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Chapter Thirty-Seven: The Playoffs

Beauxbatons was not a castle; it was a palace. Modeled after Versailles when the school was rebuilt following a devastating battle between rival covens that destroyed the school in 1714, Beauxbatons was quite possibly the most extravagant, beautiful structure Harry had ever seen.

The Quidditch pitch was set in the center of an immaculate garden of hedges and topiaries of fantastical beasts. The entry into the pitch was lined by fifteen-foot high topiary abraxan horses kicking their front hooves up in salute, each unique as if modeled after an individual animal. The changing rooms had Italian marble floors and floor-to-ceiling mirrors.

"I'm afraid to sneeze for fear of breaking something," Angelina muttered.

"Makes you feel poor, doesn't it?" Stephanie said, looking about her with wide eyes. "Wonder what the tuition for this place is?"

"Twice that of Hogwarts," Cedric said. "That's one of the reasons Florence has been so successful—they're cheaper, and so they manage to steal quite a few European magicals away from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang."

"How do you know all this?" Harry asked.

Cedric shrugged. "My dad's a Department Head at the Ministry. He deals with international things all the time for the Wizengamot. Mum's a senior secretary for our Coven's dame. You can't grow up in a house like that without knowing these things. So, game plan?"

"Hit them hard and fast," Angelina said. "They didn't get here by chance. I think we won as easily as we did only because that stupid Veela gambit of theirs. This isn't going to be a walk in the park at all."

She couldn't have been more correct. Not only were the Abraxans a good team, with this second meeting of Hogwarts they were highly motivated to redeem what they considered a stain on their honor.

Further, Harry was sure their normal starting seeker, a boy a year older and fifty pounds heavier, was not going to let himself be cowed like the Australian seeker was by a mere body check, assuming Harry wouldn't be the one who bounced off. In fact, the two seekers fouled each other fairly early in the game, and not for the first time Harry was thankful for his weight training, since if he'd had to go muscle-to-muscle last year he'd have been unseated.

Aside from those fouls and a few other unintentional fouls caused by hard, no-holds-barred play, it was a clean, well-played game. Angelina, Katie and Stephanie played one of their best games ever and flew like professionals, while Vincent and Gregoria wreaked havoc with their bats and bludgers. In the end, though, with the two teams so evenly matched, it came down to the seekers.

The Beauxbaton's seeker saw the Snitch first—Harry could tell by the boy's body language. He did not dive or shoot for it, which meant it was near Harry. As surreptitiously as he could, Harry began looking around his immediate area for the Snitch. He saw it just a few yards away, below and behind him.

Realizing Harry had seen the golden ball, the Beauxbaton's player shot forward like a rocket. Desperate, Harry pulled his broom up, flipped into an inverted dive and flew for all he was worth. The Beauxbatons beaters, at some pre-arranged signal from their Seeker, batted a really outstanding hit of the Bludger right at Harry's midsection, assuring he could not be able to swerve.

With a grunt at the effort, Harry jumped from his broom, letting the Bludger pass between the broom and his stomach so close he felt it blow through a flap of his uniform, and dove forward on momentum to snatch the Snitch from the air. He spun about while passing the Snitch to his left hand and summoned the broom back to his right, and mounted in a spin all in the space of three seconds.

He heard the French Seeker shouting, "Merde! Impossible!" while around him the Hogwarts side of the stands went insane with cheers. However, the cheers were dulled under the throbbing rush of blood to his head when he realized how insane the move actually was.

He was so caught up in the rush of victory that he was seated at the press conference table before he realized he was facing an entire room of reporters after having his name and face in the papers for almost a month straight. He glanced in panic at Cedric, and then at the Headmaster who was once more sitting beside Madame Maxime.

He cringed inside when he saw Rita Skeeter in the front row staring right at him with a hungry smile on her thickly painted lips. Just as the first shouted questions started coming in, Dumbledore stood up and raised a hand.

"Before we begin," he said, "I must insist for the sake of all the other players who demonstrated such outstanding athleticism that we restrain all questions to the subject of the game. I know some players have had unwanted media attention recently, but those events are completely unrelated to Quidditch, and so for this reason I ask that questions regarding these events be held until a more appropriate venue. Thank you."

For a moment, it looked as if the reporters were going to attack Dumbledore, until Madam Maxime also stood. "I too, ask the same of my countrymen," she said in accented but clear English. "This discussion should be about Quidditch."

"Tres bon," a familiar voice said, as Monsieur Delacour stood up. "I ask you, Mr. Potter, about the last play. What were you thinking about as you jumped off your broom?"

Harry smiled ruefully and rubbed the back of his head. "Er, well, I'm not sure I could say I was thinking too much. The other Seeker was closing, and their beater hit a real good Bludger at me—even our Beaters said it was a beautiful hit. I couldn't avoid it, stay on my broom, and catch the Snitch at the same time. I guess in the split second I had to think about it, I decided the Snitch was the priority. It was actually easier getting the broom back this time, since I knew where it was and I kept the tether tight."

"Merci. Mr. Potter, after your game against Durmstrang, I contacted the Nimbus Broom Company to ask about these tethers you describe. Ze President of the company, a Mr. Philip Zephyr, states that the tether you speak of only exists upon the spoken word 'Up' as it is a voice-activated charm, and that any other means of summing a broom without that spoken word would have to be an application of wandless magic."

The constant background noise of fifty people in a tent faded to nothing, to a quiet so profound Harry could hear people breathing. "I'm sorry," he finally said. "What's the question?"

"Do you have any comment on that?"

Harry shrugged. "I don't think so. I don't think its wandless magic. I can't perform any other spells wandlessly. It may be that because I can see the magic of that charm Mr. Zephyr speaks about I'm able to activate it without speaking, but it's the broom's magic that pulls it to my hand, not mine. The first time I did it as a First Year the broom actually bruised my palm because it came so fast. It's not something I'm controlling, I can tell you that much."

It seemed almost as if the reports in the room sighed with visible relief, while Delacour smiled his thanks and sat. Someone asked something of the Beauxbaton players in French. An English reporter asked Angelina about her opinion of the Beauxbaton chasers as opposed to other opponents they had played.

Angelina began, but then solicited the opinions of Stephanie and Katie, making sure all three girls were included. They were graceful and very complimentary of the Beauxbaton players. After another question to Beauxbatons, Rita Skeeter stood. "Mr. Potter," she began in a syrupy voice, "give that Hogwarts only two losses were to the other two teams that will be playing in two weeks' time, who is it that you would rather face again? Durmstrang, or Brazil?"

"Wow. Good question." He couldn't help but sound shocked that she actually asked a pertinent, good question. "Brazil was a really even team—every part worked well together, every player was superb, from their seeker to their Beaters. They played clean and they beat us cleanly. On the other hand, that was also only the third game we'd played as a single team, whereas the Brazil team's been playing as a single unit against other schools for years now. I think everyone here would agree that we've improved a lot as a team. As for Durmstrang—they aren't as evenly skilled as Brazil, but they also had a few outright star players that made a difference in the game. The fact that they lost to Australia, which we beat, means that they are beatable. Honestly, I think our chances would be better against Durmstrang."

"And what of your aerial joust with Viktor Krum? Are you worried about that?" she asked. "Because, to those of us in the press, it appears you have grown a great deal this year."

"Well, I like to think we've all grown as players," Harry began.

"Actually, Harry, I think she means you've grown. You've put on a good three inches since September," Cedric said, to the accompanying laughter of many of the reports.

Harry blushed at the mention of the fact he was the youngest player there. "Well, yeah, I suppose I've put on some size."

"And muscle," Skeeter pointed out. "In fact, you look like a completely different person than from your first game. I understand this is due to diet and exercise. Do you think, in the event of a rematch, things might be different?"

"Merlin I hope so," Harry said fervently. "Krum owned me last time. But yeah, I wouldn't say I'm better than he is, or even as good, but I'm better than I was, and I hope that I would give him a better match up than last time."

"Well said, Mr. Potter," Dumbledore said. "Now, I regret to say that this conference is all that stands between what I'm sure will be an astonishingly delicious dinner, and twenty-eight young people who have not eaten in seven hours, so I'm sure you will excuse us. Good day."

After the press conference, the students were given an extensive tour of the school and its grounds, and Harry thought this even outdid the Florence school for opulence and beauty. The students themselves were not just French, of course, but were comprised of a broad range of European students from across the continent. The main continent only had three seven-year magic schools in Durmstrang, Beauxbatons and the Medici school, so it wasn't surprising to hear German, French, Spanish and even Dutch spoken around them.

At one point, Harry snuck to Cedric's side and said, "Hey, why doesn't Hogwarts have a lot of international students too?"

"We have Scottish and Irish students," Cedric said, "and a handful of Norselanders in the upper years, but the continental students stay away because of the last war. Think about it, Harry—you're fourteen years old. The war ended when you were a year and a half old. For wizards, twelve and a half years is not very long at all."

The meal was simply extravagant—course after course, each more delicious than the last. Harry ate until he was almost sick, and drank the wine served with the meal with bright, flushing cheeks.

He was mid-way through his third course when an oddly familiar man stepped into the long, narrow, well-lit dining hall wearing immaculately trimmed robes. Harry was surprised to see the Gringotts seal on his right breast pocket.

"Blimey, it's Bill!" Fred said from down the table.

The wizard named Bill had shoulder-length red hair pulled back in a short pony-tail and a great fang hanging in a ring from his ear. As he walked closer to the table, Harry saw that though the robes were immaculate, they were also brand new and did not appear to sit well on the young man's shoulders.

"William Arthur Weasley," Dumbledore said, "what a pleasant surprise. Madame Maxime, have you been stealing my graduates?"

Maxime smiled in a genteel fashion. "Non, Headmaster. Monsieur Weasley is on loan from Gringotts to break a recently discovered cursed chamber from the original school. You read of our project to expand a portion of the grounds to a day school for younger students?"

"Indeed I did, and I think it's a marvelous idea," Dumbledore said. "Do let me know how that turns out, will you? And you, Mr. Weasley, how are you?"

"Very well, Headmaster. Madame, I wanted to let you know that my team and I are done. The chamber appears to have been a dungeon, I'm afraid. We've contacted the French Ministry to handle the remains there. I was also hoping on a more personal level if I could borrow my siblings. As you might imagine, I don't get home very often."

"Oh, that would be marvelous, Mr. Weasley," Dumbledore said. "Madame Maxime, would this be agreeable?"

"Bien sur!" she said. "Feel free to explore, if you wish."

After the three Weasleys left, Harry overheard Madam Maxime say, "Why is that boy not bonded?"

"He received an exemption for his work with Gringotts," Dumbledore said. "Gringotts protects money very well, but it is never wise for a married wizard or witch to work for them, given their…demands."

Maxime shuddered. "Terrible creatures. I do not understand why they are permitted to continue as they do."

"In truth, Madame, we could not prevent it," Dumbledore said somberly.

Harry watched as his friends walked away with their brother. It was easy to see their similarity with the hair, but there were also differences in the shape of their faces, and their height—Bill was actually not as tall as the twins were and had a more compact build, the result of being from Arthur Weasley's deceased first wife.

When the two returned just as the meal was concluding, Harry expected them to be happy over getting to see their brother. Instead, they looked oddly somber, and cast glances at Harry repeatedly. "What?" he finally asked.

"We'll tell you on the way back," Fred said.

"Wouldn't want you to blow your wand or anything," Georgina added with a snarky smile.

On the carriage ride back, Harry sought the two out. "Okay, what?"

"Well, it seems our dear brother is giving up his exemption to bond," Fred said.

"Bloody bastard is bonding that Veela bird that gave us so much problem," Georgina added. "Fleur Delacour."

Harry sat, surprised. "What? Are Veela even allowed in England?"

"Mum's going to be so happy he's not queer she's not going to care," Georgina said with a harsh laugh. "When he went to work for Gringott's and got an exemption from being bonded she screamed for an hour straight. But Veela and Goblins are natural enemies, so there's no danger of them trying to strong-arm Bill into letting them use her."

"Use her?"

"There are no goblin females, Harry," Fred said, no longer smiling. "They use witches. The covens will occasionally hand over a squib or a witch with no prospects to forgive debts. Any fertile witch or squib is worth five thousand galleons."

Harry felt sick. "What happens to them?"

"Oh, the goblins say they're treated like queens. But goblins also lie," Georgina said. She shivered, for once not smiling or laughing. "Anyway, we wanted to let you know 'cause of you being friend's with Ron and all."

"Well, thanks," Harry said. "Best wishes to him, I suppose. So will he bond another?"

"No, once a Veela gets her hooks in a man, that's it, he's no good for any other witches," Fred said. "It's why Veela are banned in most countries. I think Bill's only getting away with it because he works for Goblins."

"Not that he'll need any," Georgina added. "He said she was a monster in bed."

Harry blinked. "How old is he?"

"Twenty four," Fred asked.

Harry blinked. "And how old is Fleur?"

"Seventeen," Georgina said. "Strange, isn't it? Normally it's the other way around, with the witch being older. But Bill always did things a little backward. I'll give him this, she is a nice-looking bird."

"Yeah," Fred agreed.

Harry shook his head. "Well, I hope they're happy."

"She's a Veela," Fred said with a shrug. "How could he not be happy?"

~~Firebird~~

~~Firebird~~

Harry wanted to return to Brazil to see the Durmstrang/Escola game, more than anything. He begged, he cajoled, and even offered to use his inheritance to pay for passage for the entire team, but McGonagall was adamant in her refusal. "I'm sorry, Mr. Potter, but your fourth year studies are too important, and they are being disrupted enough just as is."

Instead, he and the rest of the Quidditch team gathered in the Gryffindor common room around the wireless and listened to the game. It wasn't the same, of course, given the magical world's failure to emulate Muggle television, but it was the best they could hope for.

It certainly sounded exciting, but being such a visual person Harry was having a hard time following the verbal descriptions of the game. All he knew, though, was at the end of four intense hours of play, Durmstrang pulled off the miracle win with Krum snatching the Snitch out from in front of the Brazilian Seeker, securing a victory by a single goal.

Harry was going to get his rematch with Krum sooner than he thought.

~~Firebird~~

~~Firebird~~

Harry stumbled out of Muggle Studies feeling as if he had just gone through a ten hour Quidditch game. His arse was actually sore from sitting that last round of modules. For the past four weeks after Durmstrang made the championship game, the Fourth Years were ground down by endless exams, essays and assignments as they pushed through the GCSE requirements in the three compulsory subjects and the four voluntary subjects they were "required" to take, which meant he had to pick four other subjects to study.

He heard Malfoy muttering bitterly as he walked away with his Slytherin cronies, as tired as Harry was. It pleased Harry to know that Malfoy was barely squeaking by in the class. He himself was doing well in most of the subjects, although his science grade he owed mostly to Hermione.

Speaking of…he'd noticed her looking at him a lot, usually when she thought he didn't notice. He several times saw her speaking to Justine Finch-Fletchley, their heads bowed together and whispering furiously. It frankly made him a bit nervous, but he truly did need her help as they finished what would be the last of their formal Muggle Studies. He had vague plans to attend summer sessions to continue, but hadn't given it serious thought beyond just wanting to be done.

He made his way back to the dorm to drop of his satchel before dinner, but when he arrived he discovered Hedwig sitting on the foot of his bed clutching a letter. "Hey, girl," he said, surprised. "Is that from Hermione's or Justine's parents?"

Hedwig made a negative cluck, and then in a sharp bark said, Human. It was the only answer he got, of course, since Hedwig only knew "Her Human" apart from all the others, and could not distinguish between them other than to deliver letters based on their magic.

"Why did you accept her letter then?" he asked.

Your human, she barked.

Confused, Harry took the letter. A moment later, he removed his new wand and cast every version of Revelo he could think of, but the letter did not show any magic. "Merlin, I'm getting paranoid," he muttered.

He opened the letter which was addressed to him a flowery, flowing hand he did not recognize. Unfolding the parchment, he read in growing confusion.

Dear Harry,

Your mother loved you very much. She says so in her book, which is quite remarkable given you were not born or even conceived yet when she wrote it. I wonder how she knew you would be you before you were even you? She left you messages in her book, you just have to read between the lines. Or between the words, really. She even knew your birthday—the last day of the seventh month.

I rather think your mum was quite brilliant. If you read between the words, I think you'll understand.

The letter was unsigned.

Curious, he dug into his wardrobe until he found his mother's book. Looking around his empty room—the other boys were in the Common Room probably—he said, "Revelo every seventh letter." He didn't know if it would work but it seemed like it would. If he could make broccoli glow, then why not letters?

To his intense pleasure, letters began to glow on the page. The first few were an H, R, Y, L, V, Y and U. "That doesn't make sense," he muttered. "Last day. Maybe… Revelo every thirty-first letter!"

Since he didn't remove the first reveling charm, the seven letters remained yellow, while a few other letters began to glow as well: A, R, I, O, E and O. Again, the two didn't make sense, until his eyes flitted back and forth between the original letters and the second round, and he saw a pattern that made the hair rise on his arms.

HARRY I LOVE YOU.

"Oh my God," he whispered. He flipped to the front cover and saw it was published in June of 1979, over a year before he was born, and months before he was even conceived. He put the book down and tried to fight the shaking in his hands. Dumbledore said his mother only had a very mild hint of future events, but this… he wondered just how much of his life his mother had seen, if she had seen any of it at all.

More important, though, he wondered who it was who unlocked her code, and why. Still trembling, he shoved his mother's book back into wardrobe and burned the letter with a flick of his wand. "I can't think about this right now," he decided aloud. He looked up at his familiar, who hopped onto the bed by him and barked her insistence that he pet her.

He did so, and felt her siphoning off some of the boiling magic the letter caused. "We'll figure things out," he said to her. "But later. I just can't afford to think about it, not with the tests and the championship game coming up. I just can't."

His owl hooted and barked at him, and he continued to pet her as he struggled to reinstate his Occlumancy barriers. It would be okay because he had no choice but to make it okay.

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Author's Note: Very special thanks as always to Teufel1987, JR and Miles for beta reading. If there are any major faux-pas, they are entirely of my own doing.