VIII

GOODNESS GRACIOUS

Gryffindor more than made up enough noise to drown everything out, but it wasn't enough to quell Harry's doubt.

Though the boy was happy for a few days after the match, soon chitchat soured badly and the whole castle was yapping about how sadly it was for Higgs that the Gryffs had it rigged for the Slytherin Seeker.

In retrospect, it was 'obvious' to everyone how Harry Potter was weaker and slower than the charming Seventh-Year. To be fair to the boy, he was a dear, and disavowed anything related to that. But that only seemed to make it worse: "look how dignified he was with that cheating brat!"

I suppose The Cod's little spell didn't go down very well. And Snape was thirsty to give someone detentions in his slimy, smelly cell.

They never discovered who it was—perhaps a bad omen for the future of those criminals—but it was only because The Cod had a firm grip on Granger.

"Shut up, Hermione, we are not in any danger. They'll never discover it was us!"

Hermione got up furiously from her chair.

"Us? I didn't rig the Bludgers to be unfair!" she said with a hard stare.

The Cod got up too.

"That was only bit of flair, they didn't hurt anyone. At least I wasn't the one to set fire on Professor Snape's hair."

Katie and Harry were quite lost as they continued to stare at Hermione and The Cod; Ron observed the scene with rapt attention and care. And Leanne …

"Oh my, goodness gracious, please be quiet," Leanne cursed at the pair, her voice loud and clear, that foul-mouthed witch.

They all stayed rooted in fear. It was the first time they'd ever seen her raise her voice. They hadn't but the choice to shut up and sit down.

But not for long, given Hermione's frown. Harry, Ron and Hermione had a special kind of power in this kind of situation: The Cod's gills trembled as the air permeated with a novel kind of incantation, and something turned on Katie's heart as it downed on her, too.

"Harry, Ron. Come, we have to go to the library, to search about, well … you know who."

Harry frowned.

"You-Know-Who? What does he have to do with anything?"

Ron snorted.

"Not that ding-a-ling, mate. You know who, that Hagrid began to tell—" but then Hermione shut his mouth.

"What? Who?" Asked Katie Bell.

"Nicolas—" Harry began, but Hermione shut him too, before dragging them away.

Katie, Leanne and The Cod looked at them for a moment before Katie began to say.

"Were they talking about Nicolas Flamel?"

Leanne shrugged her shoulders, a bit sad that Harry went away, but The Cod didn't offer, though, in any way, a response. For a minute, two, and soon they began to grow worried with that ponce.

"Cod, are you all right? Blink, for Merlin's sake. You're not in the sea or in a salty lake!"

The Cod seemed to snap awake as Leanne tugged on his arm.

"Did you feel that, too?" He asked, his voice tinted with alarm.

Leanne did not, but Katie had a suspicion.

"That power? Yes, I felt its transition," Katie answered.

Leanne blinked, not understanding anything at all. But The Cod was quick to answer, slapping his slimy fins on the fourth wall.

"That volition? That change in the air, in the plot? That ambition? Someone is writing this story, and pulled the Golden Trio back to their mission. Do you know what that means?" Asked The Cod.

Katie thought she understood, but let The Cod speak.

"You are not a main character, Leanne, neither am I, nor Katie here."

And then Leanne felt it, too: the intimidating beauty and the magnificence of the fanfiction writer. She grasped her friends hands, but that girl really was a fighter.

"Whomever you are, leave us alone!" she shouted.

Katie put herself in front of her friends, her gaze now directly into my eyes, daring. They really were coloured like the skies: with a great storm, with courage, with fear, with anger, with defiance—that much was clear.

There we have it: why we chose this daring girl to show us her world. And she had her friends always behind her, who clasped their hands tighter. The Cod began to say:

"Curse you, writer. It matters not that I am not the leading figure, I'll be quite happy to have this story in disfigure. Have your antagonist, now that you've forsaken me as your protagonist," he said, always the drama queen. Suddenly he let out a small girlish scream, before shouting in grief. "I cannot believe it, he made me the comic relief!"

I looked at them with pride, even as I had to unroll that scene. However much I liked them, it was not to me to decide their fate—rather, it already was, and I could only wait; and write it!

They had their suffering, and it would please me dearly not to tell! But I have to write this tale: of Katie Bell, of her friends, of the tragedies around them, of their final happy ends—hopefully!

The curse moves me to write this. I can only try and hide the utmost depths of the abyss. They are there, never forget—this I tell you not as a threat or as a warning, but rather, as my mourning: for what happened. Rather: for what would happen.

But it ends, and I will not dare interfere as much again. I could not bear to do to them what would have already caused them so much pain.

And with that happy note, we turn to the story again.

Katie and Leanne, along with their families, were in The Cod's estate for Christmas that year. They had quite a ton of fun, and the Lowelands were quite something else behind that austere veneer.

It was nice and all, but that is boring, so we'll cut the chase towards the day that Katie took a majestic fall, right from her bed in the bedroom she shared with Leanne.

She'd just woken up from a nightmare filled with bright green light.

When she'd told that to Leanne, the girl turned white—yes, even more so!

On that night, she and Leanne would be hugging each other tight before sleeping. Leanne remembered something that had left Katie in quite a bit of fright. She told about the time, when she was very little, and Hit-Wizards had come to wipe their memories despite her parents asking not to.

Some wizard had prevented an accident by levitating a car that had fallen from a bridge. She was but a little smidge at that time, but she remembered it still. She remembered the wizard's tired eyes, and the chill of that spell, as it went towards her struggling mother and father in an annoyed yell. They passed her over because she was too young and too small—but yet, she remembered it all, burned on her memory, something which her dreams occasionally saw fit to remind.

'Obliviate', Katie rolled the words in her mind. Something tugged at her; but she couldn't understand what and had finally resigned.

But it was not Obliviate she was thinking—initially that is. She was thinking of Harry, of course, and of the time she'd found the boy training before dawn, at the limit of his force—and of his nightmares.

They did not talk to The Cod about this whole thing at all; they should have—but I couldn't give them a clue.

"Do you think the snakes will win the House Cup this year, too?" Leanne said from the other side of the room. "I don't think I can stand staying in the same room as them anymore."

Katie smiled.

"Not this year, dear, I believe so," she said, while thinking about Harry.

This scene happened before Christmas, and sadly, after too.

Katie found him training at the pitch very early in the morning, before all the crew got to the field. She saw the bags under his eyes and his small size and wanted to chew him on the spot, but she held back that thought. She talked to him and talked, and came down early at times.

Sometimes they shared stories; oftentimes they just trained hard.

But she treasured the moments where he let down his guard. As she did, too.

He talked about his nightmares filled with green light and a horrific laughter of cruel delight. About how he hated being called the Boy-Who-Lived, about how he feared not being enough, and that his training wasn't sufficiently rough.

She talked about Aunt Claire, about her fears and doubts. They truly made quite a pair: the rookies for Gryffindor.

"But you already pulled your weight and more! I got lucky with the Snitch."

"Don't say that! You were brilliant on that pitch! I don't know who started that, but it was probably just a Quidditch zealous; or someone quite jealous!"

"Jealous?" asked Harry.

Katie arched her eyebrow.

"Yes, Harry. Get back to the here and now! You're a cool guy, has nice grades, knows very well how to fly, without even throwing shades at anyone."

She slapped his back.

"You'll be fine in the match, don't worry about that!"

It didn't matter still. Harry came back earlier the next day in the cold chill.

She watched him from afar and hoped, for the boy's sake that everything would be okay against Hufflepuff—he was only so much tough. For sure, he was made of sterner stuff, but Katie didn't like seeing him so obsessed—for her (and the team), he was more than enough.

Meh, you already know what happened, though, don't you? Gryffindor winning over Hufflepuff at that time wasn't something new, was it?

The day of the game came, and Harry once again proved he wasn't only getting in by his fame.

Rather, he was carving a new meaning for his name.

"UNBELIEVABLE! POTTER DID IT AGAIN! WHAT A GAME, LADIES AND GENTLEMEN!"

And Katie was the first to get to him. Any thoughts, be they grim or not, were for naught—they disappeared as Harry lifted that golden snitch in the centre of the pitch, for everyone to see.

Katie laughed in glee as she gave him a tight hug.

"How did you caught it so fast?"

But the only answer was a happy shrug. Harry was dragged by Katie and the girls towards the crowd—and whatever gossip or rumour remained, was rapidly being cowed, as Gryffindor shouted their names high and loud.

"Little Bell came to the slaughter, and Potter, to give them hell!
"Johnson flied 'round them until they just crashed and fell!
"And Spinnet powered through, tearing them to little shreds,
"And there is Fred to guard the reds and George to break their heads!
"They dare and try to score on us, but Wood is there to block,
"Our captain guards our posts with his very large … hands!"

And the crowd cheered once again. And Katie laughed with her teammates as Wood tried to kill Harry with a hug, while looking at the Slytherin section equal parts joyful and smug.

Life was pleasant and fine for a while—that is, before things turned hostile.

Notes:

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