A/N: Chap 37 Review Responses are in my forums like normal. This chapter represents the last quidditch game not just in Book 1, but in the entire trilogy. The hammer is dropping, and nothing will ever be the same.

Chapter Thirty-Eight: The Championship Game

Harry's fourth year at Hogwarts ended in a flurry of tests, essays, revising and Quidditch practise. He did his strength training in the morning and his endurance training in the evenings, practised Quidditch every second day, and studied until he thought his eyes would fall out.

He saw trigonometry in his dreams, and Snitches flash by his eyes in the middle of Potions class. He moved around the castle in a semi-permanent fugue state, only partially aware of what was going on. And yet, somehow, he got through it. He woke in the morning, showered, dressed, ate, studied, tested, exercised, practised, ate, slept and repeated, until the days ticked away, and the last tests were sat, and the last essays delivered.

He got up on the tenth of June, and realized with a numbing shock that school was done for the year. The only kids still studying were the OWL and NEWT students taking their own bevy of tests. But for the fourth years, the lower years, and the Sixers, school was essentially done.

And in five days, they would be playing Durmstrang to decide the best Quidditch team in the ICW Junior Quidditch League.

The papers were already calling Durmstrang the favourites, even the British papers, but Harry couldn't really be upset by it. He doubted Hogwarts could have beaten the Brazilians even on their best day. The fact that Durmstrang beat such a strong team meant that they were a real threat.

Of course, the castle itself was abuzz. Because of Durmstrang's policy of no visitors under any circumstances, the game was to be played at Hogwarts again. Already the Ministry was at work on the Quidditch Pitch, expanding it even more to seat the expected crowd of ten thousand people—a crowd almost as large as the Quidditch World Cup game, or so Ron told him.

Unfortunately, there was a dark lining to his silver clouds—he was going to turn fifteen in fifty-one days. On that day, a group of mean-spirited old ladies, most of whom he had never met, were going to make him get married not because they wanted him happy, but because they wanted him shackled.

It was enough to make even the Quidditch championship lose some of its appeal

There was also his mother's book. Just like his habit of looking for Luna on his father's map, late at night he often removed his mother's book and stared at her picture. She looked so young, and so ethereally beautiful, it was hard for him to believe that she ever had a child, that she was ever a real, imperfect human being. And yet the more he learned about her, and the more he began to suspect, the more he feared that she was nothing like what anyone suspected.

He had not finished—or even started, really—decoding the message she left because he was afraid of what she might say. What if she said she was actually a Death Eater, and that Voldemort only killed her because she betrayed him in some way? Voldemort's ghost said he didn't really want to kill any of them; he just wanted her to do something for him, something only she could do. And in response she killed herself and shattered both their souls.

How? Why? She poached his father, but only after sleeping with two other men, one his mortal enemy, and one his best friend. Harry just couldn't understand how she could go from Snape to James Potter, who from all accounts was a good, responsible, pure-blooded wizard loyal to his coven and content with his lot in life.

Fifty-one days and counting.

The girls kept staring; some did more than stare. Several tried catching him in the hallways, sidling up to him if he dared stop for a breather, or if he wandered too far from his roommates. They grabbed and clutched at him, laughing at his attempts to escape as if he were a cute pet. He felt like a piece of bruised steak for all the pinches and grabs, and the teachers didn't do anything.

"Mr Potter, the ruling of the covens was clear," McGonagall said when he complained to her about it. "Either now or later, you will bond. Perhaps it best if you just pick a willing witch and do so on your own volition."

Harry stared at his Head of House as if she had just suggested he take a running leap off the astronomy tower. "So it doesn't matter that I'm only fourteen?" he asked. "That you, and they, are asking a fourteen year old boy to not only have sex, but to get married?"

"Ordinarily, age would be an issue," the Professor said, "but in this case the Covens wish you bonded sooner. It's not so bad, Potter. I daresay you'll find the experience pleasant; I've never heard a wizard say otherwise."

"Yeah, but then you have to wake up for the rest of your life," he muttered, betrayed, hurt and angry.

McGonagall watched him go without comment, her lips pursed and one brow elegantly raised.

On the 48th day from his doom, deciding he needed to get away from all the staring eyes, Harry fled the Gryffindor common room and climbed up to the Astronomy Tower, which given that it was still daylight was empty. He stood at the crenulations, staring out over the vast expanse of the Dark Lake and Forbidden Forest, and fought a sudden urge to cry with anger. It was all so unfair! Worse yet, no one cared at all, not his professors, not his friends…nobody!

"Harry?"

Harry spun around, angry at being interrupted and embarrassed that his eyes were moist with potential tears. He stopped when he saw Justine Finch-Fletchley there, her earthen magic boiling with nervousness. "What are you doing here?" he asked quickly, trying to recover.

"I want to say that what they're doing to you is wrong," Justine said. "You're only fourteen. You shouldn't have to do something like this. Hermione's been crying on and off since she found out—she blames herself."

"It's not…"

"I know," the tall girl said quickly, before looking down at her hands again. "We've seen how the older girls are acting, and we think that's wrong too. I just wanted to tell you that…well, we—Hermione and me—wanted to tell you that, well, you see it's just…"

"If you can't find anyone else, either one of us would be willing to bond with you," Hermione said as she emerged from the door onto the platform atop the tower. "And Jessica Rivers is too. Even Deanna Thomas would be willing. Me, because you saved me in the village, and I can't help but think I owe you for all that has happened."

"Me, because I think you're special," Justine said, "and you deserve to be with someone you choose, whoever it is."

"And Deanna and Jessica because…" Hermione began.

"…they think you have a cute butt," Justine finished, blushing.

"We're not asking you to do anything right now," Hermione continued, "but… well … we just wanted to make sure you knew you had choices, and alternatives to whatever ancient hag the covens throw at you. I've thought a lot about your vision, and what you've said. I am not going to just stop fighting because they threaten us, and if we know there's a danger, we can do something to stop it."

Harry looked from one of the girls to the other, trying desperately to think of something suave or cool to say. Instead, he said, "Thanks, I suppose. But won't your dads kill me?"

Hermione shook her head. "I think my parents would surprise you, Harry. I think a lot of the Muggle parents would."

"I know mine would," Justine said, dryly.

Harry felt a deep chill, remembering what Sybil said about Hermione being a revolutionary. He also knew that someday, for some reason, she would be fighting at his side, as one of his bond mates. He looked at Justine and said, "Can I see your hand?"

She looked at Hermione, biting her lower lip, and then held it out, palm-up. He followed the lines of her hands, letting them guide his mind. He saw a brief flash, of Justine smiling at him, her head propped on her hand, and sunlight coming through a window behind her. And then he saw her running, her face warped by terror, while Hermione gestured for her to come to them. The man in the black robe and silver mask was still there with his serrated knife, but this time he didn't actually see anyone die, just the danger itself. The vision ended with the now familiar stab of pain and hot fluid running down his lip.

He blinked and saw the girls both staring at him in alarm—Hermione was pulling a kerchief out of her bag, but Harry just shook his head and removed a tissue, while at the same time removing his potion kit and downing a phial of pain potion. "Occupational hazard," he whispered.

"What did you see?" Justine asked.

He didn't look at her, though. Instead, he looked at Hermione. "I'm not sure what your parents are up to, and I'm not sure I want to know. But whatever it is, make sure Justine and her parents are a part of it. She's going to need you, Hermione; and you're going to need her. The probabilities have changed a little. There's at least hope now."

Justine sucked in a long, ragged breath. "You mean you saw us survive?"

"I saw you running," Harry corrected, "Which is better than the last time. It means there's hope."

Before the girls could say anything else he stood on shaky legs and stumbled a little as he turned to the passage down the stairs. He paused, and turned to look at where they continued to sit, staring back at him in alarm. "Thank you," he finally said. "Both of you. I keep somehow thinking they'll realize I'm only fourteen and not ready to be bonded yet, and this will go away. But if not, and if I really do have to bond…I think it would rather be with you girls than anyone else I've met. So, thank you both."

He continued back down the stairs to return to the dorm. In his absence, Justine said, "Do you think he knows? About our parents?"

"I don't know, but I'm not sure it matters," Hermione said. "Come on, let's get out of here!" She took the other girl's hand and started down after him to the fourth-year girl's dorms.

After they were gone, the wall beside the door shimmered before a petite figure with red-gold hair appeared from behind a small, limited-use invisibility cloak. Ginny Weasley stood still and silent with an angry flush to her cheeks and her hands on her hips. Finally able to speak, she hissed, "Those bloody cows! He's mine!"

~~Firebird~~

~~Firebird~~

Forty-even days from his doom found Harry back atop the astronomy tower, staring out at a sunset while trying hard not to think of Quidditch, or bonding, or life in general. It had become his place of safety, since few wanted to make the climb during the day. Fortunately, there were no girls present. Unfortunately, he was not alone for long.

"I do so like the view from this tower," an old, tremulous voice said.

Harry turned, surprised, to see the Headmaster standing beside him. The ancient wizard looked tired, and though his eye held a twinkle, his lips did not smile. "Sir," he said, "what are you doing here?"

"Just wandering, of course," Dumbledore said, while continuing to look over the grounds. "You know, Harry, I have been headmaster of this school for over a century. I took custody upon the death of Amanda Dippet in 1894. There was some controversy behind my appointment, I can tell you. The covens were not happy having a wizard as Headmaster. However, few could argue with my qualifications or my status, being the founder of a coven myself."

"Why controversy, sir?"

Dumbledore turned and studied Harry so intently the younger wizard felt his skin crawl. "What I tell you is for your ears alone. For it was right here, Harry, that I was forcibly bonded by order of the Covens upon my fifteenth birthday."

Harry felt as if he had been punched. "You…"

"I was powerful even as a youth, much like you are. I burned out a wand in a lover's quarrel; it was just my grave misfortune that my lover was a young man much like myself. This was intolerable to my parents and the Covens. I rejected the first two witches sent to me, but then they sent Delilah Hastings. She was nineteen, a pureblood of ancient lineage. Rather than trying to convince me of my duty, she instead walked me up to this tower where, as you know, there are no monitoring charms, and told me that I could either fight it and die, or change it and live. She was the first of my four wives, and over the next century I fought the good fight. Because of me, first-generation Muggleborns were allowed to attend Hogwarts, rather than being forced into the day schools or gruelling and demeaning apprenticeships, where they were treated as little better than slaves. Because of me, Lily Evans gained the idea to stop trying to fight it from without, and instead to change it from within."

The old wizard bowed his head, before turning to look at over the grounds. "Professor Trelawney advised me that it was time to return to you an old family heirloom of your father's. Keep it with you, and use it well." He removed a tightly bound ball of wrapping paper and handed it to Harry.

"Good luck in your match, Harry, and in life. I think, next year, you will be ready to discuss what is fair, and what is not."

After the old wizard left, Harry unwrapped the ball to find a wad of strange, silvery fabric within. He pulled it out further to get a closer look and gasped when his arm disappeared. "Merlin," he whispered. "And invisibility cloak!"

He knew enough about wizarding culture to know how rare such cloaks were, and how expensive. This was NOT something he would be showing off.

~~Firebird~~

~~Firebird~~

Forty-six days from Harry's doom, Durmstrang arrived. The ICW Junior Quidditch League Championship game had finally come.

Cedric and Angelina both agreed not to hold hard practise the day before—instead they relaxed and viewed Omniocular recordings of the two Durmstrang versus Brazil games. Both games were thrilling, and both games had Viktor Krum proving he was the superior Seeker. Still, the rest of the Brazil team was so far superior on average in the first game it seemed almost impossible that Durmstrang could win.

The second game, though, was not a case of Durmstrang playing better. The Brazilians came out with a confidence that slipped over the border into arrogance that they did not have when they played Hogwarts. They flew out like a team that had never been defeated, and did not expect to be. The first hour of play did not give them any reason to think otherwise. They built a comfortable lead of 70 points-enough to absorb Krum's catching of the Snitch, and seemed certain to do more.

But as Harry and the others watched, they could actually see the Brazilians relax and get so sure of victory that they did not seem to notice as Durmstrang steadily cut the lead down. Viktor was a force unto himself, shattering Brazilian formations and body-checking the Brazilian Seeker in a tactical foul almost identical to what Harry did to the Australian Seeker.

Suddenly, the Brazilians realized they were not in the lead any more. Like the champions they were, the Escola de Magia regrouped and went on the offensive, and started to regain the lead by ten, twenty, thirty and then forty points, but it was just too little, too late.

Viktor did not spot the Snitch first, but he powered the other Seeker out of the way with such strength that the other player never had a chance to recover, giving Durmstrang the victory by ten points.

"Durmstrang didn't really beat them," Cedric said when the viewing was over. "The Brazilians beat themselves. We can't afford to do that. Even if we do get a lead over them, we can't afford to relax, even for a second."

"I don't think we have to worry about playing with a lead," Stephanie said.

"Don't sell yourself short," Cedric told her with a charming smile. "You girls have come a long way this year. You were good when we started, but now I'd put you up against and chasers in the world, amateur or professional."

"So would I," Angelina seconded. "But it's still going to be a close game. I hate to say it, but it's going to come down to you, Harry."

Harry shrugged. "With all the other black clouds hanging over me, this just doesn't seem all that bad. I'll do my best, that much I promise all of you."

The next day, Harry woke up at his normal time to the warm tingle of sunlight through the window. The day four years ago when he switched beds to be by the window was the best decision he'd made before or since. While it was cold in winter, the beds all had heating charms, and in spring and summer, Harry always woke to sunlight. After a childhood spent locked in a cupboard, the sunlight was simply heavenly.

He ate a huge breakfast that morning—crumpets with marmalade, eggs, sausage and baked beans. He ate a whole rasher of fried potatoes, and downed it all with liberal doses of pumpkin juice. The game began that afternoon, and he intended to eat only a light lunch.

The school was abuzz, of course, and not just because of the game. Repeatedly, students saw Dumbledore or McGonagall walking through the halls of the school giving tours to officials from the ICW or the Ministry. He saw Minister Fudge and his wife, and with them Senior Undersecretary Umbridge, who glanced at him with a knowing smirk, and several other ministry officials he didn't know.

At one point, right before lunch, he met Amos Diggory, the head of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, which it turned out was a very important department charged with protecting the Statutes of Secrecy from creatures who simply didn't know better.

With him were his wives—Anselma Diggory and Cecily Whittencomb. Anselma was Cedric's mother, while Cecily was the mother of Cedric's adorable four-year-old sister Cecilia.

"Harry Potter!" Amos said cheerfully, shaking the boy's hand firmly despite the shock of their clashing magic. "Smashing bit of play in Australia, that!"

"Despite what some might say," the elder wife Anselma added. "And how are you holding up under the Coven's judgment?"

"Honestly? Trying not to think about it," Harry said.

"I'm never one to criticize the covens, but that was a bad spot of business there," Amos said.

"And I would agree," his eldest wife said. His younger wife, who looked like she was only a few years older than Cedric, stared at Harry speculatively.

"So you've not given thought to whom you'd bond with?" the younger wife asked.

"No, ma'am," Harry said, blushing.

"That's interesting," she said. She was a pretty woman, with wheat-coloured hair and pale green eyes lit as with all magical with her magic. "There is a rumour that your Muggleborn friend is in the running."

"Cecily." Anselma spoke only the younger woman's name, but there was in the one word a definite warning.

"Ma'am, really, I'm trying not to think about it. I'm a fourteen-year-old boy. In the Muggle world it wouldn't even be legal for me to get married. This is too much for me to think about now. I'm sorry, but if you'll excuse me?"

He tried not to run as he fled to his room to seek a moment's peace.

He snacked on Ron's stash of food, rather than go to the great hall, and did not leave until it was time for the game to start.

~~Firebird~~

~~Firebird~~

"So, the hags got to you, no?" Viktor Krum said when the game started and both were in the air.

"So it seems."

He nodded. "I am bonded to a third cousin," he said. "She tells me she will make me take her friend as second wife. Friend is very ugly, but she has good hips to carry babies."

"What was it like?"

"Great sex," Victor said with a broad smile. "But it makes you weak after. Not worth it, I say, but we don't get a say, do we?"

"Evidently not," Harry said bitterly.

"But up here, you and I are kings," he said. "And so I vish you a good game, Harry Potter!"

"You too, Viktor Krum."

Before Harry even finished it, Viktor body-checked him and dove to disrupt Angelina's pass to Stephanie. Rather than be upset, Harry laughed wildly and dove after, kicking the ball, and the hand that tried to throw it, from the Durmstrang player who caught Viktor's interception.

Viktor merely laughed as he moved on to scare the wits out of Katie Bell.

It was an insane game, and one completely unlike anything Harry had played before. He played like a hellion, screaming until his voice went hoarse, and then screaming again when his magic healed the damage on its own. He dove wildly at Durmstrang players, completely unconcerned with his own well-being.

Viktor check him twice, and on the second try Harry lowered his shoulders and checked the larger boy right back. He didn't knock Viktor off his path at all, but it definitely made the older student realize this was a different Harry Potter than he played the first time.

"What in Morgana's name is possessing you today, Harry?" Angelina asked at the hour mark. "You're flying like a madman."

"I am!" Harry shouted right back.

He was angry; furious even. In forty-six days he was going to have to get married to someone he didn't know or love because old women were somehow afraid of him. The sheer injustice of it infuriated him. When he thought about it, rage brought tears to his eyes, which he wiped away. He let the rage drive him to fly like he had never flown before, and throw all caution to the wind.

Not once during the course of the game did he even look at the scoreboard, because he didn't care if they won or lost. This would be his last chance to fly until the following year, assuming the covens and his future wife even let him return to school. He knew of some Slytherin and Ravenclaw wizards who left school immediately upon bonding to marry, and in fact Alicia Spinnet had done the exact same thing.

And so he flew as if it were his last chance to ever fly again, and played as if it was the last game he would ever play, and when he finally saw the Snitch he shot after it with abandon. Krum saw it as well and took the same angle of attack he used in Brazil—an angle of attack not on the Snitch's position, but on Harry's. The Bulgarian was shooting right at Harry with a manic, Death's-head grin on his face.

"Bring it!" he screamed right back.

Viktor brought it, and just as he was about to deliver a crushing blow that would not only have unseated Harry, but possibly have broken his shoulder, Harry locked his ankles, grabbed his broom, and sloth-rolled loosely underneath his broom, acting like a red cape to Viktor's bull rush.

He heard the older boy scream a curse as he flew wildly by Harry, unable to stop his own momentum from carrying him out of the path to the Snitch. Harry reverted on his broom, hugged it tightly, and poured his magic and intent into the broom for speed.

He surged forward, and with a single swipe of his hand, caught the Golden Snitch.

Gradually he slowed and stared down at the tiny ball in his hands, and only then did he become aware of the deafening roar of the crowds. Looking up, he stared uncomprehendingly at the scoreboard: Hogwarts 170, Durmstrang 160.

"Harry, you did it!" Angelina screamed, swooping down on him on her broom. A moment later, Katie and Stephanie arrived, each wrapping him in hugs while they flittered to the floor of the pitch. Moments later Cedric arrived, followed by the beaters and then finally the reservists, all of whom crowded around Harry as they celebrated.

People were speaking to him and yelling at him, but he couldn't make out any individual words at all, only that people were happy and he was the cause. He lifted up the Golden Snitch, and the roar increased to an ear-splitting volume so powerful it made his bowels shake from the sheer power of the sound.

Harry felt overwhelmed with it, as punch-drunk as he was his first day of Hogwarts. People continued to talk to him, but he just couldn't hear them, so instead he smiled and nodded back as if he understood. Eventually, though, the cheering died down enough for Harry to hear the instructions to line up to give the other team the traditional congratulations.

When he came to Viktor, the older boy was grinning widely. "Good game, Harry Potter!" he said, grabbing Harry by the shoulders and giving him a crushing bear-hug. "Ve must play again, for lots of money next time!"

"Sounds good to me!"

Krum held the smaller boy at arm's length, and added, "Do not be too afraid of bonding, Harry Potter. It is the vay things are, and the sex is good, ja?"

"I guess I'll find out in forty-six days," Harry said.

Krum guffawed and slapped his shoulders with both hands. "That's right! Good game, good game!"

The rest of the congratulations went quickly, leaving Harry still a little dazed. He was expecting to go straight to the press conference, but when he started to go Cedric caught him and instead nodded to the centre of the pitch, where a group of Ministry officials were standing with Dumbledore while workers quickly assembled a stage.

"What?"

"The International Cup," Cedric said. "Brazil has held it for the past six years."

"Well, yeah, it's the first time Hogwarts has played in the tournament," Fred Weasley said. "But Harry showed him this year!"

"We're going to make a fortune with our Omniocular recording!" Georgina added. "That was the most insane flying I've ever seen in a Quidditch match!" To emphasize how impressed she was, she hit him. Hard.

"May I have your attention?!" Minister for Magic Cornelius Fudge's voice boomed across the enlarged pitch. "Thank you. As Minister for Magic for the United Kingdom, it is my great honour to present to you the Hogwarts Dragons!"

The crowds cheered wildly again as Cedric led the way up onto the stage.

"This fine group of young people has demonstrated the very best principles this fine institution, and this very kingdom, stand for. Despite the odds, we have shown the whole world that we are champions!"

The crowds roared again, while beside Harry, Georgina whispered, "Yeah, like he showed anything but a palm asking for bribes, the corrupt pillock."

"Now, I would like to take credit for this for incredible tournament, but I would be lying," Fudge continued. "Rather, one man took the lead in organizing Hogwarts' entry in the International Confederation of Wizards Junior Quidditch League. This man worked tirelessly to allow Hogwarts to display its finest students on an international stage for the first time in decades, and I dare say our introduction was heard 'round the world. May I introduce my good friend, Head of the Department of International Cooperation, Mr Bartemius Crouch Senior."

Harry leaned forward to get his first clear look at a man who had evidently been working behind the scenes, and felt his stomach twist as if he had a knife shoved into it.

The man who stepped to the podium was the older wizard from his vision that summer—the old man who let the young witch come and take her pleasure with his comatose son, and within him hovered veins of blue, ghostly magic.

Harry did not hear anything he said, and instead watched as Crouch hefted a massive cup over his head. He turned and presented the cup to Cedric, who stepped forward and joined him, holding one half of the cup, posing for the cameras.

It was Cedric, listening to something Crouch said, who nodded and beamed over at Harry. "Harry, get over here! You won this game as much as any of us did!"

"But I'm not the captain," Harry protested.

Angelina and Georgina both pushed him forward. The cup was brimming with magic and seemed to have an eldritch blue fire wafting just below its rim.

"A picture, Mr Potter!" a reporter shouted from the front row of the quickly assembled media.

"Here, boys, let's step out of from behind the podium for the photographers, shall we?" Crouch said. His voice sounded normal enough. "I assure you you'll both want to remember this day for the rest of your lives."

They stepped out from behind the podium, and Harry moved to stand beside Cedric to help hold up the heavy cup. "Okay, gentle wizards," the photographer said. "On three, please!"

"One!"

Harry turned and saw Crouch removing his wand from his sleeve. He lifted it to the cup and silently cast a spell that made the cup begin to shine with a sickeningly familiar magic.

"Two"

"Cedric, let go of the cup!" Harry screamed. He himself let go and turned to try to tackle Cedric free, but it was too late. Cedric did hold the cup, and Harry was holding Cedric.

"Thr…" He never heard the reporter finish the word as the whole world was pulled into the spinning, sickening tunnel of a Portkey.

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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.