Disclaimer: Anything you recognize belongs to the authors, producers, and companies with whom the material in question is affiliated.

A/N: Geez, this chapter fought me. I must have drafted it three or four times before it finally started feeling rightish, and I'm still not quite happy with it. Sometimes, it's like I can write for hours on end - days, sometimes - without pausing, and my hands can hardly keep up with my head. Then I hit this wall, and it's like staring at puzzle one piece away from finished, but the only one left in the box doesn't fit.

Based on my outline, we've got about 6 more chapters to this book, and then we'll be deviating hugely for year 3 (likely with a very long interim before it posts).

Anyhow, I hope y'all enjoy. Please take a moment to let me know your thoughts in a review, if you have a minute to spare. They really help keep me motivated, and every new review I see is really encouraging.

Chapter Fourteen: Fight and Flight

Harry returned to dark, dreary, waterlogged Scotland with a wide smile plastered to his face. The Doctor and Rose left him at the Great Hall to join the other Slytherins for lunch, while they rapidly disappeared up the grand staircase, probably, Harry thought, with intentions of relieving Professor Snape. Their son drew stares as he slid into his seat on the bench between Daphne and Draco, both of whom exchanged odd looks while their friend piled food onto his plate.

"Hm," the former hummed eloquently, tossing her hair over her shoulder. "I take it things with the soon-to-be-restored Lord Black went well?"

"He's brilliant!" Harry grinned after swallowing an enormous mouthful. "Did you know, my dad - my other dad, I mean - was a chaser?"

"Really?" she drawled. "You don't say."

The seeker either did not catch or ignored the amused sarcasm lacing her words.

"Yeah! Gryffindor captain and everything. Head Boy, too!" he gushed, fairly vibrating in his seat.

"Good grief, man, who do you think we are?" Blaise laughed across the table. "How did you not know before now? The Potters, you included, have been famous for generations. Of course we know. Probably more than you."

Harry deflated a little before smiling brighter than before.

"Don't care," he shrugged, ignoring Daphne's dramatic sigh. "Don't trust what people write about us, so it's different to hear it from someone who actually knew him."

"Do shut up and eat your food," Draco sighed, pushing his own meal around with his fork. "We've got to go meet Granger for our weekly lesson in bossiness."

Harry gave him an exasperated look before properly tucking in, to the gratitude of his friends, and the rest of Slytherin went back to ignoring the little group of second-years in favour of continuing paused conversations. Blaise and Tracy excused themselves shortly thereafter, begging off homework for the afternoon, and left Draco, Daphne and Harry to proceed on their own.

They walked back up through the corridors in companionable quiet, Harry casting wandless warming charms every now and then to stave off the chill and damp. Every now and again, Daphne punctuated their footsteps up the endless stairs toward the seventh floor with light conversation.

"Are you going to attend the trial?" she queried as they topped the fourth floor landing and continued down the corridor toward a rusted suit of armour.

"It may not go to a criminal trial," Harry murmured as he bowed to the construction of steel and magic.

The armour's joints screeched in protest as it swept off its helmet and stepped away from the wall. It rapped the knuckles of its gauntlets against the stone twice, nodded to the young Slytherins, and the wall flickered, giving way to a narrow archway. Draco and Harry waved Daphne ahead of them to lead the way through the shortcut.

Harry grinned. Befriending the Weasley Twins had its benefits.

"He'll have a hearing before the minister, Chief Warlock, and the heads of the DMLE. first," he explained. "The hearing will determine what type of trial he needs, if he needs one at all, but the vote has to be unanimous to deny it completely or clear him of whatever charges brought him there."

The blonde rolled her icy blue eyes and gave a put-upon sigh.

"I didn't ask for an explanation of the process - which I already knew, thanks," she said wryly. "Are you going to be there?"

"I can't"

Draco scoffed.

"You're Harry Potter," Daphne laughed. "Of course you can."

He chewed his lower lip thoughtfully and shrugged.

"I'll need to talk to Mum and Dad about it," he amended. "I suppose Fudge'll be looking for a publicity opportunity, but I don't want to make things any harder on Sirius."

"Come on," Draco interrupted sourly. "We're here."

He pushed open the door to the Room of Requirement, and the Slytherins filed in to join Hermione and Neville, who already sat around a low oak table surrounded by bean bags and overstuffed cushions. Hermione waved an absent greeting before pulling her yellow afghan tighter around her shoulders and flipping the page of her floating book with a wiggle of her finger.

Neville grimaced and closed his text entirely.

"Hi," he mumbled tiredly, picking at the sleeve of his jumper. "How'd it go?"

"Brilliantly," Harry grinned as he plopped his things down at the Gryffindor's side. "He's going to move up to Hogsmeade when he's acquitted, so you'll all get to meet him, too. Is Luna coming?"

"Mm," Hermione hummed.

Harry shot a questioning look at Neville, who shrugged.

"She means 'no.' She's finished her homework for the week and started on that magical cultures essay, so I haven't got a proper sentence out of her in ages. I don't even know whom to write about."

The Slytherins settled into their usual places and spread their books out on the floor and floating trays, which the Room helpfully provided. Harry propped open his own history text and frowned pensively.

"I think I'm going to look at Tibetan magical tradition," he said thoughtfully. "Apparently, part of the reason certain Buddhist sects have a history of persecution is because they take in wizkids."

Hermione glanced around her floating book at that.

"I thought about covering another school of wizardry, too, but the Doctor thought I might like another group of beings, better," she murmured. "I've started reading about house elves-"

"Why would you do that?" Draco looked at her strangely. "Their entire purpose is taking care of wizardkind."

The text fell with a muted thump, narrowly avoiding the Hufflepuff's face as she sat up.

"How can you say that?" she demanded. "They were forcibly enslaved!"

"Oh, forgive me for offending your wizless sense of propriety," the blonde rolled his eyes, barely stopping the rhythmic scratch of his quill to glare at her over his transfiguration homework. "Save your preaching. At least we never kept human slaves as a society."

Neville slid down a few inches further, looking very much like he wanted his beanbag to swallow him. Hermione put her hands on her hips, and Harry winced. Daphne just appeared mildly amused, as always.

"So that makes it all right for you to own another being?" she ground out. "To make your elves hurt themselves if they do something you deem wrong?"

"You've no room to talk," he snarled back, throwing down his quill as he stood, splattering the carpet and his shoes with gleaming blue ink. "You never had a problem with Cuddie before now, did you? She and her kind've been washing your knickers for over a year."

"I thought they were Brownies, like in the fairy stories!" Hermione shrieked, and her wand spewed a shower of red sparks from the front pocket of her robes.

Harry, who had been watching the altercation from the sidelines with growing apprehension and dismay, stepped between the two, his hope they might absorb some of his previously fantastic mood and speak civilly dashed to bits.

Hermione's light brown eyes narrowed at him, and the boy gulped as he resisted the urge to step back. Her bushy hair seemed to frizz, growing in volume with her ire, and the air between the enraged witch and his housemate tasted strongly of ozone.

"Draco, Hermione shouldn't have gone on the attack, but that doesn't make her feelings less valid," he carefully asserted. "And I know you don't agree with how House Elves are treated-"

"Could have fooled me!" the girl snarled, and her hand shot into her pocket.

Despite his better judgment - Hermione was not a person to cross with her wand in hand - Harry clasped her wrist to keep the weapon tucked away and let out a slow breath.

"Hermione, I'd think you'd at least take the effort to ask Draco why he thinks the way he does before having a go at him like that," he frowned, keeping his grip. "We're your friends."

"I don't want friends who are slave owners!"

"Then kindly piss off, Granger!" Malfoy hissed. "We're all sick of you bossing us around, anyway. It's not like we need to be held by the hand to get good marks like your idiot housemates!"

The Hufflepuff yanked her arm from Harry's grasp, summoned her books with an impatient click of her fingers, turned, and stormed away without another word, leaving the Room of Requirement in uneasy silence as the door slammed behind her. Daphne and Harry both turned an exasperated look on Draco, who stood over his abandoned work, impotently fisting and unfisting his shaking hands.

"Draco..?" Harry tried.

"What?" the boy demanded, reeling on him "Want to have a go, too?!"

"No, of course not, I just don't understand what just happened. Usually, you don't let her rile you so much," he hedged. "Granted, she usually thinks through things a bit more before discussing controversial issues, but-"

"Can't we just go back to work?" Draco interrupted tiredly, taking his seat and siphoning ink off his clothes and shoes. "I really don't want to spend anymore time thinking about Granger and her muggle sense of justice today."

Harry ran a hand through his hair, destroying the neat coif he'd partly spelled, partly sculpted with a magical pomade he would never admit to owning. Daphne lifted a delicately arched eyebrow at his glance.

"Can I get any help, here?" he asked, falling back onto a beanbag.

"No, I don't think so." She picked some imaginary lint from the perfectly pressed lapel of her robes. "Honestly, I'd thought you'd be expecting a row. Draco's been marinating in his own angst all week, and Granger's... Well, Granger. You see more of them both than anyone between quidditch practice and building that flying machine. I should think you'd have more perspective than anyone."

"I've been a bit distracted what with meeting my alleged mass-murderer of a godfather," the boy said defensively. "Also, have you seen quidditch practices lately? It's a wonder Draco and I are still alive. Most of my in-between time's been spent trying to catch up on homework and avoid pneumonia."

Another moment of tense quiet passed, ending when Neville pulled himself upright and started putting his books away.

"I- Er-" he stuttered. "I think I ought to- Er-"

"Do be a dear and check on Granger," Daphne suggested in an almost bored tone.

"Right! I'll check on Hermione," the Gryffindor said gratefully. "See you at dinner."

The door closed again. Harry immediately rolled to the floor, to Daphne's amusement, and pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes.

"Right," he sighed. "I'm going to ask Mum to talk to her, too. She's too angry to listen to me, right now. Draco, are you going to-?"

"I won't apologize," the blonde said bitterly. "It's not like I own elves, anyway, at the moment, and if I ever do it won't be by choice. That's just how it is, and there's absolutely nothing to be done about it."

Harry turned to frown at his friend.

"That only made partial sense in reference to that debacle," he commented lightly. "Care to elaborate?"

"I don't-"

Daphne sighed dramatically, cutting off his reply, and shifted her weight to perch more daintily in her favourite bean bag.

"You're a horrible liar, Draco, dear. Just tell us."

He looked between his fellow housemates, and the sneer twisting his mouth melted into a grimace.

"My mother's gone," he confessed, voice shaking with stress. "She and and Father had a row because she's afraid of whatever petrified Filch's cat. Father just told me I'm not to write to her, and she's not to return until she 'submits' to Father's 'superior experience and knowledge in the matter.' I don't know where she is, and I've been forbidden to ask after her."

Neither Daphne nor Harry knew what to stay to that. For all Daphne's education in proper decorum and the art of conversation, she couldn't think of an appropriate response to 'My dad's a cad and kicked my mum out for disagreeing with him.'

"Wow," the boy finally said. "I'm really sorry. I had no idea. Has your mom owled you, at all?"

"Father filters my mail."

"Of course he does," Harry sighed. "Does he filter hers, too, or do you know who she might go to?"

Draco started shaking his head before his friend finished his question and crossed his arms over his chest, staring at the carved limbs woven into the ceiling overhead.

"He does, and I don't. She's a pureblood, Potter, and so are all her friends. She won't shame herself by reaching out to one of them, at least not in any obvious way. She doesn't trust the Parkinsons, she never got on well with Lady Greengrass, and her sister's in Azkaban for torturing Neville's parents into vegetables, so I don't think she'd try Madam Longbottom, either."

Daphne sighed at his crassness, but Harry blinked, mind whirring, and grinned.

"Bellatrix Black!"

Harry sat bolt upright and bounded over to Draco, pulling him up by the arm.

"What are you on about?" the boy complained, smoothing his rumpled robes.

"Sirius! He can help your mum. He's still the head of the House of Black since they never tried him!" he gushed, practically vibrating in place. "C'mon, he gave me a thing, we can ask for his help. We just need to go see Dad-"

Draco shook off Harry's grip and crossed his arms again.

"I don't want to," he muttered. "Does it ever occur to you that not everyone wants to air their problems to all and sundry?"

"But he's the Doctor," the boy said more gently. "He's not just anybody, and he'd never break your confidence-"

The blonde's pale grey eyes narrowed stubbornly.

"No."

Both boys stood in silence for a moment, Harry examining Draco's face, and he fastidiously avoiding eye-contact.

"Draco, he already knows your mum and dad have been disagreeing about things, lately. He won't judge-"

"I said, no, Potter!"

The door slammed for a second time, and the wizard's shoulders slumped. Something felt terribly wrong, but he couldn't place what it was. Still, Draco might have forbidden him to talk to the Doctor about things, but he'd never said anything about Sirius himself. With commiserating glance toward Daphne, he settled back down with his quill and parchment to write a very carefully worded letter.

Dear Sirius,

Thanks for telling me all those stories about my father. No one ever has, before, though Professor Snape did tell me a few things about my mother. I'm really looking forward to getting to know you better, and I hope you'll be well enough to watch my next Quidditch match. I can't promise the weather will do much for your constitution, or that I'll fly especially well fighting the wind, but I'd like to see you there, anyway.

I know you said to tell you if I needed anything, at all, for which I'm grateful, but I don't know if you would be able to help me with a problem I encountered when I got back to the castle.

It's one of my best mates. He's a wreck, and I can't do anything about it, here.

I'm not sure how much the Doctor and Mum have told you, but his dad's been doing a lot of really shifty stuff this year - stuff to do with what happened on Hallowe'en. Draco's really scared, and so is his mum, but neither of them could convince him to stop. The trouble is, Mrs Malfoy tried to talk to him again after the attack, and she's been forced to leave the manor. Draco's really worried she doesn't have anywhere to go, and since both his and her mail's filtered through their head-of-household, he can't get in touch with her.

I imagine she's too proud to go to Mrs Tonks, and Draco doesn't think there's anyone she would trust with whom she might stay, so I thought of you. I know your relationship with Mrs Malfoy's probably strained, and I know it's asking a lot, what with everything going on, but I would really appreciate it if there's anything you could do to help her.

Draco's a bit sensitive about his family affairs, though, so if you're able to reach her, I would really appreciate it if you kept my asking to yourself. Draco's our chaser, and I'd rather not he have more on his mind with the match coming up. Also, aside from Blaise, the other guys in the dorm aren't especially fond of me. No one messes with me, or anything, in case you're worried, but it's tense enough as is.

I'm sorry my first letter to you is asking for a favor. I hope you know how glad I am you're out of Azkaban and with us, now. Next time, I'll write about pranking Lockhart with the twins.

Yours,

Harry

Prongslet,

Never be afraid to ask something of me. I'm glad to do whatever I can for you. I've missed too much of your life, already.

I had Dora bully someone in the Ministry into altering the mail-sorting spell assigned to Narcissa 'by order of her Head of House'. Since she and Jack were on detail with me, I got to watch. You would have been entertained. For being so tiny and clumsy, she's brilliant at reducing a man to a shuddering mess. Your mum could do that, too. Fireballs, the both of them.

I couldn't make them reroute Draco's mail, since he's not a Black, but I was able to track down Cissy at an old property still under her name. I don't think she ever told Malfoy about it. That, or he never properly read her betrothal contract and missed that bit where it was listed as part of her dowry.

She declined my offer of assistance, aside from sorting her postal issues, but rest assured, she's well looked after. She has a mad little elf completely devoted to her. Poor little bugger seems to have gotten the brunt of Malfoy's ire for that, over the years, too. He's not a great conversationalist though, so after experiencing twelve years in solitary, myself, I might have told Andi where her sister was. Predictably, I woke up the other morning to Cissy's mad elf hovering a pudding over my head. She actually told him to wait until I woke to drop it, all as punishment for telling, even if she's gladder now than before.

I'm not one for parental-ish advice, really, but I think you ought to tell Draco his mother reached out to me, just so you can deliver the enclosed letter. I also think you should keep an eye on him. Narcissa might be well, enough, now, but Andi, being the healer she is, has been observing her and thinks her bastard husband crucioed her. She's got several symptoms of the associated recovery. A man who can do that to another person, let alone his own wife, is capable of subjecting his son to the same. The Doctor tells me he designed portkeys for you all during your adventures last year. He should wear his if he spends any time at home this holiday.

I know I'm not a paragon of tolerance. There have been too many times in my life in which I let my prejudice against pureblood ideology and what I saw as the Slytherin Way keep me from doing the right thing. I won't lie and say I wasn't disappointed to learn where you were sorted as a knee-jerk reaction after a lifetime holding onto that hate, but it seems Lily's favourite lecture finally managed to sink in. I can't promise I'll never have a relapse into idiocy, but I'm sure your mum'll give me a good kick if I start acting like a berk. I bring this up because there may be times I forget in regards to your head-of-house. We've a very deep history I don't think either of us could overlook. I will try for you, however, and though I'd never say this to his face, I'm glad he spoke to you about Lily. She was an incredible woman and an unbelievable witch, and I think aside from your father, Remus and I, Snape's probably the only other person alive who knew her for more than her performance in school.

On a lighter note, I've convinced Dora to reintroduce me to Amelia Bones, and between her and Jack, we managed to get a day-pass to your match, since my hearing's been postponed again. I think Fudge is hoping we'll forget about it and quietly authorise a pardon, instead, but after so long in that hell-hole, I fully intend to drag out his pain.

Take care.

-Sirius

"Hermione?"

A lone Slytherin stood in front of a rounded door marked 2nd Year Girls, surrounded entirely by bemused students festooned in yellow and black. Sunshine streamed through the skylight at the centre of the domed common room, beneath which Fred and George, both clad in beaters' armour and Quidditch kits, were busy dealing in a brisk business of smuggled Filibuster's Wet-Start Fireworks. Prior to Hallowe'en, Harry had generally found a warm welcome among the hardworking 'Puffs, but as a house saturated with first-generation witches and wizards, he'd found the normally friendly badgers less than receptive to his company. It seemed everyone wanted to give Slytherins a wide berth, despite his best efforts to convince his friends in all three houses they had nothing to fear from him, or even most Slytherins as a general rule.

In his year and change living with them, after all, he'd found most of them to be fairly easy to get along with. He got sneers from some, of course, for being a half-blood, among other issues he had no control over, but even with his very obviously non-magical mother teaching that year, no one had gone out of their way to bother him. As a rule, Slytherins rarely did anything 'just because'. One didn't expend effort without a gain of some sort.

Were they self serving? Absolutely. Murderous? Harry had concluded a long while ago the word only applied to a very small fraction of their number, and even then, only some of the time.

Still, it had taken the promise of arranging for the twins to peddle their wares for the Hufflepuffs to allow his entry that day.

Hermione, however, seemed unappreciative of his persistent attempts to speak to her and unsympathetic to his housemate's plight, if she knew of it at all. After her row with Draco, the girl had practically removed herself from his company entirely, usually because it usually came with the blonde boy.

"She's mad at you, too," Daphne had explained one afternoon, to Harry's supreme befuddlement.

"Why?" he'd asked. "What'd I do?"

The willowy girl had given him one of her patented isn't-it-obvious looks over her delicately held cup of tea.

"You didn't agree with her."

"But I do!"

"You defended Draco, though. That's the same in a conflict as deep-cutting as this. It's really important to her."

Harry had smacked his forehead at the logic and resigned himself to the fact Hermione would not speak to him again without his initiating the conversation. In fact, she didn't want to speak to Neville, either. The boy, who wasn't well-liked for his association with Harry, in the first place, had suffered especially under the strained dynamic that had so efficiently ruptured their previously tight-knit group.

"Hermione!" he tried again, banging on the door with his fist. "Look, I'm sorry, all right? I didn't mean to make you feel like I didn't support you. I agree, entirely with how horrible it is. Just come out, please. Sirius is going to be here, soon, and I really wanted him to meet everyone in the stands."

No sound indicating the presence of a sympathetic ear made it through the portal, but with every breath he could taste the familiar flavour of her magic on his palate, just as he could with all of his friends. He had committed the flavours to memory. He recognised them better than he did his own signature.

"You can hit me, if you want," he offered, leaning against the door. "Just tell me what I can do to make it up to-"

The wood against his shoulder retreated suddenly, and he almost fell over. Hermione snorted despite herself at his stumble, but the smile faded too quickly, drawing into a pucker of displeasure.

"I want you to help me do something about it," she said firmly. "Blast the dirigible. Everything's done except the test flights. We can hand it off to Creevey, Dean and Penelope. I'm sure your mum won't mind overseeing them. I want you to commit."

Harry gulped, but straightened and met her determined gaze.

"You know this might take our whole lifetime to figure out, right? If that," he murmured, brows drawing together. "We're talking about thousands of years of selective breeding and systemised cultural normalisation."

"Yes. I don't care."

He sighed and smiled.

"I would have, anyway, you know, but yeah. I'll make it a priority. You're right. We can't stand by and allow the wizarding community to continue on as they have. It's one thing if elves choose it, to start with, but they don't have that choice."

Her answering smile split her face and scrunched up the cinnamon-coloured freckles dusting her nose as she threw her arms around his neck and hugged him for all he was worth. Behind him, Fred and George made catcalls, and he felt his ears redden.

"Right," he muttered, scratching his head. "Er- So, shall we?"

"Just a minute!" Hermione chirped, releasing him. "I need to get my hat and scarf. See you at breakfast?"

"Yeah," feeling lighter than he had in days, Harry turned back toward the twins. "Gentlemen?"

"Right you are," Fred nodded to his brother, and they quickly pocketed the gold they'd made along with their surplus.

There wasn't much left. Nearly everyone with a coin had found something within his or her price range among the Weasley brothers' stock. Harry held the door open for his Gryffindor friends, and a moment later, they filed out into the cellar corridor to make their way upstairs.

"Did you tell them they were charmed to go after Lockhart?" the Slytherin asked casually as they breached the entrance hall's last step.

Their wicked smirks made him grin.

"Maybe," George hummed innocently. "We might have suggested they got a discount without actually saying they would if they bought a Lock-onto-Lockhart special. I think a lot of those blokes fancy your mum. They were really eager, after that."

The Slytherin shook his head and laughed.

"I really think you two were mis-sorted," he muttered as the noise of their breakfasting school mates enveloped them. "There needs to be a fifth house for people too dull to be anywhere else. We'd have a better reputation."

"Nah," the boys said together.

"We're definitely more dashing in red," grinned George.

"And lions are way cooler than snakes, any day," finished Fred.

Harry snorted.

"You wish."

The trio parted ways, and at the head table, Lockhart visibly relaxed. While the boys hadn't been caught doing anything, it didn't take a genius to figure out which of his anti-fan club liked him least.

"Harry! Over here!"

The boy grinned and jogged to sit by Jenny Renette, who waved at him from his house table, kitted out in striped silver and green stockings, a green tutu, and a thick pullover with a moving embroidered snake slithering over her shoulder. Kilat draped over her neck, nuzzling her under the chin. Luna occupied the space to his sister's left, opposite which Daphne made pained expressions at the enormous snakehead headdress the Ravenclaw wore. Its wool tongue flicked out every so often, making loud hissing noises at anyone who made eye-contact with its mistress.

"Did you make that yourself?" Harry grinned appreciatively. "It's incredible."

"The Doctor helped me animate it," the doe-eyed blonde said her dreamy way. "I only did the knitting."

The snake's pink tongue flicked out and hissed at him as if in agreement, and the seeker began loading up his plate with fruit and crumpets.

"What do you think, gorgeous?" he hissed under his breath to his own familiar while helping his sister with her food, too close to them both for anyone else to hear.

"These removable ssskins you humans have are ssstrange enough when they don't resemble my kin," she complained. "And it jabbers like a hatchling."

The meal passed quickly and pleasantly with Harry sandwiched between some of his favourite people and everyone too excited at the prospect of good weather and the Quidditch match to bother with much else.

At 9:30, Marcus Flint whistled, and Harry and Draco rose to head toward the pitch.

Draco looked a bit peaky, and dark lavender circles under his eyes stood out starkly against the rest of his face.

"All right?" the seeker asked once they reached the changing rooms and began strapping on his armour.

The blonde shrugged and continued meticulously taping his fingers.

"Got a letter from my mum."

"Yeah?"

Harry smiled at that and tried not to look smug or guilty.

"That's great," he said instead, clapping the other boy' shoulder.

"I'm glad she's well," Draco mumbled. "But not, it's not. She wants me to come home for Yule and ask your godfather for asylum."

The seeker's tight smile slackened.

"I'm sorry, I don't know what's bad about that. We'd get to see each other over the holiday, right? And you'd be with your mum."

"You don't understand anything, do you Potter?"

Draco glared and pushed past him to march out onto the pitch early. His friend watched him go, completely confused. He didn't move until he heard Lee Jordan call his name, but as always, the moment he felt the air whipping his face, it didn't matter anymore.

Madam Hooch's whistle rang shrilly over the stadium, and Harry climbed like a rocket. After so long avoiding the outdoors for its stinging rain and gales, the cool, brisk, clear sky felt more freeing than ever. He went higher and higher, flying until he couldn't hear anything except the rush of wind in his ears, before diving wildly. Gryffindor's chasers scattered, and Draco swept under their formerly tight formation to catch the quaffle as it dropped from Katie Bell's gloved hands.

"Ten-Naught, Slytherin!" Jordan announced.

Harry grinned when he heard Luna's snake head hiss triumphantly. He spotted her sitting with his friends, and his smile only broadened at the sight of the Doctor, Rose and Sirius behind them. His pleasure quickly turned to confusion, though, as variations of horror overcame his parents' and godparent's features. He heard Rose scream, and the crowd gasped. The fine hairs on the back of his neck stood on end, a high whistling noise registered in his ears, and he flattened himself to his broom.

A bludger whizzed by him, narrowly missing his head, and swung toward the stands. Kyle Hooper rushed after it, batting it toward Oliver Wood, Gryffindor's keeper, but it doubled back halfway to its goal and spun after Harry, again.

"Shite!"

He darted into the air, the bludger in hot pursuit, barely aware of the commentary and game around him.

"What the hell is wrong with you, Potter?!" Flint demanded, flying up alongside him after the younger boy barely blocked McLaggen from seeing the snitch, which he'd spotted hovering over the Gryffindor's ear.

He would have caught it, but the larger Scotsman managed to shove him off course before he could pull ahead.

"It's not me!" Harry protested, spinning to avoid the bludger again. "It's cursed or something!"

"Then you had better get that snitch, if you want to leave the pitch on your broom," the captain snarled. "I'm not calling a timeout while we're ahead!"

"Look out!"

Harry did a barrell roll, and Draco careened by, the other bludger in hot pursuit. Millicent streaked by, barely rescuing the chaser with a powerful strike, but it, too, seemed magnetically attracted to its quarry.

"Thirty, all!" Lee's voice echoed below.

"Shafiq returns the quaffle to play- And Bell has possession- Johnson- Bell- Back to Johnson- Spinnet- That's a perfect Porskoff Ploy! Bell catches and GRYFFINDOR SCORES!"

Draco dove to catch the quaffle on its way from the Slytherin goal posts, and Harry barely sloth-rolled in time to see the bludger slam into his shoulder with a sickening crunch. The blonde gave an ear-piercing scream echoed by shrieks from the stands, and the seeker abandoned his flight from his rogue bludger to dive after him as he slid sideways off the end of his broom and began falling to the ground forty feet below.

"DRACO!"

For the second time during the game, he flatted himself to his broom and tucked his elbows. He wasn't going to make it. There wasn't enough time. Draco's shadow grew larger on the grass, and he whipped out his wand.

"ARRESTO MOMENTUM!"

"SPONGIFY!"

The chaser slowed dramatically, and the ground beneath his shadow shimmered just as Harry grabbed a fistfull of the boy's robes. His mouth filled with the taste of ozone as his magic leapt to counteract his weight, and with great effort, the seeker pulled Draco's good arm over his shoulder and lowered him to the ground.

Unfortunately, the bludgers refused to quit their pursuit.

The iron missiles reversed in mid-air and plummeted toward them, whistling for their speed. Harry heard people shouting and barely registered professors and students flooding the pitch. Like before, more than one shouted incantation reached his ears, but the spells went wide, and Harry had experienced quite enough.

"BOMBARDA!"

He bellowed the incantation as he opened his left hand, extending it to the air in lieu of his wand, which lay trapped under Draco's arm as he struggled to keep the unconscious boy upright.

With an explosion of noise and smoke, the bludgers burst in a shower of leather strips and glowing metal confetti to fell harmlessly to the ground several feet away.

Harry slumped to the grass, allowing his friend's weight to pull him down, to wait as a flood of stunned and panicked witches and wizards raced to him, his mum and dad at the forefront. An odd hum enveloped him, their faces blurred into a wash of pink, brown and ivory, and the Slytherin barely registered the cool kiss of grass against the back of his neck and ears as he collapsed onto the oddly squishy pitch.