A Chase and a Dive

Luna took the news quite well, handling it with the same distant air she afforded every other worry in her life. She did raise the question of why the school wasn't immediately closed, to which Harry sarcastically joked that perhaps they were scared it would find its way onto the train when all the students were sent home. He had expected Hermione to appreciate a joke at the expense of the authorities, but she remarked that stranger things had happened, and the faculty must have their reasons. It was only her following remark that calling the aurors back in would be a waste of time which reassured him she hadn't lost her mind.

They remained in the tower until dinner, when grumbling stomachs drew them out; a siege without provisions was as poor a prospect as being hunted, even for the one of them who had experience of the latter. It was at dinner that they discovered Kettleburn's plan of action.

"Roosters?" Hermione critiqued. "What is a rooster meant to achieve?"

"Whatever it does," Katie chimed in from across the table, "it can stay well away from me. You know they say one already pecked a Hufflepuff firstie?"

Katie gave the rooster a long stare, then shuddered.

"One?" Harry questioned. "How many are there?"

"In the castle? Must be dozens; you can't go anywhere without tripping over one of the little blighters. How come you haven't seen them?"

"Haven't left the tower since lunch," he said, "not with the…" - Hermione kicked him under the table - "lack of lessons."

"Oh, right. Well, Kettleburn brought a whole crate of them in about three o'clock, and it must've had extension charms on it to boot. Told us anyone messing with one gets detention every night 'til the end of year; even the twins don't dare go near them."

"Not a case of 'daring', Kate," Fred or George corrected her from further down the table.

"We merely respect anyone who brings a hundred untamed-" the other started.

"unhygienic-"

"positively riotous-"

"animals into Hogwarts."
"Kettleburn's a man after our own hearts, it seems."

"Been trying to smuggle fowl most foul in for ages-"
"then he goes and walks 'em in the main gate."

"Brilliant, it is. Wonder if they'll be all over the pitch tomorrow?"

"Wonder if they can fly?"

"Wouldn't that just get right up Wood's backside?"

The twin said the last a little too loudly, as it drew the attention of their captain, who came over to chew his beaters out. Katie and Harry immediately pretended they had never even met the twins, or even each other just in case, as Wood was clearly in an even grumpier mood than usual.

"Really though, roosters?" Hermione said again, more quietly.

"I don't know, maybe it's scared of them?" Harry ventured.

"Why would it a giant snake be scared of a chicken?"

"Why are people afraid of spiders?" Harry countered.

He'd never understood that phobia; spiders were some of his best friends growing up.

"I guess," Hermione conceded, not sounding at all convinced.

Harry wasn't sold on his own idea either.

The following day was the final game of the quidditch season: Gryffindor versus Hufflepuff. Hufflepuff hadn't fielded a good team in years, and despite the efforts of their excellent seeker, they were out of contention for the cup already. Gryffindor had a solid team and a seeker who was two for three on snitches, but they needed a convincing win to take the cup from Slytherin.

The fact that a cancelled game would have been counted as a draw, and hence Gryffindor would have lost the cup, surely had no bearing on headmistress McGonagall's decision to have the game go ahead.

Harry was under orders not to catch the snitch unless they were thirty points up; until then, he was to play a mixture of interference on the opposing seeker, and fourth chaser. There was nothing in the rules preventing the seeker handling the quaffle, he simply couldn't score with it. A quick one-two-one between chaser and seeker could take the defence entirely by surprise, granting the chaser a clear shot. Harry saw more chance of that than of forcing Cedric, a boy three years his senior and twice his muscle mass, to break off a chase.

He was also on orders from Hermione to keep his gaze firmly within the stadium, because if he looked out over the grounds and spotted a roaming basilisk, she would be writing a very harsh eulogy. He was also on orders to come back as a ghost, just so he could hear it.

The moment he was in the air, such worries fell away. Harry on a broom felt brilliant, unstoppable, and so free. His eyes were too focused on spotting the snitch to glance towards his friends and check they were all still accounted for. His mind was on the tactics of four-chaser formations. His body coursed with too much adrenaline and serotonin to leave room for fear.

His only worry was that they were only ten points up fifteen minutes into the game, and their opponents were already wising up to his unorthodox role. The beaters had gone from attacking him opportunistically, to leaving him alone because he wasn't doing much, to focusing him relentlessly because a first year seeker hadn't properly learned to take, or dodge, a bludger yet. One good hit would put him out the game; then the snitch would inevitably go to Hufflepuff, and with it victory.

Fred became his shadow, which he appreciated, but he could also see the flexibility of their team suffering for it. The girls were putting on an acrobatic masterclass when the opposing beaters saw them only defended by one beater, and when Fred had to break away to support them the bludger came straight again for Harry.

Hufflepuff weren't mounting any serious counter-offense, but they didn't need to; their seeker was busy seeking ,and so long as they stayed that little bit ahead, they could simply wait for him to do his job. Wood was screaming, Harry was struggling, and it wasn't working.

Ginny winced as yet another bludger sailed past Harry's head. The Hufflepuffs were known for playing fair, but smashing skulls was very much allowed within the rules and their beaters were making it known. She was almost glad she wasn't up there playing. Almost.

Really she reckoned she should have been. That Harry was the better seeker was incontestable, he was simply faster and more willing to pull the crazy manoeuvres needed to seize victory. What he was not, however was a better all round player; all he did was seek. Ginny was a hopeful for chaser in a year or two, with good reason, and her tactical knowledge of the game and position far exceeded Harry's.

When Wood had decided to play his seeker as a fourth chaser, and didn't bring in the hopeful who knew how that was meant to work, Ginny had half a mind to march over and give him a piece of it. The only thing keeping her from doing just that, was she wasn't entirely sure which part of her mind he would be getting. She had noticed she was increasingly angry, her head full of dark thoughts, and all she knew was talking to Tom about it wouldn't help. She just couldn't quite remember why.

The roosters were pissing her off, too. Every time she saw one she wanted to wring its scrawny little neck, and their incessant crowing was giving her permanent headaches. Even out in the quidditch stands she couldn't escape them; two strutted about on the pitch, another perched on each of the towers, like sentinels guarding against… something.

A collective scream brought her back to the game. Harry was dangling upside down on his broom, quaffle in his outstretched hand, with a Hufflepuff chaser/beater pair running him down. He offloaded the quaffle to Angelina below him quite deftly, but completely missed the opportunity to pass it up to Katie, who would have had a clear shot at the top hoop. Ginny wouldn't have missed that play, she was sure.

Angelina managed to score regardless, because Hufflepuff's keeper was their weak link, and had a nasty habit of panicking when rushed by a wailing banshee looking as likely to smash the quaffle into his face as try to score with it. That put Gryffindor twenty points ahead; almost at the threshold, but it had taken them forty minutes. How Diggory hadn't caught the snitch yet, no-one knew - he'd made three chases and lost it in the stands every time.

Luna cheered wildly at Ginny's side, her wispy voice lost among the hollering masses, but Ginny didn't bother. She'd cheer when - if - they won. She'd cheer if Harry caught the snitch, because he was her friend, and as much as he wasn't the heroic boy from the books of her childhood, he was still a star in the making. She was starting to wonder if she didn't prefer him that way; she was, after all, no damsel in distress needing to be rescued. Harry and Ginny Potter, quidditch pair extraordinaire, had a better feel to it.

All that stood in her way was figuring out how to get him to see her in the same light. Preferably before one of his other female friends swooped in and stole him from her. She was busy giving two of them stink-eye when the game heated up again.

Cedric dove from on high, carving between the upper chasers and circling beaters. His prize glittered in a sunbeam at the dead-centre of the pitch, too far from the stands to possibly make an escape; Cedric was going to catch it. If Harry didn't first.

Harry saw the play and went for it himself, shouting and gesturing something at his chasers. Wood was screaming too, and the chasers glanced between them indecisively, until the twins took the initiative and flew an offensive pattern, dragging Alicia into their slipstream. The Hufflepuff holding the quaffle was taken by surprise at his opposing beaters not focusing a seeker on the hunt, and took a bludger to the elbow. The quaffle he dropped fell into Katie's hands; Gryffindor was all of a sudden mounting a wild offensive. Even Wood came out of goal to back them up, because it was an all or nothing play - they needed Harry to beat Cedric to the snitch, and also to score before that happened.

Harry was doing his part, finally looking in his element as his broom screamed earthward, cutting the corner on Cedric's path to draw level with him in pursuit of the snitch. Cedric tried to crowd him, using his bulk, but Harry rolled underneath him and popped up on the other side, gaining priority as the snitch flicked to what was now his side.

Meanwhile, the offense was breaking through. George took a bludger to the chest, meant for Katie, and slumped over his broom, out of the play and only just staying in the air. His final contribution was to hold the bludger to his chest, taking it out of play with him - one less obstacle for his chasers. They juggled the quaffle between themselves, and even George's bat, to bring it past the defenders, losing Alicia to a collision in the process, and George too as he dove to catch her. Angelina wound her arm back, aiming for the keeper, and flicked the quaffle off sideways to Katie, who slapped it at an unguarded hoop. Gryffindor took a collective breath as it sailed through the air. A Hufflepuff beater dove for it, bat outstretched trying to deflect it. His bat connected; the quaffle flew wide; and Harry's hand closed about the snitch.

Gryffindor won the game, but Slytherin took the cup.

Ginny was up at once, moving through the stunned Gryffindors to get out from the stands first. As they sank into desolation, her spirits soared. This was her chance! All they would see was a loss; Wood would be chewing everyone out, especially Harry; then Ginny would appear, focused only on Harry and how brilliant he was to have caught the snitch. She would be his dark cloud's silver lining, and he would finally notice her as more than his third favourite female friend. He would realise the others had nothing in common with him; he would start staying up for hours talking quidditch with her, rather than boring homework with Hermione, or silly make-believe with Luna. She was there for him first, helping him through the wall at King's Cross, and she would be there last. It was only right; only what she was owed.

A rooster popped up in front of her, halfway down the stairs. She kicked it out the way - damned roosters, getting the way of our plans - and didn't give it a second thought as it tumbled. She made it to the players' tunnel while they were still out exchanging bitter handshakes, and took up position, waiting impatiently just inside. Soon enough, her quarry was approaching, and she ready to pounce. Ready to claim what was rightfully hers. She would have Harry, and they would live forever.

"Harry," she breathed as he trudged in.

"Gin," he grunted, looking utterly defeated, just as she wanted. "Please don't."

"Don't what?"

"Wood's giving me enough crap, I don't need you telling me what I did wrong too."

"I wasn't going to-"
"I should just give you this broom, see if you can do better, eh?" he challenged, not listening to her.

Why does he never listen to me!?

"I don't want-"

"You know what, whatever it is, save it. Yeah? Save it for later. I'm tired."

Even as it started to crumble, her heart went out to him. He had tried so hard, and only she could see it. She stepped forward to give him a hug; if he wouldn't let her get her words out, she would let him know she was there another way. His hand on her chest stopped her dead.

"I need a shower," he stated, dismissively, as he stepped around her like she was hardly there.

Like he hardly even sees me.

She watched his back as he stomped away, and her heart shrivelled up. Harry didn't understand; nobody understood. No-one ever listened to her. No-one but Tom, and they weren't talking anymore, for some reason. Some reason she couldn't remember, and in that moment, couldn't be asked to. She ran from the stadium, tears blurring the way; ran to find the one person she could always turn to, the one person she shouldn't have ever given up on. She would find Tom, and pour her heart and soul out to him, and then they could be together forever; then they could become one.

Harry felt a lot better after a cold shower. In hindsight, the game hadn't gone so badly; they had won by a hundred and seventy points. The problem had been Slytherin's blazingly good season, with their superior brooms and mostly experienced team, setting the bar too high. Harry didn't regret his decision to go for the snitch, because it was certain Cedric would have caught it on that run, had Harry not beaten him to it. The team had fallen in behind him in the moment as well, so it wasn't just he who had seen the writing on the wall. Wood was probably just mad he hadn't been the one to make the call.

He did think he might need to apologise to Ginny, because he hadn't been awfully nice to her. He couldn't particularly recall what either of them had said, only that it wasn't enough to muck up their friendship over.

"Decent game," George said, for the third time, as they were leaving the changing rooms. "And good call on the attack - still can't believe that shot didn't go in. We were this close to greatness."

"Close doesn't cut it," Angelina snorted from nearby. "But no good beating ourselves up now. We'll thrash 'em next year."

"Sounds good," Harry murmured, his head really not in the post-game banter.

He had just caught sight of Luna and Hermione, and Ginny wasn't with them. Nor was she with the other Gryffindor first years, huddled not far away. He'd expected her to have run off to one of those two groups.

"Hey, I'm gonna head off," he said to George, "before Wood comes round again."

"Best hurry, then. Mush, mush," George jested as they parted ways.

Harry half-jogged over to his friends.

"Hey, Luna, have you seen Ginny?" he asked the moment he was close enough to be heard clearly over the milling post-match crowd.

"No, Harry, I thought she was with you," Luna replied, waving to him.

"She was, but she left. I sort of need to find her."

"What did you do?" Hermione sighed.

"I, uh, might have taken the loss out on her a little bit."

"Oh, Harry," she groaned.

"That isn't very good. We should go find her," Luna asserted, before immediately turning to skip away.

Harry hastened to follow, stuck in the all too familiar position of trying to keep up with one friend whilst not leaving the other behind. Fortunately Hermione was getting used to it too, and kept pace once she figured out what had happened.

"What did you say?" she grilled him on the way to the castle.

"I just told her to save it - I thought she would be annoyed at me."

"Why?"

"Because Wood was."

"And Ginny is like your arse of a captain how, exactly?" she queried, drawing level only to let him see how deeply she was frowning at him.

"Yeah, alright, I know I screwed up."

"Well that's something," Hermione sniffed.

At Luna's idea of a sensible pace they were back at the castle in no time, overtaking a fair number of other students - none of them Ginny. All through the corridors he scanned for her standout hair as they made their winding way toward Gryffindor tower, the most likely place she would go. Luna was asking people they passed if they had seen a frumpy redhead, which Harry was grateful for as he hadn't the social courage to try it himself, and also annoyed about because her description of the girl they were after was less than stellar. More annoying by far was that of the many they asked, none had seen her.

An odd sense of urgency was rising in Harry. He knew Ginny was probably just up in the tower already, having had quite the headstart, but the last time a girl had gone unaccounted for in Hogwarts… didn't bear thinking about. It was at a jog that he barrelled in through the Fat Lady's portrait and nearly crashed into Percy Weasley.

"Oi, watch it," the prefect snapped.

"Percy," he gasped, catching his breath. "Sorry. Have you seen Ginny?"

"Gin? You just missed her. Think she swung by to collect a book."

"Missed her?" Hermione said. "Wouldn't she have come back past us?"

"Beats me," Percy shrugged, already walking off to whatever he was doing.

Nobody got much out of Percy since Penelope's disappearance.

"Not if she took the first right," Luna suggested, her head poking through the entrance.

"Why would she go that way?" Hermione wondered.

"I haven't the foggiest idea," Luna replied, "what's over that way?"

"Nothing really. The only thing I can think of is Myrtle's bathroom. Why would she… Oh."

"Oh?"

"She's gone to the bathroom to cry."

"You're sure?"

"Yes, Harry, I'm sure. She's come back to get a book, probably her diary, and she's taken it to Myrtle's bathroom to fill it with tear stains and mean words about Harry Potter."

"How do you know all that?" Harry quizzed, not following her logic at all, to the point he wasn't convinced she was using any.

"Because," she huffed, "that's exactly what I would have done in her place. Before… Well, that doesn't matter. She's bawling her eyes out to Myrtle, and she'll be wanting you to find her and apologise, so let's go before someth-one else finds her first."

"Ok, if you're sure," Harry conceded, having no better idea.

Luna was already hopping from foot to foot, raring to go. Her faith in Hermione's assumption buoyed Harry's own, and her endless enthusiasm challenged his own flagging stamina; they set off jogging.

Hermione was seriously struggling to keep up. Harry was an athletic boy, and Luna had simply never heard of being tired, but the bookworm of the group was flagging. She was glad for the break it provided when they bumped into Professor Lockhart - almost glad enough to suffer his company willingly.

"Ho, where are you three rushing off to then?" he called from up ahead as they rounded a corner.

Hermione's supersensory charm, a must for running, made his voice even more annoyingly grating than normal

"We're off to find Harry's friend," Luna supplied happily. "She's crying."

The way Luna could switch from happy to sad just wasn't natural, Hermione thought.

"Oh deary me. Well, if you need help from a professional, don't be afraid to call on old Lockhart. I'm quite the dab hand at comforting crying witches."

"I'm sure we'll be fine sir," Luna answered. Hermione caught a hint of dismissal under her cheery tone. "Harry is excellent at that. He even knows to watch out for snorkacks and fingers."

"Right, that's, um, good to hear," Lockhart stammered. "Well, I wish you-"

He didn't get to finish, because he was cut off by a distant, echoing scream. To him, it was surely muffled; unplaceable. To Hermione it was two corridors away, echoing in a medium sized, mostly unfurnished room, and belonged to a young girl with a familiar hitch to her throat.

It was Ginny, screaming in a bathroom.

It was a first year girl, crying all alone in a bathroom over mean words a boy had said to her, screaming as something found her. Hermione's mind froze as the trauma came flooding back. Her sanity teetered on a precipice, swaying out over the cliff-face of abject terror, and there was no bringing it back to safe ground. Every second she stood frozen, her friend's chances dwindled. What difference ten seconds could have made…

And with that thought, she stepped back from the metaphorical cliff, gathered her nerves, then threw herself clear over the edge in a swan dive. Her trauma, she told to respectfully go fuck itself, because she was a Gryffindor, and the time had come to act like one.

"Luna, go get help!" she commanded, setting off at a redoubled run. "Harry, Lockhart, come on!"

"What if it's the basilisk?" Lockhart cried, although he did at least set off after her.

"That's what you're here for, isn't it?" Harry shouted.

"Oh, well yes, I suppose, but it's rather dangerous to go running into a situation like this."

She heard his footfalls slowing, and Harry's along with them. She turned to 'stare' at them, spreading her arms questioningly.

"He's got a point," Harry muttered.

Hermione could have hexed him if they had the luxury of time to do so. Where the hell is my reckless, act-first Harry when he's needed?

"It's Ginny!" she screamed at him. "She needs us!"

"It's Ginny," he repeated, softly. "Ginny!"

He broke back into a run, by the sound of it dragging Lockhart along with him. There he is. Hermione spun on her heel and sprinted down the corridor, whipping an incendio ahead of her and timing how long it took to splash against a wall.

She'd never used that method to navigate before, only theorised it, but desperate times… She flicked off another, which splashed almost immediately. Banking left, she clipped the apex of the corner with her hand, which hurt like hell, but at least told her where she was in the corridor. If it wasn't broken, she'd take the trade. If it was, she'd deal with it later. She wasn't the one whose time might be running out. She wasn't the one whose injuries might not heal.

This time she was the rescue party, and she'd be damned before she arrived too late.