"Here we are," Dolores said, as she re-entered her office with Draco on her heels.

"Father," Draco said, stopping at the sight of him, or perhaps to take in Dolores' atrocious decorative sense. Lucius had been waiting here for over an hour, and still was yet to acclimate. "I wasn't expecting to see you."

"Your father's come to give you a gentle reminder about respect," Dolores said sweetly.

"Has he?" Draco asked, arching an eyebrow at her, and then turned his head to include Lucius as a recipient of the gesture.

"This won't take long, Dolores," Lucius said, and she took the hint fairly quickly, inclining her head and withdrawing from the office again. "Now, Draco—"

"Do they report to her, do you think?" Draco asked, eyeing the kittens on the walls.

He had a point. Lucius flicked his wand to conjure curtains over each of the walls, and then an anti-eavesdropping charm and silencing charm in quick succession.

"Better?"

"I suppose," Draco said. "Now what do you really want?"

"Are you so certain it's not to reprimand you for your behaviour toward Madam Umbridge?" Lucius asked. "I hear you've been disruptive in her lessons."

"Of course I have," Draco said. "Potter and the others don't approve of her syllabus for the year, and they've been making it known."

"So it's stemming from a desire to fit in?" Lucius asked.

"It's stemming from the fact that I agree," Draco said flatly. "I doubt she's going to teach us anything of value at all, and I consider Defence a rather important subject."

"You shouldn't," Lucius said. "It's very unlikely you'll need it."

"If my deception's ever discovered, I don't imagine I'll be allowed to walk away unchallenged, Father," Draco said stiffly. "I imagine being able to defend myself might come in quite handy, and I'd like to be able to do so with more proficiency than a fourth year."

"A fair point," Lucius said. He'd not really considered that, mainly because Dumbledore's lot were the soft, forgiving sort. But perhaps not all of them were. "But there are ways you can learn those skills which don't involve your school lessons. Individual lessons with Severus, perhaps, or some private study."

"Perhaps," Draco said, and Lucius could have sworn he saw a flicker of amusement in his son's grey eyes. "So you'd like me to ease up on Umbridge. I won't make promises—"

"She is not your enemy, Draco," Lucius said.

"Is she on our side?" Draco asked, seeming genuinely curious.

"She is on the Ministry's side," Lucius said. "But her interests and mine align more often than not, and have for quite some time." Draco nodded slowly and seriously. "She could make an excellent ally for you, here, and open doors at the Ministry later."

"More doors than you or the Dark Lord?" Draco asked. "Or Potter or Dumbledore, for that matter?" He eyed Lucius, a small, smug smile on his face. "Exactly."

"You will continue to follow Potter's lead, then?" Lucius asked.

"Obviously," Draco said. "Giving them cause for doubt or even revealing myself for Umbridge's sake would be stupid."

"And if Potter aligns with the Ministry?"

"Then I will too, to keep up appearances." There was something in Draco's tone which suggested he did not think it likely.

"The Ministry are under the impression that they're making progress with him," Lucius said. Another, fleeting glint of amusement flickered over Draco's face. "Is that not the case?" He was silent for a moment, and then shrugged. "Do not withhold information from me, Draco," Lucius warned. "Potter's decision will have significant bearing on how the Dark Lord's plans play out. If you have insight, you must share it."

"No," Draco said, and when Lucius opened his mouth to snarl at his son, Draco shook his head and spoke first. "Not to sharing information, Father. No to your question as to whether the Ministry's making progress."

"Potter will not side with them?"

"It's unlikely," Draco said.

"Why?"

"Would the Dark Lord side with the Ministry?"

"If it suited him," Lucius said.

Draco considered that for a moment, then shrugged and said, "Potter thinks it's the Ministry that ought to align with them."

"That's unexpectedly arrogant of them," Lucius said.

"Which would the Dark Lord fear more—a Ministry fighting him in their own way with Potter's support, or Potter fighting him his way with the Ministry's support?"

"Indeed," Lucius said, considering his son. Despite the hiccough that had been Draco's Sorting, and the fact that he was younger than Hydrus, Draco was close to becoming the perfect son; calm, clever, confident, utterly in control, and with his priorities properly aligned.

Lucius watched him and felt rather proud—of Draco, but also of himself, and Narcissa; it hadn't always felt like it, but they had clearly managed to do right by him.

"On that—on Potter fighting his own way…" Lucius hesitated. "About sixteen years ago, a Seer made a prophecy." Draco's expression remained utterly blank. "It contains information about the Dark Lord, and Potter, but it is only partially known. The Dark Lord seeks it in its entirety. He believes it could hold the key to him besting Potter."

Still, Draco gave no reaction—no expression, no comment, no question.

"There have been attempts made to recover it, which were unsuccessful," Lucius said. The memory of his failure—or, rather, the Dark Lord's response to his failure—was still raw. "But, I have recently learned that Potter himself knows the prophecy's content." He eyed his son. "You are to coax it out of him however you see fit, and as quickly as possible, and report back to me."

Draco was silent for a long time, and Lucius couldn't begin to guess what he was thinking, though it was clear he was. Finally, he lifted his head again:

"Has the Dark Lord sent you to ask this of me?" Draco asked.

"As I said, the Dark Lord wants to know—"

"That's not what I asked," Draco said.

"He tasked me with retrieving it several months ago," Lucius said slowly, "and I've received no indication that that has changed. You are well placed—"

"If it's not a direct order from our Lord," Draco said, "then I'm afraid I can't help you, Father."

"Don't be foolish," Lucius snapped. "This is an opportunity to earn the Dark Lord's favour—for both of us. Just because he has not specifically requested this of us does not mean we should not act. I am your father and you must listen and trust—"

"You above the Dark Lord?" Draco asked. "Would you ask that of me?"

"Of course not," Lucius said impatiently.

"Then don't ask me about the prophecy again," Draco said, this time with a steely edge to his voice. Lucius stared.

"You have— He has given you your own instructions relating to the prophecy?" Lucius asked. It made sense to ask Draco—Lucius himself was trying to do the same thing, after all—but to have done so without Lucius' knowledge… More, to have forbidden Draco from speaking about it with him, when Lucius himself was also taking steps to retrieve it… Did the Dark Lord no longer trust Lucius? Or was this a test—a test for Draco, or a test for Lucius, or both? What would happen if Draco failed? "He has asked you to retrieve it?"

"I'm not going to answer that," Draco said levelly. He adjusted the Gryffindor tie around his neck and straightened. "I think it's best we end this conversation, Father. Before you endanger either of us any further."

With that, he strode to the door, pulled it open, and disappeared.

Dolores poked her head in a moment later, just as Lucius Vanished the conjured curtains on the walls.

"All finished, I presume?" she asked. "I hope it was a constructive conversation?"

"It could have gone better," Lucius said grudgingly and honestly. "I've done all I can, but Draco is stubborn, and while Potter opposes you, I fear my son shall too."

"That won't be a problem, then," Dolores said, with a smug smile. "I've been having private sessions with Mr Potter and expect I'll have won him over soon."

"Draco suggested otherwise," Lucius said. Dolores' smile became rather fixed. Manipulating Cornelius was all about suggestion, about reassurance and stroking his ego, but letting him make his own decisions; it was why Dumbledore never had much luck with him. But Dolores was different; Dolores liked to prove herself, liked to be given opportunities to prove herself. If she was made to feel like she was failing, or losing control she'd act to salvage the situation, and often rashly.

"Did he?" she asked, face turning pink with what might have been anger or might have been embarrassment.

"Apparently Potter's not looking to be won, but rather wishes to win the Ministry over to his own cause," Lucius said. This was what he could salvage from his own situation; the chance to sabotage any budding alliance between Potter and the Ministry. "If he's led you to believe otherwise, I expect you're being manipulated." Lucius took a pinch of Floo powder from the mantel and tossed it into the grate. "Good day, Dolores."

Ginny hopped on one leg, tugging her shin guard back into place; the set had belonged to Charlie back in his third and fourth year, before he filled out properly, and while she was the only Weasley they fit at all, they were still a little big.

"Seeker, I assume?" Angelina asked, staring down at her from behind a clipboard.

"Yeah," Ginny said, and Angelina nodded, jotted something down, and pointed her toward a cluster of Gryffindors about halfway down the pitch.

Ginny's roommate Demelza was there, as were Andrew Higgs and Andrew Kirke from her year, and about six second and third year students, including Colin's brother Dennis, and Romilda Vane. Harry stood just slightly off to the side with Dean Thomas, both boys looking rather awkward:

"—don't mind, I'd just sort of assumed you wouldn't be playing because of your hand so Seeker was back up for grabs—"

"I don't mind," Harry said.

But clearly more people than Dean had thought so; there'd been no Quidditch last year, but back in Ginny's second year, Harry and McLaggen had been the only two to try out. That there were twelve of them out this afternoon meant people had either assumed Harry couldn't or wouldn't play—idiots—or that he might not be quite as difficult to outfly.

Ginny shoved down her guilt—he'd said she should try out—and wandered over to join Harry and Dean properly. Harry brightened a little when she reached them and she wasn't sure if that made her feel better or worse; she was sure he could smell that, because he gave her a wry smile.

"Don't suppose you saw Draco on your way down?" he asked.

"No," Ginny said. Harry frowned. "Why's that?"

"Umbridge asked him to follow her to her office after Defence." He glanced back toward the castle. "I—"

The sudden, shrill sound of Angelina's whistle made Ginny jump and Harry wince.

Angelina flew over with Katie Bell flanking her. Alicia was at the other end of the pitch with the Keeper-hopefuls, including Ron and Cormac McLaggen—the latter must have decided to try out for Keeper instead of Seeker. Ginny's stomach did a backflip; a fairly large factor in her decision to try out had been the thought that if it couldn't be Harry, better her than McLaggen. But if he wasn't trying out—

"Everyone in the air!" Angelina called. "Three laps of the pitch to warm up, and then come back to me and Katie for your next lot of instructions."

Ginny swung her leg over her borrowed school broom and kicked off.

Fred and George showed up armed with a bat and bludger each sometime during the warm up laps, and drifted over to Ginny once she'd stopped.

"Didn't realise you'd be here," Fred said, holding a squirming bludger close to his chest.

"Likewise," Ginny said, lifting her chin. "Angelina didn't think you'd bother."

"And miss the chance to hit bludgers at Ron?" George said, grinning. Ginny frowned.

"You're not going to be too mean to him, are you?" she asked.

"No meaner than the Slytherin beaters'll be if he makes it onto the team," Fred said, shrugging.

"Can't have him joining under false pretences," George agreed.

"What about me?" Ginny asked, eyebrows raised.

"That's a tough one," George mused. "On the one hand, Mum'll murder us if we hurt you…"

"When have you two ever cared about making Mum mad?"

"On the other hand," Fred said, apparently ignoring her, "you'll murder us if you think we're giving you special treatment."

"Regardless of whether that's in a good way or a bad way," George added. "And frankly, you're scarier than Mum."

"Closer, too," Fred said. Ginny smiled.

"So it's not us you've got to worry about," George said. "Harry, on the other hand…"

"On the other hand? Poor taste," Fred said, with a grin and a wave of his hand that made George snigger and Ginny roll her eyes. "But accurate nonetheless. He might have a fit of martyrdom and let you beat him, or he might knock you right off your broom. I'd say the odds are about fifty-fifty."

They turned to watch Harry, who was on his final warm up lap.

"Glove looks to be working all right," George said, sounding pleased.

"Of course it is," Fred said. "We made it, didn't we?"

"And Hermione," Ginny added. Fred waved a hand at her.

Harry was taking his laps slowly, much more slowly than Ginny and most of the other Seeker-hopefuls had. Ginny wasn't sure if he was just wanting to get a feel for the glove again, or if he was trying to convince everyone he wasn't going to be hard to beat during try-outs, or if he was actually struggling.

She did know that he hadn't had a chance to fly at all during the week; between the O.W.L. workload—which he and Ron had been complaining about—the trips into Draco's pensieve, and his detentions with Umbridge, he hadn't had the time.

Harry joined the rest of them a few seconds later and Angelina and Katie coached everyone through drills while the twins did their best to knock them out of the air.

They almost succeeded on several occasions; one of the third years ended up hanging upside-down off their broom before Katie and George rescued him, and Romilda Vane burst into angry tears when a bludger caught her in the side. Ginny herself took one to the thigh—and was especially grateful for Charlie's old leathers—and saw Harry take one to the shoulder when he was too slow to twist away from it.

Still, she made it through, as did Harry, Dean, Demelza, Andrew Kirke, and a second year boy named Ritchie Coote, but Angelina sent the rest back to the changerooms:

"The rest of you: pair up," she said. Seekers only paired up when they were competing against one another, so Ginny made eye contact with Demelza, who grinned and drifted closer. She saw Dean and Harry pair up, leaving Kirke with Cootes. "We haven't got a lot of time this afternoon because I know some of you have other commitments—" She threw a dirty look at Harry, who grimaced. "—so we'll test you out all together. Katie?"

"Three snitches," Katie said, holding up her cupped hands. Ginny could see gold glinting between her fingers, but, strangely, red and silver too. "One per pair. Once someone in your pair's caught your snitch, you can both go after any of the uncaught snitches."

"If you don't catch a snitch, you won't continue in the try-outs," Angelina said. "If you do, you'll either move into the next round of our try-outs, or you'll become our Seeker." She tossed her braids over her shoulder. "Potter and Thomas: red, Weasley and Robins: silver, Kirke and Cootes: gold." She nodded at Katie who released the snitches. Ginny's eyes followed silver and she took a deep breath.

Angelina bared her teeth in a rather fierce smile:

"Impress me," she said, and blew sharply on her whistle.

Ginny streaked into the air, Demelza at her side.

"Shouldn't we… you know, fly around and look for it?" Dean asked.

"Go ahead," Harry said, scanning the pitch. He kept finding his eyes drawn to the gold snitch, which was darting in small circles in front of the commentator's box; neither Kirke or Cootes seemed to have spotted it, and were instead flying some sort of patrol around the perimeter of the pitch, searching.

Ginny and Robins didn't seem to have spotted theirs either - they were drifting in a small circle in the middle of the pitch, a little lower than Harry and Dean.

Harry was too busy searching for a small glint of red to look at Dean properly, but out of the corner of his eye he could see the other boy squinting at him, and on the slight breeze caught the scent of suspicion.

Dean was clearly wondering if Harry was having him on.

"You're never this still in games," Dean said eventually.

"That's because there are bludgers and other players to worry about," Harry said.

"So… you're just going to sit here?" Dean's eyes flicked down to the glove holding Harry's broom.

"For now, yeah," Harry said. Dean pursed his lips and rubbed his thumb over the grip of his broom, apparently thinking. Below them, Ginny shot off toward the far end of the pitch with Robins in tow, and Harry saw what she must have spotted; a flash of silver.

Another glint caught his eye—gold again—and still unseen by Kirke or Cootes. He shook his head and looked for something small and red and winged…

After several minutes—during which time Dean began to fly in circles around Harry—he finally saw it:

There!

It was in front of the Gryffindor section, almost impossible to see against the scarlet of the stands. He dropped a few feet, giving his left arm a little tug to make sure the glove was still secure, and when it didn't budge, tipped his broom forward into a shallow dive.

Dean's soft, questioning sound became an alarmed one, lost quickly over the whoosh of wind in Harry's ears.

Dean's broom couldn't match the Firebolt's acceleration, and Harry'd had a head start. It was a clear run down and across to the stands, and when the snitch flitted to the side along the stands, Harry twisted sharply to the side.

His knee hit the stands with a thud muffled by his leathers, but he barely felt it; the moment he'd stopped he urged his broom forward again, along the line of the stands, hand outstretched—

It was awkward; usually he'd flatten himself against his broom, but his glove was holding so tightly that his arm was in the way, and he didn't dare adjust his grip properly, not when he was so close…

His fingers brushed cold metal, then leaned further forward and managed to hook a wing. His left arm protested at the strange angle—it was practically underneath him—but Harry ignored it and leaned forward further to close his fingers over the snitch.

He jerked to a stop, shoulder and elbow jarring—

"Ow— Open!" he said hastily, and felt the glove release. He repositioned himself on his broom, shaking his arm out. He had a strange, phantom feeling of rotating his wrist, of flexing his fingers, though of course, he did neither of those things, and the glove remained still and open.

Harry's stomach clenched.

"Did you get it?" Dean asked; he was about ten feet behind Harry, eyes on the wings fluttering out of Harry's fist.

"Yeah," Harry said, clearing his throat. He twisted to look for Angelina. He spotted her with Katie, down near the centre of the pitch and lifted his hand into the air. Katie gave a whoop that made Harry smile, and Angelina wrote something down and gestured to them.

Close, Harry thought, and flew over.

"Nice work," she said, and Harry dropped the red snitch into her outstretched hand. "Gold's still out there—" Her braids danced as Dean zipped away. Harry looked to where he'd last seen the gold snitch, but it was no longer there.

He shot upward and did a quick rotation, taking in the pitch:

Alicia had the Keeper perspectives in the air and was running them through some basic flying drills while Fred and George hit a bludger back and forward. Kirke was down near them, circling the goalposts and probably looking for the snitch. Cootes was stationary about a third of the way down, looking around, though he started to move again as Harry watched. Ginny and Demelza were at the other end of the pitch, searching, but too relaxed to have spotted anything, and Dean was skimming over the Hufflepuff stands.

"Where are you?" he muttered, even as he began to drift toward the girls; it could be an advantage for Seekers to be on their own, but it could also be a massive disadvantage, depending on where the Snitch happened to appear. By sticking close to his competition, he'd be levelling the playing field, but he'd also make sure he was in with a chance regardless.

A flash made him turn toward the Keepers, but it was just someone's watch or a bit of jewellery. Shaking his head, Harry flew until he was within about fifteen feet of Ginny.

"Nice catch," she said, nodding over toward the Gryffindor stands.

"Thanks," he said. "Ange said there's only gold left, so did you get yours, or…?"

"She got it," Robins said. "Only just—" Ginny pulled a face at her and Robins grinned. "—but it doesn't really matter if it was close or not, does it?" She sighed. "Should have gone for Keeper instead."

"Don't you want Seeker?" Harry asked.

"I'm a Chaser," Robins said. "But I'd take Seeker if it got me on the team." She straightened, then relaxed again. "Bugger, thought I saw it over by Johnson."

Ginny suddenly darted forward, and Harry didn't think, just took in the focus on her face and dashed after her. He couldn't see what she was after. He thought she might be feinting, but if she wasn't… His broom was better, but he kept pace alongside her, ready to change direction the moment she did, or to surge ahead the moment he saw the snitch.

After another few seconds she slowed into a series of horizontal corkscrews, then turned and grinned.

"You were feinting," Harry said, slowing too. Open. He adjusted his grip slightly. Close.

"Got to keep everyone on their toes," Ginny said. She glanced back over her shoulder; Delemza and Dean had converged and started toward them, but stopped when they noticed Harry and Ginny had.

Harry rose higher into the air and Ginny flew up after him.

"How's the glove?" she asked.

"Pretty good," he said. They both glanced down at it. "A bit weird, but with practice—"

He shot past her, then tipped his broom back to face her and—with the sky below him and the grassy pitch below— thought Open and swung one-handed back into an upright position. Close.

Ginny, who'd twisted and taken off, skidded to a stop a little bit past him, scowling good naturedly.

"Show off," she said. Harry grinned and shrugged, righting his glasses.

Then he really did see the snitch, and jerked forward again. He wasn't sure if Ginny realised or if she was just trying to stop what she thought was another feint, but she moved right into his path, blocking him, and Harry was forced to turn to avoid a head-on collision. Their sides collided instead, and—Open—Harry rolled with the impact, swinging under his broom.

He let it drop while he righted himself, then—Close—took off toward the snitch, Ginny not far behind.

It was maybe forty feet up, almost directly above where Angelina and Katie were, with open air all around it.

Open, he thought, adjusting his grip so he could lean forward comfortably, Close. He lifted his right hand, reaching, when the snitch dropped and disappeared under him.

He pulled his broom around hard and twisted after it, almost colliding with Ginny who made a sound that was half-yelp-half-laugh, and the snitch was right there—

He reached for it again and then something—Ginny—knocked into him, sending them both into a spin. Harry's right hand was still outstretched so he tried to close the fingers of his left hand more tightly over the handle of his broomstick— and felt nothing.

His left fingers didn't listen, found nothing to grab, nothing to hold—

Panic stole over him and his heart raced, and the pitch blurred as he spun, but he wasn't slipping, wasn't falling. There was pressure on his forearm, on his elbow, straps—

The glove.

The glove, which, of course, was still holding his Firebolt, even if he couldn't feel it. Harry shoved the panic down and pulled up, steadying himself.

Ginny was a few feet away with her broom back under control again too. Her eyes were bright and her face was flushed and strands of her red hair were falling loose around her face. She flashed him a grin and wheeled around, searching for the snitch, and Harry, who had a strange, swooping feeling in his stomach—probably from the spin or some residual panic—shook himself.

The snitch had dropped again but hadn't gone far; Harry spotted it at the same time as Ginny must have because she was right alongside him as he dove down toward it. The snitch flew right for the ground, and Ginny wasn't slowing which meant Harry couldn't either. In fact, he urged his broom to go faster—below the snitch, he saw Katie and Angelina fly out of the way as he and Ginny pelted right at the ground—fingers stretching—

Ginny gave his wrist a playful nudge—he had the advantage of longer arms—and one of the snitch's wings brushed his knuckles.

Harry was so close to it, it was almost his, but they were only ten or so feet from the grass—

Ginny swore and pulled away and a mere fraction of a second later, the snitch hit Harry's palm.

Harry yanked his broom handle up hoping that would be enough, then thought Open and let himself fall, rolling as he landed. Rather than crash handle-first into the grass and splinter, his Firebolt quivered and dropped down beside him.

"You all right?" Ginny asked, from a few feet above him, as Angelina's whistle trilled.

"Yeah," Harry said, grinning down at the snitch. The second one—out of three—that he'd caught that afternoon, which surely meant he'd be back on the team. He pushed himself to his feet. "Yeah, I'm good. Er… you?" He tried not to smile quite so widely—after all, him being Gryffindor's Seeker again meant she wouldn't make the team this year.

She considered the question, still looking flushed and windswept.

"Yeah," she said after a moment. "I flew well, you flew better." She shrugged and smiled a genuine smile. Harry's stomach did something strange, probably out of relief that she wasn't upset.

"Brilliant flying," Angelina said, coming to a stop in the air beside Ginny. "Both of you, actually. I was getting worried no one would have caught it before you had to go, Potter."

"What is the time?" he asked.

Angelina tilted her watch at him and Harry baulked at the time; he was due in detention with Umbridge in ten minutes.

"First training is tomorrow afternoon!" Angelina said, as Harry hopped back onto his broom and took off toward the changerooms.