The Champion's Legacy

Chapter 15: Turn of the Tide


Author's Note: I had fun writing this chapter, even if it has several cliches thrown in. It's also slightly on the shorter side, length-wise, but – eh.

This chapter has not been proof-read by a beta. All mistakes that you may notice are my own.

Also, a massive shout-out to all of you readers who've taken the time out to review, favourite, follow, or just read this story. I may not be responding to individual reviews, but I appreciate every single one of them. Thank you, all of you, for supporting me and this story. Stay safe, everyone.


Disclaimer: Recognisable portions in this chapter have been taken from the Harry Potter series, by J.K. Rowling. I neither own nor intend to make any profit from the use of Harry Potter and associated characters of the series, in my story.


Previously on "The Champion's Legacy"…

'As for what we have discussed, barring the stories that Mr Potter decided to share with us today, the Ministry of Magic guarantees that you are not in danger from any Dark witch or wizard. There is no one outside of school who wants to attack you all. You are safe, you are protected. And if someone continues to tell you otherwise, you are always welcome to tell me about it. I am here to help. Now, you will kindly continue with your reading. Page five, 'Basics for Beginners'. There will be no need to talk.'

She strode around the desk and sat down heavily behind it, staring at everyone. One by one, they reopened their textbooks and resumed the tedious reading of the chapter.

Yet, Harry could not help but notice that all of them glanced at him first, waiting for him to do so before they followed suit.

Umbridge might have claimed victory in this skirmish, but the battle had only just begun. And it seemed that everyone had found their leader.


In almost no time at all, the news of Harry's conversation with Umbridge had spread around the school – staff and students alike. Harry strongly suspected the involvement of Parvati and Lavender in the accomplishment of this feat. He could hear the whispers of everyone else as he sat for dinner in the Great Hall with Ron and Hermione. Most of them did not bother with keeping their voice down; an almost marked contrast with how things had been at the end of last year, and even at the Welcome Feast just two days ago. But while those whispers had concentrated on his claims of Voldemort's return, this time they were focused almost exclusively on his supposed claims of the Dementor attack.

'He reckons he was attacked by Dementors over the summer…'

'At his Muggle relatives' house? You've got to be kidding…'

'He got let off by the Wizengamot…'

'Granger was there, too, that's what I heard…'

'Looks like you're famous as well, Hermione,' said Ron, smirking at her. Hermione raised an eyebrow at him, and he immediately returned his attention to his apple pie.

'I don't get it,' said Harry in a low voice. 'Do they want me to repeat the conversation I had with the toad?'

'I guess…' said Ron, glancing around the vicinity. Those who caught sight of him averted their stares from Harry and looked back at their plates at once, but the murmuring hardly ceased.

Harry looked sideways at Hermione, who had been unusually quiet throughout their meal.

'You don't think I should have spoken to Umbridge like that?'

Hermione hesitated for a moment.

'I think,' she began slowly, 'that she's going to ask the Ministry to start looking for Sirius even harder now that you've mentioned him.'

Ron gaped at her.

'Come off it!' he said, waving his fork in the air. 'How d'you work that one out?'

'Because Harry hadn't raised any concerns about Sirius for the whole of last year, even with the Tournament going on. And now, he's suddenly concerned that Sirius is after him? It'd look fishy to anyone.'

Harry and Ron looked at each other. What seemed like a slight sinking sensation was making its way down to Harry's stomach.

'They have no proof, though,' Harry said fervently. 'There's no evidence to say that he's in England, despite whatever Scrimgeour says or does.'

'Who's Scrimgeour?' asked Hermione in surprise.

'Head of the Auror Department,' said Ron thickly through a mouthful of pie. Hermione gave him a disgusted look as bits of food sprayed across the table when he spoke.

'Tonks and Kingsley were talking about him the morning of my hearing,' Harry informed the other two. 'They were saying he's getting very suspicious that Sirius could be in London after all.'

It was only as he laid his fork and knife down next to his plate that Harry realised his hands were trembling – not out of rage or anger towards the Ministry, but out of fear for Sirius' safety. He hadn't realised how Umbridge would have perceived his point about Sirius being after him – he'd simply been trying to explain how there were still threats out in the real world. He had no desire to have his godfather thrown into Azkaban again, and certainly not because of something he'd done.

Harry pushed his plate away from him, his appetite fading away. His fear was now replaced with self-recrimination for his mistake. How could he have been so stupid? Why did he have to go and blab about Sirius being after him? How did he not foresee that Umbridge, being the politician that so many others had told him about, would likely use that information for her benefit?

'Harry?'

Hermione's voice, urgent and concerned, penetrated his thoughts. He glanced at her, and her expression softened.

'I'm sorry,' she said quietly, and not for the first time, Harry was immensely grateful that Hermione could tell what he was thinking. 'It's not a likely possibility, but…you know, it's what I would do,' she finished, a little lamely.

'It's okay,' he muttered. 'It's fine.'

Ron was thoroughly unconvinced with Hermione's train of thought, however. 'I doubt it,' he insisted. 'Umbridge will want to focus on Harry and Dumbledore at Hogwarts, not Sirius in London. It's easier for her if she does that. Plus,' he added confidently, 'Sirius is too well protected. He won't leave Grimmauld Place for anything.'

Harry didn't know if Ron was deliberately trying to cheer Harry up or not, but it had worked. His words had somewhat shattered his anxiety over Umbridge going after Sirius, especially since he was safely ensconced at his house.

'Yeah, you're right,' said Harry, and he was pleased to note that his voice wasn't shaking. He picked up his knife and fork, pulled his plate back, and resumed eating his treacle tart.

Five minutes later, they finished their dinner and followed a few other students as they headed out of the Hall. A momentary hush had fallen over the Hall when they'd gotten up from the Gryffindor table, but the chatter, along with the whispers and sounds of cutlery, filled the room once more, even if most of the other students stared at them as they walked out.

It was as they reached the massive double doors of the Hall that the thought struck Harry.

'I wonder if Daphne knows,' he said.

'Knows what?'

'What happened in Defence.'

Instinctively, he glanced back into the Hall, in the direction of the Slytherin table. Surprisingly, he hadn't looked at her at all during dinner – he attributed it to being distracted by the whispers of everyone else. His eyes travelled up and down the table, searching…

He found her at last.

For that single second, her gaze was piercing, direct, almost as though she was looking right through him. He had never experienced anything like this from her before. It was, in a way, rather humbling.

I'll call you.

She gave the faintest of nods, a single blink telling him that she'd understood his message, before being swept into a conversation with Tracey who was sat next to her.

Smiling slightly to himself, Harry followed Ron and Hermione back to Gryffindor Tower.


It was almost midnight when Harry and Daphne were able to get on the mirror-call. Even though the rest of his dorm-mates were asleep, he'd cast the privacy charm around his four-poster bed and had drawn the hangings shut, just in case one of them woke up.

'Hey,' said Harry, smiling at the sight of her face.

Dear God, she looks beautiful.

'Hi,' she replied, grinning at him. 'What?' she added when he didn't stop smiling.

'Nothing. It's just – you look beautiful, Daph.'

Apart from the compliment that he'd just paid her, Harry had also addressed her with a nickname for the first time. He felt a thrill of pleasure as she blushed noticeably, failing to keep her smile from widening.

'How was your first day?' she asked, seemingly determined to not embarrass herself even further.

'Terrible,' Harry deadpanned. 'Ron termed it the worst Monday in the history of Mondays. Binns, Snape, Trelawney, and the toad in one day.'

Daphne giggled. 'I heard rumours of your talk with her, but I'd much rather hear about it from you.'

'Because you like my voice so much?' Harry asked cheekily.

Daphne smirked at him, her sapphire blue eyes dancing with mirth. 'Whatever helps you sleep at night, Potter.'

'Oh, so I'm Potter again, now, am I?'

'Shut up and tell me what happened, Harry.'

He grinned and winked at her but told her everything anyway. By the end of it, Daphne looked contemplative.

'It looks like she was trying to set you up,' she observed.

'She wanted me to admit that Voldemort was back, didn't she?'

'Yes. Then she'd have been able to dismiss you as a liar and an attention-seeking prat.'

'I figured,' sighed Harry. 'I followed your advice, though. And Dumbledore's and Sirius'.'

'I'm glad you did, Harry,' she replied, and her tone was serious. 'I don't know what she would have done if you had yelled at her about his return.'

'Probably taken points off Gryffindor and given me detention, I expect,' said Harry grimly.

'Those are school punishments,' Daphne reminded him. 'We're dealing with a Ministry politician here, Harry. She could have easily gone to the Minister if you had said that.'

'Huh.' Harry stared, unfocused, at a spot of green bed hangings visible behind Daphne. 'But the Ministry can't directly interfere with punishments at school, can it?'

'I don't know,' admitted Daphne worriedly. 'There's no precedent for it as far as I know, but given the current situation, there's every chance that she would exploit whatever option she has. She's out to undermine you and Dumbledore, remember?'

'Vividly,' said Harry, but Daphne's words had reminded him of something else. 'Speaking of undermining…'

'Hm?'

'Have you thought about – you know…'

A nod accompanied Daphne's "hmm" this time, which Harry took as a cue to not elaborate further. It had been only a couple of days since the original idea had been broached, after all; he didn't really expect her to have contemplated it. Yet, as he watched Daphne's unfocused stare fixate on a point behind and above his shoulder, he could tell that she had, and was, considering it favourably.

'How's Iris?' Her gaze sharpened and focused on Harry.

'What?' The non-sequitur threw Harry off for a second.

'Did Sirius say anything?'

Harry frowned at the sudden change in topic but responded anyway. 'No change. Padfoot said Madam Pomfrey's making more regular visits now, but she's still in a coma.'

Daphne gave a slow, deliberate nod. Her face was inscrutable – the mask she often wore in public was back in place. Only her eyes gave away the extent of her worry for the Hogwarts Head Girl.

'I – I'm not sure, Harry,' said Daphne at last, after a few minutes of silence. 'I don't deny that this will be really helpful for the school – and for us – and Merlin knows I have the best chance out of everyone here, but…'

'But you think it should be Iris,' remarked Harry knowingly.

Daphne nodded again.

Harry could see his own pensive look reflected back at him from the window near his bed as he stared out onto the Hogwarts grounds. The light from the waxing moon reflected off the small patch of the Black Lake which he could see from his dormitory; on the other hand, the Forbidden Forest seemed to swallow any and all illumination that came its way. The swaying branches and leaves of the trees spoke of a gentle breeze – the beginnings of autumn's caress that would soon morph into a fierce West Wind.

'I won't tell you what to do, Daph,' said Harry finally, tearing his eyes away from Hagrid's dark and unoccupied hut to look at her. 'But I think you should really consider taking up that role. You have everything you need for it, and more. Malfoy and Nott don't stand a chance against you. And if you're worried about Iris' reaction,' he added quickly, as she opened her mouth to speak, 'then don't be. I'm sure she wouldn't mind you doing it. In fact…' he paused, a sudden thought stealing over him, 'I have a feeling she might just encourage it.'

Daphne looked nonplussed at that last statement. 'What do you mean, she might encourage it?'

'I think she'd want to avoid being in the public eye any more than strictly necessary as Head Girl,' he explained. 'I mean, with whatever happened last year, and over this summer, the last thing she needs is more attention. Don't you think it'd be better if we helped her avoid all of it?'

Daphne opened her mouth, caught herself, then closed it with a soft snap; Harry could see the frown which indicated that she was thinking about what he said. He waited for her to come to the same conclusion as he had – something he knew she would.

'I see what you mean,' she admitted. 'You're right, she shouldn't have to face all of this once she's back.'

Harry could practically see the wheels turning in her head. It was remarkable how very similar Daphne and Hermione were in the way they analysed situations before them – although the manner of their responses vastly differed.

All of a sudden, however, Daphne's eyes narrowed.

'Did you say all of this just to get me to agree to challenge for leadership of Slytherin House?'

'I did nothing of the sort,' said Harry innocently – but he was sure she could hear the smirk in his voice.

'Hmph,' she groused. 'Outsmarted by a Gryffindor. I'll never hear the end of it from Tracey and Blaise.'

'Well, the Hat did want to put me in Slytherin,' replied Harry cheerfully.

'What?!'


The rest of the week was almost mild in comparison to the first day of classes, although Harry did notice that almost every class – save for History of Magic – began with a lecture on the importance of their upcoming end-of-year examinations, while every class ended with a mountain of homework in the form of essays, spell-work, or in the case of Care of Magical Creatures, a drawing of the twig-like creature called a Bowtruckle.

Harry was glad that he didn't have much to distract him during that first week; he shuddered to think how he would have managed to complete his work if he'd received detentions from Umbridge that week. He was at least thankful, in a roundabout way, that he hadn't been made a prefect this year: apart from their homework, Ron and Hermione also had to attend to their mandatory prefect duties, which included assisting first-years with getting around and night-time patrols with Filch and the other staff members. Privately, he marvelled at Hermione's ability to finish all her work in time, including her prefect duties, and still knit some woolly hats for the house-elves who cleaned Gryffindor Tower. He could often find her sitting in the common room, needles flashing in the firelight while chatting merrily with Ginny or Christine Maxwell, even as the rest of her cohort muttered and cursed their various pieces of homework.

He knew that the extra work would pay off in the form of proper revision and preparation for their O.W.L.s, but by Thursday of that week, he did wish that the Professors would stop repeating their warnings about the difficulties of their year. He could tell he wasn't the only one – he was sure that most of the other fifth-years were struggling, albeit slightly for now, to keep up with the workload and not break-down over the impending examinations.

Still, the week was not without its own set of surprises. Harry had been pleasantly amazed to find out on Wednesday night that apart from his prefect duties and his homework, Ron had been secretly practising for the past week to try out for the vacant Keeper spot on the Gryffindor Quidditch Team. Angelina Johnson, who had been appointed as the new Captain with Oliver Wood's departure after their third year, was holding try-outs on Friday evening, and was insistent on the entire team being present for it. Harry promised Ron that no, he was not going to laugh at his idea for being the new Keeper, and yes, he would definitely help Ron practise before the try-outs.

The other surprise was, unfortunately, not so pleasant, though Harry was still unclear as to whether it was outright unfavourable or not. Umbridge seemed to have decided not to bait him in class anymore, but she was rigidly sticking to her original plan of no wand-work in her classes. Harry overheard more than one person complaining about her 'Wands away and quills out, please' order at the beginning of every lesson. What did badger him was despite the almost stoic silence that Umbridge maintained during their next class, he often spotted her staring fixedly at him while reading chapter two of their mundane textbook. He honestly did not know what to make of it, even if Daphne had insisted – during their late mirror-call on Thursday, that she was thinking things through and likely working out a new strategy.

'She's backed down for now,' she'd told him. 'She doesn't want to stir you once again because it'll be detrimental to her cause. She'd have to contend with the rest of the school as well if she went after you.'

Harry had frowned at that last part, but her words rang with the truth. The day after his conversation with Umbridge seemed to have jolted the Hogwarts student population into two realisations: one of their own had actually died not so long ago, and they had a leader amongst them whom they believed they could follow. Harry had snorted bitterly when Hermione told him about the former (Took them long enough!), but that disdain evaporated in the face of the fact that a lot of the students were looking at Harry in a different light.

The problem, in Harry's opinion, was that this was not so much of hero-worship – which he was sufficiently used to after five years in the wizarding world – but an uncomfortable sense of responsibility that had been thrust upon him. There were more than a handful of students who now truly believed Harry regarding Cassius' death and Voldemort's return to full strength, and were, to Harry's discomfort, ready to follow whatever he said.

He had noticed it during their Defence Against the Dark Arts class that first day, when everyone looked at him before following his lead in reopening their textbooks for reading. As the week progressed, more people came over to Harry either to congratulate him on the way he handled Umbridge the politician, or to express their belief in his statements that Voldemort was indeed back. The list included Ernie MacMillan, the pompous but nice Hufflepuff in their year, along with Susan Bones, Hannah Abbott, Justin Finch-Fletchley, and Lilith Moon from Hufflepuff; Anthony Goldstein, Michael Corner, Terry Boot, Padma Patil, Su Li, Lisa Turpin, Mandy Brocklehurst, and Morag MacDougal from Ravenclaw; and indeed, from his own Gryffindor House, Lavender and Parvati. Apparently, Hermione and Christine had given them a thorough dressing down on Tuesday when the pair, along with Fay, had begun to question Harry's genuineness in his claims of a Dementor attack.

'You didn't need to do that,' Harry told Hermione when Christine explained to him what had happened.

'I couldn't stand what they were saying,' replied Hermione crossly, still clearly sore over their words. 'Half of it was just prattling what they'd heard other people say – mainly the upper year Ravenclaw and Slytherin pure-bloods. No basis or proof whatsoever.'

'How do they even find out stuff like that?' asked Harry in astonishment; that changed almost immediately to one of sheepish comprehension when Hermione raised her eyebrows. 'Right, Lavender and Parvati. Of course.'

By that Friday, the only people from his year who hadn't expressed their solidarity with him were Seamus and the Slytherins – although, as Daphne pointed out the previous night, he ought to remove Tracey, Blaise, and her from the 'pending' list as they were unlikely to give him a public show of support and risk retaliation from Slytherin House.

Harry didn't deign to point out that he didn't want that show of support in the first place, but he agreed with her, nevertheless.

And so Friday, September the eighth, rolled around, with clear blue skies, slightly muddy brown grounds, and a fairly green Ron Weasley who, despite having practised all week, was feeling incredibly nervous about the try-outs. It didn't help that Fred and George had somehow found out about his imminent participation and were taking turns to pop up behind suits of armour and scare him in the corridors as he went for his classes. Harry kept up a stream of encouraging words, so that by the time five o'clock came around, Ron looked a little better than before.

The two boys and Hermione headed out of the castle doors and down to the Quidditch Pitch. It had rained the previous night, which explained the damp grounds and the occasional squelch of their boots on a stray patch of mud. Harry noted that the sun was partially obscured by clouds, which would serve the Keepers well: it offered them enough light to spot the Quaffle, but not so much that the glare would affect their vision.

Harry made his way to the changing room while Ron, accompanied by Hermione, headed off to the stands along with the other candidates.

'Right,' said Angelina, emerging from the Captain's office with a roll of parchment in her hand and a determined expression on her face, 'we've got four people for the try-outs today. Vicky Frobisher, Geoffrey Hooper, Ronald Weasley…'

She looked up inquisitively at the Weasley twins, who nodded in unison.

Angelina shrugged, then looked down at her parchment and read out the last name with a heavy sigh. 'Cormac McLaggen.'

Harry, who had no idea who this Cormac was, watched bemusedly as the rest of the team groaned – in Fred and George's case, rather theatrically – and Katie Bell cried, 'Not that git!'

'Unfortunately, he's applied,' said Angelina, now glaring at her parchment so fiercely Harry thought she was trying to burn McLaggen's name off of it. 'Let's hope someone else beats him to it.'

Before Harry could ask anyone else what was wrong with McLaggen, Angelina had rolled up her parchment and called for them all to follow her out onto the pitch. Harry shouldered his broom, preceded George out of the changing room and on to the green grass and mercifully firm ground.

One by one, they kicked off from the ground into the air. After the stressful week, despite the practice sessions he and Ron had had, flying felt like a blessed, wonderful relief. Adjusting his Firebolt, he shot off on a quick lap around the stadium, relishing the wind buffeting his face, before coming to a mid-air halt next to the twins near the Gryffindor stands. The Chasers were hovering near the set of hoops closest to Harry which was now being guarded by the first candidate – Geoffrey Hooper.

It was evident, as the try-outs progressed, that Ron would struggle to get into the team. The others were evidently a lot better than he was – McLaggen, in particular, was broad enough to cover at least one and half hoops without shifting his position at all, while Hooper was nimble and quick on a broom. Harry also noticed that Ron struggled while under pressure – a fact that didn't help his best mate when he saved two goals less than the others.

When the try-outs ended, the candidates flew back down to the stands while the rest of the team congregated near the entrance to the changing rooms.

'Well?' asked Angelina a little breathlessly. 'What do you guys think?'

Before anyone could answer, however, Vicky Frobisher came over.

'I wanted to ask if I could leave,' she said, in a slightly nasal Irish accent. 'I've got a Gobstones Club meeting in ten minutes, and a Charms Club one after that.'

The team looked at one another with raised eyebrows. It was rare for someone to be a member of two clubs – each was usually extremely time-consuming and demanding that a member of one would be hard-pressed to be a participating member in another.

'Sure,' said Angelina, looking back at the girl. 'If you do get selected, we'll let you know – we've got a practice tomorrow at two o'clock in the afternoon –'

'Oh, I couldn't possibly come for that, I've got my Transfiguration Society meet at two as well!' interrupted Vicky.

Angelina stared at her.

'Well, this is Quidditch practice, you know,' she said slowly, as though trying to explain the importance of something very clearly, 'if you are the Keeper, you would be expected to show up.'

'Really? I mean, I can't possibly miss any of the other meetings even if there is Quidditch practice, you see.'

For a moment, Angelina simply gaped at her. Then, with a quick shake of her head, she said, 'Well, that's…fine, I suppose. You go ahead, we'll let you know if you are selected.'

'Great, thanks!' said Vicky, and she sauntered off.

Angelina turned back to her team, all of whom were now gaping at her. She opened her mouth to speak, but Fred beat her to it.

'Well, that's her ruled out.'

Their captain shook her head bemusedly. 'Can't understand why she would turn up if she wasn't going to prioritise this. Anyway,' she added, looking back down at her parchment, 'what do you guys think about the others?'

'Let's not go with Hooper,' said Alicia at once. 'He's always whining about something. I heard him moaning and complaining about his homework while he tried to save my shot.'

'His homework?' George looked aghast at that. 'Who in their right mind would worry about homework while they're playing Quidditch?'

'O-kay, so that's him out of the running, too,' said Angelina briskly, tapping her wand to the parchment so that Hooper's name was crossed off. 'Between McLaggen and Ron…'

'Not that git!' cried Katie again.

'What's the deal with McLaggen, anyway?' queried Harry.

'He's in my year, and he's an idiot,' said Katie at once. 'He thinks he's an expert on everything! He keeps trying to give advice when it's obvious that he hasn't got a clue what he's talking about!'

'So, he's like Lockhart?' said Harry with a smirk, and the rest of the team roared with laughter at that.

'I agree,' said Angelina, still chortling. 'I wouldn't want McLaggen on the team, either.'

'But what do we tell him?' asked Fred. 'Not that I don't want Ron on the team, but McLaggen was clearly better.'

'Everyone was better than Ron,' pointed out George. 'He's miles off Oliver's standards.'

'I know he's not fabulous,' said Angelina, 'but we don't have any other option.' She began ticking off fingers as she spoke. 'Hooper's a whiner, Vicky won't prioritise Quidditch, and there's no way I'm having McLaggen on the team.' She looked at Fred and George. 'Do you have any suggestions?'

There was a short silence. No one responded to Angelina.

'Okay, then,' she said at last. 'I'll let them all know. We'll meet for our first training session tomorrow.'

The others disbursed quickly after that: the twins went to keep the Quaffle back in the ball-box while Katie and Alicia returned to the changing rooms. Harry milled around for a bit; Ron had wanted a go on his Firebolt after the try-outs, irrespective of the outcome. He watched as Angelina went up to the stands and let the candidates know the result. Their reactions weren't audible from where he stood, but he could make out Hooper looking distraught, his mouth moving as though he was whining, while McLaggen appeared to be furious at the decision. For a moment, it looked as though he would actually hit Angelina, but she stood her ground; soon enough, he turned and stumped off.

Ron waited until the others had disappeared before punching the air in delight. Harry grinned as Ron hugged Hermione, but they broke apart rather quickly.

When will they realise that they fancy each other?

'Probably not for a long while,' came Fred's voice from behind him.

Harry started, unaware that he'd spoken out loud.

'I reckon they'll figure it out by the end of this year,' said George from his left.

'Oh yeah, that's your date in the betting pool, isn't it?'

'What betting pool?' said Harry, tearing his eyes away from Ron, who was now shaking Angelina's hand.

Fred and George raised their eyebrows at him.

'You don't know about the betting pool?'

'It's only the most famous one at Hogwarts at the moment!'

'What?'

Fred narrowed his eyes. 'You haven't heard about the betting pool we've been running for what – three years now?'

'No?' said Harry, who was thoroughly lost now. 'What's this about?'

Fred exchanged an incredulous look with George, who explained, 'We've been collecting bets on when Ron would finally get it into his thick head that Hermione likes him back and asks her out.'

'Or when Hermione's genius brain deduces that Ron likes her back and asks him out.'

'Either way, really. That's a part of the bet, too.'

Harry looked from Fred to George and back.

'So, you have to say who's going to ask whom out, and when?'

'Yep,' said Fred.

'And what's the pot worth, right now?'

Fred looked at George, who smirked.

'Right now, it's at a hundred and forty-seven Galleons –'

'WHAT?!'

'– fifteen Sickles –'

'– and twenty-two Knuts,' finished George

He grinned at Harry's stunned look.

'That's a lot of money,' remarked Harry at last, a little weakly.

'Yep,' said Fred again, proudly.

'And what's the minimum contribution?'

'A Knut?' replied George. 'We're not fussed, really – anyone can chip in as much as they want.'

Harry said nothing but turned back to the stands. Angelina had, it seemed, just finished giving some instructions to Ron, who now appeared to be listening intently and nodding rather seriously. A few moments later, Angelina nodded to him curtly, then walked off to the stairs leading down to the pitch.

As she left, Ron caught Harry's eye, grinned broadly, and gave him the thumbs up. Harry waved back at him with a wide grin of his own.

'Ten galleons that Ron will ask Hermione out on Christmas this year.'

''Attaboy!'


To be continued…