Harry Potter
and the
Secret Prophecy

Alternate Universe Remix
fanfiction by Fox in the Stars

Chapter Eighteen
Rules for the Last Second

The next morning, Harry suspected that he had made a serious mistake, although the alternative would surely have been at least as bad. Three sleeping charms kept Ron soundly slumbering so that Harry and Seamus had to bodily haul him out of bed for that morning's last minute practice before the game in the afternoon. While the other players dragged Ron half-asleep out to the pitch, Harry went down to the kitchens, where Dobby was only too happy to help his friend "Mr. Harry Potter" take some strong tea and coffee out for the team. From Seeker to waterboy could hardly be considered a promotion, Harry thought as he carried his share to the Pitch, but it was nonetheless true that he was happy to be a part of the team in even a small way.

Some black coffee and earthbound exercise brought Ron around enough to get him on his broom, and once he was stationed at his goal, Harry was honestly impressed. Of course there was the occasional desperate or messy save, but he prowled the goal-hoops on his Nimbus Fourteen Hundred watchful as a sentry; only once did Angelina manage to feint him toward the wrong hoop and score a point. Ron's tall build and red hair were unmistakeable even from the stands; otherwise Harry might have thought he was watching a completely different person than the flustered, bumbling Keeper of the previous morning.

Dobby, who was wearing the colorful socks from Hermione in the context of a wild child-sized outfit, sat next to Harry and watched with a fascinated lack of comprehension. His understanding of Quidditch didn't go much beyond what a Bludger did, and Harry tried to explain to him the finer points until breakfast, when Angelina led the Gryffindor team inside until it was time for warm-ups; she wanted the players to arrive at the game well-practiced but not exhausted.

The meal naturally took place amid regular outbursts from the Gryffindor and Slytherin tables, whether of pride for their own house and team or contempt for their rivals. The Slytherins had put together a mocking song about the Gryffindor team's Weasley contingent, but it only seemed increase Ron's wakefulness and focus.

"Don't let that monster of a broom get away from you, Potter!" Draco Malfoy called across the floor. "Oh, sorry, Weasley! Potter's the waterboy now."

"I guess she ought to do it your way!" Ron shot back. "Sit still and wait for the Snitch to fly up your nose!"

His response was an aristocratic but ill-considered nose-in-the-air huff that set the Gryffindor boys to laughing hysterically, much to Draco's consternation.

The Gryffindor common room was a flurry of activity all morning. Even Hermione forgot about studying and helped make banners and streamers and pennants. After a quick lunch, the players went out to the Pitch for warm-ups. The rest of the house stayed at the table for more excited chatter and sparring with the Slytherins. Harry and Hermione went with the party who fetched all the banners and pennants from Gryffindor Tower while house-mates collected up some of the take-away food that the staff had thoughtfully put on the pre-game lunch menu: bottled pumpkin juice, soft drinks, and tea kept magically hot by the bottles, popcorn, crisps, nuts, bagged sandwiches, and more. At last all paraded out to the Quidditch Pitch laden with snacks and house-pride heraldry.

The flying instructor, Madam Hooch, was the referree, and Professor McGonagall officiated from the scoreboard-box overlooking the Pitch. Lee had now put aside his Newspaper Editor hat and picked up the megaphone of his much older Quidditch Announcer role. Professor Snape was there beside him as Head of Slytherin House, and of course Professor McGonagall was Head of Gryffindor as well as her standard Quidditch-game role of managing the scoreboard and Lee.

Harry wasn't so accustomed to being bustled about and packed into the stands, and ironically he found it a little overwhelming, especially when Lee on his megaphone acknowledged Harry and the Weasley Twins, and he found himself caught in an excitedly affectionate squeeze of well-wishing housemates. "I know the Gryffindor team really wants to win this year for those three!" Lee called. "Of course the Slytherins really want to win this year too, for... Well, for themselves, I guess, but according to them, that's really great or something!"

Caught between McGonagall's unswerving sternness and Snape's bruised house favoritism, he quickly changed the subject and announced the team roll-calls. Seamus and Andrew Kirke were announced as "Reserve" Beaters, and Ginny — who made an exuberant cartwheel on the Firebolt when Lee called her name — was announced as the "Reserve" Seeker. Harry was actually touched that the team wouldn't give away his spot.

When Lee called out "Keeper: Ron Weasley!", Hermione cheered and shot off an impressive spinning twist of red and gold sparks from her wand. Ron saw it, found his friends in the stands, and waved at them — at first energetically, but his arm slowed to a stop in a way that made him look frighteningly uncertain.

"You can do it, Ron!" Harry shouted at him.

Madam Hooch released the four balls with a sounding of her whistle and a roaring cheer from the stands. The players took off, and the game was on. Ginny and Draco rocketted off after the Golden Snitch. Angelina and the other Gryffindor Chasers immediately took charge of the Quaffle and charged the Slytherin goal-hoops. Seamus and Andrew stayed tight to the pack of Chasers and tried to hold a perimeter against attacks by the two Bludgers.

Alicia Spinnet took a shot at the Slytherin goal, but the opposing Keeper, Yao — a burly Asian seventh-year boy with large hands — turned it back, giving his team a chance to make a grab for it. A scuffle ensued as Warrington caught the Quaffle but was immediately struck by a Bludger; Angelina got possession and took advantage of the chaos to confuse Yao and score the first goal of the game: the first Quidditch goal of the school year, which was met with boos and hisses from the Slytherins' stands, and wild cheers from the rest of the school, especially the Gryffindors. Harry realised that being in the stands might involve cheering himself hoarse.

The next thing, the Quaffle was moving up the pitch. Montague cut sharply across the Gryffindor Chasers paths, giving Warrington a chance to gain some distance; he'd have a clear chance to make a shot — and Harry was horrified to see Ron hovering frozen as the Slytherin Chaser bore down on him. Harry and Hermione shouted to him, but only at the last moment did he come to himself and attempt the save, much too late. The Quaffle sailed through the hoop a metre from his hands.

"It's his first game, he just needs to get his bearings," Hermione declared.

"Yeah, that must be it," Harry said.

As the game continued, however, that optimism proved to be misplaced. A mixture of sympathy for his friend and desire for a Gryffindor win plunged Harry's heart with almost-physical pain as he watched a clearly-flustered Ron bumble save after save; he had cracked under pressure, just as he'd feared he would. Even Lee, with his megaphone, tried not to remark on it — a courtesy he would not have shown any other house — but Harry could hear a groan in his voice every time the opposing team was lining up a shot. Hermione, however, still cheered Ron on every time the Slytherins came at him, as if she didn't hold it against him at all.

Harry envied her supportive indifference, but it was no use pretending to share it, and he tried to distract himself by watching the Seekers whenever Slytherin had posession. Ginny circled high above the pitch, making occasional swoops at Snitch sightings, but every time it must have disappeared again. Draco buzzed around and below her trying to give himself a head-start if he saw her go after something — as a Seeker himself, Harry had always been disgusted by such "buzzarding." Between his slow reactions to Ginny's movements and the speed of the Firebolt, however, it didn't seem to be helping Draco much. Once he went after a sighting of his own; Ginny refrained from tailing him, causing the Gryffindor section of the stands to catch their breath, but Harry noticed that she stayed directly above him and kept him in a bird's eye view. In the end he came back up empty-handed, and the Gryffindors all sighed in relief.

In the battle for the Quaffle, the teams' Chaser contingents were almost evenly matched — which now put the Slytherins at a disadvantage because, Harry quickly saw, Crabbe and Goyle were every bit the incompetent Beaters Seamus had said they were, and despite this working to the Gryffindors' advantage, Lee as the announcer showed them no mercy. "—Ooh! Another brutal Bludger hit for Warrington! What the snap was Crabbe doing? He was right there!"

"Why didn't they get those two on sooner?" the Weasley Twins laughed from nearby in the stands. "We'd have had this team beaten to a bloody pulp by now!"

Seamus and Andrew didn't have that kind of control of the Bludgers, but were able to protect their own team, a benefit the Slytherins didn't have. As a result, the Quaffle seemed to arrive at the Slytherins' goals twice as often, but Yao turned back his share of the shots, whereas the only throw Ron stopped was the one that Warrington flung hard into his stomach in an act of sheer meanness. What it all meant was that the Slytherins' score climbed faster; they developed a lead against Gryffindor that slowly but inexorably grew. Still, it didn't matter if Ginny could just catch the Snitch in time; the catch would end the game with a bonus of one hundred fifty points, so if Ginny could catch it before the Slytherins pulled that far ahead...

But the opposing team seemed to realise it, too. Montague flew up to Crabbe and Goyle in turn and said something to them, at which point they stopped even trying to keep the Bludgers off their team. The Slytherin Chasers seemed more harried but almost more effective, dodging the Bludgers entirely on their own with no false illusions of someone guarding them, and meanwhile Crabbe and Goyle flew off to do what they did best: act as Malfoy's thugs.

Montague must have seen that a Snitch Catch by Gryffindor was the main threat now — Harry realised with revulsion that he had ordered his Beaters off to stop Ginny! His face burned despite the November air to watch Malfoy and his cronies circle around and around her, fencing her in, giving chase and harassing her when she tried to break away from them. Worse yet, after seeing the Slytherin team trials, Harry knew Crabbe and Goyle would use those beater sticks if they thought they could get away with it...

It was agonising to watch; the Seekers' now-dreadful game-within-the-game went on and on as the Slytherin lead inched higher and higher. Ron tried and tried, but his frustration was unmistakeable even from the stands as goal after goal got past him. Angelina and the rest of the team's best efforts only made it more slow and painful. Gryffindor was at one hundred ten now, Slytherin at two hundred forty; two more goals and Gryffindor would be doomed.

Ginny must have been aware of the score; she darted quickly around, chafing at the barrier Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle were forming around her...

Another Slytherin goal went in. Amid the Gryffindors' groans was an audible cry of despair.

Harry kept his eyes on Ginny. Come on... Come on...!

She had had enough. With a final wheel around between her captors, she bowed low over the Firebolt like a torpedo and aimed it straight up — straight at Draco! Harry actually heard him scream in fright as he dodged her charge but then realised she might be seeing the Snitch and gave chase. Thus feinted, he tore past her as she slowed herself and looked back, then she arced the Firebolt downward, and it fell like a stone, tip-first.

Harry caught his breath. Could she have flown too high or too fast and gotten faint? No, she was still crouched purposefully on the broom... Then Harry saw it. Off to the side of Ron's goal-hoops, near to the ground, a little golden sparkle. Draco noticed it too and finally pulled out of his climb, but he was far behind; Ginny still rocketed toward the ground at high speed. Harry half-rose from his seat despite himself, and he wasn't alone in doing so. Don't crash!

In seemingly the last yard, the Firebolt bobbed back up. The Chasers were at the other side of the pitch; the area was clear as Ginny darted like a minnow this way and that, mere feet above the ground. She was reaching even below the broom; Harry saw her start to slip — Don't fall!

She stopped moving, dangling from the broom by her knees and hugging her chest; her long braids lay on the ground but her head didn't touch it. With her knees around the Firebolt, she was able to turn it slowly so that she came to face the Gryffindor stands.

Harry was already grinning broadly when she extended her hand holding the struggling golden ball. She called out barely audible with distance: "Got it!" The cheer her small voice touched off in the Gryffindor stands, however, was deafening, drowning out even Madam Hooch's whistle.

Draco belatedly caught up to her just as she righted herself on the broom with a great swing of her arms — which brought the fist gripping the Snitch crashing straight into Draco's face. The Gryffindors roared with laughter as he fell off his broom, and it only set them off again when Ginny's visible attitude of apology was met with a scream of "Don't touch me you little HAG!"

"Wait, wait, wait," Lee called out from his megaphone, "I know how you feel but we're not quite done."

"Wha?" Harry stared at the announcers' box; the Snitch was caught; what was left to do?

"We have to make calls on some possible fouls," Lee admitted grudgingly to the audibly-disappointed crowd. "As it stands, there's only a ten-point difference; one penalty shot could tie this thing, and let's see..." He lowered the megaphone from his face and leaned over to Professor Snape for a moment before announcing through it again: "We need calls on possible Flying To Collide, Contact With The Ground, and, ah... Punching Malfoy in the nose," he finished, not managing to suppress a snigger.

Harry had to admit that it all had ended in a mess, but he fell back into his seat feeling half-sick. If the Slytherins got to make a penalty shot against Ron... Leave it to Snape to yank away their victory on a technicality!

"Okay," Lee called, "Professor McGonagall says she might be biased, so she hands me the rulebook — like I'm not? You wanna look at this, Professor?" he added more softly, proffering the book to Snape. Watching McGonagall and hearing the slightest echo of her through the megaphone, Harry was sure that she was reciting section and page for the other two.

"Let's see..." Lee flipped a number of pages. "Contact With The Ground... 'Applies to all parts of the broom but not to trailing portions of players' hair or robes,' so Weasley should be good there. No word on players' undergarments, though."

The again-tightly-wound Gryffindor stands relaxed a notch and managed a round of nervous laughter.

More page-flipping. "Flying To Collide is, er, 'flying with intent to collide,' so I guess we'll have to ask her..."

Madam Hooch shook her head from the pitch, where the two Seekers were now yelling at each other as Draco clutched his nose.

"So no intent to collide! Good! —I mean good that we know one way or the... ah..." Lee trailed off as Snape loomed over his shoulder. "Anyway, the punch to the nose..."

McGonagall directed them to one more page number; Lee turned to it under Snape's watchful eyes. "Ah, yes, the 'Rules for the Last Second'," he read. "'After the Snitch is Caught: A goal may still be counted if the Quaffle is already . . .' blah blah blah... Ah! 'Penalty shots for fouls committed before the catch are to be taken and to be counted if they succeed; however, as fouls committed after the moment of the catch cannot benefit the offending player's team, no penalty shot is awarded to the fouled player.' So there we have it?" he said.

A moment's pause, then Snape offered a sour, grudging nod.

"YES! " Lee roared into the megaphone, giving both officiating professors a jolt. "WE WON! WE WON! —Oh, I mean GRYFFINDOR WON! "

Harry leapt to his feet along with the rest of the Gryffindor stands in a triumphant cheer not lessened by the delay. As their team made a victory lap, Ginny waved at Harry with the Snitch in her hand, but Ron was nowhere to be seen.

Harry and Hermione searched even as their cheering housemates poured out of the stands and back toward the castle, taking the rest of the team with them, but Ron was still missing, and a search of the pitch came up empty. At last they found him in Hagrid's hut, being served a cup of tea which didn't seem to be helping very much. When Harry and Hermione entered, he slunk under Hagrid's table to avoid their eyes. It took them until dinner time to coax him into returning to the castle and facing the other students, and even at that he just fled up to Gryffindor Tower and asked Harry to bring him something.

In the great hall, Ginny was the center of attention, but Harry also got such a warm reception that he had trouble breaking away when the festivities moved upstairs to the Gryffindor Common Room. He at last managed to escape to the dorm to deliver some stew for Ron, who was holed up behind his bedcurtains.

Harry set the food on the bedside table. "Come on, it could happen to anybody," he said coaxingly. "I mean, actual games are just a bit crazy. You don't really get that in practice..."

"No," came Ron's disembodied voice from behind the curtains.

"You'll be more ready for it next time."

"...Any advice about showing my face until then...?"

Harry couldn't help but laugh. "Well you can show it to me; I won't bite it off."

The bedcurtains rustled. Harry smiled with bemused compassion as Ron finally pulled them open a crack and looked out. "See? Nothing struck you dead," Harry said.

"Yeah..." Ron admitted, looking back at him. "Yeah, I guess it could be worse..."

At least you weren't out there showing me up.

Harry's face fell as Ron's voice slid across his mind. His back stiffened; it felt as if someone had poured cold water down it and into his stomach. "I should go," he said suddenly, turning away. "I mean, get back downstairs before somebody comes up after me or something..."

"Harry...?" Ron queried as he hurried away, but Harry didn't pause on his way to the door, and when he left the dorm he shut it behind him a little harder than he had intended.

"How is he?" Hermione asked Harry as he arrived in the common room again.

"He'll be okay."

"Seems silly to get so miserable over a game," she said.

No one else could hear their conversation over the general noise of the victory party. All the banners and streamers the house had made for the game were now tacked onto the walls. There was butterbeer all around, and Harry quickly came to suspect that some of the seventh-years may have seasoned theirs with something stronger.

"I couldn't believe it!" someone was shouting. "All those last-minute calls — that's Snape for you."

"He probably knew none of them were good, he just wanted to take the air out of us..." Seamus ventured.

"Still, I have to say I'd want McGonagall to stick up for us in the same situation," Katie argued.

Angelina had accepted a drink from Fred and weighed in a bit too loudly. "Yes, but I wouldn't have set my Beaters on the other team's Seeker! That was low!"

"It didn't really help them in the end, though."

"Yes, it did," she grumped. "If they end up tying us for Games Won, it'll go to the point totals..."

"Oh, I can't see that happening," Lee opined. "Here's to the Quidditch season anyway! At least I'll have games to announce. It's not like I'll have a newspaper after Monday..."

"What do you mean? What's the matter?" Hermione asked him.

"Oh, it was good while it lasted. At least we can give Umbridge one last fit..."

"Harry! Harry," Ginny hurried over to him with the Firebolt in her hands. "Here you go. Thanks for letting me borrow it!"

"Well you did a great job flying it," he said.

"Smile you two!" Colin called to them. "I want a picture of both of you holding it!"

Harry and Ginny posed for the photograph; she hugged the broom-handle, leaving him to take a grip closer to the tip. If he tried to put his other hand on it, he bumped shoulders with her awkwardly, so he had to put that hand behind her, which was a bit awkward itself...

"Give her bunny ears, Harry!" George called as Colin finally took the snap. Ginny stuck out her tongue, which made George's suggestion seem in keeping, so Harry held up two fingers behind her head, and Colin could certainly not be blamed for getting that picture, too.

"We'll use that one for the paper!" Lee declared.

"Go on, I dare you!" Ginny shot back. She changed tacks before Harry could protest. "Do you want me to take it upstairs for you?"

"No, no..." he said, then lowered his voice. "I... ah... don't think Ron wants to see anyone..."

Unfortunately, no one much wanted to see Ron, either. No one wanted to condemn him as he'd feared they would, but still there was no denying that he had nearly cost Gryffindor the game singlehandedly, and it seemed that for many of Harry's housemates, the only tactful approach to Ron at the moment was to avoid or ignore him.

Not so with Hermione. Throughout Sunday, he had yet to venture out of the dorm, and Hermione brought him meals and tried to encourage him, but without much success as, Harry thought, she obviously didn't understand what Ron was going through. She never really had understood sports. Still, Harry hardly had room to criticise her; after catching the thought that "at least you weren't out there showing me up," he had unfortunately fallen into the "tactful avoidance" crowd, albeit for his own unique reason.

Harry did have at least one way to distract himself, though; after Lee's broad hint at the party, he thought that Sunday night would be his last chance to see the Hogwarts X-Press staff in action. It was also the first issue in months that was printed when Ginny didn't have to be at Quidditch Practice the following morning, so Harry went with her to the Transfiguration room, where he found another party. There was no banner on the wall proclaiming "Our Final Issue," but the whole staff knew it, and they were going out in a blaze of glory and festivity.

"McGonagall kept a pretty tight leash on us last week, said the staff were trying to get some things worked out," Lee explained. "This week, though, she said it was our choice, so better to die free than live in slavery, that's what I say..."

"Ginny really got a scoop for the last interview, didn't she?" Colin remarked.

"It was his idea," Ginny admitted, still a bit incredulous.

"I bet he knew it'd be his last chance," Harry said, "that you weren't going to back down and give Umbridge a break."

"We finally got enough people from the old clubs together to shut Marietta up about 'lack of corroboration,' too. That's the headline this time," Dean said. He held up the draft front page, splashed with the words "Save Our S.O.S.!"

"She actually was making people sign loyalty oaths?" Harry asked. He tried to be incredulous, but after her detention attempts to physically batter him into signing a confession, he couldn't manage disbelief at this.

"She didn't call them that, but yeah," Ginny answered. "And the president of Save Our Snidgets wouldn't sign, so the endangered Emerald Flooper will have to manage without us kids, I guess..."

"But you wanna see the real coffin nail?" Lee asked brightly.

"'Coffin nail'? Wha?"

"Okay, so you didn't write it..." Lee retrieved a roll of parchment from the matrix near Dean and Colin.

"We're going to need that," Dean protested.

"Oh, Harry can read it first; we've got time." He handed Harry the scroll.

Harry unrolled it; it was a lengthy letter to the editor in a sort of blank handwriting — not the frighteningly perfect script Umbridge used, but the way a dictating quill might write. What this one had written was a lengthy and well-organised essay, the most direct and substantial indictment of Dolores Umbridge as both Professor and Senior Field Minister that Harry had yet seen. Even all the previous student complaints had mainly niggled at the surface of Umbridge's philosophy; this one cut mercilessly to its heart. This author had not forgotten last year's end of term feast, and did not shy away from the issue of "You-Know-Who's" possible return; whether it was true or not, however, became a secondary issue as Umbridge and the Ministry behaved like people desperate not to investigate the question, not like defenders or even seekers of the truth. In a word, they acted fearful . The essayist deftly tied Umbridge's every flaw back to the theme of fear: fear of Voldemort of course, but the Slinkhard textbook, Harry now agreed with the letter, feigned compassion as a cover for fear: fear of those living or thinking outside its narrow frame, fear of the ugliness people — including "the right sort of people" — could be capable of, fear of the differences that could drive them too far apart for a bouquet to bridge the gap. And fear, the letter concluded, must surely be the most dangerous emotion; Anger and hatred can destroy anything on which they set their sights, but Fear destroys everything in its path.

"Wow," Harry said at last. "I can see what you mean about a coffin nail, but... Wow."

Lee took the scroll from him and passed it to Dean to be set up for printing. "That had to go in. McGonagall's sure we'll be shut down for it, but it's just got to be said."

"Yeah, it does." Harry was suddenly awash in respect for Lee and indeed the whole newspaper staff at such a brave stand — not to mention the anonymous author. "So you have no idea who wrote it?"

"No; somebody just handed it to McGonagall with my name on it, and she won't say who she got it from."

Harry's mind immediately went into a buzz of questioning possible suspects. Written as if with a dictating quill — come to think of it, what had Hermione wanted at Scrivenshaft's? He'd been too distracted by the Cutting Quill in their case to notice what she had finally bought...

This time Harry did stay for the entire process, even helping Kelley and Legantine collate pages, and he was rewarded in one very welcome, unexpected way: since for the first time the printing was being done with class the next day, McGonagall had secured passes excusing everyone who worked on it from Monday morning classes. Although Harry was still struggling to catch up from the Catalytical Potion debacle, being excused from Potions was too great a temptation to resist. —A shame, he thought, that this was the last issue and thus the opportunity would not come again.

Once the papers had been printed and stacked, face down to hide the subversive content under a crossword of spell incantations, the students deferred taking them down to the great hall, fearing that somehow Umbridge would be alerted and spirit them off before anyone could read them; they bided their time until breakfast was just about to begin. Harry now doubted that the excuse from class would get him a decent amount of sleep, especially since he didn't want to miss Creatures with Hagrid, but he wasn't about to cut out now as they all sat around chatting, even though the sky was turning pale outside the windows and the lack of sleep was beginning to fuzz his brain as if he'd had a nip of the twins' suspicious butterbeer.

Dean had settled in at a desk with some scrap parchment and was busily drawing a picture. The two first-year girls went to work on that back-page crossword and occasionally popped up with questions. Ginny fell asleep in Professor McGonagall's chair, and Harry draped her with his cloak and wheeled her to the quietest corner of the room.

"Reversed Gravity, two words," Kelley queried.

"Decido Capita," Lee answered blithely.

Maybe the crossword wouldn't pass Field Ministry muster after all, Harry thought. He helped himself to a paper as well and opened it to the coverage of the Quidditch game, but Lee had had time for only a bare-bones report, and Harry soured at a glance over Montague's lengthier piece, which must have tested McGonagall's rule against "attacks on a particular student" with its treatment of Ron and referred to the Gryffindor Seeker only as "The Firebolt," never as Ginny or even "Weasley." Harry finally just stuffed it in his bag to read later. At least the paper's demise meant no more Slytherin House page and no more Montague on sports.

A thought occurred to him, with all of them here killing time so as not to give Umbridge any. "Say," he wondered, "did the printing actually run late, that time with the drama club?"

Lee considered it. "Mmmmm... No." He took a deep breath and rose from his chair. "So, is it about that time, everybody? Somebody ought to set a stopwatch, from the time they hit the tables to the time the announcement goes up..."

"Wait, wait," Dean interjected, still leaned over and making a few last marks on his bit of parchment. "Just let me... There! I want to see what you all think of this..."

They all turned to look at him with eyes in varying degrees of bleariness. He held up his drawing for all of them to see.

It was a new newspaper title image. Whereas the original one had been based on the real Hogwarts Express with its old-fashioned steam engine, this picture showed a sleek, modern, bullet-nosed train zipping through a subterranean tunnel. Speed lines poured off of the words lettered on its side:

/THE HOGWARTS UNDERGROUND/—

The whole room stood in a silence of fatigue mixed with awe. In the pause, Ginny could be heard snoring and resettling herself in the corner. It was Harry who finally spoke:

"I like it!"

to be continued in...
Chapter Nineteen: Tapping, Again

Author's Notes on Chapter Eighteen

Don't anybody get too excited; I'm posting chapters 18 and 19 (which I have had drafts of for an embarrassingly long time — you'll soon find out just how embarrassing), as well as chapters 31-33 on the Fushigi Yuugi Mirrorverse, to celebrate my debut at Ao3, but then I'll have to go on indefinite hiatus. Er, like usual...

Also, a special request: a commenter asked me for recs of other fics like this one ("canon, good, long stories, non-slash Harry/Sirius, excetra..." as she put it). The fact is, I generally dont read fanfic, especially not for fandoms I write in, so I cant help, but if any of you would care to step up in the comments, Im sure it would be appreciated.

I enjoyed writing the Quidditch game more than I expected. I may have tweaked the rules of the game for my own purposes, but wth...

Poor Ron, though. There is in fact a pattern to when he chokes up at Quidditch. I suspect you're already picking up on it, but Ron won't for some time. —Oh, and pop quiz: who else do we know who is having issues with showing Harry his face? ... Good! I knew you were paying attention! ^_^

I was saying to my supportive beta-reader when I first drafted this that I was having trouble achieving, on the one hand, a constant state of "OMGVoldemort!" threat, and on the other having trouble with anything really mean and petty like the interhouse bickering, so the end result is perhaps a bit blandly domestic compared to the books, but she assured me she liked it that way...