"YES! Lloyd catches the snitch! Gryffindor wins - 250 points to 220!"

The walk back through the tunnel was silent. Harry's frantic heartbeat hadn't slowed since he had stepped off the pitch. He was sure that any acceptance he may have earned with his teammates in the past few weeks of practice had been shattered by his failure to catch the snitch. Maybe if he had positioned himself better, or been more attentive to his surroundings, he could have beaten Lloyd. As it was, the Gryffindor seeker had gotten to it first, and Harry had cost his team match. When they reached the Slytherin locker room, Flint finally spoke.

"Gather round everybody. I know we are all tired, but there are some things we should talk about."

Harry hung his head. He was getting kicked off the team. Worse still, he knew he deserved it.

"First of all, you all did great out there. Better than I had expected."

Harry jerked his head up. Surely there was a 'but' coming.

"I really mean it. Each and every one of you. Lucian and Peregrine were obviously in on it, but as the rest of you probably realized, we had to change our game plan on short notice. A higher authority asked us to teach the Weasley twins a lesson, and our beaters here did just that."

Flint grasped Peregrine and Lucian by their shoulders. Harry suddenly remembered his conversation with professor Snape. It all made sense. He also remembered himself promising to catch the snitch, and his heart sank once more.

"This unexpected circumstance gave the Gryffs an edge at first, but taking out their beaters more than made up for it. Adrian, Cassius, you both did a fine job on the offensive. Over 200 points… that's not bad at all for our first match together. There are obviously improvements that can be made, but I was proud to fly with you today."

Cassius and Adrian grinned. The latter gave a mock salute, "it was fine flying with you too, Captain."

"Allright, settle down." Flint turned to Beltchley, a smile still on his face. "Miles, the same goes for you. We still need to work on your coverage, but yielding only 100 points on your first game isn't bad. Wood himself didn't do much better his first time on the pitch. I should know – I was there."

Finally, Flint turned to Harry. This was it – the moment of truth.

"Harry. You're going to get some hate over the next week or so, mainly at the hands of our Slytherin comrades. Don't pay them any attention. We just lost the match, and they need somebody to blame. The snitch is worth 150 points, so it's probably going to be you. Obviously, we know it wasn't your fault. These school brooms are solid as bricks – and as aerodynamically capable – so they don't just catch fire. That was freakishly bad luck. My uncle got bit by a mackled malaclaw a few years ago, and got hit by lighting the next day. This is up there with that in terms of bad luck.

Harry's teammates were slowly nodding. His heart rate started to slow down a bit. This reaction was better than he had dared hope. He didn't care about what some random Slytherins thought – as long as his teammates were behind him, he would weather any teasing.

"First order of business for you should be to get a new broom." A wave of chuckles swept the room. "You might be able to get a new model from Comet or whoever made the broom that blew up underneath you. I think they kind of owe you one. If not that, we may be able to get Snape to pony up the funds. He says he doesn't care about quidditch, but I bet he likes collecting house trophies."

Flint stepped back so that he could look at the entire group. "Overall, fine job. We only lost by thirty points. That still leaves us in good shape to play for the trophy three months from now. Between now and then, we have another seven matches. Next time we meet the Gryffs on the pitch, we'll beat them by three hundred points." Flint paused for a second. "If things start turning sour, we can just knock out their entire team."

Just as Flint had predicted, Harry had to put up with some abuse over the next few days. Surprisingly, the majority of it did not come from his housemates. They were too busy congratulating the beaters. It seemed like many of them did not care so much about the final score so long as they got to watch an exciting match. It also helped that many of them seemed to have a personal vendetta against the Weasleys. Gryffindors, on the other hand, took every opportunity to mock Harry for not catching the snitch.

Harry wasn't entirely sure why they cared – after all, they had won. Fortunately, Hermione filled him in at one of their study sessions. Word around the Gryffindor common room was that Fred Weasley had nearly bled to death after Lucian broke his nose. On top of that, it still looked a little odd after madam Pomfrey had straightened it. Gorge was in worse shape, and he would be missing half the week while she healed the damage to his ribcage and underlying organs.

So that was it. They wanted to get back at Slytherin for injuring their players. Most were too frightened to go after the Slytherin beaters, so Harry was the easier target. At least Hermione and Neville were still talking to him. As long as his friends stood by him, the rest of the Gryffindors were irrelevant. His main concern was how Snape would react to his failure.

Harry was on edge for practically all of Tuesday's potions class. As the minutes ticked by, he figured Snape must be waiting until after class to address him. That made sense - the potions master wouldn't want any witnesses when he murdered Harry.

After the class was dismissed, Harry contemplated sneaking away. Ultimately, he decided to backtrack to the potions classroom and face whatever punishment was coming his way. The door swung open just as he was about to knock. Snape sat in his chair, a smirk on his face.

"So, the hero returns."

Harry glowered at Snape, and the potions master laughed. Hearing it felt strange – like watching a giraffe walk on its hind legs.

"What? Did you expect me to be angry? I already told you, I don't care for quidditch." Snape leaned forward on his desk, lowering his voice. "I got everything I could have asked for. Those two delinquents knocked down a peg or thirty, and a Potter learning some humility."

"A Potter, sir?"

"Your father played seeker for Gryffindor, as I'm sure you already know. Him and I weren't exactly on good terms. Unfortunately, he was skilled at his craft, so I very rarely had a chance to gloat. Usually, it was the other way around."

"But I'm not my father, sir."

Snape paused for a moment, staring at Harry's eyes. Harry expected to feel a legimency probe, but there was none.

"Indeed, you're not." Snape got up from his desk, and began to pace. "Let's talk about that broom. It is incredibly rare to see one spontaneously combust. Sure, it used to happen hundreds of years ago. Since then, broom makers have gotten better. Modern brooms, and the one you were riding, have a much higher capacity for absorbing magic. Besides, they are stacked with fire-retardant charms in case the broom gets hit by lighting."

"For your broom to have caught fire, one of two things had to have happened. One – it could have been cursed. Several members of the staff examined the broom after the match, and we have reached a consensus that it was not tampered with. Two – you may have somehow overloaded it with magic. Tell me, what was running through your head just before the incident?"

Harry scrunched his forehead as he did his best to remember. Those moments, and the ones after, had been so packed with adrenaline and emotion that it was tough.

"I was concentrating on catching the snitch. I was willing the broom to go faster."

Snape lifted a finger. "That's probably it. Tell me, what do you typically need for a spell?"

"Umm… an incantation?"

"You've seen me cast wordlessly. Try again."

Harry thought about it a little longer.

"We need to have magic inside us, right? That's why muggles can't cast spells."

Snape tilted his hand side to side. "Somewhat. Squibs have magic too, they just can't tap into it. I'll accept that though. You do need magic to cast spells. What else?"

"I don't know, sir."

"Come on…" Snape groaned, tossing his hands in the air. "I'll give you a hint. Expecto patronum!"

The potions master swept his wand in a circular motion, and a translucent silver figure burst from the tip. It was an animal of some sort… a doe. As it galloped around the room, Harry began to feel a swell of happiness in his chest. He sank to his knees. Snape lowered his wand, and seconds later, the doe disappeared. Harry slowly got up.

"What was that, professor?

"That was a patronus. A charm used to defend against certain dark creatures."

"It was beautiful…"

"Yes… she was."

Harry leaned against the wall. He still felt aftershocks of euphoria, albeit rapidly fading. Snape seemed to be lost in thought. After a few seconds, he turned back to Harry.

"How did the patronus make you feel?"

"Happy..."

"As it should. To cast this type of magic, I needed to pour happiness into the spell. I needed intent, and my own memories. The memories when I felt most blissful. It varies from person to person, but the spell works best for me when I use just one particular memory."

"What memory, sir?"

Snape crossed his arms. "Tell me, what was your intent when you were riding on that broom?"

"To go faster."

"That intent, coupled with your inherent magical ability, proved too much for the broom to handle. It is amazing, to be frank. Somebody your age should not possess such magical reserves. First the legimency outburst, and now this. You lack the means to tap into these reserves without strong emotional stimuli, but that will come with time and training. At the moment, what you need to do is to buy a new broom, one that doesn't force you to use magic to compensate for its poor speed and handling."

Harry nodded quickly. "Flint said as much. Actually sir, he said that you might be willing to finance the broom as our head of house."

"Wishful thinking. I could get a year's worth of dragon-scale powder for that sum... Why not buy it yourself? You have a small fortune in your Gringotts vault. Not to mention the Potter vault itself."

"Will I need to make another withdrawal? I still have 140 galleons left in my chest."

Snape waved his hand. "Keep that money with you. Quality Quiditch Supplies can pull money directly from your personal vault after you sign a transfer note. You will however need an escort to Diagon Alley. I shall talk to our headmaster, and we will arrange something for this weekend."

"Thank you, sir."

Snape nodded curtly. "Now that this quidditch nonsense is out of the way, why don't you show me your shielding charm?"

Harry pulled out his wand, and focused his mind. He had been practicing the spell for half an hour here and there over the past week. He had managed to expand it to the size of a pack of playing cards, but there was still something missing. He thought back to what Snape had said about focusing his mind while at the same time expanding his thoughts, but it still sounded contradictory. Nonetheless, he was getting better at it.

He tried to concentrate, but the patronus spell was still in the back of his mind. If intent and emotion were the key to that spell, perhaps they could help him with the shield? He put Snape's original advice on the backburner, and wracked his brain for memories of protection. There was only one that had any significance - the memory he had only recently reclaimed. That of his mother throwing herself in front of him to block the killing curse. Harry concentrated on the memory, on what it had felt like to be protected, and went through the wand motion.

"Protego!"

A shimmering oval shield of energy spread from the tip of his wand. It covered the entire front of his body with space to spare. At the same time, Harry felt a slight twinge in his forehead. Snape stared mutely for a moment.

"How?"

The shield disappeared as Harry stopped to speak. "I got it to the size of a pack of playing cards over the past week. This is the first time it's looked like this."

"What did you do differently?"

"I focused on my memory of my mother protecting me."

Snape seemed to regain his composure, although the look of disbelief did not completely leave his features. "Well... keep doing that. I can't wait to see the look on Jones face. Save the spell for a particularly dramatic moment."

Harry paused for a moment. He didn't want to pry, but at the same time, he couldn't contain his curiosity. "Sir, do you have a crush on professor Jones?"

"No..." Snape drawled, his eyes decidedly unamused. "Are kids still talking about that stupid heart those imbeciles put on the wall?"

"No, they're mostly talking about the quidditch match."

"Good. In that case, that's all for today. Keep working on that spell, I will be testing it out next time. Also, don't neglect your occlumency exercises. Dismissed."

Over the next couple of days, Harry practiced the shielding charm in his room just before going to bed. He was gradually quicker at casting. Moreover, he no longer had to bring up the memory of his mother to cast the spell. It seemed like having experienced the correct combination of magic and intent once made it unnecessary to go through the process again. It reminded him of learning to ride Dudley's bicycle. When he stepped into the dueling room for Thursday's practice, he felt prepared for anything a first year could send at him.

Professor Jones typically had them start off with stretching exercise to get warmed up. According to her, being limber and ready to move was essential to dodging spells. She wasn't there, but Flitwick had them start off in the same manner. As Harry stretched his shoulder, he felt like somebody was watching him. After a quick look around the room, he saw that it was only Ron Weasley, and went back to his stretch.

The red-haired boy was never friendly with Harry, not since he had been sorted into Slytherin, but Ron rarely instigated any sort of trouble. Harry took another look – Ron, Dean, and Seamus were now huddled together and whispering about something.

After the class finished with stretches, Flitwick explained that they would be working on a spell that produced sparks form their wand. It was like the lumos spell that they were learning in Charms. A lot of people were grumbling that they weren't learning a proper dueling spell, but the charms professor had stressed how it was important to be able to signal for help in the event they were outnumbered – or won a duel but were injured in the process. In addition, he promised that it would be a good stepping stone towards offensive flame-based spells in future years.

Harry had little trouble casting the spell since he was already proficient with lumos. While he was trying to change the color of his sparks to green, he noticed Ron and his friends inching their way closer. He ignored their advance, and continued experimenting with the spell. Moments later, a series of bangs erupted. They seemed to be coming from the hallway outside the dueling room, and the professor went outside to investigate. The moment Flitwick was out the door, Ron and his friends stepped in front of Harry.

Harry looked up wearily. "Yes, Ron?"

"What are you looking at Potter?"

"Not sure if that's meant to scare me or to provoke me, but it's doing neither."

"You should be scared. Those shaved gorillas on your team put my brothers in the hospital wing, and now... I'm going to send you there."

Harry tilted his head. "Why not send Lucian or Peregrine to the hospital wing? Aren't they the ones that hurt your brothers?" A crowd of students had gathered around them to watch the confrontation, and some of the Slytherins laughed at Harry's response.

"Shut up. Get ready Potter."

Ron lifted his wand, a jinx on his lips. With the distance between them so small, Harry knew he didn't have a chance of dodging the spell. Snape wanted him to show off the spell in front of Jones, but he had also asked for a dramatic reveal. It would have to be the latter.

"Tarantallegra! Protego!"

Harry and Ron cast their spells near-simultaneously. Harry's shield reflected the jinx right back at his opponent. Immediately, Ron began to dance an energetic jig. Harry kept his wand raised, ready for a counter curse from Ron. Surprisingly, none came.

"Harry Potter! What is the meaning of this?" Harry recognized Flitwick's unmistakable voice, and turned to face the professor.

"I didn't jinx him, professor. I merely shielded myself."

Flitwick chuckled. "Come on, Harry. That's advanced magic, even for a talented boy like you."

Harry shrugged, and cast the spell again for the professor. Flitwick gasped. Meanwhile, Ron was still dancing.

"How wonderful Harry! How did you manage it? Wait, don't tell me. We can talk about it after class in detail." Professor Flitwick turned towards Ron. "Mr. Weasley, you can cast the counter curse any moment now."

"I don't… know it… professor." Ron looked unusually red, but he may have just been winded from the dancing.

"Really? You would cast a jinx without knowing the counter? That is incredibly dangerous. Finite!"

Ron's legs finally stopped moving, and the red-haired boy hunched over, catching his breath.

"Normally, I would give detention for unsanctioned dueling, but it seems you have suffered enough here. As for the rest of you, let's see some sparks!"

The crowd slowly dispersed, and Harry's classmates got back to practicing the spell. Every now and then, he caught this student or that sneaking a glance at him. Somehow, he had a feeling that nobody else would bother him anytime soon.