Harry tossed and turned that night.
He drifted in and out of semi-consciousness; the dreams he had melted together one after the other and blended seamlessly into his fits of wakefulness. His anger and fear at almost being caught by Umbridge fueled the strange dreams, and though he woke many times to find himself sweating and breathing hard, he would always eventually drift back to sleep, falling into the next bizarre vision.
The last one found him sitting by the fire, talking to Sirius. Harry was smiling contently as he listened to his godfather congratulate him on his first drink of fire whiskey.
"It's much more potent than Muggle spirits, you know," Sirius mused, giving Harry a small poke of déjà vu."Gets you goofy way faster."
"That's what it felt like…" Harry agreed, even though he had never actually had any Muggle spirits before. He was just happy to be talking to his godfather, happy to be sitting here in front of this warm fireplace staring into the kind yet dark eyes of the older wizard. There was Crookshanks as well, pawing at Sirius's head and mewing softly. Harry lazily stroked the cat's arched back, still grinning.
"And what about this girlfriend of yours?" Sirius asked, a look of amused appraisal crossing his face. "Have you kissed her yet?"
Harry shrugged shyly and pulled Crookshanks away from the fire. "A few times, actually. She's the captain of the Quidditch team. I really like her." He blinked at himself, musing that he hadn't actually realized it until now, but he liked Angelina a lot.
"That's good. So it wasn't just the fire whiskey, then?" Sirius chuckled at Harry's look.
"I suppose I should tell Cho it's off…" Harry found himself saying quietly.
"Who's Cho?"
Harry opened his mouth to answer but Sirius let out a sharp gasp and suddenly the flames rose up like mad, causing the young boy to jump back anxiously. "Sirius, what's wrong?" Harry drew his wand from his pocket, watching in horror as the other wizard's head twisted and turned around in the fire; he was choking and sputtering as if he were struggling with something or someone. Then Harry saw the hand in Sirius's hair, pulling at him as if trying to yank his head off his shoulders.
"Let go of him!" Harry yelled, lunging at the fireplace and actually putting his hands in the flames.
"Harry, don't!" Someone had grabbed hold of him before he could feel anything and was pulling him back roughly. Harry slapped at the hands pulling on his shirt and arm, twisting his body angrily in effort to release himself, but the hands persisted. Now both he and Sirius were fighting for their freedom: he in order to help his godfather, and Sirius in order to escape persecution for daring to be a kind soul rather than the murderer everyone thought he was.
Harry rolled around in his bed, physically kicking at his sheets and grunting angrily at his dream attacker.
The hands released him finally and he heard a hurt gasp escape his attacker's lips. Harry whirled around to see who had been holding him and he saw to his astonishment that it had been Angelina.
"What are you doing?" He bellowed at her. "Sirius needs my help-!" Harry pointed at the fireplace and made to lunge at it again, but he found no fire, no Sirius. "But…b-but he was just there! He's gone, now, thanks to you."
"I don't get you, Harry," Angelina told him, crossing her arms resentfully. "I thought you liked me. Why would you yell at me like that?"
"You don't understand," Harry panted, tearing his eyes away from the empty fireplace. "I do like you, but Sirius is in trouble and you can't just-!"
"Sirius is probably back in Azkaban by now. Umbridge got him. Grow up Harry."
His eyes bulged and he stared at her as if she were mad. "What?"
"I said grow up and take me to the Yule Ball like you promised. I've got a new dress!" And she beamed at him, even though he knew she must have clearly seen the look of immense panic and terror on his face.
"What, what…?" Harry moaned in his sleep, rolling over onto his stomach, which felt as if it were filling with the empty feeling of sadness like one filled a water goblet with liquid. "Can't be…Gotta stop her…"
Next thing he knew he was chasing after her down the empty halls of Hogwarts yelling for her to come back and help him find his godfather, damn it! She ran much faster than him, and he had to pump his legs double-hard to keep up with her. Angelina turned sharply around a corner and disappeared, and when he skidded after her he found himself in that same, dark corridor…staring at the mysterious door at the end. All thoughts of Angelina and Sirius vanished and he concentrated all of his energy on getting through that door. He really fought for it this time, somehow feeling that he was going to make it. He was going to make it!
"Harry!"
"No!" Harry let out a disappointed cry, jerked sharply, and snapped his eyes open. He was glaring up at Dean's startled face. "What?" he snapped. The second he said it he realized that he hadn't meant to, and that the anger was probably the last lingering fragments of the dream. Sighing wearily, Harry rubbed his eyes and put his glasses on. "Sorry. What is it?"
"You've missed breakfast, mate." Dean frowned, attempting to mask his obvious hurt at being yelled at. "Practice is in fifteen minutes and Angelina's got a foul face on. Better hurry up."
"Great," Harry grumbled, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed and sitting up. He stifled a yawn and scratched his shoulder blade awkwardly before standing. His other roommates, including Ron, were all dressed and had gone. Dean was just pulling on his shoes when Harry took up his towel from the iron furnace in the middle of the room. He showered and got dressed as quickly as possible, but by the time he was hurrying down the stairs into the common room he only had three minutes to be down at the pitch. Cursing under his breath, Harry made a mad dash through the portrait hole and didn't stop running until he was dragging himself limply through the door of the changing rooms, his chest feeling as if his lungs would explode.
"Sorry I'm…late…" he panted, throwing his stuff on a bench next to Ron and collapsing beside them. Angelina grunted in response, clearly distracted and nervous. Harry thought this a bad omen for the hour ahead, and made an effort to push her behavior in his dream to the back of his mind. Ron produced a rather fine-smelling parcel from his bag and sat it on Harry's lap.
"Knicked you a muffin and a bit of bacon," he told him apologetically. "I thought it would be best to let you sleep. You looked knackered." He chuckled as he watched Harry hungrily unwrap the napkin and take a huge bite of blueberry muffin, accompanied by two strips of bacon.
"Thanks," Harry said thickly, smiling in appreciation despite his full mouth. "But next time wake me. I'd rather be tired and full than awake and hungry." He gulped down the last of the bacon and rewrapped the left-over piece of muffin.
"You were also kinda tossing and turning in your sleep last night," Ron added as they began to change into their Quidditch gear. "Sounded like another bad dream."
"Yeah, it was…" Harry trailed off, his eyes narrowing as he thought over the strange occurrences of his nightmare. "I'll tell you about it later," he added when he saw Angelina pulling her whistle from her locker.
The team got dressed and Angelina gathered them around her.
"Okay listen up, you lot," she began confidently. "Even though this is just a practice drill, we have to treat it a little differently today. I saw Malfoy and Smith out there a minute ago. No sign of Umbridge or that Revenclaw bloke yet, but I wouldn't count on them not showing up."
She went on speaking to them, telling them that if they just tried to pretend that the others weren't there and acted natural, yet behaved, they would get through it all right. She urged them not to let anything Malfoy or Umbridge said upset them. Harry could feel her intense need to get through this, and he understood that she was counting on them to help her. Of course, she also acknowledged the absurdity of it all, but relented that sometimes a person had to put up with certain things to move ahead.
"She's decided to pick on us for whatever reason," Angelina told them, probably choosing not to say that that reason was sitting among them wearing glasses and sporting a lightening-shaped scar on his forehead. "Even though she claims the other teams are going through it, too, I doubt they get it as bad as we will…but no matter! We'll show them why Gryffindor is the best Quidditch team at Hogwarts!"
They all cheered 'here, here!' and prepared to leave, but Professor McGonagall walked in just then, wearing her scarlet cloak as if she were attending an actual match rather than a practice drill.
"I've just a few words; then I'll be on my way," she said, surveying them all austerely over the rim of her spectacles. "I have grown accustomed to seeing the Quidditch Cup in my office, and I don't expect that it would be removed any time soon, hmm?" They all nodded silently, really feeling the pressure. Harry did think it was absurd—it was only a practice for Merlin's sake! Professor McGonagall continued. "Now Professor Umbridge has gotten all the support she needs from the Ministry and from certain teachers at this school," Harry smiled to himself at the way she said 'Umbridge' and 'certain teachers' as if she'd caught a stench in her nose. "But as for myself and the Headmaster, well…you know where we stand. We expect you all to uphold this code and represent the Gryffindor House properly, is that clear?"
"Yes, Professor," everyone chimed.
"Good. Miss Johnson?"
"Ma'am?"
"I trust that even though you'll be practicing for up-coming matches you won't choose today to, eh…well reveal anything special…?"
Angelina looked at McGonagall with a blank expression for a beat, clearly not catching on. The Professor cleared her throat and made a gesture towards Angelina's playbook, which was sticking out from the shelf in her locker. The girl piped up then, shaking her head vigorously. "Oh! No, Professor, absolutely not. I mean, I've got things, but I won't be letting any of the enemy team members lurking out there get to see them. No way."
"I was wondering about that…" Dean whispered.
"Me too…" Harry muttered, relieved.
"Good girl." McGonagall nodded approvingly at the young captain, giving them all a wink and a smile before sweeping out of the changing room in a flash of scarlet.
"Right then." Angelina took a deep breath. "Let's go."
Harry's mind ran the course of his bizarre dream as they shouldered their brooms and filed one after the other out of the dressing room.
The day was gray and overcast. The clouds moved slowly, blocking the sun, and Harry knew it would probably rain before long. He had the slow burning feeling of dread coming upon him. Ron was quiet, as was most of the team. It was as if they were heading toward a match they knew they would lose. The funny thing was: this wasn't a match at all.
Harry watched Angelina as she led them, wondering what she was thinking. He knew better than to consider dream Angelina any sort of truthful representation of real Angelina, but the events of his nightmare stayed with him, lingering at the back of his mind like those clouds that threatened rain.
"Harry, look!" Ron hissed, stopping short at the threshold of the tunnel to the pitch. Harry turned to the direction Ron was pointing and his jaw dropped. Predictably, Draco and Zacharius Smith were standing at the far end of the field, where the spectators normally entered for a match. They were accompanied by Tom Hacking of Ravenclaw and…Hermione. "What in the bloody hell is she doing out there!"
Harry shook his head, somewhat shocked into silence. Katie nudged them both forward impatiently, and so they had to move on and walk out onto the pitch, glaring at Hermione, who looked completely uncomfortable and apologetic.
"She's a prefect, isn't she?" Dean said to them when they were in the middle of the field, where they normally started real matches. "So are Tom and Zacharius."
"And Draco…" Harry finished, nodding. "That makes sense, I guess."
"No it bloody well doesn't!" Ron spat, outraged. "Why would Hermione be out there with them?"
"Malfoy doesn't seem too happy about it, look." Harry gestured to Draco, whose face was set in irritation and disgust. "This might be a good thing, Ron."
Ron didn't seem convinced; his face remained taught with anger and he continued to mutter under his breath. Angelina ran across the pitch towards where Hermione and the others where standing. Harry watched her confer with Malfoy, who seemed to have elected himself leader of the pack. He could tell even from yards away that Malfoy was being an evil prat, but Angelina seemed to be doing her best to put up with it. It isn't fair she has to take his crap, Harry thought bitterly. And where is Umbridge?
The ominous presence of the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher was not felt, and upon searching the length of the pitch and even squinting up into the bleacher towers, Harry could not find her at all. It almost made him feel better, but he knew he couldn't count on this being a good sign. He watched Angelina make her way back over to them once she'd stopped to spare a quick passing of words with Hermione. He took notice that she was smiling a bit, even though Hermione was still looking put upon and regretful.
"Hey, looks like it won't be so bad," their captain informed them upon her return. "Dimwit over there told me Umbridge has a meeting, so they're all assembled to do her dirty work."
"Why isn't that so bad? Draco's a menace." Ron pointed out. "Especially with no teachers around."
"Well, they just have some stupid list—that code I had you guys read—and they won't be able to tell half of it based on a practice drill. The rest would really have to be judged during an actual match, wouldn't it?" Angelina was speaking as if really thinking aloud. It seemed that none of this had occurred to her before. Indeed, Harry hadn't bothered to think of it that way, either.
"So what do we do?" Fred asked.
Angelina shrugged. "Just practice. Like I said. If they spot something they don't like, they can only make a note of it and pass it on to Umbridge."
"That's it?" the twins chimed.
"Yeah. Bonkers, innit?" Angelina's relieved smile grew wider, now.
"I still say Malfoy will make trouble…" Ron grumbled. Harry agreed with him, but said nothing.
Angelina blew her whistle and gestured that they should get started. Malfoy had bellowed a rather aggravated "Stop poking around and practice already, will you?" but they ignored him. They mounted their brooms and kicked off. Harry lingered, flying low and aligning himself with Angelina.
"What did Hermione say?" he asked.
She smiled and winked at him. "McGonagall picked her to help; she got a note this morning and she had no choice. She's really sorry."
Harry couldn't help but return Angelina's smile, even when she blew her whistle again, causing him to shoot up ahead of her to escape the sharp noise. They did some standard laps around the pitch, and he used the time to think about the details of the so-called "Code" that Umbridge had written out as a standard of behavior for all groups, teams, and clubs.
There was number one: All students participating in any group, team, or club must have expressed permission from the High Inquisitor to meet/practice, and must inform her in advance of the times and dates of all meeting/practices throughout the school year.
With their secret defense group, that rule had been broken already. Of course, Angelina had been forced to give Umbridge a schedule of Quidditch practices for the next two weeks.
Angelina put them into pairs and they began practicing their passing techniques. Even Harry had to do this, for Angelina had told him early on that she planned on cross-training him in case they had to switch people around for any reason. As he and George passed the Quaffle to each other while running through an obstacle course of Bludgers being hit by the other team members, Harry remembered rule twelve in the code.
Students participating in athletic teams or clubs containing a hierarchy of authority may not in any way engage in relationships that are inappropriate to that hierarchy, or that promote the unfair favoritism of any team or club member by another of higher rank. This includes siblings, housemates, and significant others. Doing so risks immediate disciplinary action by the High Inquisitor, including but not limited to the removal of the students involved or disbandment of the team or club.
Harry ducked a Bludger and caught the Quaffle before it sailed past him into one of the bleacher towers. They switched, and it was Ron and Katie's turn. As his friend took the Quaffle from him, Harry gave him a reassuring smile. His eyes focused next on Angelina, who was on the opposite side of the lineup with her whistle in her mouth.
He figured that she had probably already thought of ways to keep their budding relationship under wraps, and it was fine by him. Relationship? Harry thought. Really? Wow… It was bad enough to have Malfoy and his crew gossiping about them, but to have Umbridge suspend either of them from the team because of it was just rubbish. They would just have to contend themselves with having private study sessions in the Room of Requirement…Harry grinned openly at his foolish thoughts and almost missed the Bludger that was coming his way. Fred had lobbed it right at his head and he had to swerve around, almost knocking Alicia Spinnet off her broom, to avoid it.
He heard laughter from below and looked down to see Malfoy attempting to make fun of him, but he could not hear a word he was saying. Harry thought it was just as well; he didn't care to lose his temper so early in the practice. But, then the blond-haired boy touched his wand to his throat and after moving his lips silently, his voice projected up to them loudly as if he were flying right beside them.
"Keep your wits about you, Potter. If you scare that easily then you'll need all the practice you can get before next Saturday." His heckling voice announced. "If you're allowed to play, that is…" he added evilly.
Zach Smith and Tom Hacking could be heard faintly, laughing along with him. Harry made a mental note to give Zach a good hex when he met up with him again, secret defense class or not. Angelina gave them all 'ignore him' looks, and they continued. Unfortunately Ron missed the Quaffle a few times, and this resulted in more taunting from Malfoy, who seemed to be growing quite fond of the charm he was using to project his voice. He was no damned Lee Jordan, but he provided his own colorful commentary on their drill with almost the same enthusiasm.
"Oh-ho there, Weaselbee! I thought Potter's eyesight was bad, but that was just ridiculous! Maybe you should borrow Potter's glasses, eh?"
"Shut up, you bloody ignoramus!" Ron shot back, but of course Malfoy didn't hear, or pretended not to. When his turn was up, Ron zoomed past Harry to line up, a scowl on his freckled face. Harry hated to think it, but Ron was simply not capable of letting things roll off his shoulders—especially while on a broomstick.
The practice had turned into just another opportunity for Malfoy to bait them, Harry realized as they moved on from the passing drill to do some actual scrimmaging. Angelina released the Snitch and Harry got himself in position, flying laps around the pitch, his eyes searching for that familiar glint of gold. The scrimmages started off shakily, with hints of the last practice looming over them as Ron missed save after save. Of course, Malfoy lost no opportunity to berate him for it.
"Predictable. I'll tell you, Johnson, after seeing this I'm not even worried about next week's match. Weasley lets it in every time!"
"Ignore him, Ron!" Angelina bellowed over Malfoy's booming voice.
Ron nodded but he looked like he was positively beside himself with rage.
Harry wished that he could channel some of that angst into his maneuvering skills, because twice more the lanky Weasley brother let the Quaffle escape his net; the last time almost careening into one of the goals himself. Malfoy guffawed hideously, grating on Harry's nerves. He circled the pitch, going though the list of codes in his head.
Number eighteen: Violence will not be tolerated in any form or fashion. Any student who participates in any violent act (however great or small) will risk the permanent disbandment of their group or team, removal from such group or team, or some other more severe course of action; possibly expulsion.
Shame…Harry thought to himself as his eyes roamed the length of the playing field. Ron looks about ready to pound Malfoy's face in. That would be a sight.
"Focus, Ron! You can do it!" Angelina was saying encouragingly. Harry spared a glance at Ron, who was watching his teammates pass the Quaffle back and forth with trepidation. "Just keep your eyes on the Quaffle and stop it!"
Harry caught sight of the Snitch and flew after it. As he was drawing in on the little flittering thing, he heard Fred and George shout "YEAH RON!" and looked up just in time to see Ron hanging from his broom by one hand. He had kicked the Quaffle away from him and across the field with such force that team members everywhere where scrambling to get out of the way.
Harry was about to join the others' cheering, but was cut off buy an enraged "ARGH!" loud as an elephant's roar. His heart sank. Oh no. Tell me he hasn't hit Malfoy. His silent prayer was answered almost immediately by Draco's angry, booming voice. "YOU DID THAT ON PURPOSE, YOU BLOODY DUNDERHEAD!"
Harry abandoned his route and turned around sharply on his broom. Malfoy was storming across the pitch, and Harry could see even from his position far above that his face was set with outrage. Ron climbed back upright on his broom and watched Malfoy too, an odd look of satisfaction on his face. He did not join the rest of the team, who were gathering together, hovering about Malfoy.
Malfoy started in on them, and it was all Hermione could do not to shout "Ignore him!" She was waving her arms and kicking her legs, and at one point she actually used the same charm Malfoy was using but just as she got out "Please ignore-!" she was cut off. Her mouth was moving but no sound was coming to them, and Harry would have been alarmed but he could hear what Malfoy was saying and his attention immediately snapped back to the Slytherin in the middle of the pitch.
"I've come up with a song for you, Weaselbee! I think you'll like it! It's about how you're the worst Keeper Hogwarts has ever seen!"
"Can it, Malfoy!" Angelina shouted, but Draco ignored her.
"I've got a few lyrics worked out, but I can't figure out the last verse. Maybe you can help!" He was holding his hand to his head, as that was probably where the Quaffle had hit him. Harry would've been impressed with Ron's aim if he hadn't been so angrily engrossed in Malfoy's ranting. "…wanted to add a few more verses! But I couldn't find rhymes to go with fat and ugly, for your mother, see?" he was saying. Harry started, gripping his broom and looking nervously at Angelina, who understood what was happening.
"Shut up, Draco. Ron, stay put." Angelina warned, but Ron was already coming down from his position guarding the rings.
"I couldn't fit in USELESS LOSER, either, for your FATHER, you know?" Malfoy said louder, this time. Fred and George looked at each other and then at Harry. Harry shook his head 'no.' Don't, he mouthed to them. Now Ron was at their level, his face almost purple with anger. Harry made a decision and zoomed down, touching the ground in front of Draco. The others joined him.
"Be quiet, now, Malfoy, or you're in trouble," he warned through clenched teeth. "I mean it. Piss off."
Draco lowered the wand from his throat and sneered at Harry. "Always to the rescue, aren't you Potter? You love those Weasels, don't you? I hear you spend holidays and summers there, right?" He scoffed. "'Course I suppose you have no choice, not having any respectable family of your own. Being raised by filthy Muggles, you're probably used to the stink of the Weasley hovel, aren't you?"
Harry could feel the struggle behind him; hear the grunts of rage as he guessed that Fred and George were probably being restrained. Hermione had run up to Ron, grabbed his arm and pulled him away towards the opposite end of the field as soon as he landed.
"Oh no; not now!" Harry heard Angelina hiss desperately. He looked past Draco to see Professor Umbridge making her way towards them, dressed in an awful green color that made her impossible to miss.
Draco leered at him as he backed away, a smug look of triumph in his eyes. "Or maybe you don't mind that Weasley-stink so much because your filthy Mudblood mother smelled exactly the same, right Potter?"
Something in Harry's brain clicked.
It was as if someone had switched on a red light behind his eyes. He could not feel himself throwing his broom to the ground, or rushing forward, but the next thing he knew he was on Draco in a blazing fit of fury that muted everything around him into white noise. He thought he heard Angelina screaming "GEORGE, HARRY, NO!"
This was only static in his ears as he attempted to pound Draco Malfoy so far into the muddy grass that he remained nothing but a stain on the pitch. His fists connected with flesh and he felt the Slytherin boy's jaw shift awkwardly under the weight of the blow. Next his other fist buried itself in the arrogant arsehole's stomach, and Malfoy doubled over with a groan. George was beside Harry, kicking and punching too, and Harry felt as if he would explode.
He heard someone shout "IMPEDIMENTA!" Harry flew back off of Malfoy and hit the ground hard a few feet away. He was up on his feet again quickly, however; chest heaving with unfiltered rage, but Zacharius and Dean were blocking his way. It was Umbridge who had hit him with the Impediment Jinx, and this only served to add fuel the fire. Fred was still being restrained by Katie, Angelina and Alicia, and George was still rolling around with Malfoy.
Umbridge snatched Angelina's whistle from her mouth and blew on it twice, apparently using the same kind of charm Malfoy had with her wand, so that the sound was even more ear-slitting and thunderous. Everyone covered their ears with their hands, including George and Malfoy, who was scrambling backward away from the twin as quickly as he could.
The quiet calm with which Umbridge spoke next was rather a disturbing change from the chaos that had preceded her.
"Malfoy, do hurry along to the hospital wing. Tom, would you help him please? Thank you." She turned her cold, simpering eyes on Harry. "As for you Potter, and you Weasley, please kindly report to Professor McGonagall's office immediately. I will be with you shortly. I need to have a word with your captain first."
Harry allowed himself one sidelong glance at Angelina, who looked as if someone had punched her in the stomach, before turning on his heel and marching with George off the pitch.