me, would blame you." The coach said sympathetically. The coach himself had gone through a personal tragedy before, and knew that it was not something you'd want weighing on you when playing a professional Quidditch Match. Especially a match as important as the one Harry was about to play.

Harry steeled himself and said, "I'll be alright, Coach. I want to play. Like you said, this isn't something that happens twice to a person. I'll be lucky if I make it to another World Cup Final. Besides, I want to do it for the people, who are counting on me."

The coach looked at him carefully, and then nodded, clasping Harry on the shoulder. He said no more.

Harry spent most of the pre-game time checking that every last twig on his broom was in order. He took a breath, and tried his best to bury every single thought about Ginny, all his worries over Daphne. He couldn't afford to be distracted.

Finally, it was game time. He heard the famed voice of Ludo Bagman, who was announcing the game yet again. He was also joined by former English Seeker Roderick Plumpton, who'd retired after the last World Cup and now cast games with Bagman. Bagman took over most of the commentating

"And, as we extend a warm welcome to the mascots of both England and Ireland, it is now time to introduce the teams. Representing Ireland, it's the group that has won two straight World Cups now. They have dominated international Quidditch, and each has played exceptionally on their respective league teams as well. Despite their age, they have played exceptionally this World Cup. Their impressive trouncing of co-hosts Japan in the semifinals was particularly impressive. It's Troy! Mullet! Moran! Quigley! Connolly! Ryan! A-A-And Lynch!"

The stadium's Irish supporters exploded into cheers. The leprechauns, their mascots, were dancing. The seven streaks of the Irish flew around the Pitch a few times, before hovering together on their side of the Pitch.

"And, now, representing England, in their first ever World Cup Final appearance, we have… Jones! Flitley! Vosper! Choudry! Withey! Wood! A-A-And Potter!"

Harry flew out following the rest of his team.

"And the biggest question of this match will be Harry Potter's performance, Ludo. I myself offer him my most sincere condolences for his loss. I know it's inadequate and all, but I hope that he will be able to perform here for England. Without him, this might just be another trouncing by Ireland." Plumpton said.

"I agree with you, Roderick. Still, although he's rarely mentioned in the face of stars such as Krum and Potter, Aidan Lynch has performed admirably this World Cup as well."

"You're right, of course, Ludo. Four Snitch catches out of five matches, and the only reason that he didn't catch it in the semifinals was because he was pulled off after that monstrous five-hundred point lead Ireland amassed. Evidently, Ireland was looking to rest him, since they knew that no matter who won England-Bulgaria, he'd be facing a superb Seeker."

"Now, ladies and gentleman, please welcome our referee, Chairwitch of the International Quidditch Association, Lydia Arroyo."

The referee flew out onto the pitch, with the ball crate under her arm. When she arrived at the center of the pitch, she took the Quaffle out, and released the rest of the balls. Two Bludgers and a Snitch flew out of the box, with the Snitch quickly disappearing with a glint of gold despite Harry and Lynch's best efforts at following it.

"There's the toss, and the game begins! Ladies and gentlemen, the final of the 2002 Quidditch World Cup is under way. It's Troy, Mullet, back to Troy, Moran, nicely placed Bludger right there by Choudry, breaks up that formation, but Ireland retains the Quaffle and now Quigley and Connolly have control of both the Bludgers. They send a ferocious attack at Keeper Wood, who just barely avoids the Bludgers. He leaves the goal wide open, however, and Troy passes to Mullet, who escapes Jones and takes the shot! Kick save by Wood, who managed to fly back into position, but Moran rebounds the ball and shoots at the open lower-left hoop. Ten-Zero Ireland!"

The stadium burst into cheers from the Irish side combined with boos from the English supporters.

Harry was in his element. Staring down at the pitch from above, this was where he'd always liked to be when searching for the Snitch. Still, the smallest things kept reminding him of Ginny, and it was throwing him off. He very narrowly avoided a ferocious Bludger aimed at his head by Connolly, and was physically rattled.

His eyes darted around the field, and landed on the Top Box. With another pang in his heart, he realized that had Ginny been there, she'd be sitting in the Top Box, watching and cheering him on, while writing another article for the Prophet. He shook his head, trying to push down these thoughts. He needed to focus.

Lynch just seemed content to tail him at the moment, and Harry wasn't really in the mood to pull off some fancy flying to try and confuse him. Besides, he wasn't sure he'd be able to get Lynch to take his bait anyways.

The game continued, and to Harry's pleasant surprise, England's Chasers were putting up the fight of their life. Despite Ireland's clearly superior Chaser line, the English Chasers were hanging tough, and the score, 110-50, was a lot closer than Harry had expected.

Still, England's Chasers couldn't keep up the level of play forever, and Harry was still frantically searching the pitch for the Snitch.

Meanwhile, Bagman continued to commentate,

"Jones has the Quaffle. Jones to Flitney, to Vosper, back to Flitney. An excellent use of the Hawkshead Attacking Formation. Jones looks to shoot, drawing back her arm, and oh! What a great fake by Jones, drawing her arm back and then just dropping the ball for the speeding Vosper right below her to hurl it into the right hoop. The score is one-hundred and eighty to ninety, folks, and I must say, England's Chasers are creating a lot of time for their Seeker. The question is, can he beat both the clock and Lynch in order to bring home the Cup for England?"

Plumpton remarked, "I hate to say it, Ludo, but Potter isn't looking like his usual stellar form. It was definitely a questionable choice by Coach Bern to start Potter despite the personal tragedy that's got to be messing with his head right now."

Ludo, meanwhile, was documenting yet another Irish drive that resulted in a goal.

"Potter!" Wood shouted, his face red with exertion.

Harry turned, and looked at him.

"Go find the damn Snitch. You're looking like an amateur up there! That's not what she would've wanted!" he yelled.

Harry shook himself angrily. His friend was right.

He took off, flying around the outside of the pitch, squinting, trying to find a glimpse of gold.

After another half-hour, the scoreline was 220-110. Time was running out for England, and both Jones and Flitney looked exhausted.

Suddenly, Harry caught sight of a glint of gold. He took off, looking to make sure that it wasn't a speck of light glancing off a spectator's gold watch or something. It wasn't. The golden speck was growing larger by the second, and Lynch was right next to him, jostling him for position.

The Snitch was literally skimming the grass, and it didn't look like it was flying up anytime soon. Harry gritted his teeth. If he were to catch the damn thing, he'd need superb control to be able to pull out of the dive so that he wouldn't be flattened on the ground of the pitch. He heard the roar of the crowd as they witnessed the two Seekers' dive, heard Bagman shouting something in his microphone, but Harry tuned it all out. His eyes were fixed, furiously, on the Snitch, and he ignored whatever Lynch was trying to do to harass him.

That was one thing Harry had learned about Lynch when playing against the Seeker in league Quidditch. He preferred harassment to actually focusing on the Snitch, and would usually beat back an opponent, before catching the Snitch. It wasn't illegal, but it was playing dirty.

And Harry never liked players who played dirty.

The Snitch was hovering now, and both Harry and Lynch were getting quite close. Lynch had given up on trying to knock into Harry, and he'd just stretched out his arm. Harry had followed suit, and each Seeker was urging their brooms to greater efforts.

The Snitch grew larger in his eyes. He could see it clearly. And as his fingers were about to close around the struggling golden ball, which at the last second had attempted an escape, he let a smile cross his lips. Ginny would be proud.

Then, two hard and heavy metal balls slammed into him, one in the back of the head and one in his left shoulder, and he knew no more.

oOo

Daphne Greengrass had hidden in her hotel room. She'd never told Harry which hotel she was staying at, and now she was grateful for it. She knew that Harry didn't mean what he'd said, but it still hurt her immensely to hear him say those words.

She'd probably hide out here. Watch the match alone. She buried her head in her arms. She'd been jealous of Ginny Weasley for over a year now. Now she was gone, but she couldn't bring herself to attempt any sort of romantic relationship with Harry. He was still hurting, and Daphne felt bad about trying to make him play in the match.

He needed time to heal, and she shouldn't have pushed him. She just wanted the best for him, and she wanted to make sure that he never regretted squandering this opportunity.

She flicked on the Muggle television. There was a time, back when she'd been a proper Pureblood witch like her family had taught her to be, when something like that would have been amazing to her. Then again, she'd have probably regarded it with disgust because it had been made by the "stupid animals that pollute our society." Now she was used to it, even if she still lived in an old-fashioned pureblood home.

At least the television had Wizarding channels considering this was a Wizarding hotel. Evidently, Wizarding South Korea was much more advanced than Wizarding Britain. It was a shame that Britain was still so Euro-centric that they couldn't even figure out the fact that Asian countries such as Japan and South Korea, and even the United States, had long since surpassed them.

She turned on the match just as the introductions began, and got quite a surprise when Harry's name was announced.

So he had listened to her after all. She smiled, wiping away the last vestiges of her tears. Now there was a chance that Harry could fulfill his dreams. It wouldn't even be close to filling the hole in his heart, but hopefully it would provide some joy in an otherwise horrible tournament for him.

She was nervous all throughout the match. The Chasers looked like they'd been revitalized by something or someone before the match, because they were playing the match of their lives. They were able to keep the Irish team in check for more than an hour, a feat that nobody except Bulgaria had accomplished in the past eight years.

As she watched Harry, she could tell that he was suffering. His eyes were dull, and he didn't seem to be have the lightning-quick reflexes that he used to. When the announcers started suggesting pulling Harry from the game, she clenched her fists, gripping the sheets covering the hotel bed tightly. Harry would be devastated if that happened.

She didn't catch Oliver's little conversation with Harry, but she did see Harry suddenly fly into action. He'd seen the Snitch! Her heart leapt into her throat as she watched Harry dive towards the ground, Lynch right next to him, the two of them jostling for position. She saw Harry stretch out his arm, and was certain that he had it. Just then, she saw the two Irish Beaters, Quigley and Connolly, send both Bludgers right at Harry with powerful swings of their bats.

She shouted a warning, but Harry, obviously, couldn't hear her. The two iron menaces slammed into Harry, and Daphne emitted an involuntary cry. She watched him slump, motionless, to the ground, just as the camera zoomed in on his hand.

He'd done it!

He'd caught the Snitch. Almost immediately afterwards, Medi-Witches swarmed him, and he was lost from view. It didn't look good.

Even the supporters of England, who should've been jubilant at the victory, toned down their celebrations, and most were worried about their star Seeker. Before he was lost from view, there had been a sizeable amount of blood on the ground.

Daphne jumped up from her bed. Harry's injury could have been a career-ending injury. If that happened…she wouldn't have a reason to see him anymore. She wouldn't be representing him as his agent, simply because he wouldn't be playing anymore.

She needed to get down to the pitch as soon as possible… He had to be alright. He just had to be…

oOo

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