Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Author's Note: I said I needed to update faster, so here it is. Again, big thanks to silentclock. If you haven't already, go and read his newest story: Harry Potter and the Mage's Epoch.

Chapter Thirteen

Harry woke up in a pile of tangled blankets, feeling pleasantly warm. A roaring log fire dispelled the morning's bitter cold. The first thing he saw was a portrait above the fireplace of a family of four. It showed Daphne and her sister sitting down, with their parents standing behind them.

The peaceful silence was disturbed by the unmistakable sound of bacon sizzling in the frying pan. Harry licked his lips as the smell reached him, but he didn't move. The sofa on which he had fallen asleep was remarkably comfortable, especially with the piles of blankets and pillows he was buried beneath. He found himself wanting to stay in exactly the same position for the foreseeable future.

Daphne came into view as she ambled over to him barefoot, wearing only a pair of shorts and a white vest. "You're finally awake then," she said as she handed him a cup of tea and a bacon sandwich. "I thought you'd be hungry." She sat on the coffee table and crossed her legs beneath her, holding a mug of tea in both hands.

"I'll eat anything if someone else is cooking." Harry sat up and shivered as the cooler air touched his bare chest. "Thanks," he said, and didn't waste another second before biting into the sandwich, barely leaving enough time to relish the taste of the grease hitting his taste buds.

"Don't hold back because of me," Daphne said with a little grin, watching him over the top of her mug. She blew her tea and took a tentative sip, and asked, "How's your head this morning? I was starting to wonder if you were ever going to wake up."

"Believe it or not, I'm fine. A bit groggy, but nothing bacon can't fix." He licked the tips of his fingers, his sandwich demolished, and sat back with a small sigh. "Just don't ask me to move anytime soon. Why? Are you okay?"

"I've been awake for hours," she said. "I'm all sorted."

Harry looked at her closely. She was a little paler than usual, but then he hadn't seen her since the summer, so that probably explained why. Her eyes, which were usually wide and engaging, were half closed and dimmed. Her hair hung messily and wavy, as though it had been recently washed and left to dry naturally.

"What is your natural hair colour?" Harry asked, curious. His eyes flickered over Daphne's shoulders, to the portrait. Her dad was balding and grey and was wearing a cheesy wide smile. Harry had expected him to be younger. Her sister, Astoria, was blonde, but her mother was a brunette and had kind hazel eyes. Harry imagined her male patients had adored her at St Mungo's.

"This is somewhat close to natural," Daphne said.

"So you take after your mother in looks as well as her career."

"I don't have her eyes."

"I have my mother's eyes," Harry said. His tea suddenly felt very warm in his chest. "Although everything else is my dad's."

Daphne set down her mug of tea and smiled at him. "Your mum was very beautiful. I saw a picture of her a few years ago."

"My dad certainly thought so."

"He wasn't so bad, either."

Harry grinned at the unintended compliment. "Thanks."

She looked at him in a way that made him think it wasn't so unintentional after all, but he didn't dwell on it.

"I'm sorry for barging in on you last night," Harry said, feeling his cheeks start to burn. "I acted like a bit of an arse."

Daphne shrugged it off. "I'm glad to have the company, Harry. After having roommates for so long I find it can get a bit … quiet here."

There was a tapping on the window and they saw a brown owl cock his head to the side, watching them.

"That's the Prophet," Daphne said. As she walked past him to retrieve the newspaper, the smell of honeysuckle washed over him. "I think you might want to see this, Harry." She bit her bottom lip and handed him the newspaper. "I'm sorry," she said, sitting on the other end of the couch.

Harry's eyebrows drew together and he hesitated to unfurl the paper. He unfolded it and, as he'd expected, his face dominated the back page. That was the sports section. Daphne was watching him carefully, almost wincing as he flipped the paper over to the front page.

"Oh, bugger me sideways." He grimaced as he saw the picture. It took up nearly the whole page, showing him and Anna locked in a fairly passionate kiss, with his scar prominently displayed. He thought for a moment her identity would be hidden, but magical pictures liked to move. Anna had also been named, somehow. He felt numb and more than a bit disgusted as he continued to stare at himself. "Merlin, is that really how I kiss? That's not a pretty sight." He turned the paper in Daphne's direction and she leant across to get a better look.

"To be fair, it doesn't look like you're putting in much effort." Daphne glanced at the picture again. "Makes me wonder how I look when I kiss."

"I'd bet my vault it's better than how I do."

After a few moments of staring at the picture, Daphne nudged him. "Are you okay? You know, about you and her breaking things off?"

"Huh?" Harry said. "Oh, yeah. I'm fine about that. It's everything else I'm worried about. Just look at the headline."

It read: Potter Catches More Than Just The Snitch!

"It sounds like I caught a disease or something!" Harry huffed.

Daphne snorted and hastily covered her mouth. It wasn't enough to stop the giggles. "Do you want me to check you, just in case? I am a healer." She only laughed harder at the glare she received. "Oh, come on, Potter. It's not that bad. What's the worst that can happen? Her brother's on the same team, big deal. What's he going to do? Threaten you?"

"Probably…" Harry folded the paper and threw it onto the coffee table in disgust. "But it's not him I'm worried about. If Phil thinks this will cause a problem, I'm done for."

"Don't be silly." Daphne rolled his eyes. It looked much like a parent would when their child said something only a child could. "Can you imagine the uproar that would cause? He'd be mad to fire you."

Harry met her eyes and wondered how pathetic he looked. He was only half-joking when he asked, "Can I stay here and hide?"

"Only if you promise to do all the housework," Daphne said teasingly.

"I won't even use magic."

"Is it really that bad?" Daphne asked. "You're used to being famous. The press might be a bit worse than usual, but it'll die down after a while."

Harry dropped his head in to his hands. "There'll be a media frenzy. I wouldn't be surprised if they're waiting outside my front door. Anna's probably being bombarded with questions as we speak. Oh, Merlin, what if she speaks to them?"

"You're really upset by this?" Daphne asked, taken aback. She moved so she was sitting by his side and put her arm around his back. "Come on, you've had far worse than this. I remember Rita Skeeter's articles."

"She never really bothered me that much. In a way it couldn't really affect me, but this can. What will I do if I'm kicked out? Other clubs might refuse to sign me, and I don't even want to play for another club." Harry swiped his forehead in frustration. "How the hell did they even get the picture? I was in my personal box."

Daphne placed a hand under his chin and forced him to look at her. She looked more serious than he'd ever seen her. "Calm down, Harry. You won't be fired for this. You're more popular than ever at the moment. The fans love you right now. Look at the sports pages and you'll see. If Phil tries to get rid of you he'll have a riot on his hands." She offered him a comforting smile, which he returned. "I promise you, this will be fine."

Harry stayed quiet for a long moment. Daphne was right, of course. This didn't mean he'd be losing his job. Merton might not even care all that much. He was just being paranoid, although he felt he had good reason to feel that way. He didn't know what he'd do if he couldn't play Quidditch.

"Now, are you done acting like a little bitch?" Daphne asked, grinning widely.

"Yeah, yeah. I feel stupid now," Harry admitted.

"And so you should." Daphne sat back on her heals and tilted her head. "Stick around for a while. You can help me make dinner."

Harry raised his eyebrows at that. He couldn't cook, as the Dursley's knew very well. Vernon had once accused him of trying to poison them all.

"What are you making?"

"It's Sunday," Daphne said as she hopped off his legs. "Take a wild guess."

"A Sunday roast, then," Harry muttered. "Have you ever cooked it before?"

"Nope," Daphne said, but that didn't stop her beaming at him. "But there's a first for everything, isn't there? Now get off your arse and come and help me."

Harry pushed away the covers and stretched as he stood up. "You know this will go wrong, don't you?"

Daphne waggled her finger at him. "Only with that attitude."

"Just don't blame me when this all goes tits up."

He took a good look around as he put his shirt on. He'd been too drunk last night and it had been too dark to see much of anything. Daphne was in the kitchen, walking around the table placed in the middle of the room, banging pots and pans. The only other room in the cottage was the living room, where Harry had woken up. The cream walls were bare apart from the portrait over the fireplace. An oak staircase started in the corner of the room, and Harry could just make out a door at the top of the stairs.

"I'll just go wash up," Harry said.

From behind the chicken she was now holding at eye-level, Daphne grunted something, which he assumed meant to go ahead. When he came back downstairs, he found her sitting at the table, cookbook in hand. She looked puzzled.

"Fire," Harry said.

"What?" Daphne asked without looking up.

"If in doubt, use fire."

Daphne looked at him like he was crazy. She shook her head after a moment. "No, you can get started on peeling the potatoes and chopping up the veg."

Harry plucked his wand from his pocket. He pointed it at the potatoes and vegetables and with a few charms they were soon chopping and peeling themselves.

"I could call my elf if you want," Harry offered, but received a glare in return.

Daphne lowered the book. "Do you know how to do this?" She gestured to the chicken on the table between them.

"I know the right spells, but I'm not very good at them." Harry shrugged apologetically. "Like I said, I've got an elf."

There was tapping on the window for the second time that morning. Hedwig was perched on the windowsill, a letter tied to her leg. Harry heaved himself off the chair and opened the window. Snow had fallen overnight, covering the cottage rooftops. Hedwig swooped in to the kitchen and landed on the table. She eyed the chicken, which Daphne swiftly moved from the owl's reach.

The letter was from Sirius.

"Where the hell are you?" Harry read aloud. He penned a quick reply and tied it around Hedwig's leg, before sending her back to London.

"I've got it," Daphne said.

Harry knew it was going to go wrong, and he was correct. It took two hours before they eventually sat down to eat the dinner, in which time he'd used a substantial number of spells to stop the kitchen burning down. They'd eventually charmed the chicken to roast, while Daphne cooked everything else on her own.

"It looks…" Harry eyed the food on his plate. "Well, I'm hungry enough to eat anything."

Daphne poked at a carrot. "I don't suppose you've got a spare elf?"

The gravy was too watery, the potatoes turned out too soft and were made into mash, and the chicken was edible, but barely.

Daphne put down her knife and fork on her empty plate. "I suppose it wasn't too horrendous for a first attempt."

Harry managed a weak grin. "I've had worse."

Snow started to fall as dessert was served. The treacle tart was only slightly burnt, but it washed down well enough with a glass of white wine. Before they could finish the bottle, Madam Pomfrey called through the fireplace.

Daphne set down her glass on the table, grabbed some floo powder, and stuck her head in the flames. Harry couldn't help staring at her barely covered arse.

Seamus wasn't often right, but he was right about Daphne.

Daphne pulled her head out of the fire, groaning. "Ellie Jenkins has had another accident."

"How?" Harry asked. "It's a Sunday. Not even I manage to injure myself on Sundays."

Daphne managed a weak chuckle. "Apparently she tried to brew a beauty potion and blew up her dorm room. I've got to go and help."

Harry stood up, glancing around the cottage. "Of course. Do you know where I left my jacket?"

"It's behind the sofa." Daphne picked up her wine and finished what remained in the glass. "Sorry to kick you out, Harry. How about we do this again sometime?"

Harry straightened out his sleeves. "Which bit? Me knocking on your door in the middle of the night or cooking Sunday lunch?"

"I'd prefer the cooking lunch part," Daphne said, grinning. "But you know where to come if you don't fancy apparating home or taking the floo the next time you drink yourself stupid."

They stood there, awkwardly looking at each other for a minute, until a log popped on the fire.

"Right. I'll see you next Sunday." Harry wondered if he would, but he was certain of one thing: he wouldn't be coming back for the food.

When Monday morning rolled around, Harry felt his chances of making it through the day unscathed were better than he'd initially thought. He'd had visions of a riot starting outside his house. He'd apparated straight into the back garden when he'd come home from Daphne's house, wary of using the front door. He needn't have worried, as only a handful of reporters had been mingling around in the square. Once night had fallen, they'd realised no answers were forthcoming and left.

However, he knew that wouldn't be the case at Puddlemere. He fully expected a mob of reporters lying in wait outside the gates, which was why he wasn't apparating to work. He was taking the floo to training instead.

Despite feeling a whole lot better that one problem was going to be avoided, his nerves were still on edge. He was expecting a showdown with Merton and Phil the moment he entered the building, and he hoped he wasn't being too naïve when he hoped it wouldn't come to anything more than raised voices.

Harry pushed his bowl of porridge away and stood. There was little point in trying to eat, so he squared his shoulders and ignored the churning in the pit of his stomach. It was best to just get the ordeal over with as quickly as possible. He hesitated only for a moment as he stepped into the fire and hurtled through the flames.

He was spewed out of the fireplace in Puddlemere's player's entrance, which was a small room with a window overlooking the training pitches. He brushed the soot off his robes and made for the door, when it flew open. Merton stormed in to the room, his mouth twisted in a snarl.

Before Harry had a chance to speak, Merton strode straight at him. Harry backpedalled, hitting the wall with a thump. He grunted, but kept calm.

"What the hell are you playing at, Potter?" Merton demanded, his breath scorching against Harry's nostrils. "First my fiancé, and now my sister? Have you got some personal vendetta against me or something?"

Harry struggled for something to say. Merton's nose was millimetres from his own. He'd tried all night to think of a convincing answer, but every reason he came up with sounded shallow to his own ears.

"I didn't know you were related," Harry said. His wand was nestled in his pocket, pressing against his hip, almost burning his skin. He wouldn't use it. "It doesn't even matter anymore. We broke up. She called things off."

"I know," Merton growled. "She said you were cheating on her."

"She's wrong," Harry said. "I can explain it all."

Merton's eyes narrowed. "Then explain. Anna wouldn't lie about this."

"I never said she would," Harry said. "But that's doesn't mean she's right. I met a friend in the pub and walked her home. Anna thought there was more to it."

"Is there?"

"She's just a friend," Harry said.

The fire in Merton's eyes dimmed and he stepped back.

"We had a few dates, but that was it," Harry said. "I wouldn't have even done that if I'd known who she was."

"How could you not know, anyway?" Merton asked suspiciously. "It's not as though it's some big secret. Didn't you ever talk to each other? Actually." He grimaced, shaking his head. "I don't even want to know."

Harry could agree with that. He and Anna hadn't done all that much talking, but it wasn't something you told her older brother.

"You know why she never told me," Harry said. "She knew I'd stop it before it went any further."

Merton nodded slowly, half-heartedly. "You're right. Probably." His shoulders sagged and he sat down heavily on the table. "Do you think she was trying to get back at me?"

"What?" Harry asked, nonplussed. "Get back at you for what?"

"When Anna was young, her dream was to play for England one day," Merton said. His eyes lowered to the ground and he swiped his hair from his forehead. "She wasn't good enough to make the House team at Hogwarts, let alone a professional team."

"That's something you'll have to ask her," Harry said delicately, but he didn't think it was entirely true. "Maybe she's a bit peeved that you made it and she never even got started, but you're still her brother. She's got to be happy for you."

"Yeah, maybe." Merton heaved himself to his feet with a sigh. "Listen, maybe I'm thinking too much about this. You've got a bit of a reputation and I thought you were messing her around."

Harry shrugged it off. "I was expecting a confrontation."

"We've cleared the air. That's the end of it, yeah?"

It was more than Harry could have hoped for.

"I think that's the only way I'll get to keep my job."

"We can't let something like this escalate," Merton said. "It will affect the whole team's performance otherwise."

"And the press?" Harry asked.

"We'll see how long they run the story, but Phil doesn't even want to acknowledge it yet."

"I expect he wants to see us?"

"Yeah," Merton said, and he led the way out of the room. He smiled at his fiancé on the way towards the stairs and turned back to Harry. "How come you didn't retaliate?"

"I can retaliate now if you want," Harry offered, smiling.

Merton chuckled, slapping a hand on Harry's shoulder. "Just promise me there are no other incidences involving my family I should know about."

Harry snorted. "Not that I know of, no."

"Try to keep it that way, yeah?" Merton paused. "I've spoken to Phil. I said I'd sort things out and that would be the end of it."

Phil was sitting behind his desk when they walked into his office. He studied them as they stood there, like two schoolboys in front of their headmaster.

He regarded Merton. "Is everything sorted out now?"

"It was just a misunderstanding."

Phil was silent for a few seconds, staring at them. "Okay. Off you go, then."

They left the office, and Harry tried not to think of the unease that had settled in him. He and Merton greeted the team as usual, but received some suspicious looks.

The morning's training session started out as usual, but steadily got worse as the morning progressed. Everyone knew the reason behind it, but no one said anything. Even Maddock was silent, which was so unlike him. Harry didn't think their captain would stay quiet for long, but suspected he was giving Harry and Merton the chance to explain.

Eventually, after one sloppy mistake too many, Phil stopped the session. He wasn't a stupid man – he knew the reason behind the lacklustre session.

"Harry," Phil said. The team had been trudging off the field, but turned around to see what the coach had to say. "You're playing on Saturday."

A murmur spread through the team. Harry followed them back into the changing room, a frown marring his face.

Phil was testing him.

Harry strolled in to Puddlemere's Portkey Room on Saturday morning, unable to keep the wide smile off his face. He greeted Merton with a nod. They had gathered the team together Tuesday afternoon, after another disappointing training session, and explained the whole ordeal. Things had turned around after that.

Harry took a seat next to Anna's older brother.

"Nervous, Potter?" Merton asked. He was waving his wand in a circle over his face, silently casting a charm to keep his long hair out of his eyes.

"Not today," Harry said. He couldn't wait to get out there and play. A fair bit had been written about him in the last week, speculation about a riff with Merton had been debated, and it was time to prove them wrong.

Phil stepped in to the room and looked at them all, making sure there was no one missing. Satisfied, he picked up the Portkey.

"Off we go, then," he said.

Merton and Harry stood, hoisting their rucksacks onto their shoulders and placing their hands on the rope. The rest of the team followed suit and the Portkey took them to the Yorkshire Moors, to a stadium called Kneen Park.

They arrived in a small room and were greeted by a stern-looking woman. She led them through a number of corridors, which twisted and turned, and up a flight of stairs until they walked into the away team's dressing room. Harry wondered if she'd led them the long way around in an attempt to fatigue them before the game started.

"Be ready to go in five," Phil said, glancing at his watch. "We're warming up on the south side."

Harry pulled out his training kit and changed, and picked up his Firebolt. He stepped outside a minute later, the breeze gently ruffling his hair as he familiarised himself with Appleby's two-tiered stadium. Even though the sun was peeking through fluffy white clouds, it was bitterly cold.

Appleby's fans had already gathered in their seats, holding aloft pale blue banners and flags, looking like a wave that rippled around the stadium. The last gate opened, allowing Puddlemere's fans to swarm inside. They streamed in, navy clashing with Appleby's light blue, like the Caribbean Sea meeting the Atlantic.

Appleby's players warmed up on one half of the pitch, while Puddlemere used the other half. It took only a few minutes to complete the needed stretches, and then Harry was in the sky, easing his Firebolt through the air, altering his speed as he went.

After a few laps, the players landed and made their way back to the changing rooms. The game was nearly upon them.

George fell into step with Harry and nudged the younger man. "Ready, Harry?"

"You bet I am."

Fred walked on Harry's other side. "Nervous?"

"Nah," Harry said, shaking his head. "It sure as hell beats working for the Ministry, doesn't it?"

It was oddly quiet in the dressing room as they discarded their training gear for the match kit.

Harry's hands were steady as he strapped on his gloves. The players left the room and lined up in the tunnel. Harry looked straight ahead, intensely focusing on the plan he needed to follow. He was so caught up in visualising just what he needed to do during the game that he nearly missed his name being called.

He flew out and instantly the home fans started to jeer, their voices a roar in his head. His lungs filled with fresh air and he exhaled slowly, refusing to cower to the taunts the fans threw at him.

He was still smiling as he completed a lap of the stadium, and he waved to his supporters in the away section. They responded with an almighty cheer and an enthusiastic round of applause, which filled him with belief.

"The crowd are letting Potter know what they think of him, that's for sure." Joe was commentating again and his voice rang around the stadium. "It will be interesting to see how he reacts. This is only his second professional game, and his first was at home, so this will be a real test."

A hush spread around the stadium as the referee released the Bludgers and the Snitch, and then an explosion of noise erupted as he released the Quaffle and the Chasers scrambled for possession.

"We're off, and it's Bragge who gets a hold of the Quaffle, and he spins away," Joe shouted. "He completely dismantled Chudley's defence last week and he'll want to keep that form going."

Harry's heart started to beat a little faster, thudding in his ears as he watched the ferocious start to the game.

For the first few minutes he was content to drift around the stadium to assess the action from a high vantage point. All eyes were on the action below him, apart from Lennox Campbell's, Appleby's black, muscular Seeker.

He was only interested in Harry. His style of play was to follow the opposing Seeker, so Harry had been expecting it. He and Phil had known that and had formed a plan to counteract it.

Lennox was unnaturally strong, but he didn't have the stamina for long races. He preferred sticking as close as possible to his opponent and acting quickly with short bursts of speed, which then allowed him to outmuscle the other Seeker to get the catch.

It meant he always followed, which Harry hoped to use to his advantage. His main strength was his raw pace, and he was confident of beating most players in an all-out race. If Lennox couldn't keep up, he couldn't overpower him.

Somehow, neither team managed to score in the first few minutes.

"From the furiously paced start, this game has slowed down," Joe said. "After last week's performance, I expected Puddlemere to keep that level up, but they aren't playing Chudley today. Appleby's Chasers won't roll over and let Merton and Bragge dictate the play."

Both teams were too good to stay quiet, though, so the pace of the game steadily built and the scoreboard wasn't bare for very long. Bragge took Puddlemere to fifty points within half an hour, but Appleby clawed their way back to forty.

Harry had yet to see the Snitch. It was starting to make him antsy and, with Campbell a constant presence, he was becoming more irritated by the minute. He needed something to happen, a distraction of some kind so he could create some excitement.

"And Merton breaks free with the Quaffle," Joe said.

It was the opportunity Harry wanted and he reacted instantly. He dived sharply, corkscrewing at top speed straight at Appleby's Chasers. They split apart, breaking formation and leaving a gaping hole in their defence. It gave Merton a clear path down the field, and he took complete advantage of the confusion to score.

True to form, Campbell attempted to follow, but got caught up in the mess. It left Harry free for a few seconds, and he used the time to look for the Snitch, but it was refusing to co-operate. Lennox was back on his tail again, so Harry doubled back and flew towards the Chasers. He kept his speed going and flew high, hoping to be followed.

"Has Potter seen the Snitch?" Joe asked, excited. "I think he has, you know. Look at the way he's flying."

It was exactly what Harry wanted everyone to think. He waited until Campbell was close, before suddenly executing a perfect vertical dive. They torpedoed straight for the grass and Harry pulled up at the last second, but Campbell had already stopped. He looked down at Harry, smiled, and shook his head.

"Oho!" Joe said. "Potter tries a cheeky Wronski Feint there, and I daresay we all fell for it. He's unbelievably fast on a broom. However, Campbell spotted the deception just in time."

The last few minutes hadn't resulted in the Snitch's capture, but Harry felt he'd gained the upper hand. It was surprising how much faster he actually was to Lennox, and they both knew it. As a result, it only meant Campbell stuck even closer to him, much to Harry's dismay.

"And Merton scores another goal to put Puddlemere ahead by sixty to forty," Joe said. "It's not just Potter who has a point to prove today. The press have been running the story of Potter and Merton's sister for a week, but as of yet, it doesn't seem to have distracted them."

The intensity increased over the next half an hour, resulting in five penalties apiece. Bragge took them for Puddlemere, converting four from five, but Angus Campbell – Lennox's younger brother – scored all five for Appleby. He then scored another goal seconds later.

With over an hour played the game was level.

"This game surely comes down to the Seeker chase now," Joe said reverently. "Potter's moment in the spotlight, at least in Quidditch terms, has arrived."

Harry steadied his hands on the Firebolt, trying to block out Joe's voice and the noise of the crowd. He surveyed the whole stadium, spinning in a circle to do so, hoping to see a flash of gold. Everywhere he turned, Lennox was there, half a metre away and ready to pounce. It was starting to irritate. Harry ground his teeth and suddenly let loose a burst of speed and signalled George for his help.

The Weasley twins had been preoccupied for most of the game with the Chasers, but now the second stage of the plan was in motion. Give Lennox Campbell hell, Phil had said to George, and he was making good on his promise to do just that.

Campbell deftly avoided the first Bludger George sent, but was forced to turn sharply to avoid the next.

"Potter's got acres of space now," Joe cried. "And his teammates are on the attack again, after scoring two quick goals."

Harry's head swivelled around, frantically searching for the Snitch. Bragge and Merton wouldn't be able to score enough to give him the one hundred and fifty point margin, not without conceding goals.

The Snitch hadn't shown itself once all game. He just needed it to come out now and the game would surely be his to win. Lennox was desperately trying to get close, but George's assault was keeping the aggravated Seeker at bay.

Harry sped across the stadium as Appleby scored a goal, nearly missing Joe's words over the roar of the crowd.

"… spots it! Potter's gone the wrong way at completely the wrong time. No, he's now racing back, but I don't think he'll get there in time."

Harry tore through the air, furiously berating himself. Ollie was frantically gesturing something. Harry spotted the Bludger just in time, and he tipped the handle up, avoiding it by a millisecond. Fred was suddenly there, hitting the Bludger back.

"Potter nearly gets his head knocked off," Joe said, chortling. "Oho, you can't help but get excited, can you?"

Harry squeezed his body lower to the broom, reminding himself to breath as he caught up to Appleby's Seeker. His fingers were starting to cramp, but he didn't dare lessen his grip. Campbell was only twenty metres ahead … eighteen metres … fifteen … and he was starting to slow down. Harry was so close now, and he realised while Lennox might have been slowing down, but he was only getting faster.

Spurred on by that knowledge, the Firebolt seemed to respond, launching him to Campbell's side. They were neck and neck as a Bludger cut through the air between their brooms and thudded into the wooden barrier.

"And they both stretch out their arms, flexing their fingers as far as they'll go," Joe cried.

Campbell made a lung and Harry launched himself halfway off his broom, his fingernails scratching the back of Lennox's fingers, which curled around the Snitch. The last ditch attempt had failed.

"He's done it! Campbell has done it and this day will go down in history," Joe shouted over the sudden manic atmosphere. He sounded like an over-excited child to Harry. "He's the first person to beat Harry Potter, probably in years, but certainly in his professional career. This will be a question in quizzes for centuries to come; it will be talked about for years to come, too, but Lennox Campbell won't care about any of that right now. This win takes Appleby to fourth in the table, while Puddlemere drop to third, and they're clinging to that position by just thirty points."

It sounded far too over-the-top to Harry's ears. He landed near the centre of the pitch, breathing heavily. Campbell was swarmed by his teammates. Harry turned away, refusing to watch. George landed and slapped a hand on his back, but it was far from comforting.

Campbell glided down to Harry. His smile looked very white against his dark skin. He held out a hand, which Harry shook.

"Hard luck, Potter," Campbell said. "But Merlin, you're fast. I haven't got a clue how you managed to catch me. Any longer and I reckon I was done for."

The consolation words did nothing to sooth the raw feeling of loss, but Harry accepted them nonetheless.

"Maybe." Harry forced himself to smile. He could be bad loser when he was out of the glare of the spotlight. "Congratulations, mate. I'll get you next time."

Campbell chuckled heartily as he flew back towards his team. "Looking forward to it, Harry," he said over his shoulder.

Harry hadn't tasted defeat in years, but he hadn't forgotten how much it stung. A weight settled in his stomach, his muscles tightly clenched. He flew back to the tunnel to the sound of sarcastic applause from Appleby's supporters and entered the changing rooms, allowing his head to drop for the first time.

It had been silent before the match, but it seemed even quieter now. The other players were sitting with heads in hands, all their hard work coming to nothing. They had built the foundations for a win, but Harry hadn't been able to finish the job.

Campbell's style of play wasn't revolutionary. A number of Seekers employed the same tactics. Harry had made just one mistake in the entire match, but it was what cost Puddlemere the game. More than anything, that was the difference at professional level.

People said Seekers took all the glory while every other member of the team was forgotten, and they were mostly right. What they didn't mention was that when it went wrong, Seekers took all of the blame, too, whether they were at fault for a loss or not.

Harry didn't even have that to fall back on. There were no two ways about it, it was his fault. He reasoned with himself that it was just a part of Quidditch, of sport in general, and that was just the way it went sometimes. He accepted it, but it didn't stop him from wanting revenge.

He didn't say anything, but headed straight for the showers. The cool spray did nothing to soothe him.