Firebird's Son: Book I of the Firebird Trilogy Chapter 8: Quidditch, a harry potter fanfic

A/N: I hope everyone had a happy holiday. Responses to Chap 7 reviews are available in my forums here on fanfiction dot net. Some have been confused and that I post responses in my yahoo group, but my yahoo group serves as an archive only.

Also, please note that as part of the AU, the snitch is only worth 50 points. Having a snitch be worth 15 quaffle scores has always really bothered me, and since I've changed so much, I changed that as well. The Seeker is still important, but is not the only player on the team worth anything any more.

Thank you for reading.

Chapter Eight: Quidditch

On his second Saturday at Hogwarts, while the other first years continued their flying lessons, Professor McGonagall personally escorted Harry to the Quidditch pitch. He was already dressed in the crimson and gold uniform of the team, with charmed robes designed to lessen the force of any accidents or Bludgers.

Ron gave Harry the basics of the game during the week—and a lot more as well. He and Seamus came to blows, twice over, which was the best team to follow, while at the same time pulling out books to illustrate the different aspects of the game. So Harry had at least a theoretical appreciation for the game, even if he did not understand it completely.

By the time he arrived, the rest of the team was already at the Quidditch stands with their brooms. The captain, Oliver Wood, was holding two. "And here is our new Seeker!" he said in an expansive voice. At sixteen, Wood was the oldest member of the team, which even for Hogwarts made for a very young team. It seemed that all the experienced players graduated with Charlene Weasley two years ago, leaving a significant gap in the team the following year—the year Slytherin won the Quidditch Cup.

Aside from Elfaba and the prefects, this was the first time Harry had seen older students outside of meal time. The team was dominated by girls, of course. Angelina Johnson and Alicia Spinnet were both third years with beautiful dark skin and shining red magic in their chests. The youngest chaser was Katie Bell, a second year. Katie had dark blond hair and high cheekbones. She smiled at Harry.

Harry smiled shyly back, before turning his attention to the infamous Weasley twins. Fred and Georgina could have been mirror images. Georgina was slightly taller, while Fred was wider in the shoulders, but they had very similar features and of course the same bright red hair as Ron and Percy. He would have liked to say that Georgina was pretty, but she really wasn't. She was just as gangly and awkward as her twin brother, but with the added awkwardness of rather large breasts for a thirteen-year-old girl.

She was also violent. "So this is little Ronnikin's friend," Georgina said, throwing a painful punch at Harry's shoulder. He rubbed it and frowned at her, but she just grinned back while throwing an arm over Fred's shoulders. "How the babies grow up," she said.

"It's enough to make a bloke cry," Fred said, pretending to wipe his eyes.

"Enough, you two," Wood said. "You're frankly all lucky to be on the team. We're going to have the youngest team in the castle, and it's going to be quite the challenge in our first game. Every Slytherin player is a fifth-year or above. So no horsing around."

"Oh Oliver, calm down," Angelina said. And then, to Harry's gaping shock, she kissed him.

On the lips.

"Enough," McGonagall warned. "Ladies, I want you to pay very, very close attention. It took some fast talking to get an exemption to allow Mr Potter to play this year. When you see him fly, you'll understand why. However, as a part of that exemption he will not be allowed to change in the changing room, and additionally there will be no touching. I am perfectly willing to remove you from the team—even if it costs us the cup—if you do not obey this."

"Not even hitting him when he does something stupid?" Georgina said.

"Which he will," Alicia added.

"Because he's a boy," Angelina finished up.

"Not even then," McGonagall said. "And I had better not see any more kissing of the captain on the field, either."

"Just innocent fun, Professor," Angelina said with a saucy smile.

"It usually is, until you find yourself bound to him out of wedlock," the professor said sternly. "And it so happens that I know Oliver is under contract with a nice young lady in Leeds."

Harry expected Oliver to be smile at that, but instead the teen merely shrugged. "I suppose I am at that. Well, be that as it may, it's time to get started. You all made the cut from try-outs on Wednesday night, and our first game is only weeks away, so we have a long way to go. So, we'll be doing flying drills today to get started." He handed his second broom to Harry—it looked a lot more sleek and finished that the brooms he saw for flying class.

"Blimey, that's a Nimbus 2000!" Fred exclaimed.

"A Seeker's broom if ever I saw one," Wood said with approval. "First and second years are not allowed their own broom at school, Harry. So this is the school's broom officially. You'll have to keep it stored with the team brooms. However, while you play, it is yours, and no one else should touch it. Understand?"

"Yes, sir," Harry said brightly.

Angelina snorted. "Did he just call Oliver, 'sir'?"

"It's called respect," Oliver said flatly. "If you kept your hands off my arse long enough, you might try it."

Rather than be cowed, Angelina said, "But it's such a cute arse."

"In the air, now you lot," he snapped.

They practiced for the next two hours, going through flying formations around the pitch. While the others complained and grumbled about the paces Oliver set, Harry felt a sense of sheer joy unlike anything he'd ever felt before. More than once he simply whooped with happiness, and felt profoundly disappointed when Oliver declared practice over.

They settled down on the floor of the pitch by the exit. "Well, I don't know about any of you, but I have no doubts about our seeker," Wood said.

"We're going to kill 'em," Georgina declared.

"He's our secret weapon," Oliver agreed. "Okay, you lot. Let's go change and get back to the castle. Lunch is in half an hour, and I'm famished."

"Right oh," Angelina said. She led the way, slowly peeling off her uniform as she went. Harry trailed further and further behind as he realized just how much she was taking off. By the time she reached the changing room, she had nothing left but her shift and a tight pair of panties.

"That's a dangerous girl, Harry," Wood said, bringing up the very rear.

"She's only thirteen," Harry said. "Should she be doing that?"

Oliver frowned, watching as the rest of the team made their way into the changing room. "She's a Muggleborn witch with not many prospects. She's shopping for a husband by using her body as bait. Doesn't matter how young she is—if you give her have a chance she'd shag you rotten."

Harry did not know a lot about that, but he knew that shagging was something girls did to boys that generally made the boys happy. "Is that bad? I mean, all the boys in school before Hogwarts said that shagging was a good thing."

Oliver blinked, and then blushed when he realized he was speaking to a sheltered eleven-year-old. "Er, yeah, to Muggles I suppose. Just, things like that could lead to a bonding, especially if you look 'em in the eyes. Trust, me, Harry, that's not something you want to happen by accident."

The two boys continued walking, watching as Fred and Georgina ducked into the changing room while punching at each other. "Oliver," Harry said. "This lady in Leeds, do you know her?"

"Course I know her, she was a Seventh Year here when I was a Fifth Year."

"And you're going to marry her?"

"Yeah," Oliver said absently.

"Do you love her?"

"Love?" Oliver looked down at Harry with an expression of confusion. "Barely know the lass, really."

This time it was Harry's turn to look confused. "Then why are you getting married?"

"Same reason most wizards end up getting married first time around," Oliver said darkly. "If a witch ever tells you that there's a potion that stops accidental bonding, run like hell, because she's lying. Trust me."

With that, Oliver walked on into the changing room, leaving a confused Harry in his wake.

~~Firebird~~

That night, Harry opened his mother's book for the first time. It wasn't that he did not have opportunity or desire to read it sooner. In fact, he had carried it with him everywhere he went—every class. During those few, rare times of solitude, he found himself staring at the unadorned leather cover, occasionally running his fingers over the gold-embossed print of his mother's name. Having never been given a gift, Harry cherished this one not for what it was, but for what it represented.

Finally, though, after the other boys settled into their beds to either read or study, he pulled the book out and stared intently at it before he opened it and stared unabashedly at the woman pictured inside. She had red hair—he never knew that. It was not the same shade of red as Ron or the other Weasleys, though. Rather, it was similar to the red of Susan Bones' hair—a coppery colour with gold highlights that made her look like the living embodiment of Gryffindor, or like the phoenix Professor Dumbledore had occasionally in the Great Hall. Her cheeks were lower than his, and her nose sharper, but her chin was softly curved and her eyes shone with the same green as his own.

She moved in the picture, smiling shyly and waiving occasionally. Harry waived back, before wiping off an unexpected tear from his cheek. "Hello, Mum," he whispered. "Aunt Petunia never said you were so pretty."

She smiled alluringly at him, her hands clasped behind her back. Harry knew he should read, but he found himself just staring down at this alluring, beautiful woman who was his mother, until finally sleep claimed him.

~~Firebird~~

"Professor Burbage?"

Charity looked up from her stack of papers (lined Muggle notebook paper, thank you very much) to see Harry Potter once more lingering at her door. It was a nice fact that hers was the last class of the day, so that Harry would not be in danger of being tardy for lingering.

"Yes, Harry?"

"Do you have a moment, Professor?"

She nodded and watched as the boy walked back into the classroom with his book satchel thrown haphazardly around his shoulder. "Er, well, I had a question about something I heard Wood say during our Quidditch practice."

Being familiar with Mr Wood's situation, Charity had an idea of where this was going. "And you're wondering about his marriage contract?"

"He didn't seem happy," Harry suddenly gushed. "On the telly, people are supposed to be happy when they get married, but he seemed mad about it! I don't understand. And Angelina kissed him anyway, and then took her clothes off on the way to the changing room and…" His cheeks flushed. "I just don't understand."

Looking into the boy's earnest, confused eyes, Charity made a snap decision and said, "Harry, have your relatives ever talked to you about sex?"

"Er, I don't think they do that," Harry said quickly.

"I assure you, if you have a cousin, they did at least once. I ask because the answer to your question is deeply tied to differences between Muggles and Magicals in how we are affected by sexual relations."

His cheeks still flushing outrageously, Harry said, "I saw some pictures, once. In one of Uncle Vernon's magazines. Got whipped even though he's the one that forgot to put them up."

"I don't know if we need to go into graphic detail," Charity said quickly. "Suffice it to say, sex is when a man implants his seed, called semen, inside a woman to fertilize her eggs. It is a physical, usually intensely pleasurable experience for Muggles. For witches and wizards, however, it is more so, because we also share magic. And that sharing of magic is where the problem can lie."

His cheeks had gone a ruddy colour and he clung to his satchel like a lifeline. And yet, Harry still listened and understood. "The bonds, you mean?"

"Precisely," Charity said with a pleased nod. "When he was fifteen, Oliver allowed himself to be seduced by an older witch. He was young and confused, and did not realize that there is no such thing as a casual fling in the magical world, being a half-blood and raised in the Muggle world as he was. Much like your Mr Entwhistle, in fact. Unfortunately, Ms White knew exactly what she was doing and did everything in her power to make sure her magic was wholly receptive to his. While I was obviously not there, it is easy to imagine that during their tryst, Mr Wood allowed a purely physical sensation to affect his emotions, as is also too common with young wizards. You boys often grow to love those you are physically attracted to. So in that one moment when he felt affection for her, she looked him in the eyes and snatched onto that feeling with her magic, since emotions affect all magic. In that instant, they formed a bond. She could have demanded his hand in marriage at that moment, but their mothers were able to come to an agreement that he would finish school first, hence the contract. She will be his first wife, and he may take no other until she agrees, and when he does, it will likely be with one of her friends, rather than someone he selects. That's how it is usually done."

Harry stared at the professor in horror. "That sounds so…so…"

"Ruthless?"

Harry nodded speechlessly.

"It is, Harry, quite often. True love matches are very, very rare.'

"Do you think my parents loved each other?"

Charity smiled at him, and said, "I'm sure they did. Your mother was a rather beautiful woman, and James was a prefect and a poster-child for the Griffin Coven—a coven originally formed by Gryffindor himself. They seemed affectionate around each other. But it's not unusual to grow to love someone you bond to. In the meantime, though, I would recommend that for the next few years that you stay with your dorm mates, just to be safe."

"Definitely!" Harry said.

"So, when is your first Quidditch match?" Charity said.

"First November!" Harry said. "We play each house twice, so there will be six games. I can't wait!"

"Neither can I," Charity said. "Run along, now, unless you have any more questions."

"No, no more," he said. "Thanks, Professor!"

~~Firebird~~

The first day of November seemed to take forever to arrive, and yet the morning the awaited day dawned, it felt like it came far, far too fast for Harry. He woke up with a strange tingling in his stomach that he could not quite identify, until Seamus jumped out of bed a minute before Percy's morning torture session, and screamed, "Quidditch today!"

While Ron sat up screaming like a four year old girl being forced to watch Barbie Dolls put to the lighter-fluid aerosol deodorant torch (Harry watched Dudley do that to Suzette McKinley's dolls one year) Harry's stomach clenched into a tight, painful ball. Seamus, ignoring both Ron's effeminate scream and the even more effeminate cursing that followed, grabbed Harry by the hand and pulled him out of his bed.

"Get moving, Harry! The game starts in only four hours!"

Seamus ran out of the room to run up and down the corridor, announcing at the top of his lungs that it was Quidditch day. The three remaining boys heard the buzz of a spell that cut Seamus off mid-shout. A moment later the petrified boy floated into the room at the wand point of a devilishly grinning Percy Weasley.

"There is an unspoken rule in Gryffindor tower that perhaps none of you runts has had explained to you yet, so I shall do the honors," the prefect said. "On Saturday mornings, do not wake up the prefect. Waking up the prefect will result in your tiny monkey arses being petrified and locked in a wardrobe until after breakfast. Understand?" With that, he levitated the still petrified boy over to the wardrobe and shoved him inside.

He turned to leave, but paused at the door. "Anyone who lets him out before I come back joins him. Oh, and good luck, Potter. Only four hours to the game."

"Er, thanks."

"If you don't catch the Snitch, we will kill you." Percy said this without smiling before he left.

Terrified, Harry looked at Ron. "He was joking, right?"

Ron shrugged. "I don't know. Quidditch is pretty important. They probably won't kill you, though. I heard they don't have a reserve Seeker yet."

Harry's stomach cramped harder.

Having survived two months of school, the students maintained the routine with little oversight. . This was good, since Percy Weasley did not appear interested in providing such oversight. Nor did Elfaba, caught up as she was in other duties, not to mention her NEWT studies and, if rumour were true, a recently graduated wizard name Derwick.

Despite the lax supervision that Sunday, Harry, Ron, Neville, and yes, even Seamus ("What's he going to do, paralyze the Seeker right before the game?" Harry asked when he cast a Finite on Seamus) walked down to breakfast together in a clump, instinctively avoiding the larger clusters of girls that prowled the castle like schools of barracuda.

The other boys piled up their plates with bangers and eggs, toast and jam, and for Neville a pile of baked beans. Harry, though, found himself feeling queasy just looking at the food. "Eat, Harry!" Ron said around a mouth full of eggs, bangers and a large, still identifiable piece of toast—mushed into his mouth together

"Er, I think I'm going to be sick," Harry said. He turned and left the table, holding his stomach as he ran toward the tower. He wasn't even out of the Great Hall when a pair of arms caught his, sending with it a shock of unexpected magic. Harry looked up in surprise to see Angelina Johnson grinning tightly at him.

"Don't worry, Harry, I'll help you," she said in a sultry tone.

"I…I…I'm fine, really," Harry said desperately.

He was intimately, horrifyingly aware of the soft flesh pressing against his arm as she held onto him tighter. "I'm your teammate, Harry," she said, staring at him with an intensity that made his stomach clench even harder. Her magic was virtually boiling in her chest, and it looked almost as if it were reaching out for him, like fiery claws.

Harry's stomach stopped clenching; it heaved. The vomit exploded before he could even turn away and he backed off, still holding his stomach, as Angelina stood with both arms raised above her head, staring down at the vomit covering her robes in disgust. "You…you fuck!" she screamed.

"I'm sorry!" Harry said desperately. "I didn't mean to!"

"You owe me big time for this, Potter!" she growled.

"No, he doesn't." Harry turned gratefully to see an angry Oliver Wood striding toward them. "I saw what happened. He was obviously sick already, and you had no one to blame but yourself for not letting him go, even though McGonagall told you already not to touch him. You have a death wish for the team, Angelina? Do you want to get kicked off on the day of our first game?"

"Oh fuck you, Wood," she shouted.

"Not if you were the last witch in England," he snapped. "Go get cleaned up, and pray to Morgana I don't kick you off them team anyway. Go!"

Still cursing, she removed her wand and started spelling herself clean as she walked away. "Alright, there?" Wood asked when she was gone.

"I didn't mean to…"

"Harry, puking on her was probably the best thing you could have done. I saw the look in her eye." He wrapped an arm around Harry's shoulders and walked the First Year back to the tower. "So, are you really sick, or nerves, do you think?"

"Nerves," Harry admitted.

"Thought as much. Here, take this." He handed over a vial of a soothing blue potion.

"Is that the Ordering Potion?" he asked.

Oliver wood blinked. "Er, well, no, it's a calming potion, but they're very similar. Same ingredients, just brewed differently. How'd you know?"

"It's blue."

The Seeker captain looked at the vial, then at Harry. "Looks like water to me. Must be an Aether thing. Anyway, take a swig. It'll be out of your system by the time the game starts, but it'll let you calm down enough to maybe get a bite to eat. Got snacks in your room?"

"Ron's god a load of biscuits and such from his mum," Harry said.

"Good. Have a few biscuits to tide you over, read, do whatever you need to calm down, and stay in your room. I promise, Harry, you'll do fine. I don't care that much if we win or lose the opener, just as long as we win all the closers. Now get on with you."

"Thanks, Wood."

~~Firebird~~

Angelina refused to look at Harry when he arrived in his Quidditch uniform. The rest of the team looked understandably nervous. With the exception of Wood, this was the first game ever for all of them. The twins were wrestling and punching each other while laughing uproariously, while Katie paced the floor wringing her thumbs.

Alicia sat in a corner with her eyes squeezed shut and the palms of her hands pressed against her brows. Wood was giving them all a speech no one was listening to, while outside Harry could hear voices roaring and cheering.

"Are you ready?" Wood shouted, shocking all of them out of their various pre-game rituals.

"Yes!" they all shouted, even Harry.

"Then let's go!" Wood mounted his broom and shot out of the team room in the stands, followed immediately by the three chasers, the Weasley twins, and finally Harry. They took their standard lap around the field, and Harry fought down a new bout of queasiness at the sheer number of people watching him. It wasn't just students, he saw. There were adult wizards in the stands as well!

He flew up behind Wood, while the Slytherins emerged and did their lap as well. When they arrived in their formation opposite the Gryffindors, Harry saw Flint smiling evilly at him. In fact, all the Slytherins were grinning darkly—all of them were older, larger and meaner looking, especially the girls.

On the ground below, Madame Hooch walked out onto the pitch with the play box. "Alright, I want a nice, clean game!" she shouted. She opened the box and immediately the golden Snitch shot up and away into the sky.

Next came the Bludgers, which rocketed into the sky, and finally she grabbed the Quaffle and tossed it into the air between Wood and Flint as team captains.

Wood started to reach for it, only to have Flint punch him in the face, spin his broom around until the straw struck the handle of Wood's broom and sent him spinning away, and then kicked the Quaffle to his chasers, who in a second were zooming toward Gryffindor's unprotected goals.

"That's a foul!" Hooch said.

"It's ten points too!" Flinch said, still grinning. "Welcome to the big time, runts!"

It didn't get any better. The Slytherins punched, kicked and fouled with impunity, completely unconcerned with the penalty shots afforded Gryffindor. Angelina, Alicia and Katie actually even made a few shots, but not enough to negate the huge lead the Snakes had built over the young, inexperienced Gryffindor team.

Harry looked desperately for the Snitch, as desperate to end the game as for the points. In fact, after half an hour catching the Snitch wouldn't have made a difference in the outcome. Slytherin was up by a hundred points anyway and the Snitch was only worth fifty. That first punch had shaken Wood, and his performance suffered because of it.

The only members of the team holding their own were the Weasleys. Fred and Georgina took a near fanatical joy in slamming the Bludgers, either at each other or the opposing team, and scored at least three good, solid hits. The Slytherin beaters were just as vicious, but Fred and Georgina took the abuse in stride in order to continue dishing it out.

At two hundred points under, Harry saw the snitch. He did not try to be subtle or sneaky—he shot off at top speed, moulding himself to his broom to reduce his drag. He could feel the Slytherin seeker cursing and trying to follow, but he didn't care.

He couldn't win the game, but he could at least end the abuse. He approached at an angle, knowing instinctively the Snitch would not stay put, and in fact it darted away just as he thought. Because of his angle, a quick adjustment put him right on the tail of the golden ball. He reached out, his fingers so close he could feel the wind of its wings brushing against his fingertips.

Suddenly his broom stopped. Having learned his lesson the first time, Harry was not completely thrown, but the sudden cessation of momentum sent him flipping over the handle by one hand. He hung on for dear life, since he was easily a hundred feet above the pitch, and dangled helplessly at the end of his broom.

The Slytherin beaters did not hesitate, and the Weasleys were at the wrong angle to stop them. Harry had time to see an iron ball shooting at him like a cannon ball before he felt a crushing pain and a loud CRACKing sound that echoed in his head. And then everything went dark.

Author's Note: Very special thanks to Teufel1987, JR and Miles for beta reading.