A/N:

Hello readers! It's been a while but the next chapter is here. It's released after a mini chapter just before the one you're about to read, which has now been added to the beginning of this chapter, and removed. The aim of this chapter is to shine more spotlight on Liam, and less on Dramione, not because it's bad, but because we've been a bit carried away with it for a while now. Apologies.

We wanted to address a few things that happened recently.

First and foremost, an anonymous reader has been doing the rounds on called 'CHILD PORN'. Their name should be enough information for what the review contained. We deleted the review as soon as we noticed and it is no longer on this story. If you see this in someone else's reviews, we recommend that you let them know immediately, because, frankly, they deserve to know.

Second, we have received some… not so positive feedback. Two reviewers sent some rather rude opinions on this story (since deleted). We would like to thank all haters out there for reviewing with delightfully rude four letter words. We appreciate constructive criticism, but please be more kind about it. We put hours into each chapter on top of balancing school and other activities, not to mention the biweekly stories Davido writes under a short time limit for QLFC. We aren't qualified authors. If you don't like it, stop reading. And about Dramione. So? It's not a romance, they just like each other.

On a more positive note, the second chapter of Clockwork has been posted over on ao3 and chapter 3 is on its way. Progress on Chainmail, and especially Silver Snake is increasing.

Additionally, EbonyWonder has some big exams coming up outside of school. She is working hard and doesn't have as much time to write as normal, hence the mini chapter. The exams will be over by the 20th of March when writing will pick up the pace.

Now, REVIEWS!

ItsDerisive: A sparkling review is nice to balance out the yucks we have had on all sides. Thanks. No Pansy x Ron in this fic. Maybe another time? (Davido)

Oh my GOSH that's an amazing idea! This ship will now officially be going into BiT. Thanks for the suggestion! (Ebony)

Guest (s): There were a few marked as guests, and they were all positive. Thanks! (Davido)

Okay. We lied. We have a negative one we didn't delete as it came in later.

Shandi Lear: Nice to hear your opinion (hehe). We like the other stories on here that are similar to ours but we wanted to do one that was our own twist. Once again, if you don't like this, please don't read it and don't review in a hurtful way. When you want to make a suggestion, if you say it in a nicer way we are more likely to consider it (but your review did not suggest anything, it just sounds like hate). ( Ebony)

Okay. Someone had to say it. I wish you the best, but shut UP! Please? (Davido)

Sorry that one was so long.

We should just rename these to 'Terms and Conditions'.

xXxDoubleKxXx

DavidoDaVinci

PS. Liam supports the Wigtown Wanderers, like all decent human beings.

Chapter 19: Quidditch, Secrets, and Tea

"NEEEURGHHH! Argh! Ow…"

"Careful, Potter!" Jake Wallace ran over. "The last thing we want is for you to be facing the Gryffindor seeker with only three limbs."

Harry looked up, cradling his arm. "Who is the Gryffindor seeker, anyway?"

Jake shook his head. "Goodness knows. They've been struggling for a while, but they still have a great team. Oliver Wood as captain and the Weasley twins as beaters, so they're a force to be reckoned with. But they're nowhere near as good as you!"

'Sure.' he thought to himself. 'But, God would I love for the Gryffindor seeker to get an injury…'

He stood up again. "I'll be fine! And they'll be flattened! I don't see the problem."

"Then I don't see why you're continually trying to one-up yourself!"

Harry rolled his eyes. He had only tried the wronski feint three times… he could do it.

Since remembering the Quidditch match a few days earlier, Harry was feeling something he could not ever remember feeling: pressure.

He mounted his broom and flew up again. This time he would get it.

He dived down. He flew up at the last second and…

…hit the ground.

"POTTER!"

Harry let out a faint laugh as he brushed himself off. "Please, call me Harry."

…

"You alright, Potter?"

Harry glanced up at Blaise, having spent the past five minutes playing with his mashed potatoes.

"Yes!" he said hurriedly. "I'm fine."

The other boy winced. "Hate to break it to you but you don't seem fine, whatever you say."

Harry frowned playfully. "When did you get so friendly?"

"When have I stopped?"

Harry snickered and returned to his potatoes, defeated once more.

Daphne giggled at their banter.

Theodore Nott, who was sitting next to Blaise, looked up, stared at Harry for a moment and then shrugged and turned back to his book.

Harry shoved his plate away and stood up to find Ron.

"Mornin'," he said, his face full of steak-and-kidney pie.

"Hi," Harry responded, blanching internally at the lack of manners.

Ron stopped for a moment, as if trying to remember something important that he had forgotten. "Oh! Uh… good luck for the Quidditch game next week, but… I won't be supporting you. Sorry Harry."

He didn't look sorry at all.

"Don't you worry, Ron. I shan't be giving Gryffindor an easy time, either." Harry replied, a

mischievous glint in his eyes.

…

The run up to the first match of the season was, perhaps, the most boring week in Harry's life up to this point.

At least, it certainly felt like it.

Every lesson seemed to last twice as long as usual, in his mind at least. This was not helped by Professor Binns' long and toneless explanation of how, in 1098, the goblin community rebelled against the short-lived institute of elves, ending in Gretna the Grimy losing both of her remaining limbs in one go. Or something similar.

All the other lessons were, likewise, a slog. Draco had to remind Harry after the first lesson of the following day (transfiguration) that it unfortunately was not yet breaktime.

Harry must have dozed off about three times, although one of these was thanks to a spilt sleeping draught from Crabbe's cauldron, when they were meant to be making a swelling solution. He missed his own cauldron by an inch, to the clear terror of Professor Potter.

The only thing which kept Harry awake was the constant call of the Quidditch pitch, which he practised on twice a day. He had, by this point, perfected the wronskei feint, and had been moving on to the very complex diagrams concocted by Jake one late night with what Harry could only assume to be alcohol.

He had, however, made vast improvements, to the terror of Draco.

The big blondie had pointed out a new development to Harry in the middle of the night after the others were fast asleep.

"Harry, look! The muscles on your arms are so much more defined!"

Harry had, in fact, noticed this the evening before while getting ready for bed. Since taking up muggle fighting at the age of eight, he had needed to be quite fit. Harry had always been able to see his muscles… though perhaps not quite as much as now.

He closed his eyes, happy thoughts in the back of his mind.

And, before a moment had passed, the day was upon him.

…

'And he's off, very fast start over here for the wanderers! Passes to Higron! Jamson! And that's a goal against the Kestrels keeper, who-'

Liam slammed his fist down on the wireless, which he had gotten to play old Wanderers matches (he had always supported them) on loop for the last three hours.

He had a calendar in his mind which counted his life in terms of what would be going on at that moment were he in Hogwarts. In the ideal world, he would be supporting a different red themed team against Slytherin at the moment, but he supposed that would be another two years.

Perhaps, he thought, drearily, there would be something more interesting on the radio in real time. Nope. Just the Weird Sisters. Playing 'Spice up your life' again. It had been a few years since they had actually written anything new. Now they just covered Muggle songs. Woop-de-dang-doo. Fantastique. Wow.

He went back to their famous 340-20 game, grumbling to himself.

After the match finished, he flopped down on his quidditch themed duvet dramatically and started brainstorming.

He needed to meet his brother somehow and he definitely wasn't patient enough to wait two whole years. Waiting until Christmas was the only option he had available…

…man.

…

"Morning, Liam," said James, sleepily.

"Hi Dad." Liam replied, shortly.

"So…" His father answered, after a moment. "How ya doing?"

"Don't 'ya' me!" Liam exclaimed, in indignation.

James laughed. "Uh, random question: but, I've failed to find a muggle babysitter, so 'unfortunately', you'll have to join me at Grimmauld Place."

He nearly choked. "Oh! What a… 'shame'." He grinned.

…

"Good morning, Emily." came the voice of Lord Voldemort, from his scarlet armchair, facing the fire. His voice had changed since last they met. It still dripped malice, and sometimes sarcasm, while having undertones giving the false impression of safety. He was still the star student, the prefect, the head boy, and so on that he had been in their school days.

But his voice was altered too. It was higher than before, unnaturally so, and felt primed for a malicious laugh to use throughout any torture that needed to be done. The surefire signs of a split soul.

"Greetings, Tom." Many Death Eaters would never dare to refer to Voldemort by anything other than 'My Lord', all the while saying that they alone were faithful, and all that garbage. However, she had long realised that by using a follower's first name, the Dark Lord was inviting them for banter. But not too much. She still liked her head in the position it was in.

"I have… a question…" Voldemort said, slowly and carefully.

She raised her eyebrows. "What about? Information? Or-?"

"No, no!" he said, waving his… oddly white hand, as though he were middle aged.

Which, arguably, he was.

"It's nothing like that, Byrns," Surname. Formal. Right. "It's just… about your daughter."

He had struck a chord. He could tell. Emily's voice wavered, ever so slightly, at the mention. "And why isn't-?"

"William here?" Voldemort finished. "I thought you would say that. Though you have told me on many occasions that his memories of her are… faulty."

She eyed the ground, and, seeing the moment of sadness, Voldemort smiled to himself.

"Tea?" he asked, making her jump.

"Oh! Right… yes please." she mumbled, noticing as she did so, that even as she spoke, a warm mug found its way into her hands.

There was a moment of silence, as Emily drank, and regained her composure, before Voldemort spoke again.

"I want to speak about Hermione."

…

"Harry, for the last time! I can't remember my parents, and anyway, you've got to go to your game!"

"Hermione, they moved the game to this afternoon thanks to the weather, plus right now, my mother is in the library, trying to find me!"

"And," Draco piped up, thoughtfully, "As long as it actually happened, it would be possible to reco- uh… right… Harry has quidditch." He finished, lamely, at the look on Hermione's face.

"How else are we supposed to find out, Hermione? This kind of information is important and useful and the longer we wait, the less likely it is that we can find out."

"It's been eleven years, it's unlikely that it'll go in the next-"

Harry rolled his eyes.

"Fine! A week from now, we get those memories!"

"Fine!" Hermione answered, storming out.

Harry glanced at Draco. "She'll be fine. Shall I get some food from the kitchens?"

…

Harry stepped an emerald green foot out of the changing room, to cheers from the Slytherin stands. This was what all the training had been for. This day. This moment. This simple Quidditch game. A light breeze came over the field, and he shivered a bit, as Dean Thomas shouted out the names of both teams, Gryffindor's with rather more enthusiasm.

His mouth quivered. This was it.

Madam Hooch grabbed the quaffle.

"And… BEGIN!"