A/N: I've been eagerly awaiting this chapter. Hope it lives up to all the hype (in my head).

On the morning of the Gryffindor/Slytherin rematch, Harry arrived at the locker room early. He wanted to be dressed and warmed up long before the match started, so that he could observe the Gryffindor team warming up. It would be the first time Harry faced the Weasley twins as a chaser, and Harry was hoping to gain some better knowledge of their anti-chaser tactics based on their warmup.

When Harry arrived, he found Flint already in the locker room. Flint was almost manic in his preparedness for quidditch matches, so this wasn't unusual. What was unusual was the amount of shaking that Flint's hands were doing. Harry pretended not to notice. Flint left quickly for the pitch, and Harry followed a few moments later.

Harry took a seat on the bench at the side of the pitch and began his pre-game broom inspection. He checked to make sure that none of his twigs were unexpectedly broken, and that his handle was well-polished. He laid his broom on the ground and called it to his hands several times, ensuring that it was responsive to his magical commands. The Firebolt was in top shape, ready for the match.

Harry jumped on his broom and took off. He flew across the pitch and picked up a practice quaffle. He began warming up, practicing his shooting and passing at roughly half speed. As he took more and more shots, he increased the speed of his broom and the strength of his throws, until he was playing almost as hard as he would in a game. After several sets of throws at top speed, Harry directed his broom back to the ground.

Across the pitch, the Gryffindor team was emerging from their locker room. Even the quidditch-obsessed Oliver Wood was surprised to see Harry on the pitch so early.

Harry landed near the Slytherin bench and took a seat, resting his broom across his legs. As he watched the Weasley Twins warm up, he took special note of their anti-chaser tactics. The pair seemed particularly adept at the Bagman Bash—one beater would strike a bludger at the other, and the second beater would then strike the bludger at a chaser. If a chaser was only listening for the crack of the bats, he would react to the first strike by pulling away… which would make him an easy target for the second beater.

It was a difficult maneuver, made famous by Ludo Bagman of the Wimbourne Wasps. The twins had not used it in previous matches; it seemed to be a recently developed skill, and one that would be particularly effective against a two-high, Slytherin's chosen offense. Because the offense kept two chasers high and one low, it encouraged lateral rather than vertical movement, which would be easier for the Weasleys to anticipate. Harry saw no reason that Slytherin would need to change tactics; the Slytherin chases were easily the best in the school, and not even the Weasley twins could stop them for long.

"Did you see the scout?"

Harry turned and saw Pucey standing behind him.

"No," said Harry. "Where is he?" Pucey pointed into the stands. A small man dressed in brown robes sitting in the highest row of seats. There was a pair of binoculars hanging from around his neck, and held a scroll of parchment in his hands.

"He's there for Flint," Pucey said.

"Is that why Flint is acting so weird?"

Pucey nodded. "I'd be nervous, too, if my whole life rested on my performance in one game." Pucey lifted his broom. "I'm going to warm up."

When the rest of the Slytherin team arrived, Harry joined them for warmups. The Slytherin stand was full before warmups ended, and they had already begun cheering and chanting. Harry searched the crowd for Tracey, and found her standing next to Daphne, each of them waving Slytherin pennants.

Madam Hooch blew her whistle twice, signaling that five minutes remained until play would begin. Harry and the other Slytherin players landed near their bench and Flint motioned for the team to come together in a huddle. The team grew silent, waiting for Flint to begin his pre-game speech. Flint took a long look at each of the players in turn. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. After a moment, he closed his mouth, turned away, and took to the air.

The Slytherin players looked at one another. It was odd—Flint always had something to say for the team, usually an attempt to get them to play better through fear or ridicule. Draco shrugged, and Harry shrugged back. There was nothing to do but start the match; the Slytherin team followed their captain into the air.

The voice of Lee Jordan boomed out of the loudspeaker. "Welcome to the highly anticipated conclusion of the Gryffindor/Slytherin quidditch match! Because Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy have traded positions for Slytherin, the captains have agreed that the score will be re-set to nil-nil and no fouls will carry over to today's match. All other standard rules would be in effect."

On the pitch, Madam Hooch released the snitch and threw the quaffle into the air.

"And we're underway!" Jordan narrated the action for the crowd's benefit. "Ron Weasley and Pucey come together, struggling for the quaffle. Pucey comes away with it and quickly passes to Potter. Potter moves toward the rings, and nobody can catch him on that Firebolt."

Harry glanced across the pitch, looking for Flint. Wood, Gryffindor's keeper, was incredibly skilled. It was difficult to beat Wood with a straight shot; the best way to score goals would be by changing the angle of attack. Harry would pass to Flint, and Flint would quickly take the shot from a different angle.

Across the pitch, Flint was being shadowed closely by Alicia Spinnet. He was unable to escape the Gryffindor chaser, and any pass by Harry would be intercepted. Pucey was still disengaging from Weasley at the center of the pitch. Harry was alone against Wood, and, as fast as his Firebolt was moving, he was quickly running out of time. Harry had to make a decision.

Harry pulled back and fired a shot at the far ring, twisting his wrist to add topspin. Wood easily snatched the ball out of the air. Wood passed the ball to Johnson, and the Gryffindor chasers went the other way.

"Those weak little tricks won't work against me, Potter," Wood said, grinning ferociously.

Harry ignored him and turned his broom back to the pitch. A well-struck bludger by Bole had caused Johnson to lose the quaffle, and Pucey had plucked it out of the air.

"Pucey catches the quaffle and passes to Potter. Potter quickly passes back to Pucey, Pucey looks to pass to Flint, but Flint is covered by Spinnet. Pucey passes to Potter-"

There was a crack, and a gasp went up from the crowd. Harry ignored the quaffle coming from Pucey and did a quick barrel roll on his broom. A bludger shot through the space just above Harry.

"-and Potter dodges a well-struck bludger from Fred Weasley." Pause. "Or George. Probably Fred. Spinnet now has the quaffle, and she is pulling away from Flint."

Harry looked over. Somehow, Spinnet was drawing away from Flint, even though Flint's Nimbus 2001 broom vastly outclassed anything ridden by the Gryffindor team. Harry was beginning to think that the scout's presence was getting at Flint more than Pucey had realized.

The quidditch match turned into a battle. Neither set of chasers could make much progress against the other team. Gryffindors chasers were struggling to get past Derrik and Bole, and the speed of Harry's Firebolt made it difficult for them to complete passes. But neither Harry nor Pucey were able to take effective shots against Wood—Flint was being smothered by Spinnet's defense, and Harry and Pucey couldn't consistently maneuver past the Weasley twins and the Bagman Bash. After thirty minutes of play, the score was Slytherin 30, Gryffindor 20.

Harry signaled Madam Hooch and called a time out. He was the first to land, followed immediately by Draco.

"Any sign of the snitch?" Harry asked. Draco shook his head.

Derrik, Bole, Pucey and Bletchley landed, naturally forming into a huddle around Harry. Flint was last to land, lethargically coming to a stop outside the huddle.

"Wait here," Harry said to his huddled teammates. He stepped aside and walked up to Flint.

"What are you doing?" Harry whispered to Flint. "You're playing like trash!"

Flint's face twitched. "I know. It's just… the scout…" There was a rattling, chuffing sound. Harry looked down and saw that Flint's hands were trembling, brushing the twigs of his broom against the ground. Harry had never seen Flint act like this.

"Grab my cloak," Harry said softly, keeping his eyes to the ground. "Start yelling. Ask my why I'm flying in a two-high formation when I should be in a three-straight."

"What?"

"Tell me to stop showboating and play in the system. Then push me away. Be angry." Harry glanced up and met Flint's eyes briefly, then looked down again. "Do it loud, or the scout won't hear."

Flint grabbed the front of Harry's cloak in his fist and jerked the smaller boy forward. Flint began yelling, nose to nose with Harry. "What do you think you're doing, Potter! We're playing a three-straight, not a two-high!"

"But, I-" Harry protested, loudly but with a quaver in his voice.

"SHUT UP AND PLAY THE SYSTEM. Stop showboating, Potter!" Flint pushed Harry away roughly.

Pucey turned from the huddle. "Flint, I thought we were playing a two-high?"

Flint threw his arms in the air. "IT'S A THREE-STRAIGHT!"

Madam Hooch blew her whistle twice; there were thirty seconds left in the time out. The Slytherin team took to the air, but Harry spoke quietly, stopping Flint before the captain could take off.

"Flint, wait." Harry stood so that they were both facing away from the stands, and the crowd was unable to see their mouths moving. "You're giving me a pep talk," Harry said. "You're reminding me that I play for Slytherin, the best team in the school. You're reminding me that our team hasn't lost a match in years. You're reminding me that we win, not because we're lucky, but because we are better than the other team." As Harry spoke, he could see Flint's back straightening. "You're reminding me that the crowd doesn't matter, and it doesn't matter who is in the crowd, because the game is won or lost on the field. And you're reminding me how satisfying it is to look into the eyes of the other team and watch them realize that they are just not as good as you." As Harry finished, Flint looked at the Gryffindor team and sneered. "Now you're going to pat me between the shoulders and take off," Harry said.

Flint reached over and patted Harry between the shoulders. "Are you ready to win this game?" Flint asked.

Harry nodded. "Let's do this."

Lee Jordan's voice again boomed out into the stadium. "We could only hear some of what Flint was saying, but it appears that Potter was not playing the correct offense. We'll see if Flint's changes make a difference in the match. Slytherin gains control of the quaffle, and Potter passes to Pucey, who passes back to Potter."

Harry glanced over his shoulder and saw a Weasley twin lining up a bludger. The twin's eyes weren't looking at Harry, though; he was preparing a Bagman Bash.

"Potter takes the quaffle straight at Wood…"

There was a crack of a bat, but Harry didn't change his course. He knew that it was the first half of the Bagman Bash, and the bludger wasn't aimed at him. Harry glanced to the right and saw Flint moving in, pulling ahead of Spinnet.

There was another crack of a bat. Harry jerked his broom upward, and the bludger sailed harmlessly below him. Harry was close to Wood, now, and the Gryffindor keeper had moved out to stop his shot. Using his left hand, Harry passed the quaffle to his right. Flint caught the quaffle and slammed it home for a score.

"Slytherin goal by Marcus Flint. Slytherin leads, 40-20. Whatever change of tactics Slytherin has made, it seems to have worked."

Jordan was correct; in a three-across offense, the Slytherin chasers were restricted in their lateral movement, but they had freedom to move vertically. Vertical movement dramatically reduced the effectiveness of the Bagman Bash. Meanwhile, Flint was playing like a man reborn, and Spinnet could no longer match his speed. Johnson tried covering Flint briefly, but she was even less effective. Slytherin scored quickly, several times, and the cheers from the Slytherin section of the stands grew louder and louder with each goal.

When Flint scored his fourth goal to extend the lead to 90-30, Wood called a time out to stop play. As the Gryffindor players huddled together on the pitch, Flint flew his broom to the Slytherin cheering section and began waving his arms like a conductor. The students happily burst into song.

Even from across the pitch, Harry could see the smile on the scout's face as he frantically scribbled notes.

When play resumed, the field seemed significantly less cluttered than before. As Harry carried the quaffle up the pitch, he realized why: the Weasley twins were no longer focusing on the Slytherin chasers. Wood had realized that the only chance for a Gryffindor victory was for Bell to catch the snitch before Draco, but to do that she would have to escape the tight physical play of the Slytherin seeker.

Harry passed the quaffle to Flint, then glanced around. The Weasley twins were herding the bludgers toward Draco and Bell, who were floating high above the rest of the pitch. Derrik and Bole were moving to defend.

Draco's head snapped to the right. He shot forward on his broom, Bell in close pursuit.

"Malfoy has seen the snitch!" announced Jordan.

The Weasley twins struck their bludgers at Draco in quick succession, but Draco juked and jived, dodging them easily. Draco and Bell were moving closer and closer to Harry. Harry finally picked out the snitch, which was lurking near a Gryffindor banner, camouflaged against the gold.

Harry looked back toward the seekers. Draco was pulling into the lead, but the Weasley twins had retrieved a bludger and were lining up a Bagman Bash. With a crack, one twin passed a bludger to the other.

Without looking, Draco jerked his broom away from the sound of the bat.

Harry suddenly realized that Draco hadn't researched the Weasley twins. The Gryffindor beaters usually targeted opposing chasers, not seekers, so his friend didn't expect a Bagman Bash. Draco was putting himself in perfect position to be struck by a bludger.

Harry opened his mouth to warn Draco, then paused. Draco should have scouted the beaters; if he didn't, it was because of laziness or arrogance. If that caused Draco to get hit by a bludger… that was Draco's fault. And if Draco just happened to be knocked out of the game, well… there was another player who would be more than willing to take his place, and show this crowd how a real seeker played the game…

Harry watched as the second Weasley twin reared back with his bat. As Weasley brought his bat forward, Harry shook his head violently, trying to clear his thoughts. What was he thinking?

*CRACK*

"Draco, look out!" Harry yelled, but he was too late.

Draco twisted his torso in response to Harry's warning, but his movement only made him more vulnerable. Instead of striking Draco's shoulder, the bludger crashed against Draco's face. An enormous gasp went up from the crowd as the blonde boy fell backwards, unconscious before his hands left his broom.

Madam Hooch swooped in. She waved her wand and caught Draco with a spell before he hit the ground. Once the immediate danger was ended, she blew her whistle to stop play. "Injury time out!"

A shout of anger went up from the Gryffindor stands. Bell had been rapidly approaching the snitch, but the injury time out had prevented her from ending the game. Madam Hooch ignored their protests, and carefully directed Draco toward Madam Pomfrey's medical tent at the side of the pitch.

Harry and the Slytherins landed next to their bench. They watched as Madam Pomfrey took custody of Draco's unconscious body. Madam Pomfrey immediately started toward the castle and the hospital wing, with Draco hovering before her. Despite his friend's plight, Harry was unable to keep his mind off the match. His thoughts were churning furiously—what were they going to do?

Flint snapped his fingers, getting the attention of the other Slytherin players. "Hey. Focus. We have a game to win."

"Playing six against seven?" asked Bole. "How do you plan on doing that?"

"Give me your bat," said Harry, suddenly inspired.

"What?" Bole clutched his beater's bat to his chest.

"Here's the plan," said Harry. The strategy was so clear in Harry's mind, it was as if he was reading it from parchment. "Bole, give me your bat. You're going to play chaser, and I'll be seeker. If the Weasleys keep after me, I can take care of myself, between my broom and your bat. In the meantime, you're going to cherry pick. Hover right in front of Wood's rings. They'll have to leave a chaser back to cover you—probably Weasley, since he plays the best defense. That leaves Flint and Pucey to play two-on-two against Johnson and Spinnet." Harry turned to his captain. "If you can't win that matchup, we don't deserve to win this game." Flint scowled, but Harry continued. "Derrik, you're going to shadow Pucey and Flint. You aren't going to attack with the bludger, just defend."

"That's no way to score goals," Pucey said.

"We aren't trying to score," Harry said. "We're trying to win. If you can keep things at a stalemate, I can beat Bell to the snitch." Harry looked at Flint. The plan would work… probably… but would Flint agree to it?

Flint gave Harry a long, hard look. The scowl on his face deepened. "Fine. We go with Potter's plan. Bole, give him your bat."

Madam Hooch blew her whistle, and the Slytherin team again took to the air.

"An interesting change," Lee Jordan said. "Bole appears to be lined up at chaser, which suggests that Potter has moved to seeker, but… with a beater's bat?" There was a murmur from the crowd. "An unusual tactic. Slytherin dominated play after Flint's last change, but I'm not sure about this choice."

Harry tried to ignore Jordan's commentary. He took his Firebolt up, far above the center of the pitch. Harry immediately began scanning for the snitch, looking for the telltale gleam of gold.

Katie Bell followed him quickly. When she reached Harry's height, she brought her broom to a stop and hovered next to him. "Fancy seeing you here," said Bell. Her eyes flicked back and forth as she, too, looked for the snitch.

"Funny thing," said Harry. "Last time we did this, I wound up in the hospital wing."

"This time… don't. I'd much rather play against you than Malfoy."

Below the two seekers, the match had slowed to a crawl. The matchup was playing out just as Harry had anticipated; Johnson and Spinnet were outmatched by Flint and Pucey, but Derrik could only do so much to defend the Slytherin chasers against the attacks of both Weasley twins. The teams had reached a stalemate.

"I'm a better seeker than Draco is," Harry said. "You'd have a better chance of beating him than me."

"I know," said Bell. "I didn't say I was more likely to win. I said I'd rather play against you." Harry didn't take his eyes of the pitch, but out of the corner of his eye he could see Bell smiling.

"My dashing good looks?" Harry said. Bell glanced over, surprised by Harry's words. At the same moment, Harry saw a glint of metal near the stands—the snitch had just snuck under the bleachers.

Harry turned to Bell and gave her his best smile. She blushed a little. "What are you doing next Hogsmeade weekend, anyway?" Harry asked.

Bell blushed even more deeply, and turned her face away from Harry to cover her embarrassment. As soon as Bell's eyes were averted, Harry raced forward on his broom, accelerating toward the bleachers and the snitch.

"It looks like Potter has seen the snitch!" announced Lee Jordan. "Bell was looking the other direction, and she is far behind Potter. There'll be no catching him this time!"

As Harry rocketed toward the bleachers, one of the Weasley twins knocked a bludger at him. Harry casually batted the bludger away with his bat, maintaining his focus on the snitch. When Harry reached the bleachers, he saw the snitch flying around and under the supporting beams, only twenty yards away. Harry began the chase, moving over and around the support beams in pursuit of the golden ball. The snitch moved along the bleachers, flying away from Harry, wings buzzing with rapid movement.

Harry started slowly, carefully picking his way through the beams. He realized almost immediately that he would never catch the snitch at a safe speed. Harry began to accelerate. As he moved faster, he let his eyes to go out of focus; rather than paying attention to one obstacle, he allowed himself to perceive the bleachers as a whole. A crash at this speed would be deadly, magical healing or not, but Harry easily moved through the gaps in the beams, getting closer and closer to the snitch.

There was a flash of crimson out of the corner of his eye, and suddenly Katie Bell was in his path.

Harry jerked his broom to the side. He narrowly missed Bell, but now was flying directly at a support beam. He jerked the broom again; another near miss. Harry was fighting for his life, each desperate maneuver putting another deadly obstacle in his path. He felt a tug as his robes caught on one of the beams, but his uniform ripped before it could throw Harry completely off balance. Finally, Harry caught a glimpse of sunlight, and he hauled his Firebolt toward the opening. Harry zipped through the gap back to onto the pitch.

Harry took a shaky breath. His hands were trembling from the adrenaline rush. He was out of danger, but had completely lost the snitch. Harry looked back; Bell was moving slowly under the bleachers, looking for the snitch among the supports.

"Potter has emerged without the snitch!" announced Jordan. The Gryffindor section burst into cheers, followed quickly by Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw. "And Johnson scores again, making the score 90-60!" The Gryffindor section burst into song. All eyes were focused on the center of the pitch.

There was a blur of motion at the corner of Harry's vision, and a buzzing flutter. Harry's hand shot out, quick as lightning, grabbing at the air. Something struck the palm of his hand with a loud smack. Harry clenched his hand into a fist, holding tight against the struggling motion.

Harry slowly turned his head. In his hand was the golden snitch.

Jordan was still narrating the action at the center of the pitch. "Pucey has control of the quaffle, passing to Flint…"

Harry flew toward the center of the pitch, lowering his broom to the ground. When he reached center circle, he brought his broom to a stop and hopped off, standing in the grass with his hand raised.

"Potter is behaving rather strangely," Jordan said. "He has left his broom and has his hand in the air… with the snitch. Potter has the snitch. I don't know how he did it, but Potter has caught the snitch." Jordan's voice was dull, devoid of its usual energy. "Slytherin have won the quidditch cup."

There was a moment of absolute silence before the Slytherin section burst into raucous cheers. Harry held the snitch high, and the cheering grew louder. As the rest of the Slytherin quidditch team charged toward Harry on their brooms, Harry leapt onto his Firebolt and began to circle the pitch. The rest of the team fell into a row behind him, Flint and Pucey and Derrik and Bole and Bletchley. They flew around the pitch, cheering and shouting, and the Slytherin section took up a song.

When Harry completed his circuit of the pitch, he landed next to the Slytherin bench. The team mobbed him, screaming and yelling in celebration, slapping hands and clapping each other on the back. This was Harry's first quidditch cup victory, Slytherin's first in two years after the cancellation of last year's matches.

Several yards away, the Gryffindor team was walking toward their locker rooms, eyes cast down to the ground. Pucey began shouting at them and pointing. Pucey's words were lost in the noise of the stadium, but his tone was clear. Pucey took his broom and began brushing it in the direction of the Gryffindors, as if he were sweeping them out of the stadium. Bletchley joined him, and then Harry and Flint and Derrik and Bole were sweeping as well, laughing as the Gryffindors slunk away.

The Slytherin section was still cheering and chanting when Flint turned to Harry. Flint's face looked strange, and it took Harry a moment to realize why—it was the first time he had ever seen Flint smile.

Then there was no time to think. The Slytherin crowd had poured over the railings of the bleachers and was charging into the stadium. Harry was hoisted into the air the shoulders of his classmates. Harry clutched the snitch desperately, holding the small golden ball aloft, laughing and yelling with delight.