The Seeker

8:25 a.m., November 3

"Good morning! Ready to lose to me?" a far-too cheerful voice sounded from behind Harry and Draco as each of their shoulders got an arm draped around them.

Draco sniffed scornfully at the interloper, but said nothing.

"And good morning to you too, my troll-smiting cousin," Cormac addressed Harry as the now trio of preteens walked to the Great Hall for breakfast.

"It's Monday morning, why are you so happy?" Harry grumbled as he felt every ache from Captain Flint's brutal practices over the past three days, focused particularly on making him a "passable" seeker in the extra week they'd been given before their first match.

"Because I, the youngest seeker in a quarter century, am gonna start my amazing career by making a Death Eater spawn my victim!" Cormac bragged. "The chics will dig."

"I see there is only one head you think with," Draco drawled.

"What can I say, I'm a roaring lion," Cormac casually returned while squeezing Harry and Draco's shoulders. "And of course you'll be cheering for me, right cousin?"

"I'm much more closely related to Draco than to you," Harry pointed out.

"Sure, but what wizarding family doesn't have a trace of Black blood?" Cormac shrugged. "But you and I, now we're special. The scions of Gryffindor — even if you fell off the wagon."

"I didn't do anything. His hat put me in Slytherin," Harry defended himself.

"Ah-hah-ha, I remember how it took one look at you and disowned you," Cormac laughed. "Don't worry, I accept you for who you are."

"How nice of you," Harry drawled in a Draco-esque manner while removing Cormac's arm from his shoulder, though it admittedly took both of Harry's hands. "Now why don't you go oil your broom or something. Wouldn't want any performance issues on the big day, ey?"

"I like how you think!" Cormac said brightly while giving Harry a smack on the chest that made him cough. Fortunately, they had just entered the dining hall, so Cormac turned slightly to the right toward his house's table while Harry and Draco went to the table on the far left.

"I swear, if you don't beat him on Saturday, I will let Theodore hex you into next year," Draco hissed out as they sat down.

"I think Captain Flint would call dibs on that," Harry groaned as their food materialized. "Ugh…I just remembered we have flying class today! I can't…"

"Quit complaining," Draco cut off. "You get to play in our very first Hogwarts Quidditch match, something no one has done since Dippet's stupid tryout rules. You'll even be the first first year since Randolph Lestrange to become an official Quidditch player if you make it to the end of the match."

"You know Terence will be the seeker again once he gets back, right?" Harry reminded his somewhat jealous friend.

Draco didn't answer for a half minute.

"You're aware some in Slytherin think it…strange…that you destroyed the troll without a scratch while Terence had to be rushed to Saint Mungo's?" Draco asked delicately.

"It took everything I had to burn that brute!" Harry rejected. "Besides," he whispered while leaning across the table, "I was stronger on that day."

"Intriguing," Draco said.

"You…you believe me, right?" Harry questioned when he didn't see much expression on Draco's face.

"I don't think you're lying," Draco replied. "Still, it's an advantageous turn of events for you. One I suggest you maximize."

"Indeed Mr. Potter," the baritone drawl of Harry's wraith-like Head of House joined the conversation from behind Harry. "Now that you have made short work of a mountain troll, a simple game of Quidditch should be easy for you."

Yet when Harry turned to face him, the living shadow had already disappeared.

8:52 a.m.

"Harry!" Professor Quirrell called out just as he and Draco had walked most of the way to Transfiguration.

"Good morning, professor," Harry brightly greeted his favorite adult.

"I was just wondering if I could borrow you for a few minutes," the professor said. "Don't worry, I'll write you up a pass for Minerva."

"I'll save you a seat," Draco told Harry, which was his way of half-asking, half-telling Harry to sit with him instead of Ron.

"How are you doing?" the professor asked as they began walking.

"Honestly? Tired to the bone," Harry replied.

"Marcus is running you ragged?" the professor asked, to which Harry simply nodded.

"On that topic, I have something that may help with that," the professor revealed. "I actually meant to give it to you on Friday after the feast, but then there was the business with those rogue Dementors."

"Dementors?" Harry asked. No student had been told what drew the professors away from the feast, not even the Head Boy and Girl according to Anthony.

"Shadow-like specters that feed on souls, especially those filled with joy and vigor," the professor explained as the pair started up the stairs of the Defense Against the Dark Arts tower. "They're supposed to be contained at Azkaban to feed on the life energy of prisoners, but the wizarding world's most hardened convicts are a rather unsatisfactory diet for them. Hogwarts, on the other hand, would have proved a paradise. And unfortunately, the Fudge administration underestimated the power Dementors would possess on Halloween."

"So you sent them back to Azkaban?" Harry asked.

"We thought it best to destroy them and cleanse the area of their stain — not that it's easy, mind you," Professor Quirrell divulged. "I would however ask that you keep this between us. If parents hear about it, there would be a crisis-in-confidence in the nation's institutions. But I think you in particular deserve to know why you had to stand alone against the troll."

"I had the help of my friends," Harry said humbly. He may have finished off the beast, but he wouldn't have known how without Terence. He wouldn't have had the opportunity without Ron. And he wouldn't have known where to aim without Hermione.

"True, they did not desert you as you made your stand," the professor noted with a smile. "Such devotion is more difficult to find than you may think. You should treasure it."

"I treasure them," Harry returned with a matching smile as teacher and student made their way to the top of the tower.

"It's right in here," the professor announced as they walked into office. Anticipation built in Harry as the professor made his way to the room's storage space, and then came back with…

"A Nimbus 2000!" Harry half-exclaimed, half-gasped.

Any Quidditch player worth their salt could recognize the newest Nimbus racing broom by sight. Released just that summer, the white broomstick topped the market in speed, agility and endurance. However, their considerable expense left Captain Flint as the only Slytherin to own one.

"For you," Professor Quirrell said with a smile as brilliant as the broom.

"Oh my Go-goodness! T-th-thank you so much!" Harry stammered out.

"A member of the Quidditch team should have his own broom, yet you cannot buy one till the age of majority," the professor remarked. "I thought it unfair for the deck to be stacked against you in such a way."

"I…how can I pay you back?" Harry wondered.

"It's a gift," Professor Quirrell easily answered. "Just as it's been a gift to have your company on Fridays."

"I'm the one who should be thanking you for the walks," Harry replied. "I've learned so much from you these past two months, much more than from anyone else."

"You have an open mind," the professor returned. "Most wizards learn by what they are shown and told by others. The driven seek out texts and sources that go beyond the standard, but even their knowledge rests only on other wizards' claims. Very few explore the fundamentals of magic to seek out their own conclusions. So long as you continue doing that, you will become a great wizard indeed."

"Thank you," Harry said with a blush.

"Now I suppose I should let you get going to class, I have held you up long enough as it is," Professor Quirrell stated as he began writing a late pass.

"Um…professor," Harry started. "Would it be possible to give me ten extra minutes on the pass so I can drop by Slytherin…"

"Ah, I suppose it would be a giveaway if everyone saw you walking about with a Nimbus 2000," the professor noted. "Hmmm, I could write a pass for your entire first-period class, though the only viable excuse I can think of is if you help me with my lesson part way. You would leave in time to place your broom in your room while no one's roaming the halls."

"How can I help?" Harry asked excitedly.

"I wish to get the third years to think more broadly on the concept of Defense Against the Dark Arts," Professor Quirrell said, eyes lit with passion. "For decades, the view has been that students should be taught to subdue and incapacitate assailants, with deadly spells discussed or demonstrated only for the purpose of teaching counters. Consequently, my recent predecessors devoted the third and fourth year curriculums to inundating students with an encyclopedia of volatile creatures and having them memorize each species' mannerisms and weaknesses. But tell me, how often do you carry a silver dagger with you?"

"I don't," Harry answered.

"Then you would be doomed if you came face to face with a werewolf according to the standard Hogwarts curriculum," Professor Quirrell asserted. "Yet fortunately, you taught yourself a spell that would be the bane of any wolf."

"Attack to defend," Harry repeated one of Captain Flint's favorite lines.

"Your captain is wise," Professor Quirrell stated. "That's the lesson I hope the students leave with. And I think sharing your experience could help."

9:34 a.m.

"…some say it's a dark spell, but if I didn't use Confringo, I wouldn't be here today," Harry explained from the front of the classroom.

It helped that he knew just over half the faces staring back at him. Cassius, Graham, Adrian and Miles made half of the Quidditch team, and he saw Miles' ginger twin Kevin around Slytherin often enough. He met Cedric, Herbert and Malcolm the previous Friday, and the Nimbus Premium Quidditch Kit they gave him now went perfectly with his broom. He of course knew Ron's brothers Fred and George, though he still had trouble figuring who was who on a given day. He recognized the chocolate-skinned Angelina Johnson and the caramel-colored Alicia Spinnet, since Captain Flint drilled the team on the names and positions of the Gryffindor Quidditch players. He'd sat at the Gryffindor table often enough to recognize the Weasley twins' mate Lee Jordan, a lively guy who apparently would be the Quidditch commentator.

He couldn't say he knew any of the Ravenclaws though, such as the long-haired brunet raising his hand.

"Yes…" Harry fielded the next question.

"Roger Davies," the boy provided his name. "Can you teach us the spell?" he inquired with a gleam in his chocolate eyes.

The surfer-haired blond seated next to him, also a Ravenclaw, bore a very similar look in his gingerbread colored eyes. Fred and George — or George and Fred? — fixed identical daring stares on Harry, Angelina and Alicia perked up and Lee looked giddy. Even the seemingly reserved Gryffindor whose name Harry didn't know wore excitement on his pale face. As for Harry's fellow Slytherins, their looks varied from amusement (Cassius) to anticipation (Graham) to downright glee (Miles). Of the twenty-five student class, only Cedric seemed to show clear reluctance at learning the Blasting Curse.

"Um, I'm not your teacher…" Harry tried to evade the mounting pressure, but it only caused his audience to redouble their focus on him.

"We of course will not be practicing the spell in here," Professor Quirrell intervened. "However, I think they would be interested in knowing how you conjured the spell, should they ever be in a similar situation."

"Okay," Harry agreed. "Well, when Terence used it against the mountain troll, he traced a Z in the air like this, and then he thrusted forward and shouted 'Confringo'!"

"But you didn't?" Graham asked the obvious question.

"I think…I think wand motions and spell names are just for us to memorize ways to use magic from an encyclopedia list," Harry began his answer. "But if you feel what a spell does — in this case, if you feel that fire inside — then that's what will come out, if you want."

"So you did it non-verbally?" Kevin inquired in an incredulous tone.

"Such faith," Harry quipped, which got laughs from most of the class. "Not really, I remember yelling 'arrgggh!'"

This got laughs out of everyone, Kevin included.

"Cedric?" Harry took the next question.

"You said you felt 'that fire' inside," the Hufflepuff started cautiously, as if figuring how to phrase his words delicately. "The Blasting Curse is one of the most deadly martial spells. Aren't you worried it might…affect you if you use something like that too many times?"

"It's no joke," Harry agreed. "When I used it, I meant to put that troll down — for good."

A somber air set over the class at Harry's statement.

"But that same troll wanted to kill my friends, maybe even rip them in half like it did Mrs. Norris," Harry continued. "We live in a world filled with people and creatures — magical and non-magical — that will try to kill us if given a chance. And sometimes, there won't be an auror standing by ready to jump in. I think we should be ready for that moment, and we shouldn't be afraid to do what's necessary."

Most students nodded at this, including Cedric's six Hufflepuffs yearmates.

"You're a seeker, right?" Harry asked Cedric, to which the fourteen year-old nodded.

"Your teammates count on you to catch the snitch," Harry said. "To chase it, to grab it, to end the game. But to catch it, you have to focus on three things. It, your drive to get it, and anything that stands in the way—right?"

"Sure," Cedric said noncommittally.

"Don't you feel a fire in you when you're on the broom, racing after the snitch?" Harry asked. He didn't want to get too specific, or he might give himself away as the now-starting seeker. But he also didn't want to lose the debate.

"Do you?" Cedric turned the question back on him. Cassius gave Harry a violet side-eye at this.

"Honestly, I'm quoting Draco," Harry lied. "Ooops, I said that out loud, didn't I?"

The class laughed again, with the exceptions of the mock glares he got from the five Slytherins for "revealing" the identity of the seeker.

"But what I meant was, don't you feel a fire to win? To fly and feint as much as you have to until you grab that golden ball?" Harry pressed.

"I'm not trying to hurt someone," Cedric stood his ground.

"And they're not trying to hurt you…usually," Harry said to the tune of a round of chuckles. "But when someone is. When someone wants to kill you and your friends, won't you use every power you have to stop them?"

"Or what about this," Harry rephrased. "If you have the power to stop someone who wants to murder your friends, but you don't, are you really picking 'the greater good'?"

Cedric didn't seem to agree, but he offered no response.

"Wise words, words I wish for you all to consider over the course of these next lessons," Professor Quirrell took back command of the class as he stood up from his desk. "But first, let us give Harry a round of applause."

Equipped with experience from Friday, Harry gave a nod and a wide smile while making eye contact each third year.

"I suppose we should let Harry get back to his own classes now," the professor said to the tunes of 'awwws' and a few soft 'boo's.'

"But one last matter," he addressed Harry with sparkling maple-syrup eyes. "It occurs to me no one awarded you points for your act of service to this school. Thus, I will award ten points to Slytherin — for each year's worth of skill you demonstrated on Friday. As well as an extra point per year's worth of wisdom you shared today, all for a total of seventy-seven."

Harry's jaw dropped like a trapdoor, only closing it when Cassius made obnoxious fish-gape faces at him.

"Th-th-thank you," Harry stammered while the Slytherins gave him a standing ovation. Fortunately, he managed to compose himself enough to give a dignified bow and exit stage left.

Ha, Ron won't be able to rub the ten points McGongall gave him in my face anymore, Harry thought giddily as he walked back up toward Professor Quirrell's office to retrieve his broom and take it back to Slytherin well before the first period's 10:15 end.

8:47 a.m., November 8

"Remember, we got an extra week to prepare for today, so I expect perfection!" Captain Flint instructed the team as they concluded their practice run for the 1 o'clock game. "One more time, who's the greatest threat?"

"McLaggen," the team replied in unison.

"What's your job, Seeker?" the captain shouted in Harry's face.

"Keep McLaggen from the snitch," Harry answered.

"And your jobs, Bole and Montague!" the captain demanded of the two beaters.

"Bat bludgers at McLaggen," Lucian and Graham answered in near unison.

"And our jobs, Pucey and Warrington?" the captain asked of his fellow chasers.

"Pound Wood," Adrian and Cassius answered.

"And you, Bletchley!" the captain turned his attention to the keeper. "How many scores will Wood's wenches get on you?"

"None!" Miles answered.

"How many?" the captain repeated.

"None!" Miles shouted louder.

"I DIDN'T HEAR YOU!" the captain bellowed.

"NONE, SIR!" Miles shouted.

"Then today, we feast on Gryffindor!" Captain Flint declared. "I expect you at the pitch by noon, and not a second past!"

10:06 a.m.

"Eat," Draco demanded.

"Not hungry," Harry grumbled as he poked at his food, tasty as the omelet looked.

"You need your strength," Draco insisted.

"Yes, captain," Harry grumbled.

"I will force feed you," Draco threatened while pointing his wand at Harry's face.

This gave Harry motivation to take a bite out of the omelet. Fortunately, elf magic prevented it from cooling despite sitting untouched for five minutes.

"Mmmm, good right?" Draco hummed as if Harry was a child.

This provoked the Slytherin seeker into taking another bite.

"First game jitters?" a voice Harry recognized said to his right.

"Roger," Harry greeted the Ravenclaw third year as he sat himself next to Harry. With only Draco and Harry at table for the tail end of weekend breakfast hours, there were no sticklers to raise a fuss about the Slytherin space being "defiled" by an outsider.

"Draco and I were just talking about his upcoming match…" Harry tried.

"That's why you're the one having trouble eating?" Roger questioned with a raised eyebrow.

Harry just shrugged in response.

"Marcus' secret seeker, yes?" Roger directed at Harry, and not as a question.

"Sure," Harry gave noncommittally.

"You've run a good con, even with that 'fire' speech you gave Cedric," Roger laughed. "Don't worry, almost everyone's still betting on Draco being on the field."

"Literal betting," Draco huffed. "And they bet I would lose to McLaggen! Hmmph!"

"Their loss," Roger shrugged. "Of course, I bet on a little more than you being the seeker, Harry."

"Oh no," the seeker mumbled.

"Hey, first game jitters happen to all of us," Roger consoled. "Means you're taking it seriously, and not just waiting for the snitch to fly into your mouth. But it gets better in the air, with the wind in your face and the crowds cheering you on. Heck, they might even chant your name, and not in the way they're planning on chanting your friend's."

Draco harrumphed.

"Anyway, you best get your strength, for both our sakes," Roger said with a pat on the back. "The fate of my bank vaults lies in your hands today, little fellow."

1:05 p.m.

"I'll admit, you got me," Cormac called out to Harry as the seekers hovered close to each other.

Cormac was far the only one surprised to hear "Harry Potter" as the final name called for the Slytherin roster. Many banners flown in the stadiums in protest of the Malfoy and Black families were being hastily taken down, including the instantly memorable poster that displayed a caricature of the Dark Mark with Draco's face in the place of the skull.

In fact, the banner flying tallest was the one Ron and Hermione made for him. Forewarned is forearmed.

"Not the only time you'll fall for me," Harry taunted.

"Dreaming about me already?" Cormac called back with a suggestive wink.

"Wait, what?" Harry sputtered. "Oh you…that's not what I meant!"

Harry stupidly let himself get even more flustered when Cormac flew by him with puckered lips and a "mwah"! Fortunately, Harry didn't feel a projected kiss.

Unfortunately, Cormac seemed aware that the Slytherin strategy would be to prolong the match as long as possible, and that Harry would be more concerned with him than the snitch.

"Why don't we get a good look at the game?" Cormac suggested before flying around the pitch. Harry naturally took his fellow Gryffindor up on his kind offer.

As they hovered closer to the action, Adrian snatched the red Quaffle from the hands of second-year Gryffindor chaser Katie Bell and hurled it to Captain Flint just as Alicia made a run for him. Flint easily twisted over a bludger one of the Weasley twins beat toward him and shot forward toward the Gryffindor end of the pitch.

None of the Gryffindors he had passed could catch up to his Nimbus 2000, but three still remained in his path. Flint easily evaded Angelina's attempt to steal back the Quaffle, but the second Weasley twin was unfortunately within striking distance of the second roaming bludger.

The angle at which Weasley twin two hit the iron ball toward Flint would force him on an evasion path that either looped upward, downward or backward. In any case, this would buy time for the rest of the Gryffindors to catch up and possibly deny Marcus a score.

What the Gryffindors didn't expect was for Flint to hurl the Quaffle toward the bludger. As the bludger was hexed to fly into players, it actually flew under the Quaffle in favor of a collision course with Flint.

As for the red ball? It was snatched by Cassius, who whoosed past a surprised Weasley twin and hurtled at full speed toward the three goal hoops at the end of the pitch.

Seeing that Cassius' trajectory aimed between the central and right goalposts, Gryffindor keeper Oliver Wood hovered between the hoops, but kept himself closer to the height of the central hoop than the shorter hoop to his left.

But a mere sixty meters from the end, Cassius jerked his broom toward the shortest and leftmost hoop. Just a second later, Cassius hurled the Quaffle as he twisted himself away from a collision course with the goal.

Oliver tried to come around in defense of the hoop he had abandoned, but it was for naught.

"Warrington makes the first score of the game, 10-0 Slytherin," Lee said in a dramatically unenthusiastic tone. "Of course, I would still bet on Gryffindor skill over Slytherin broom speed in the long game."

Harry snorted at that. With a fresh batch of chasers and only Alicia having been the previous year's shadow, anyone with common sense knew it would be Slytherin playing the long game.

Harry threw a smirk at Cormac. But for some reason, Cormac smirked back at him before suddenly shooting away!

"And McLaggen has taken off, with the Slytherin seeker in pursuit!" Lee announced. "It is, of course, still a surprise that it's Harry Potter — not that we doubt he's more skilled than Malfoy, of course. But what a shame to see all those beautiful banners taken down…"

"McLaggen is diving toward the ground! Has he seen the snitch?" Lee wondered aloud. "And Harry Potter is following him — trying to get in front of him! Oh, the chase is close…and the ground is closer! Who will…my Merlin, what did we just see? A Wronski Feint by McLaggen, but Harry Potter kept up with him! Have we ever seen such a maneuver from two starting seekers, never mind seekers that young?"

"You got me," Harry returned Cormac's line as he pulled ahead and turned to face the Gryffindor seeker.

"Fancy broom," Cormac stated dryly.

"I can do it on any," Harry claimed.

"Let's switch," Cormac challenged.

"You wish," Harry quipped back.

"Rejecting a dare?" Cormac taunted.

"Not now," Harry defended himself.

"Buk-buk!" Cormac clucked like a chicken, complete with the wing-like arm motions.

"Next time," Harry postponed to the sight of a victorious grin that promised to hold him to that.

"Not very Sssslytherin, huh?" Cormac teased.

"Gryffindor blood," Harry pounded his chest. "Even if some dusty old hat kicked me out."

They both laughed at that.

He's actually fun to talk to, Harry thought of the cleverness behind Cormac's constant chatter. Hovering in wait for a small golden ball that often appeared as only a blur was rather boring. It was so easy to get distracted, something Terence often took advantage of during their practices.

Then again, maybe it could work both ways. After all, who was it that really wanted to catch the snitch?

"Girls on the team? What's it like?" Harry asked.

Cormac gave him a "I know what you're trying to do" face. But he answered anyway.

"We don't change in front of each other," Cormac answered. "Besides that, not much different."

Guess that answers one thing, Harry figured. Whenever the Slytherin team used one of the arena pools, they all got naked with each other and no one was weird about it. Harry legitimately wondered whether that would change with a girl on the team. Then again, Cassius had implied Slytherin was the least sexual house.

"Favorite thing about Gryffindor?" Harry questioned.

"Folks are direct," Cormac answered.

Harry envied that about Gryffindor. Many Slytherins sneered at "Gryffindor brashness," preferring to slander those they disliked behind their backs and slither away from direct confrontations. In fact, he'd heard a few whispers of those who mocked him for confronting the troll on Halloween, deriding him as a "glory whore," a "Gryffindor goon" and even a "blood traitor."

Harry nodded at Cormac to show his respect for that Gryffindor trait.

"What about Slytherin? Whatd'ya like?" Cormac returned.

Harry would discount the legacy factor, as that also applied to Gryffindor and he wasn't trying to advertise the Slytherin connection.

"They're okay with questioning how things are," Harry said.

Sure, you did it in the safety of some corner of the dormitory or closed room, and only with trusted housemates. But Draco and the second year guys were the only wizards Harry had explicitly talked to about his strong distaste for muggles and openness to alternative views of wizard culture. Even with Professor Quirrell, he had yet to say those things outright.

"Interesting," Cormac replied with clear surprise on his face. The blond's eyes then shifted in the direction of the blur Harry caught in the corner of his eye.

And so the seekers were back on duty.

3:17 p.m.

"Marcus Flint scores yet again, bringing the game total to 140-0 Slytherin," Lee said in an obviously dejected voice, a sentiment the crowd shared given all the boo's that came with the score. "Gryffindor's path to victory rests on McLaggen, but so far he has been cut off three times by Harry Potter's Nimbus 2000. It doesn't help that Bole and Montague have targeted Cormac almost every time when beating the bludgers."

Cormac shot Harry a glare at this, to which Harry just responded with a cheeky smile.

"Gotta stop lagging behind," Harry cracked.

"Hah, hah," a very unamused Cormac responded even as he dodged yet another bludger beat toward him.

Last snitch race was way too close though, Harry worried. Gonna have to grab it next time.

With this shift in strategy, Harry divided his attention equally between Cormac and the snitch, hoping to see the latter, but ready at any moment to follow the former.

"You know…" Harry started.

"Nope," Cormac rejected the attempt at conversation.

"You know Roger Davies, Ravenclaw Quidditch player?" Harry completed undeterred.

Cormac didn't respond.

"Well," Harry continued. "I'm just wondering how rich he'll be after betting on me dominating you!"

It was a long shot. It was quite likely Cormac and Roger didn't know each other well, which would make the comment meaningless. But just in case they did, Harry was going to use everything in his toolkit to edge out his opponent.

"Wha—pfft, you're lying," Cormac dismissed in a slightly agitated tone.

Apparently, Harry had just struck gold.

"Am not," Harry pressed. "I mean, of course he bet on me once he figured out I was the Slytherin seeker, not Draco. What Quidditch player wouldn't bet on me after what I pulled in my first flying class. In fact, what Quidditch player wouldn't figure out I'd be the next seeker? Especially when the 'start of your amazing career' depends on it?"

"Are you calling me stupid?" an irked Cormac asked.

"You said it," Harry replied with a shrug.

"You're trying to get in my head," Cormac said with forced calm.

"Just did get into your head, just like I'm gonna get…" Harry started before he saw the—

"Snitch!" he and Cormac shouted simultaneously before taking off. Unfortunately, Cormac had the positional advantage in this final pursuit as he didn't have to loop around.

"And McLaggen's zooming away, with Harry Potter hot on his bristles!" Lee announced. "Will Cormac catch the snitch this time? Will Harry block him again? Or will Harry catch it for Slytherin? Either way this is the race of the match — I've never seen them go so fast."

Harry was closing in, but the twists and turns that the snitch made mostly favored Cormac. The snitch also decided to take the two seekers into the middle of the action, where Angelina had just seized possession of the Quaffle from Adrian.

"Look out!" Cassius' voice yelled, causing Harry to instinctively arc into an evasive twirl while still pursuing the snitch. He effectively dodged the bludger Fred or George had beat toward him, but he lost a critical dozen meters in his race against Cormac.

Harry reinforced his channel of magic into his broom as he drove himself faster, more grateful than ever for the goggles fastened over his glasses despite his initial discomfort. Unfortunately, Cormac was also pushing his aerial magic and broom conduit to their limit, and his Nimbus 1999 was far more comparable to the Nimbus 2000 than Lee led the audience to believe.

"Spinnet…Warrington…Quaffle…break," Harry heard Lee say, but he didn't process the words as the snitch led him and Cormac on their wildest pursuit yet. High and low, to and fro, trick turns and sudden u-turns.

"Give me that!" Harry heard Captain Flint bellow from somewhere, though he couldn't say how close or far if his life depended on it. But once he heard the crack of a beater's bat, Harry instinctively rolled mid-flight while keeping broom's trajectory as straight and fast as he ever had during practice.

Unfortunately, Harry lost ground to Cormac with this maneuver, as the Gryffindor seeker escaped interception by the incoming bludger by propelling his broom even faster — a feat he somehow pulled off without overtaxing the Nimbus 1999. Harry's heart fell as Cormac's burst of speed put him within ten meters of the snitch.

Time slowed and sound drowned as Harry infused as much magic and resolve into his broom as he could muster, pushing it faster than he had ever flown. Racing parallel to Cormac and just to the left of the snitch's flight path, Harry gained Cormac such that he was poised to overtake the Gryffindor in under five seconds. But with the snitch within five meters of Cormac, hope in the unexpected was what kept Harry pushing to the last.

Then it happened.

"Warrington scores….the snitch has been caught!" Lee shouted. "Cormac has caught the….wait, no…it's Harry? Potter has the snitch? Yes, Harry Potter caught the snitch! I repeat, Harry Potter caught the snitch!"

Wait, what? Harry thought as the Slytherin section of the audience went wild.

Then he felt the unmistakable flutter of the winged golden ball in his right hand. The hand that he thought had only hit against the back of Cormac's left.

He missed! Cormac missed! Harry thought with amazement, awe, then jubilation.

"I won! I won!" Harry called out as he pumped his fist up as the crowd began chanting his name.

Months later, Harry would feel blind for not taking stock of the pure bewilderment Cormac wore on his face, and particularly guilty for ignoring the glacial sensation that pulsed from the snitch for a fraction of a second. But in the moment, the Boy-Who-Lived felt more alive than ever as he reveled in his triumph and glory.

4:59 p.m.

"300-0!" Captain Flint hollered with a voice that filled the entire common room.

The Slytherins roared with praise for the Quidditch team, particularly those who had been given alcohol.

With Harry standing among his team at the center of the victory party attendees, Harry got his first experience as both the center of Slytherin attention and open acknowledgment from his team all in one.

"Feels good huh?" Cassius asked with a hard backslap as he downed some of the "Ogdens' Old" firewhiskey the team had denied Harry.

"Yah bud," Harry returned with a toothy grin as he drank more of the brandy he'd been given. Though sweet, it had nothing on Malfoy wine in taste. That said, it had an oaky undertone that intrigued Harry, and it was noticeably stronger than wine.

"You better not make me Dormi you again," Cassius laughed as he noticed Harry's less than sober state.

"Sod off," Harry laughed back while lightly pushing Cassius' chest. Or rather, ended up pushing himself off of the fourteen year old.

"Little Potter has a potty mouth," Miles laughed as he poured himself a shot of firewhiskey. He clinked his shot glass with Kevin's, and the Bletchley twins downed it simultaneously before faintly shuddering.

Lucian and Graham seemed to be in a competition of their own, where they alternated between guzzling down bottles of ale and burping out air. Considering their strong builds, Harry veered away from their loosely swinging arms that held glass bottles in their hands.

Only the captain hadn't touched alcohol, yet he was easily the most exuberant of them all.

"And where's my seeker!" he bellowed.

Harry felt two hands grab his sides and hoist him into the air. He barely kept the contents of his cup from splashing his face.

"There he is!" Captain Flint hollered as lifted Harry overhead while positioning him to lie parallel to the ground. "My perfect first year seeker! The look on McLaggen's face when you crushed him — glorious!"

"Er, thanks captain…" Harry started.

"Marcus!" Marcus provided. "After that? You get to call me Marcus."

"Alrighty Marcus," Harry grinned before guzzling down the rest of his cup to the cheers of the Slytherins.

"The boy wants his booze, Marcus!" Peter, the sixth year prefect, called out.

"Booze, eh?" Marcus said slyly. "Alright team, have at him!"

Marcus threw Harry on the nearest couch, at which point the rest of his teammates plus Kevin came forward and dumped the contents of their cups or shot glasses onto his face.

Harry laughed while licking his lips from the sudden influx. He tasted a particularly strong smoky, spicy, fiery yet cinnamony flavor — particularly from where Cassius', Miles' and Kevin's drinks had landed.

"He likes the firewhiskey!" Kevin called out as he and his black-haired twin clutched each other as they doubled over laughing.

"My lips sweet," Harry protested.

"Is that so?" Cassius questioned with dramatic incredulity. "Anyone wanna test that?"

The throng at first went silent. Then murmurs began as someone shoved their way to the forefront. The one and only Pansy Parkinson.

"Anyone ever tasted your lips before?" she asked when she strode up to him.

"N-no," Harry replied with alcohol-induced honesty.

Pansy suddenly leaned down and embraced his lips with her own. Her tongue ran over his lips' insides as she squeezed the outsides, causing Harry to intake a sharp breath and swallow as warm euphoria coursed through his body. Then, Pansy softly suckled, giving him a pleasure he hadn't known and a blood rush to his nether regions. Ecstatic, Harry tried to explore Pansy's mouth with his own tongue, but the pretty girl withdrew.

"Ah-ah-ah, I was just tasting your lips," Pansy stopped Harry with a finger wag. "Though they're not half bad."

The Quidditch team instantly applauded, with Cassius giving Harry a loud slap on the chest. A decent number of the guys in the throng clapped as well, including all four of the second-year guys.

Upon Harry standing and giving a dramatic bow, the applause spread to the great majority of the Slytherin guys and even half of the girls. Yet even those not clapping, amusement and good humor dominated the faces of all but the first years, six of whom ranged between blank stares, gazes of scorn and glowers of distaste.

But perhaps the most confusing and concerning look came from Draco. He wore a smile and appeared present in the moment, yet he seemed so far away all the same.

Before Harry could move forward and talk to his best Slytherin friend though, Draco turned around and left the party.