In the Crosshairs
Dragon Voldemort
Chapter 32: Falcons
Harry ran Saturday morning through the corridors of Hogwarts; Hermione, Gia, and Ron followed. Hermione panted in the pink jumper over her simple grey T–shirt.
"Harry, we don't run everyday!" Hermione said.
"Maybe you should," said Ron.
"You're—" Gia started with her low–cut yellow blouse.
"Next time pay attention to the alarm clock!" Hermione said.
They came to a halt at the second floor corridor.
"Butterscotch," Harry said.
The Stone Gargoyle sprung to life, they got on the stairs, and ascended upward.
"Mr. Potter," Professor McGonagall said as Harry entered the Headmaster's Office.
"Ready?" Professor Dumbledore asked, with a blue and white cloak over his purple robes.
"They've got the brooms," Harry said.
"You're coming?" Ron asked as Professor McGonagall made for the fireplace.
"I think I can miss a day of students grumbling that you weren't expelled," Professor McGonagall said.
"I have season tickets," Professor Dumbledore said, his eyes twinkled.
Ron grabbed the handful of Floo Powder as they entered the fireplace, dropped it.
"Puddlemere United Clubhouse!" Ron shouted.
Professor Dumbledore stepped out first into the clubroom at Puddlemere United; Coach Meyers was pacing around the room.
"Nice to see our most dedicated fan," Coach Darrell Meyers said, "Of course, our players should head downstairs, pick up their robes and all."
"There's nothing like a good game of Quidditch," Professor Dumbledore said as Harry and Ron made for the stairs.
"Is it as bad at school as Harry and Ron make it out to be?" Gia asked.
"Knowing Mr. Potter's tendency to hide from it," Professor McGonagall said, "Likely worse. Today will be a good holiday from that."
"It's still hours to the match," Coach Meyers said, "If you'd like, you can visit the Puddlemere United team museum and gift shop."
…
Harry and Ron went down the stairs.
"Funny," Ron said, "Never had jitters like this at Hogwarts."
"Don't worry," Harry said, "Think how jealous Malfoy will be."
They entered the uniform room.
"Here you go," said Madam Fletcher as she brought over white robes with blue trim.
Ron held his up first, with a number nineteen on the back. Harry held his up, a number seventeen with a lightning bolt one was beneath the Potter name.
"Hey!" Harry said.
"Coach Meyers felt it'd be distinctive," Madam Fletcher said.
Harry curled his arm around the robes.
"Try them on," Madam Fletcher said.
"I trust you got it right," Harry said.
Harry and Ron left, stopped in the corridor just outside the locker room to put on the robes. Harry quickly put his on, it fit snug.
"Come on," Coach Kline said, "You're not here to lounge around in the corridor! You've only got fifteen minutes to warm up!"
Ron and Harry went into the locker room. They grabbed a pair of club Firebolts, before they went through onto the Quidditch Pitch where they were greeted with a faint wind beneath small wisps of clouds of a mostly sunny autumn day.
"Well, suppose this is it," Ron said.
Harry swung his leg over his club Firebolt, flew upward into the swarm of Quidditch Players above, a mixture of Puddlemere's white with blue trim and Falmouth Falcon's gray with white lettering.
"Strut!" shouted Assistant Coach Adam Gerber at them.
Harry accelerated, fast, as he left Ron behind; he spotted number thirteen Hill, Falmouth's Seeker, and buzzed him.
"Blimey!" Hill shouted.
Harry flew toward Ron, their eyes met. A twitch of those blue eyes beneath the red hair, and Harry understood the idea. Together, they moved back to the edge, followed the edge of the nearly empty stadium. Harry passed Gia sitting with Hermione, Professor Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall. Gia waved, Professor Dumbledore's eyes twinkled.
"Fred and George aren't the only ones," Ron said.
Harry glanced, spotted a pair of Falmouths beating a Bludger between themselves. Harry accelerated, buzzed right between them.
"Fuck!" shouted Hubert, number three.
Number twenty three Bayley hit the Bludger toward Harry, however, it sailed right over Harry with a wide margin.
HOOT!
A whistle between the lips of Coach Adam Gerber, a wave, motioned for everybody to come down. Harry and Ron flew into the entrance of their locker room.
"You realize," George said as Harry entered the team room, "We don't normally confront until the game."
"Scare em," Craig Nesper said, "Good idea."
"What normally happens?" Harry asked.
"Breakfast," Fred said as he walked toward the table with platters of food, including bagels fruits, and juices.
"Do not stuff yourselves," Coach Meyers said as he entered.
Harry simply watched as the others moved into the platters. Katie worked grapes and yogurt, while Craig Nesper went for some deviled eggs. Harry spied Ron's glance.
"Harry," Ron said, "Eat."
"You sound like Hermione!" Harry snapped, annoyed, he wasn't hungry.
"You've ate, like twice in the past three days," Ron said, "You're going to eat something. GRED!"
"What brother?" George asked, his right fingers gripped a cream cheese lined bagel.
"Ron!" Harry said, he saw the determination in those blue eyes bearing down, "You're being ridiculous."
"Eat or we stuff," Ron threatened as he grabbed a bagel.
"Lay off," Fred said, "If Harry doesn't want—"
"He needs something," Ron said, "It's a team issue if our seeker is starving, he won't perform as well."
Diplomatically, Harry grabbed a single grape, ate it, not that Harry felt the hunger, instead felt a bit stuffed with the foreign object inside him. "There!"
"Now that you're fed and watered," Coach Meyers said, "First, for those that are unaware, Michelle and Wallis Boomere are at St. Mungo's, details are unknown. Katie Bell…" His eyes fell onto Katie, loitered."Shine Bell." The coach grabbed a sausage sandwich, took a bite, ate. "Now time—"
"Coach," said Assistant Coach Leroy Kline, "You can't get out of the meeting this way."
"I tried," said Coach Meyers, "Remember the most important part, have fun playing, do that, and winning will be second nature. In the meanwhile, remember to teach our two rookies how to mount a broom."
Others laughed as the two coaches left the room. A radio crackled, came to life with the voices that carried with it.
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"Welcome to the Wizarding Quidditch Network pregame show covering Puddlemere United versus the Falmouth Falcons," said one voice, "I'm Bert."
"And I'm Joe," said the other, "Well, things are certainly going to be interesting today. Weather is calm here at Puddlemere United, the players have already finished their warmups and are waiting for the stadium to fill."
"Puddlemere has a tough challenge ahead of them today," said Bert, "While they've had some persistent issues retaining players—"
"What?" Harry asked.
"People love Quidditch," Ron said.
"Pair of Beaters disappeared," Fred said, "Rollen and Merkle, vanished two months ago without a trace."
"It's why we're here," George said.
"Bloody Bollocks!" Finnigan yelled as he threw The Daily Prophet across the Gryffindor Common Room as he entered, "I knew it was fucking—"
"Got it!" Colin Creevey yelled as he entered carrying a box; Ginny with him.
"Quidditch, you're worried about Quidditch when they might not let you see the night?" Finnigan asked.
"There's an explanation," said Neville, "Since we don't know—"
"When they'll attack?" Finnigan said, "Blimey!" Finnigan shifted his weight toward Neville. "They used to be our friends, or so we thought. If I so much as looked at you funny in Potions, Snape'd have both of us scrubbing frog brains from the ceiling." He picked up The Daily Prophet and thew it again, where it landed in the fire and began to burn. "If you heal fast after you get knocked into the Hospital Wing, you just might have a moment in the castle without them. If they break your ribs though, you'd leave the infirmary into their tender special escort."
"Mum replied," Dean Thomas said as he sat down, "She's concerned, but doesn't want me leaving Hogwarts, not yet. I still might though."
"Don't let them chase you out," said Josh Brenner, sitting across the room, "I believe Falmouth is—"
Knock! Knock!
Dean Thomas stood and walked over to the door.
"It's us," said a voice as Thomas glanced out the peep hole.
Thomas opened the portrait hole. Ernie Macmillan entered first followed by Justin Finch–Fletchley and Wayne Hopkins some bags in. Hannah Abbot came up fast, slipped in; platter on her hands.
"Where's that game?" Finnigan asked.
Everybody's eyes moved, to Colin Creevey bent over adjusting the box on the bench.
"Got it!" Colin announced.
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"—they've had some persistent issues with retaining players," Bert said, "The doping accusations placed some serious restrictions on them, so it's impossible for them to field a full roster of players."
"I remind our listeners that when a player is even suspected of taking a performance enhancing potion," Joe said, "The team is prohibited from simply swapping in another player into that position; aside from a reserve."
"Puddlemere United has it worse, as both the primary and reserve Seekers were caught up in this scandal," Bert said, "For Keeper, it's slightly easier as only their reserve was fingered; however, their primary Keeper is out on medical and will be unavailable for this match."
"I pity the fools who wagered on Puddlemere United!" Finnigan exclaimed.
"I'll still take their money," Ginny said.
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"Christmas is coming, and for your favorite Wizard, only one gift will do. It can be found at Quality Quidditch Supplies conveniently located in Hogsmeade and Diagon Alley."
"And we're back!" said Joe, "You know, I ran into Puddlemere United Head Coach Darrell Meyers in the little wizard's room, he didn't seem down at all."
"Likely putting on his best face," Bert said, "I mean, he's bound to have heard he's even got a Chaser at St. Mungo's now and will miss the match; five players—poof! Well, the rules for forfeiting under scandal are pretty harrowing, to play is likely the best choice for both the team and the concession stands."
"Perhaps the maintenance staff were recruited," Bert said, "But that's real desperation. As the Chudley Canons learned the hard way, that's not always the best move when facing a scandal of this magnitude."
"I wonder who they found," Ginny said, her eyes surveyed the ledger on the table in front of her.
"Scabs who'll work for anything thrown their way," Thomas said.
"The League had to have tossed them a bone," Macmillan said, "Can't have the game be boring, can we?"
"Good thinking," Hopkins said as he shoved a bowl of caramel corn toward Macmillan.
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"Is your life a bore?" the wireless crackled, "Tired of exams, performance reviews, or life in general? Charm yourself, your friend, or your enemy with a canary crème pie from Weasley Wizarding Wheezes and you're guaranteed to enchant your life. Located at 93 Diagon Alley."
Ginny grinned as the others glanced at her.
"They're—they're advertising?" Colin asked.
"Makes sense," Ginny stated.
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"Welcome back," Bert said.
Hermione's sock covered foot played with her shoe as she sat in the stands, waiting. She could think of all the things she should be reading up on, but instead, was here, waiting for the match while Harry and Ron were having the time of their lives somewhere down in the bowels of the stadium. A glint of black, a very familiar dog walked across the grass.
"Is that who I think it is?" Gia asked.
"It's best not to speculate," Professor Dumbledore said.
"It's a public venue," Hermione said, "There'd be more than just him."
"While I do wish Mr. Potter would take up the responsibility that he needs to," Professor Dumbledore said, "There are times its better to watch him simply enjoy himself."
"He's not?" Hermione asked.
"Wait a minute," Gia said, "Harry's not—?"
"Do not force Mr. Potter, he must willingly step into the role," Professor Dumbledore said, "For right now, his duty is to be sixteen, in the space that I can afford him to be sixteen with his friends. He will take that necessary step in due time, of that, I'm confident."
Hermione understood, of course, the boy who simply wanted to be 'just Harry'. A boy and a friend, who seemingly adopted her out of friendship, who cherished her, and wanted to hang out with her. She loved them both and figured that's why she felt safest when she was with them.
Footsteps.
"Albus," said Professor McGonagall as she came out of the stairs into their top box, "All measures in place and everybody's in position."
"Thank you Minerva," Professor Dumbledore replied.
"Measures?" Gia asked.
"To keep you safe," Professor McGonagall said.
"Thank you," Hermione said. She knew Harry would stress out if he thought either Gia or herself were in danger.
Professor McGonagall conjured up a simple wooden chair next to Professor Dumbledore's armchair, sat.
"It's a league match," Professor McGonagall said, "Likely won't be clean, hope Potter manages."
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"Coach, in the last moments before the end of this show," Bert said, "Can you explain your tactic for addressing your manpower shortage? Five players is a big hole to fill, especially under the constraints you're in."
"You don't know the the players like I do," Coach Meyers said, "I think the investigation will show the charges are false, similar to the incident that cost the Appleby Arrows the entire season a decade ago. I predict that those and the two in St. Mungo's will be back for the next match."
"You're short this match," Joe said.
"Can't be helped," Coach Meyers said, "Even though the rules are very tight, I did manage to find two players to substitute."
"The roster took them?" Bert asked.
"Yes," Coach Meyers said, "And while they won't have the luxury of being able to take a break during the match, I think they're very capable."
"Lesson of life, always hire a few more—seasoned Quidditch players into maintenance," Joe said.
"What is your secret?" Bert asked.
"I had to think outside the box," Coach Meyers said, "With a bit of advice, I made my selection."
"We'd love to have you stay and talk some more," Bert said, "However, you've got a match to see to, and it's nearly game time."
"Thank you for speaking with us," Joe said.
"My pleasure," Coach Meyers said.
"Good day to you," Bert said, "I understand the players are already lining up."
"Well, sounds like they did find some players," Ginny said, "That changes the odds, anybody feel like wagering? Pool closes in ten minutes."
"It doesn't change the odds," Finnigan said, "Puddlemere's out both of their seekers, they can't replace them. A keeper—maybe, so the losing score won't be as lopsided."
Macmillan sat down in the room that was filling up.
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"Our pre–game show now comes to a close," Bert said, "Tom Rogers is the official announcer for today's match."
A deep voice came on.
"Welcome to today's Quidditch match between Puddlemere United and Falmouth Falcons," said Rogers.
…
"Visitors go first," Fred said, "Scare em."
Harry trembled as he queued up behind Fred, broom in hand. For the first time in a long time, butterflies came to his stomach. George glanced backward before he turned; Fred turned too. Harry focused his eyes on the bat in Fred's hand.
"You're more nervous than you ever were at Hogwarts," George said.
"Don't want to screw up—" Ron started.
"Relax," Fred said, "Don't let it get to you—"
"Easy for you to say," Harry said.
"We left the Canary Crèmes back at the shop," George said.
Harry snorted, Ron sputtered, as the light began to break through. Collectively, they mounted their brooms.
Creak!
Pupils shrank fast as the doors opened to sunshine beaming down onto the dominating green grass.
"PUDDLEMERE UNITED!"
Anna Mackenzie led the charge, the eleven white uniforms graced upward on their collection of Firebolts.
"MACKENZIE! EMSWORTH! HASLAR! FROGMORE! MARSHALL! BELL! NESPER! WEASLEY! WEASLEY! —"
"—I mean it!" snapped the Keeper, the green head in the fireplace at Hogwarts, "Cancel—"
"We've got it all planned," said the Seeker, now sporting raven black hair and a lightning bolt scar standing next to a red haired freckled boy of proper stature, "Marshmallows and the chocolate are nearly melted, feathers are prepared, and even fried chicken—"
"Then make it a FEAST!" the Keeper said, "Potter is HERE!"
"What?!" the Seeker stammered, "I thought he was hiding—"
"He's playing in front of thousands of spectators!" the Keeper said, "It'll be in The Daily Prophet before the day is finished! You're the one that has to hide or you'll blow the entire operation! And if your preparations are a problem, then make some smores! Understood?"
"Yes," the Seeker said.
"Next time, keep a better eye on your charge and maybe this little surprise won't happen again!" the Keeper said, "I need to get back to the game."
The Keeper's head vanished.
"A thousand chickens—" Wormtail started.
"Give it all to the House Elfs, spread it around," the Seeker said, "We'll make Potter pay for this, of that, I guarantee."
"I'm not your errand boy," Wormtail said.
"And have me explain why Harry Potter is loitering around the castle?" the Seeker said, "Just tell the House–Elfs and be on your merry little way."
"You screwed up big today," Wormtail said as he left.
"Hope he returns to the Dark Lord fast," the Seeker said, "I'd hate to be around there when this shit hits."
"It's cool," Thomas said as he dipped a chicken wing into the bowl of marshmallow cream. "Who provided it?"
"Dunno," Finnigan said, "Generous—if anybody asks, tell em that it's from those who wish to get Potter out of here."
"I'll drink to that!" Macmillan said as he lifted his cup of Firewhiskey.
"QUIET!" Ginny shouted, "I'm trying to hear—"
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"WEASLEY! AND POTTER!"
"Bloody hell!" Finnigan exclaimed.
"At least they aren't here," said Thomas.
"But to reward them—?!" Finnigan shouted.
"Potter's a pretty common name," Neville said.
"As QUIDDITCH players?!" Finnigan stammered.
…
Harry flew on the Firebolt, next to Ron, behind the others, as the players of Puddlemere United did a double lap around the stadium. Flying on the broom did as it always did, gave him a sense of calm that brought the nerves back down. Harry gave a quick glance to the big black dog, Snuffles, sitting proper next to Professor Dumbledore; Gia, Hermione, and Professor McGonagall were also there, watching. Harry followed the lead, took his place along with the team in the middle of the pitch.
Standing in the middle, a middle aged witch dressed in black and white striped referee robes, opened a crate. A golden snitch and two Bludgers came out. She threw the Quaffle up into the air. Chasers dove for the Quaffle.
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"AND THEY'RE OFF!"
Ron and Falmouth's Larsen flew their goals, while number thirteen Hill of Falmouth seemed to pay no attention to Harry. Harry circled clockwise above. Harry passed Falmouth's Seeker, Hill, circled in the other direction.
"I'm your worst enemy," Hill said.
Harry rolled as he flew, comfortable. Again, Hill was about to pass.
"Hi Voldemort!" Harry replied.
"Blimey!" Hill exclaimed as he flinched; a quick spasm, he lost control, and dropped a hundred feet. Harry caught a glint of gold, the Seeker loitered near Ron. Harry accelerated toward Ron. A eerily familiar buzz, Harry pulled back, as Bludger soared fast, at a cross–cut angle, an inch away. A quick glance to a grinning Lily Herbert, Falmouth number three, and Harry returned his eyes to Ron where the gold no longer was. Harry drifted back upward, resumed his circling, as he noticed Falmouth's Hill behind him.
"Kiss my arse!" Harry shouted.
Harry had seen enough to know that was the mildest of insults being leveled that day. Harry wondered if the witch referee was holding back on her whistle, only issuing a penalty every ten seconds, a fraction of the fouls that were occurring.
…
Harry watched as Kristi distracted the fast approaching McCormick as a throw was made. Ron seemingly ignored Kristi, caught the Quaffle, to passed it over to Stanly Emsworth. Kristi flew. Shelton and McCormick converged onto Stanly, when Harry committed to a plan, and dove. Hill followed as Harry accelerated downward. Harry glimpsed the Falmouth beaters sent the Bludgers toward Harry. Harry, however, dove down between the three converging players, and pulled up. Hill and the Bludgers collided with Shelton and McCormick; all three fell to the ground. Stanly sunk the Quaffle through the middle hoop.
"FALMOUTH CALLS A TIMEOUT! FIFTY TO EIGHTY!"
Dressed in white, Medi–Wizards rushed over to the group. Harry, meanwhile, flew upward. Harry flew by Gia, who blew him a kiss, before he noticed the Media–Wizards move away; Shelton, Walsh, and Hill, got up, flew.
"PLAY RESUMES!"
Harry took a couple of laps from two hundred feet in the air when he heard Hill fly up and bump their shoulders together. Harry collided with Hill.
"Think you're hot?" Hill said, "You're nothing shrimp."
A quick thought, and Harry made a concerted effort to appear to be concentrating right in front of him. A seemingly quick glint of gold appeared, and he reached forward in a grabbing motion, before he accelerated downward, fast. Hill followed, this time, along side though a foot behind. Harry's outstretched arm continued to reach until ten feet above the ground, when he gripped his broom handled and pulled out of the dive. Harry skirted the ground by an inch. Hill, meanwhile, had pegged his broom handle into the ground, and got bucked off.
"WELL EXECUTED WRONSKI FEINT!"
Harry climbed back up, Hill caught up sixty yards later.
"So obvious—I just played along—" Hill said.
"Excuses." Harry spun a U–turn and started counterclockwise. As he passed Hill, yet again, he did a Sloth Grip Roll to avoid the collision. Hill reversed course and followed.
"Try Pee–Wees!" Hill shouted.
Five minutes later, Harry accelerated to avoid another Bludger, a Bludger that made a snap as it hit Hill in the head. Hill slumped over fast to the right, fell. Harry dropped, caught Hill, eased them both down to the ground.
"Medi–Wizards! NOW!" Harry shouted.
"Noble," said Madam Phelps, in her referee robes, to Harry.
"FALMOUTH'S BLUDGER INJURED THEIR SEEKER!"
Harry stayed until the white robed Medi–Wizards came over. Harry put his leg over his broom, flew up.
"FALMOUTH'S RESERVE SEEKER IS IN THE GAME!"
White lettering on the dark gray uniform, with Malkdad twenty seven on it; Harry spotted the reserve seeker already flying for the Golden Snitch. Harry accelerated hard, overcame the lead, to barely overtake Malkdad when Harry's hand gripped the Golden Snitch four inches in front of Malkdad's. Harry held the Snitch above his head, glanced at the smiling Professor Dumbledore with the twinkling blue eyes.
"PUDDLEMERE UNITED WINS!"
…
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"…won despite the severe handicap," Bert said, "Coming up next, Puddlemere United post–game interviews!"
"Tired of looking awful? Clean up with Busk's Special Powder to give your laundry that House–Elf touch, buy…"
Colin bumped the wireless, it cut out. He bent over to fix it.
"Who would've seen that coming?" asked Finnigan
"Everybody," Josh Brenner said, "Potter was the ringer."
"You should've known!" Finnigan snapped at Ginny.
"I'm sorry but a wager is a wager," Ginny said, "No refunds."
…
"Hopefully with coverage like this—" Professor McGonagall said.
"Share this with them," Professor Dumbledore said, handing Hermione a chocolate frog.
"We've—" Gia started.
Hermione, though, felt the mild tingling, pressed it against Gia, felt the jerk behind the naval. A moment later, she watched Ron strip as he entered the locker room and his eyes fell onto her.
"Hermione," Ron said as he stopped, his arousal clear.
"Hi," Harry said as he walked past. Gia followed him.
"If you need full privacy," Fred said, as he came by, "Good storage room, just down the hall."
George snickered.
"Lets clear off," Ron said to Hermione.
Ron guided Hermione, out of the locker room, took a right, headed down the hall across from the stairs, before taking a left. Inside, some chairs before a stage; benches on the stage.
"Auditorium," Hermione stated.
"Likely hasn't been used for years," Ron said, "Besides, you ought to be on a stage—you're beautiful! Quick?"
Ron tugged, brought her to sit on the edge, legs dangled, and was very interested. Ron lifted her jumper, held her tight against him, his lips went against hers.
"You're…" Hermione started.
"What can I say?" Ron said, "You saw that we won."
Ron removed her gray T–shirt, revealed her. He leaned her back, onto the carpeting of the stage, before he worked her trousers.
"Eager?" Hermione asked.
"Sure, why not?" Ron asked, "This is alright, right?"
"Um…yes," Hermione said.
Ron straddled her as his hands cupped her breasts, his mouth went against hers. She had watched him all match, the lust that had built up, to take on the jealousy that other girls would have. This was Ron, her Ron, for her, and she wanted to submit.
"Oh…sorry," asked a man entered the back, "Isn't this where the post–game—"
"Hermione, wait," Ron whispered, his hands massaged her, overcame her desire to escape.
"We're about to—" Hermione started, as it made sense, an auditorium setup for the post–game team interview.
"Let them watch," Ron said, as more people entered, "I'm not ashamed to love you."
"They…" Hermione lost her train of thought, cameras were aimed, starting to take pictures.
"Focus," Ron said as he worked her.
"Is this your girlfriend?" asked a witch.
Ron, however, kept his eyes on Hermione's, it disarmed her nerves as he bore down.
"We said storage closet!" George said.
Ron betrayed no concern for the crowd growing in the room, instead, his breath, his eyes, his warmness, drove those away. Ron was still a boy, one who wanted to belong, to fit in, with Harry and her, and now, this boy made her feel safe. She felt their magic intertwine, felt the first wave. He stopped when it was over.
"As you can see," said Coach Darrell Meyers, "Our Keeper, Ronald Weasley has a girlfriend that he's very much into. Are we ready? Have a seat."
Hermione grabbed her clothes, walked to the back, to where Gia and Professor Dumbledore were seated, and dressed.
"Interesting opener," Professor Dumbledore said.
Hermione sat on the other side of Gia from the old man. On the stage, the two benches of Puddlemere United players to either side.
"Welcome to the post game session for a great game," Coach Darrell Meyers said, "We are all thrilled to win. First question."
"Halvorsen of The Daily Prophet." A tall and slender man stood. "What specifically do you credit for your win? Considering the previous games?"
"Teamwork," Coach Meyers replied, "Next question."
"Jeffery of the Wizard Sport in Kent." A short and chubby man, with black hair and brown eyes, stood. "Of considerable speculation is the sudden introduction of two players. Could you elaborate?"
"As you're aware, we were down five players," Coach Meyers said, "As these two had previously attended a team practice prior to the scandal, their names were able to be submitted, and the roster accepted the substitution."
"Mandel of the Liverpool Wizarding." A skinny witch with gray hair stood. "What are the replacements' qualifications?"
"They are currently on teams at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry," Meyers says, "Ne—"
"Seeker on the Gryffindor House team," Harry said.
"Keeper for that team," Ron said.
"Robbins of Quidditch Weekly." A tall and chubby man stood up. "Why were five players were out of play?"
Hermione glanced at Harry, he rubbed his scar; Professor Dumbledore took interest.
"Two are at St. Mungo's," Coach Meyers said, "Three—you've read The Daily Prophet as well as I have. However, we are suspicious and have a lead on a massive bet that was wagered for a Falmouth win—"
"Voldemort—" Harry paused for the usual flinches "—wanted a sure bet."
Ron covered the microphone in front of him and Harry, though his voice still carried. "Nice way to steal the interview."
"I'll talk later," Harry replied.
"Stoner of Witch Weekly." A chubby and young witch stood. "The Ministry declared You–Know–Who dead, how can you account for that?"
"They're wrong," Harry said, "Voldemort is not dead."
"Even in light of no recent activity?" Stoner asked.
"He's a murderous raving lunatic," Harry said, "I doubt that he really knows what he's up to either."
Snorts and snickers flowed across the room.
"We are discussing Quidditch," Coach Meyers said, "Next question please."
"Halvorsen of The Daily Prophet, again," Halvorsen said, "To the new players, when did you start playing at Hogwarts? What position?"
Ron hesitated, but Harry nudged him.
"Fifth year, Keeper," Ron said, "However, I've always played with my brothers before that."
"First year, Seeker," Harry said, "My current position."
A thin man, holding some equipment, stood. "Bert of Wizarding Quidditch Network. There's been some confusion to the identities of these fine players. Can you please state your names and ages?"
"Ronald Weasley, 16."
"Harry Potter."
"Was this why security seemed tighter than usual?" Bert asked.
"I would like to think we always take security seriously," said Coach Meyers.
"At least we didn't have to check our wands this time," Halvorsen said to Bert.
A witch in an ugly yellow dress with pink trim stood up.
"Rita Skeeter," Harry said, "I will answer only if you swear not to distort my words."
"I am a reporter," Skeeter stated.
"A bad one," Ron said.
"I beg your pardon." Coach Meyers glanced at Ron and Harry.
Harry covered the microphone. "I've had experience with her libel before—"
"My Quick Quotes Quill—" Skeeter said.
"Sends the truth down the loo with every mark it makes," Harry said, "Anything for a juicy story—"
Halvorsen studied the expressions between Harry and Skeeter.
"Mr. Potter," Halvorsen said, in spite of the scowling expression on Skeeter's face, "In your early encounter with Hill, the Falmouth Seeker—you sent him into a tailspin—"
Harry snorted. "His mouth tried to intimidate me, I returned the favor."
"In your final encounter," Bert said, "Hill was injured and you helped—unusual in professional—"
"I've seen enough death," Harry stated.
"You are corroborating behavior at Hogwarts, as documented—" Skeeter said.
"If you had bothered to investigate—you'd find we're being framed," Harry said, "Take last week on Halloween—I was supposedly beating some students at Hogwarts, yet we spent the whole day with Puddlemere at their Halloween celebration, which turned out to also be a team practice. I appreciated the hospitality, by the way."
"What are their futures with Puddlemere United," Robbins asked.
"They are still students at Hogwarts and so will need to complete that," Coach Meyers said, "After that, we might talk."
"How did they destroy the Puddlemere United Country Club?" Rita Skeeter asked.
"You are out of line, there," Coach Meyers said, "Neither Mr. Potter nor Mr. Weasley were around to even witness its destruction. Mr. Potter spotted Peter Pettigrew, warned us to clear; we did so by sending Mr. Potter onto the evening party and I left the building to watch. Death Eaters demolished the building—"
"There has not been a reported Death Eater incident for decades," Stoner said, "And Pettigrew—died with honors attempting to apprehend Sirius Black—"
"You are wrong and unfortunately the Ministry got it wrong too," Harry said, "Pettigrew is alive and is Voldemort's right hand man—Sirius was attempting to apprehend Pettigrew when he got fingered. Pettigrew came to the—" he paused to rub his scar "—country club in an attempt to fix the bet placed against Puddlemere because the odds at that time had Puddlemere as the favorite. He wanted to arrange to have Puddlemere's key players incapacitated, but since I happened to be there, he had to destroy as much evidence as he could. Voldemort is displeased."
Professor Dumbledore coughed, Coach Meyers glanced directly at him.
"Please, let us return to the topic of the match," Coach Meyers said, "Such as our lovely Miss. Bell." He pointed to Katie, sitting to the other side.
"Are you available?" Joe asked of Katie, as he assisted the coach in the change of topic.
"I'm…committed," Katie replied.
"Will there be a repeat of today's performance?" asked Rita Skeeter.
"Our player shortage should be addressed before the next match," Coach Meyers said, "Our hour is up. Thank you and good day."
Some applause. Hermione tried to cross back to the stage, however, the flood of people leaving stymied her.
"Have you checked out the team shop?" Professor Dumbledore asked.
Meanwhile, Cenek considered the wizards in front of him. The keeper had an advanced copy of The Evening Prophet and Wormtail was trembling at the sight of this goblin.
"We could not afford to lose that money—" Wormtail said.
"A contract is a contract." Cenek pointed to the contract. "Did you or did you not sign here?"
"Yes, but—" Wormtail said.
"You agreed to the possible forfeiture of your money," Cenek said, "This bold clause at the top stipulates that quite clearly—"
"It was a sure bet once we arranged—" the Keeper said.
"Are you confessing to attempting to fix the wager?" Cenek shook his head. "Clause two stipulates a penalty at twice the sum of initial bet and the final winnings."
"No, no issue is being raised," the Keeper said, "My colleague seemed a bit disappointed. Sorry to have taken your time."
"Squandered is more like it," Cenek sneered.
The Keeper quickly escorted Wormtail out the back door and left Cenek's office. In the cold, damp, and dark alley, the Seeker joined.
"Well?" the Seeker demanded.
"No dice—" Wormtail said.
"We're out—?" the Seeker said, "We are in trouble."
"We?" the Keeper said, "It was you who decided to wager his money without asking him—there is a way to recoup it."
"How?" the Seeker asked.
"Harry Potter." The Keeper shoved Harry's photo on The Evening Prophet at the Seeker.
"Harry Potter!" Finnigan stammered in the Gryffindor Common Room as he jumped up onto the table, waited for the eyes to lock back onto him, "I wager those openings were his mischief, I mean he gets all the perks murdering his way—"
"Unfair!" Neville protested, "Harry's—"
"Unfair is quite right," Finnigan retorted.
"Well, Potter is a good Quidditch player," Thomas stated.
"He who catches the SNITCH gets a free pass for life?" Finnigan demanded. "Maybe, Dean—"
"Lets go," said Macmillan as he stood up.
"Yeah," Finnigan said as he stepped down from the table, "Before Potter haunts here to … celebrate his sweet, sweet, victory!"
Thomas and Finch–Fletchley also stood.
"There's gotta be another explanation," Neville said, "Professor Dumbledore wouldn't let Potter touch Hogwarts in real trouble—"
"Perhaps the Headmaster needs his blinders lifted, Longbottom," Macmillan said.
"Or he's sucking on Potter's golden teat!" Finnigan snapped.
"What if Potter's right and he's in the clear?" Neville asked.
"Harry Potter is innocent!" Ginny protested.
"You mean he hasn't stolen your family broach for his bitch," Padma Patil said.
"You're safe because you're a Weasley," Wayne Hopkins said.
"Lets fix this, so all of us are safe," Finnigan said as he went for the portrait hole. "Coming?"
A few plus Macmillan, Thomas, Finch–Fletchley, and Hopkins followed.
Harry knew that Ron was a tad touchy when it came to money, however, Ron was unresponsive after being handed a check from Coach Meyers in his office. Assistant Coach Adam Gerber was the fourth person in the room.
"Four thousand and…" Ron repeatedly muttered a handful of gold coins "—ten Galleons."
Harry returned a slight grin to Ron's bright smile.
"You're not in trouble," Assistant Coach Gerber said, his eyes on the red haired teenager, "Far from it."
"This is professional Quidditch, you play, we pay." Coach Meyers turned his eyes to Harry. "However, I am curious how you knew about—"
"Sorry, that is privileged information," Harry said, eager to change the topic, "Now carrying this much gold—sorry but Diagon Alley—"
"Luckily—" Coach Meyers laid down a pair of Gringotts Deposit Authorization and Gringotts Vault Request forms "—just fill these out."
"Your own vault, just for you," Harry said to Ron.
Harry grabbed a quill, skipped the request for himself, went straight for the deposit authorization. Assistant Coach Kline entered, whispered into Coach Meyers' ear; the Coach's mouth removed his grin.
"Any questions?" Coach Meyers said to Ron.
Ron shook his head.
"Thank you for playing today," Coach Meyers said, "Madam Fletcher thinks she's found some Ashwinder eggs that need to be taken care of. Good day."
Coach Meyers left with Coach Kline. Ron signed his form; together, he and Harry stood up. Harry and Ron left the office, into the club room where Gia and Hermione were talking. Professor Dumbledore leaned on his cane in his right hand as he admired the trophy case. Professor McGonagall paced.
"Ready?" asked Professor McGonagall.
"They do have a team shop," said Professor Dumbledore, a shopping bag with the team markings dangled from his left arm.
Harry glanced at Professor McGonagall's new blue and white hat; he took the charge for the fireplace, Gia grabbed onto his arm as he threw in the Floo Powder.
"St. Mungo's!" Harry shouted.
Harry and Gia spun, stepped out into the reception of St. Mungo's hospital. Ron and Hermione were next, followed by Professors McGonagall and Dumbledore. Professor Dumbledore sat in the first chair he found.
"Wait here," Professor McGonagall said before she stood in the queue at the nurse's station. Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Gia stood.
"That was admirable and noble of you," Professor Dumbledore said, "Back there."
"It's nothing," Harry said.
"However," Professor Dumbledore said, "Even though I do encourage people to call Voldemort by name, do not joke with it."
"Hill brought—" Harry started.
"This way," Professor McGonagall called to them.
They followed Professor McGonagall into the magical lift, they went to the fourth floor, and walked down the corridor into the Bowman Wright memorial wing. They entered a room, Oliver Wood on one bed, Hill on the other. While Wood was surrounded by other Puddlemere United players, the Falmouth Falcons were around Hill. Oliver wood was awake while Hill was semi–lucid.
"Wood!" Harry exclaimed as he pushed past Katie Bell.
"Sorry I missed the game," Oliver Wood said, "Heard we—"
"Won?" Ron said, "And how—"
"You also had a rather lengthy post–game interview—" Oliver Wood said.
"Why'd you have to say You–Know–Who's name?" Craig Nesper demanded.
"Voldemort is the name he chose," Harry said, "His birth name is Tom Marvolo Riddle."
"Blimey!" Hill said, "You're still saying—"
"Fear of a name only heightens the fear itself," Hermione said.
"How bad is it?" Harry walked over to Hill, who was in braces.
"Spinal cord may be damaged—" Hill said, "Thanks for helping me down."
"You were unconscious," Harry said.
"Normally players don't bother—" Larsen said.
"Then you're being idiots," Harry said.
"Good sportsmanship Shrimp," Hill said.
"I am not Shrimp," Harry said.
"You're really Harry Potter?" Hill said, "You'll make a formidable Seeker."
"Albus," Professor McGonagall said.
"I am sorry to break this up," Professor Dumbledore said, "But we do have business back at Hogwarts to tend to, as fine of a day as it was."
"Ta," Hill said to Harry.
"Bye Potter!" Wood said.
Harry walked with the Professors and his friends, back to the reception, into the fireplace, to step out of the one in the Headmaster's office at Hogwarts.
"That was a fun diversion, wouldn't you say Harry?" Professor Dumbledore asked.
"It was fun," Harry said, "We—"
"Best get moving," Ron said.
Harry appreciated Ron when he seemingly realized Professor Dumbledore was very likely about to steer the conversation in a way he didn't want. Harry quickly took advantage, led the way out of the office, onto the stairs.
"If you two hadn't of left your Portkeys there," Hermione said.
"Just how did you know about the bet?" Ron asked.
"Not here," Harry quipped as they stepped off the stairs. They quickly came to the portrait of the Fat Lady, the noise from within came to their ears. Cheers and shouts greeted them as they entered. Most paid no attention, so Harry walked through the crowd; Ron, Hermione, and Gia followed up the stairs, into their dormitory. Ginny came in, glaring. Ginny's eyes fixated onto Ron, her finger out.
"You didn't tell—not one word!" Ginny said to her brother, "You were in the game and you didn't tell—"
"Didn't have to," Ron said, "You obviously found out—"
SMACK!
"That's not how I wanted to find out!" Ginny protested.
"This is a boys dormitory," Gia said, "Please leave—"
"Have you looked in a mirror, you troll?" Ginny barked.
"Out!" Ron grabbed his wand as he glared at Ginny. "You are out of line—"
"With your tramp in here too?" Ginny said, "I should tell Thomas—"
"Go get him!" Hermione snapped, her eyes flashed.
Ginny retreated back out, under threat of Ron's wand, and left the dormitory. Hermione flicked hers out, locked the door. Harry activated his Portkey and they held on.
"So, just how did you know about that bet?" Hermione asked as they landed in Gia's bedroom in Noigate.
"My scar—" Harry said, as they went down the steps, "—during the interview."
"Dangerous—" Hermione said, "Even an idiot like him could put the pieces together."
Ron snorted as they left the house into the darkening modestly cool evening with a slight wind. "You just called You–Know–Who an idiot."
"I did, didn't I?" Hermione said.
They walked down the middle of Oak Street, turned right onto the sidewalk along Macy's, and went several more lights before the entered the Flaming Blue for the rest of the evening.
Date: Thu Jan 4 09:53:35 2024