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sam_storyteller) wrote2005-07-07 01:23 pm
sam_storyteller) wrote2005-07-07 01:23 pm
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Laocoon's Children, Year III, Ch. 14
At one point in this chapter I have used dialogue or description from Prisoner of Azkaban. In this instance, Harry's Dementor-inspired hallucinations are drawn from canon.
The professors came out of the castle like so many enormous birds, heads bowed under umbrellas against the rain and cloaks flapping around their legs in the fierce wind. The students poured around them, louder and much more brightly coloured, bearing gaudy rain-hats and almost to a one in House colours.
Padma and Draco, who had flipped a coin over who to back, were in vivid Slytherin green with Neville trailing behind them, amiable in Gryffindor scarlet. The weather was vile, but Quidditch was worth it, and all three were in high spirits.
Just as they passed the professors, they heard someone shout "Severus!" and Nymphadora Tonks crested the hill from the front gate. She ran through the rain and mud, apparently making for the cluster of professors with umbrellas. At the last minute she slipped, skidded in the mud, and slammed into Professor Snape, who caught her around the waist before she could fall down. She threw her arms around his neck and grinned. The entire student body of Hogwarts hooted and laughed.
"Wench," they heard Snape mutter, but he offered her half of the space under his umbrella, which did necessitate them huddling close underneath it. The students ran on, towards the stands and the paltry shelter they would provide.
"Harry's going to die in this deluge," Neville shouted into the wind. "He won't be able to see a thing!"
"I charmed his glasses!" Padma called back. "They'll keep clear anyway. Are you going over to Gryffindor?"
"I ought to. Where will you be?"
"Other side of the Professors' box, Ravenclaw benches," Draco answered. "See you after the game!"
Up in the stands, they found seats near the Professors' box and watched as their teachers filed in and sat down, passing around thermos bottles full of cocoa and flasks full of something a bit more powerful. Dumbledore, resplendent in an enormous white ulster, was hosting a pair of unknown men in the first row, with McGonagall on the other side of them. Lee Jordan leaned over to shake their hands from the announcer's chair and Padma caught the words "Professional" and "Recruit". Professor Snape and Dora were sitting in the back row, huddled against the wall.
"I THINK THEY'RE CUTE," she shouted, above the roar of cheers as the players took the field.
"WHAT, ALL OF THEM?" Draco shouted back.
"ALL OF WHO? WHAT?"
Draco pointed at the players, and she giggled.
"NOT THEM! PROFESSOR SNAPE AND PROFESSOR TONKS!"
Draco rolled his eyes expressively. There was a whistle from the field and their attention was drawn away as the Quidditch balls rose in the air, the Snitch vanishing almost before it was seen and the Bludgers circling the pitch menacingly.
"Slytherin takes the Quaffle to start, and they're off!" Lee Jordan announced.
***
Harry, if he had heard Remus talk about catharsis and misbehaviour, might have agreed once he was in the air. He always loved Quidditch, but in the screaming wind and furious speed he felt a fierce joy warm him from the inside. He almost believed the rain would steam right off his skin.
He had been a little worried about the game -- they had two new Chasers and Crabbe really wasn't as bright as a Beater ought to be, but then that was Flint's lookout, not his. Harry's job was to get the Snitch, and he had a full year's experience on Ginny Weasley, who had landed the coveted Seeker's spot on Gryffindor. Harry vaguely remembered Ginny putting paint in his hair back when he'd attended Molly Weasley's little home school, and wasn't precisely intimidated by her.
Down below, the Twins were playing merry hell with Slytherin's Chasers, and Harry scowled. They had come and apologised, and seemed to mean it, but he was still angry. Oh, he'd written Molly a letter saying all was fine, and they'd said sorry, but he was unwilling to let them off so easily. School discipline had been satisfied, but Harry had not. He liked the twins, used to play with them, and trusted them; in return they'd embarrassed and frightened him in front of his friends. He was not going to forgive them so easily as he'd said in his letter to Molly.
And he was circling uselessly; the Snitch would be hard enough to see in sunlight, but in the rain it was nearly impossible. He would find it or it would find him so, with one eye on Ginny and the other scanning endlessly for the Snitch, he dove into the middle of the scrimmage and started getting in the way. In the way of the Gryffindor Chasers, in the way of Fred and George's bats so if they hit a Bludger they'd foul him, in the way of Oliver Wood as he dove for the Quaffle.
"What the hell are you doing?" Towler demanded, zipping past him.
"Making myself useful!" Harry shouted with a laugh.
"Don't get killed," Pucey warned him, passing on his other side. Harry saw Pucey drop like a stone and throw the Quaffle straight up to Persephone Ackerly, one of the new Chasers. She fumbled in the rain but managed to hang on to it, righting herself before ducking under a bludger and racing back to the Gryffindor goal.
Harry rose again, high above even the multi-level play that was now standard for Quidditch at Hogwarts, and circled. He could see Ginny doing the same, and wondered what she'd thought of his dive into the middle of things. She dropped suddenly, but he ignored it; she hadn't looked down first, and it was an amateur feint.
As he was scanning the north end of the pitch, he pulled his broom up short, then eased closer to the Hufflepuff seats, still alert for any flash of gold in the silver rain. Two men were standing next to the side wall of the stadium, nearly on the pitch itself. And they were fighting.
Harry dropped down for a closer look, wondering if it was two seventh-years in a spat. He was so distracted by the men that he didn't hear the shouts of warning or the fearful cries of the other players. The Snitch was forgotten, because one of the men seemed nightmarishly familiar...
The smaller of the two men seemed, oddly, to have the upper hand. He had finally got hold of the other man's arms and was twisting them behind his back. The first man raised his hooded head and the cowl slid off; rain pattered down on a shiny, clean-shaven head, pale and gleaming. The smaller man threw him to the ground and looked up.
Harry caught his breath and froze. The eyes that gazed up at him were goat's eyes, two crossed dark stripes in golden pupils.
He opened his mouth to scream or curse or call for help, he was never sure, but before he could get the words out he suddenly heard other words, words in his head.
"Not Harry, not Harry, please not Harry!"
"Stand aside, you silly girl...stand aside, now...."
"Not Harry, please no, take me, kill me instead --"
White mist filled Harry's brain and he looked down stupidly. Below him, Dementors were surging across the pitch. He heard students screaming, but they were dim echoes behind these new voices in his mind.
"Not Harry! Please...have mercy...have mercy....
There was a shrill laugh, like an icepick in his skull, and then Harry slumped forward, fingers numbly releasing the broomstick as the world went dark.
***
When the Dementors began to surround the Pitch, people started to shout warnings, more to the players than each other. Severus Snape, who had more presence of mind than many, stood up and leapt to the thin edge of the stand's back wall, running along it like a child on a ridgepole. He was sliding down the ladder to the ground when he looked up and saw Sirius Black following. Good; an ally.
They ran, Sirius a step behind, towards the pitch and the black cowled figures seeming to swim through the air across it.
"Expecto patronum!" Severus shouted. A large silver-white fox leapt forward, charging in and around and through the Dementors, who veered off sharply. They went upwards, which wasn't much help; the Quidditch players scattered to the stands.
"HARRY!" Sirius bellowed, bolting straight through the Dementors as if they weren't there. Some small corner of Snape's mind said adrenaline but the rest of him looked up just in time to see Harry slump off his broomstick and tumble down.
At first, he thought that the world was slowing down, the way he had heard it sometimes did when the senses kicked up into overdrive. Then he realised the Dementors were still scattering away from the flashes of silver on the field, at least three of them now, and it was Harry who was falling in slow-motion. He looked up and saw Dumbledore standing like a white pillar with his wand outstretched.
An enormous silver hawk, another patronus, was wheeling and circling over the crowd now, dipping whenever a Dementor tried to rise, herding them towards the wide gap at one end of the field. A bearlike dog was standing in front of Sirius with its hackles raised as he picked Harry up and ran for the safety of the stands.
Nymphadora arrived at his elbow at the same time a silver-white peacock ran furiously squawking across the grounds, wings spread wide, tail in full fan. Severus had enough presence of mind to turn to her, his hair plastered wetly against his skull, and demand, "A peacock?"
"Come on, let's get inside!" she replied, grabbing his arm. "The game's over!"
"I SHOULD BLOODY WELL THINK!"
"No -- it's over. The Weasley kid caught the -- "
"SON OF A -- "
"Snitch!" she finished. She tugged his arm, slipped on the mud, and righted herself using him as leverage. Hagrid, puffing and blowing, trotted past them with a black bundle in his arms and absently shoved his enormous pink umbrella into Snape's hands. As he passed, Remus Lupin's death-white face was visible against the wet, hairy coat Hagrid wore.
"What happened to Lupin?" he asked, bobbing under the ridiculous pink umbrella.
"Passed out," she grunted. "How's Harry?"
"Black's got him," he replied as they half-ran, half-climbed the slippery hill to the castle. Inside, the children had bottlenecked in the doorway, shedding damp coats and shouting excitedly at one another.
"Move aside, you brainless spawn!" he snarled, and the students quickly hurried down the corridors. "Back to your common rooms, everyone! Prefects!"
"Trying, sir!" Percy Weasley, an oiksome boy, was herding Gryffindors up the stairs.
"Try harder!"
"Yessir!"
Severus dropped the pink umbrella in a corner, his sopping cloak and Nymphadora's smart rain-slicker following. They hurried through the halls, occasionally encountering a confused youngster who he dispatched to their House common rooms with barely-veiled hostility.
He ran into Hagrid in the doorway of the hospital wing, and Dora bumped into his back. They both slipped on the wet floor and finally went sprawling. Hagrid hauled them up effortlessly.
"In there," the enormous groundskeeper said, hurrying on his way.
"Nothing broken?" Severus asked Dora.
"If there is, I'm in the right place," she answered, leading him inside. He rubbed his elbow and followed.
Dumbledore and Black were there, deep in conference while Poppy Pomfrey stewed something on a table nearby. Harry lay in one of the beds, his cheeks still damp. Remus Lupin was sitting on another, doubled over, hands on his knees and head bent low.
"How are they?" Dora asked, turning instinctively to Dumbledore as the authority figure.
"I'm fine," Remus answered for himself, sounding irritated.
"You just stay there," Black called back.
"Professor Lupin is, as you see, conscious," Dumbledore said gently. "Harry is well; no broken bones. A bad brush with a Dementor, nothing more."
Severus pushed past them all, passing Harry's bed as Pomfrey bent over it to pour the sweet-smelling concoction into his mouth. Cocoa, probably. Harry was being attended to, at any rate.
He crouched in front of Lupin and picked up his wrist, taking his pulse.
"Let him alone," Black snarled, starting forward, but he heard a scuffle and knew that either Dora or Dumbledore was holding him back.
"Are you nauseous?" he asked. "Has Pomfrey given you anything?"
"No," Remus answered. "She knows I'm on the Wolfsbane."
"Dizzy?"
"Not anymore."
"Any strange tastes in your mouth?"
"Embarrassment, Severus, that's all. This hadn't anything to do with the potion."
Severus, confident that his pulse was even and steady, let his hand drop.
"Did he hit his head?" he asked, standing and turning to look at Dumbledore.
"He was sitting down," Black replied. "Hagrid said he just went over sideways. Fuck," he added firmly.
"You were -- seeing to Harry," Remus said haltingly. "Right where you should have been."
"You'll keep him for observation?" Severus asked, turning to Pomfrey.
"I think that would be best," she said, looking confusedly from Black to Dumbledore to Remus. Harry coughed against the cup held to his lips, and she took it away before he could choke. His eyes opened.
"Just lie still, there's a good lad," she said soothingly, putting a firm hand on Harry's shoulder. He nodded, but his eyes darted around the room.
"You had a fall," Black said, sitting on the other side of Harry. "You're in the castle now."
"Yeah..." Harry pushed himself up onto his elbows, despite Pomfrey's hand. "How bad was it?"
Black grinned a little. "Dumbledore slowed you down. Nothing broken, hard-head."
"I -- " Harry stopped. Severus actually saw his pupils dilate in panic. "Peter," he breathed.
"What?" Remus asked, lifting his head.
"I saw him," Harry said, voice trembling. "Peter Pettigrew. I saw him. He was at the game. He was fighting with someone -- "
"That's the Dementors," Pomfrey said soothingly. "They can make people see things."
"No, before that," Harry insisted. "That's why I didn't see them coming -- "
His whole body went rigid.
"Harry, you're safe here -- " Black began, but Harry was looking past him, as if he could look straight through the castle walls. Severus felt a nauseous wave of fear and longing break over him, and threw up his mental walls quickly. Harry was terrified and agitated, and not over some mere Dementor-dream.
"I saw them," he said. "They were there, and then there was screaming..."
"I think perhaps Harry had better rest," Pomfrey said. Severus saw her hold the cup below the edge of the bed and break a capsule into the remains of the drink. She held it to Harry's lips and he drank, though he'd been opening his mouth to say something else. Even before he was finished, his eyelids were drooping. Black caught his head and eased it back onto the pillow.
"My study, I think," Dumbledore said, into the silence that followed. "Poppy?"
"I won't say a word," she said.
"Excellent. I believe we must take Professor Lupin with us, however. Mr. Black is qualified to judge his mental state, I'm sure," Dumbledore continued, and lifted one of Remus' arms around his shoulders without waiting for her to object. Remus stumbled for a few steps, then straightened.
"I can walk," he said, sounding less annoyed now.
Severus followed them out and along the hallway, feeling suddenly tired. He heard Dora gasp.
"I almost forgot," she said, reaching into the pocket of her robes. She handed a small envelope to Black. "It's something Remus asked for -- the files he wanted. Tap it twice and it'll expand."
Black shoved the envelope into his own pocket and nodded. They continued in silence until they reached the high, safe, and warm comfort of Dumbledore's study. Remus eased himself into a chair. Black leaned on the arm.
"That was a brilliant patronus," Dora said to him, in an undertone.
"Wasn't mine," Black replied. "I was going for Harry."
"The big dog?" she asked.
"Mine," Remus said. "I remember just before I went out."
"Who cast the hawk?" Black asked.
"Minerva's, I expect," Dumbledore answered, picking up a basket from his desk. "Toffee?"
They each took one, rather like children, though none of them unwrapped the sweet or ate it. Severus waved it off.
"Now then," Dumbledore said, seating himself at his desk. In the corner, Fawkes crooned reassuringly. "Let us see if we cannot make a coherent tale of this afternoon's adventure."
***
In the Gryffindor common room, all was chaos. The students, confused as to whether they should celebrate or not, talked loudly and animatedly about the game, while Lee Jordan and Hermione Granger pored over Quidditch rulebooks to see if the catch was fair.
Ginny sat at the windowseat, still in her muddy Quidditch things, her hair hanging in two limp, wet pigtails. The three Weasley boys were there as well, trying to cajole her into speaking, but she just stared at the little golden Snitch in her fingers.
Neville was worried about Harry, but he'd seen Sirius gather him up, and Sirius was a grownup -- he would make everything okay. He'd seen Padma in the hall, briefly, and knew she was all right too. She'd been with Draco at the game, and she wouldn't bolt on him, so he must be fine as well.
The other students, who knew Neville was one of the knot of interhouse friends who stood fast against all comers, including their own House if necessary, were giving him a wide berth. Even in his scarlet jumper, he was a temporary Slytherin in their midst.
Well, so be it then. He pushed through the crowd and walked up to where Ginny was sitting, daring the Weasley boys to say anything. One by one they picked up and left, until he was alone with Ginny. She looked up at him, smiled insincerely, and went back to studying the Snitch.
"It was a fair catch," he said. "You got it before Harry fell."
She shrugged.
"Tisn't how you want to win your first game, huh?" he asked.
"No," she said softly. "Harry okay?"
"Dunno. Reckon so, he's had worse."
Ginny nodded. Neville sat on the windowseat. He didn't know Ginny all that well, but he knew what Harry would say.
"Honourable thing to do would be to give it back," he began. "Call the game a draw and re-play it. That's what a Gryffindor would do. Don't you think?"
"Yes," she said, no doubt in her voice now.
"Think you couldn't have won against Harry Potter?"
She looked up sharply at him. He shrugged. "You caught the Snitch. If you think you couldn't win, you should call for a draw and re-play. Then you should quit. 'Cause it was a fair catch, and if you don't think you're as good a Seeker as he is, or Cho Chang or Ced Diggory, you should quit."
"I'm as good as them any day," she said, fire flashing in her eyes.
"Then you could have won fair against Harry?" he asked. "Where I sat it looked like he was halfway across the field from you."
"You really think so?" she asked.
"Who're you talking to? Only Harry's best friend," Neville said. "Harry won't say anything different."
"He won't be mad?"
"Nah. Games have rules," Neville said, repeating something Harry had once told him. "If you don't learn to play by the rules, when you're out in the real world you won't know how to play by those rules, which you can't break, and then you'll just lose. Got to play by the rules. Rules say it was a fair catch."
"Hermione thinks -- "
"Oh seriously. Hermione?" Neville asked. "She's a brain and I like her, but she's hardly a Quidditch expert, is she?"
Ginny gave him the first real smile he'd seen since the game ended.
"Now go wash your hair and put on decent clothes, you look like a drowned rat," he added. To his shock, she threw her arms around his neck, hugged him tightly, and bolted for the stairs.
***
One of the greatest regrets of Draco's childhood was that nobody ever saw the Leap.
He hadn't done it for attention or to show off, at the time, but all the same it would have been nice if someone had seen it. It was a glorious Leap, the bravest thing he felt he'd ever done, despite having faced down a Basilisk and survived thirteen years with his mother.
When Harry fell from his broomstick everyone shot to their feet, Draco included, but while he was worrying about Harry he also saw Harry's Nimbus shake free of its owner and go whipping away. Draco knew how much Harry loved the Nimbus, a gift from Sirius, and he knew that if it got free and into the forest Harry would be crushed.
Draco saw the broomstick go racing past the stands. Everyone else ran for the ladders or stared after Harry, but unthinkingly, instinctively, Draco leaned the other direction, over the edge of the railing, and Leaped.
For a long minute he knew what it was to fly, with his coat flapping out behind him and his shoes dripping rainwater over pure empty space. It seemed to go on forever.
Then, with a testicle-crushing jolt that even the cushioning charms couldn't prevent, he landed on Harry's broomstick and hooked his arms around it, pressing his cheek to the pale wood. The broomstick dropped twenty feet at least, emerging from the back of the stands and shooting straight for the Whomping Willow.
Draco let out a warcry he didn't even know he had in him, half yelping pain and half ecstasy. The Nimbus rocked and jerked, spun and bucked, but Draco clung tightly and whooped again. He whipped it round to a halt and felt the brush of a leaf as the Whomping Willow reached out to club him and missed by a hair's breadth. The Nimbus jerked once, rebelliously, and then began to descend. Draco was damned if he'd drop down to the level of the swarming Dementors, even if they were what seemed like miles off by now. He jerked it up, firmly, and shot into the air above the forest.
"Yah!" he said daringly. "Take that!"
He was aware that he was wet and trembling, but he had Harry's broomstick, and that was what counted. Sirius would be proud, he was sure, and Harry would be pleased.
By the time he reached the Quidditch Pitch, however, he was worried. The stand and field were empty, echoingly empty. He hovered the broomstick over the field for a minute, feeling like an intruder, and then hurriedly flew back to the castle, looking over his shoulder for Dementors. It was a long journey, or at least it felt like much longer than usual, and when he arrived at the door there was nobody there, either. It was bolted shut. If the front door of Hogwarts was closed and locked, all of them would be.
He could go to the kitchens and bang on the windows for the elves to let him in, or he could probably knock on the window of a professor's office, but the idea filled him with dread. Hufflepuff dormitory was underground, no help there, and he didn't think he was brave enough to try Gryffindor or Ravenclaw, at the tops of the tall towers.
Harry would be in the hosptial wing though, wouldn't he? And if it came to the absolute worst he could try Remus' rooms. That would be mortifying in the extreme, but Remus wouldn't tell anyone, at least.
He lifted off again and rose slowly, still checking for Dementors. Past the first and second floors and up and up to the windows of the hospital wing. One of them was open and he studied it briefly before sliding inside, pulling the broom behind him.
It was empty and quiet here too, except for Harry, lying on the bed nearest the door. Over the fear and the weird loneliness of the empty grounds, Draco felt a twinge of pride as he set the broomstick by Harry's bed. He could sit on the bed next to him and dry off a bit, then he would go down to Hufflepuff.
He leaned back on the bed, boots dangling off the edge, and stared up at the ceiling. Eventually, without meaning to at all, he drifted off to sleep.
***
Two men stand in the forest, watching the castle and the empty grounds. One is tall and gaunt, but he wears the most expensive clothing it is possible to steal from Hogsmeade. The other is shortish, roundish, with a pointy ratty face. He is ranting, nearly raving.
"I have told you time and again that we will fetch the boy when the time is right, and not before!" he says, quiet but intense. "You've already cost us access to the castle with your stunt!"
"We will take him when we take Potter," the tall man says dully. "When will that be?"
"When we have a safe place to keep him and when he is alone. When he won't be missed. The men watching him aren't fools!"
"Shut up," says the tall man, and the smaller man obeys, looking surprised.
"Lucius," he snivels, after a moment, "There are things yet to be prepared and -- "
"He is my son," Lucius says proudly. Behind him, the smaller man rolls his eyes.
"Lucius, we have to be careful."
Lucius is lucid for the moment, though he slips in and out.
"Did you see him jump from the high places?" he asks distantly. "Like Astyanax?"
"Who?"
"He leapt and did not fall."
"Come away, Lucius," says the small man, and Lucius smiles proudly.
"Yes, Peter," he replies.
***
Draco woke, several hours later, to a hoarse cry.
"FOUND HIM! HOSPITAL WING!"
The cry echoed weirdly around the room, as if it were passing through the walls. Draco sat up, startled, and nearly banged his head against Severus Snape's beaky nose.
"What are you doing here?" the man demanded.
"Um?" Draco said.
"Malfoy, what the ten kinds of hell are you doing here?"
Draco swallowed. "Brought Harry his broomstick," he said thickly.
"And decided to take a nap?" Snape asked.
"No...I just fell asleep..."
"While we searched the entire castle? Merlin, you are the world's own fool. Did you not hear me order everyone to their common rooms?"
Draco rubbed his eyes. He was not prepared to wake to an interrogation by his most feared professor.
"The door was locked when I came up," he said.
"Where were you before we locked it?"
"Getting Harry's broomstick," Draco said in a small voice. He looked up as Sirius skidded through the door at the same time Madam Pomfrey came out of her office to see what the hullabaloo was.
"Is he okay?" Sirius demanded.
"He won't be when I'm through with him," Professor Snape answered. "Pomfrey! Did you know Malfoy was here?"
"You didn't send him up?" she asked, perplexed. "I assumed he was sent up to keep Harry company."
"We've been searching the castle for him, woman! He was missed in the Hufflepuff headcount!"
"Well, you needn't take that tone," she retorted. "Nobody told me."
Draco slid to his feet and found himself suddenly engulfed in the smell of leather and wet dog. Sirius had wrapped him in a tight embrace.
"We thought your father had got you," he said, releasing a stunned and confused Draco. "We've been looking for hours -- there are Aurors all over the Forest."
And then he said the most dreaded words of Draco's existence.
"We've called your Mum, for Merlin's sake."
To the Next Part
The professors came out of the castle like so many enormous birds, heads bowed under umbrellas against the rain and cloaks flapping around their legs in the fierce wind. The students poured around them, louder and much more brightly coloured, bearing gaudy rain-hats and almost to a one in House colours.
Padma and Draco, who had flipped a coin over who to back, were in vivid Slytherin green with Neville trailing behind them, amiable in Gryffindor scarlet. The weather was vile, but Quidditch was worth it, and all three were in high spirits.
Just as they passed the professors, they heard someone shout "Severus!" and Nymphadora Tonks crested the hill from the front gate. She ran through the rain and mud, apparently making for the cluster of professors with umbrellas. At the last minute she slipped, skidded in the mud, and slammed into Professor Snape, who caught her around the waist before she could fall down. She threw her arms around his neck and grinned. The entire student body of Hogwarts hooted and laughed.
"Wench," they heard Snape mutter, but he offered her half of the space under his umbrella, which did necessitate them huddling close underneath it. The students ran on, towards the stands and the paltry shelter they would provide.
"Harry's going to die in this deluge," Neville shouted into the wind. "He won't be able to see a thing!"
"I charmed his glasses!" Padma called back. "They'll keep clear anyway. Are you going over to Gryffindor?"
"I ought to. Where will you be?"
"Other side of the Professors' box, Ravenclaw benches," Draco answered. "See you after the game!"
Up in the stands, they found seats near the Professors' box and watched as their teachers filed in and sat down, passing around thermos bottles full of cocoa and flasks full of something a bit more powerful. Dumbledore, resplendent in an enormous white ulster, was hosting a pair of unknown men in the first row, with McGonagall on the other side of them. Lee Jordan leaned over to shake their hands from the announcer's chair and Padma caught the words "Professional" and "Recruit". Professor Snape and Dora were sitting in the back row, huddled against the wall.
"I THINK THEY'RE CUTE," she shouted, above the roar of cheers as the players took the field.
"WHAT, ALL OF THEM?" Draco shouted back.
"ALL OF WHO? WHAT?"
Draco pointed at the players, and she giggled.
"NOT THEM! PROFESSOR SNAPE AND PROFESSOR TONKS!"
Draco rolled his eyes expressively. There was a whistle from the field and their attention was drawn away as the Quidditch balls rose in the air, the Snitch vanishing almost before it was seen and the Bludgers circling the pitch menacingly.
"Slytherin takes the Quaffle to start, and they're off!" Lee Jordan announced.
***
Harry, if he had heard Remus talk about catharsis and misbehaviour, might have agreed once he was in the air. He always loved Quidditch, but in the screaming wind and furious speed he felt a fierce joy warm him from the inside. He almost believed the rain would steam right off his skin.
He had been a little worried about the game -- they had two new Chasers and Crabbe really wasn't as bright as a Beater ought to be, but then that was Flint's lookout, not his. Harry's job was to get the Snitch, and he had a full year's experience on Ginny Weasley, who had landed the coveted Seeker's spot on Gryffindor. Harry vaguely remembered Ginny putting paint in his hair back when he'd attended Molly Weasley's little home school, and wasn't precisely intimidated by her.
Down below, the Twins were playing merry hell with Slytherin's Chasers, and Harry scowled. They had come and apologised, and seemed to mean it, but he was still angry. Oh, he'd written Molly a letter saying all was fine, and they'd said sorry, but he was unwilling to let them off so easily. School discipline had been satisfied, but Harry had not. He liked the twins, used to play with them, and trusted them; in return they'd embarrassed and frightened him in front of his friends. He was not going to forgive them so easily as he'd said in his letter to Molly.
And he was circling uselessly; the Snitch would be hard enough to see in sunlight, but in the rain it was nearly impossible. He would find it or it would find him so, with one eye on Ginny and the other scanning endlessly for the Snitch, he dove into the middle of the scrimmage and started getting in the way. In the way of the Gryffindor Chasers, in the way of Fred and George's bats so if they hit a Bludger they'd foul him, in the way of Oliver Wood as he dove for the Quaffle.
"What the hell are you doing?" Towler demanded, zipping past him.
"Making myself useful!" Harry shouted with a laugh.
"Don't get killed," Pucey warned him, passing on his other side. Harry saw Pucey drop like a stone and throw the Quaffle straight up to Persephone Ackerly, one of the new Chasers. She fumbled in the rain but managed to hang on to it, righting herself before ducking under a bludger and racing back to the Gryffindor goal.
Harry rose again, high above even the multi-level play that was now standard for Quidditch at Hogwarts, and circled. He could see Ginny doing the same, and wondered what she'd thought of his dive into the middle of things. She dropped suddenly, but he ignored it; she hadn't looked down first, and it was an amateur feint.
As he was scanning the north end of the pitch, he pulled his broom up short, then eased closer to the Hufflepuff seats, still alert for any flash of gold in the silver rain. Two men were standing next to the side wall of the stadium, nearly on the pitch itself. And they were fighting.
Harry dropped down for a closer look, wondering if it was two seventh-years in a spat. He was so distracted by the men that he didn't hear the shouts of warning or the fearful cries of the other players. The Snitch was forgotten, because one of the men seemed nightmarishly familiar...
The smaller of the two men seemed, oddly, to have the upper hand. He had finally got hold of the other man's arms and was twisting them behind his back. The first man raised his hooded head and the cowl slid off; rain pattered down on a shiny, clean-shaven head, pale and gleaming. The smaller man threw him to the ground and looked up.
Harry caught his breath and froze. The eyes that gazed up at him were goat's eyes, two crossed dark stripes in golden pupils.
He opened his mouth to scream or curse or call for help, he was never sure, but before he could get the words out he suddenly heard other words, words in his head.
"Not Harry, not Harry, please not Harry!"
"Stand aside, you silly girl...stand aside, now...."
"Not Harry, please no, take me, kill me instead --"
White mist filled Harry's brain and he looked down stupidly. Below him, Dementors were surging across the pitch. He heard students screaming, but they were dim echoes behind these new voices in his mind.
"Not Harry! Please...have mercy...have mercy....
There was a shrill laugh, like an icepick in his skull, and then Harry slumped forward, fingers numbly releasing the broomstick as the world went dark.
***
When the Dementors began to surround the Pitch, people started to shout warnings, more to the players than each other. Severus Snape, who had more presence of mind than many, stood up and leapt to the thin edge of the stand's back wall, running along it like a child on a ridgepole. He was sliding down the ladder to the ground when he looked up and saw Sirius Black following. Good; an ally.
They ran, Sirius a step behind, towards the pitch and the black cowled figures seeming to swim through the air across it.
"Expecto patronum!" Severus shouted. A large silver-white fox leapt forward, charging in and around and through the Dementors, who veered off sharply. They went upwards, which wasn't much help; the Quidditch players scattered to the stands.
"HARRY!" Sirius bellowed, bolting straight through the Dementors as if they weren't there. Some small corner of Snape's mind said adrenaline but the rest of him looked up just in time to see Harry slump off his broomstick and tumble down.
At first, he thought that the world was slowing down, the way he had heard it sometimes did when the senses kicked up into overdrive. Then he realised the Dementors were still scattering away from the flashes of silver on the field, at least three of them now, and it was Harry who was falling in slow-motion. He looked up and saw Dumbledore standing like a white pillar with his wand outstretched.
An enormous silver hawk, another patronus, was wheeling and circling over the crowd now, dipping whenever a Dementor tried to rise, herding them towards the wide gap at one end of the field. A bearlike dog was standing in front of Sirius with its hackles raised as he picked Harry up and ran for the safety of the stands.
Nymphadora arrived at his elbow at the same time a silver-white peacock ran furiously squawking across the grounds, wings spread wide, tail in full fan. Severus had enough presence of mind to turn to her, his hair plastered wetly against his skull, and demand, "A peacock?"
"Come on, let's get inside!" she replied, grabbing his arm. "The game's over!"
"I SHOULD BLOODY WELL THINK!"
"No -- it's over. The Weasley kid caught the -- "
"SON OF A -- "
"Snitch!" she finished. She tugged his arm, slipped on the mud, and righted herself using him as leverage. Hagrid, puffing and blowing, trotted past them with a black bundle in his arms and absently shoved his enormous pink umbrella into Snape's hands. As he passed, Remus Lupin's death-white face was visible against the wet, hairy coat Hagrid wore.
"What happened to Lupin?" he asked, bobbing under the ridiculous pink umbrella.
"Passed out," she grunted. "How's Harry?"
"Black's got him," he replied as they half-ran, half-climbed the slippery hill to the castle. Inside, the children had bottlenecked in the doorway, shedding damp coats and shouting excitedly at one another.
"Move aside, you brainless spawn!" he snarled, and the students quickly hurried down the corridors. "Back to your common rooms, everyone! Prefects!"
"Trying, sir!" Percy Weasley, an oiksome boy, was herding Gryffindors up the stairs.
"Try harder!"
"Yessir!"
Severus dropped the pink umbrella in a corner, his sopping cloak and Nymphadora's smart rain-slicker following. They hurried through the halls, occasionally encountering a confused youngster who he dispatched to their House common rooms with barely-veiled hostility.
He ran into Hagrid in the doorway of the hospital wing, and Dora bumped into his back. They both slipped on the wet floor and finally went sprawling. Hagrid hauled them up effortlessly.
"In there," the enormous groundskeeper said, hurrying on his way.
"Nothing broken?" Severus asked Dora.
"If there is, I'm in the right place," she answered, leading him inside. He rubbed his elbow and followed.
Dumbledore and Black were there, deep in conference while Poppy Pomfrey stewed something on a table nearby. Harry lay in one of the beds, his cheeks still damp. Remus Lupin was sitting on another, doubled over, hands on his knees and head bent low.
"How are they?" Dora asked, turning instinctively to Dumbledore as the authority figure.
"I'm fine," Remus answered for himself, sounding irritated.
"You just stay there," Black called back.
"Professor Lupin is, as you see, conscious," Dumbledore said gently. "Harry is well; no broken bones. A bad brush with a Dementor, nothing more."
Severus pushed past them all, passing Harry's bed as Pomfrey bent over it to pour the sweet-smelling concoction into his mouth. Cocoa, probably. Harry was being attended to, at any rate.
He crouched in front of Lupin and picked up his wrist, taking his pulse.
"Let him alone," Black snarled, starting forward, but he heard a scuffle and knew that either Dora or Dumbledore was holding him back.
"Are you nauseous?" he asked. "Has Pomfrey given you anything?"
"No," Remus answered. "She knows I'm on the Wolfsbane."
"Dizzy?"
"Not anymore."
"Any strange tastes in your mouth?"
"Embarrassment, Severus, that's all. This hadn't anything to do with the potion."
Severus, confident that his pulse was even and steady, let his hand drop.
"Did he hit his head?" he asked, standing and turning to look at Dumbledore.
"He was sitting down," Black replied. "Hagrid said he just went over sideways. Fuck," he added firmly.
"You were -- seeing to Harry," Remus said haltingly. "Right where you should have been."
"You'll keep him for observation?" Severus asked, turning to Pomfrey.
"I think that would be best," she said, looking confusedly from Black to Dumbledore to Remus. Harry coughed against the cup held to his lips, and she took it away before he could choke. His eyes opened.
"Just lie still, there's a good lad," she said soothingly, putting a firm hand on Harry's shoulder. He nodded, but his eyes darted around the room.
"You had a fall," Black said, sitting on the other side of Harry. "You're in the castle now."
"Yeah..." Harry pushed himself up onto his elbows, despite Pomfrey's hand. "How bad was it?"
Black grinned a little. "Dumbledore slowed you down. Nothing broken, hard-head."
"I -- " Harry stopped. Severus actually saw his pupils dilate in panic. "Peter," he breathed.
"What?" Remus asked, lifting his head.
"I saw him," Harry said, voice trembling. "Peter Pettigrew. I saw him. He was at the game. He was fighting with someone -- "
"That's the Dementors," Pomfrey said soothingly. "They can make people see things."
"No, before that," Harry insisted. "That's why I didn't see them coming -- "
His whole body went rigid.
"Harry, you're safe here -- " Black began, but Harry was looking past him, as if he could look straight through the castle walls. Severus felt a nauseous wave of fear and longing break over him, and threw up his mental walls quickly. Harry was terrified and agitated, and not over some mere Dementor-dream.
"I saw them," he said. "They were there, and then there was screaming..."
"I think perhaps Harry had better rest," Pomfrey said. Severus saw her hold the cup below the edge of the bed and break a capsule into the remains of the drink. She held it to Harry's lips and he drank, though he'd been opening his mouth to say something else. Even before he was finished, his eyelids were drooping. Black caught his head and eased it back onto the pillow.
"My study, I think," Dumbledore said, into the silence that followed. "Poppy?"
"I won't say a word," she said.
"Excellent. I believe we must take Professor Lupin with us, however. Mr. Black is qualified to judge his mental state, I'm sure," Dumbledore continued, and lifted one of Remus' arms around his shoulders without waiting for her to object. Remus stumbled for a few steps, then straightened.
"I can walk," he said, sounding less annoyed now.
Severus followed them out and along the hallway, feeling suddenly tired. He heard Dora gasp.
"I almost forgot," she said, reaching into the pocket of her robes. She handed a small envelope to Black. "It's something Remus asked for -- the files he wanted. Tap it twice and it'll expand."
Black shoved the envelope into his own pocket and nodded. They continued in silence until they reached the high, safe, and warm comfort of Dumbledore's study. Remus eased himself into a chair. Black leaned on the arm.
"That was a brilliant patronus," Dora said to him, in an undertone.
"Wasn't mine," Black replied. "I was going for Harry."
"The big dog?" she asked.
"Mine," Remus said. "I remember just before I went out."
"Who cast the hawk?" Black asked.
"Minerva's, I expect," Dumbledore answered, picking up a basket from his desk. "Toffee?"
They each took one, rather like children, though none of them unwrapped the sweet or ate it. Severus waved it off.
"Now then," Dumbledore said, seating himself at his desk. In the corner, Fawkes crooned reassuringly. "Let us see if we cannot make a coherent tale of this afternoon's adventure."
***
In the Gryffindor common room, all was chaos. The students, confused as to whether they should celebrate or not, talked loudly and animatedly about the game, while Lee Jordan and Hermione Granger pored over Quidditch rulebooks to see if the catch was fair.
Ginny sat at the windowseat, still in her muddy Quidditch things, her hair hanging in two limp, wet pigtails. The three Weasley boys were there as well, trying to cajole her into speaking, but she just stared at the little golden Snitch in her fingers.
Neville was worried about Harry, but he'd seen Sirius gather him up, and Sirius was a grownup -- he would make everything okay. He'd seen Padma in the hall, briefly, and knew she was all right too. She'd been with Draco at the game, and she wouldn't bolt on him, so he must be fine as well.
The other students, who knew Neville was one of the knot of interhouse friends who stood fast against all comers, including their own House if necessary, were giving him a wide berth. Even in his scarlet jumper, he was a temporary Slytherin in their midst.
Well, so be it then. He pushed through the crowd and walked up to where Ginny was sitting, daring the Weasley boys to say anything. One by one they picked up and left, until he was alone with Ginny. She looked up at him, smiled insincerely, and went back to studying the Snitch.
"It was a fair catch," he said. "You got it before Harry fell."
She shrugged.
"Tisn't how you want to win your first game, huh?" he asked.
"No," she said softly. "Harry okay?"
"Dunno. Reckon so, he's had worse."
Ginny nodded. Neville sat on the windowseat. He didn't know Ginny all that well, but he knew what Harry would say.
"Honourable thing to do would be to give it back," he began. "Call the game a draw and re-play it. That's what a Gryffindor would do. Don't you think?"
"Yes," she said, no doubt in her voice now.
"Think you couldn't have won against Harry Potter?"
She looked up sharply at him. He shrugged. "You caught the Snitch. If you think you couldn't win, you should call for a draw and re-play. Then you should quit. 'Cause it was a fair catch, and if you don't think you're as good a Seeker as he is, or Cho Chang or Ced Diggory, you should quit."
"I'm as good as them any day," she said, fire flashing in her eyes.
"Then you could have won fair against Harry?" he asked. "Where I sat it looked like he was halfway across the field from you."
"You really think so?" she asked.
"Who're you talking to? Only Harry's best friend," Neville said. "Harry won't say anything different."
"He won't be mad?"
"Nah. Games have rules," Neville said, repeating something Harry had once told him. "If you don't learn to play by the rules, when you're out in the real world you won't know how to play by those rules, which you can't break, and then you'll just lose. Got to play by the rules. Rules say it was a fair catch."
"Hermione thinks -- "
"Oh seriously. Hermione?" Neville asked. "She's a brain and I like her, but she's hardly a Quidditch expert, is she?"
Ginny gave him the first real smile he'd seen since the game ended.
"Now go wash your hair and put on decent clothes, you look like a drowned rat," he added. To his shock, she threw her arms around his neck, hugged him tightly, and bolted for the stairs.
***
One of the greatest regrets of Draco's childhood was that nobody ever saw the Leap.
He hadn't done it for attention or to show off, at the time, but all the same it would have been nice if someone had seen it. It was a glorious Leap, the bravest thing he felt he'd ever done, despite having faced down a Basilisk and survived thirteen years with his mother.
When Harry fell from his broomstick everyone shot to their feet, Draco included, but while he was worrying about Harry he also saw Harry's Nimbus shake free of its owner and go whipping away. Draco knew how much Harry loved the Nimbus, a gift from Sirius, and he knew that if it got free and into the forest Harry would be crushed.
Draco saw the broomstick go racing past the stands. Everyone else ran for the ladders or stared after Harry, but unthinkingly, instinctively, Draco leaned the other direction, over the edge of the railing, and Leaped.
For a long minute he knew what it was to fly, with his coat flapping out behind him and his shoes dripping rainwater over pure empty space. It seemed to go on forever.
Then, with a testicle-crushing jolt that even the cushioning charms couldn't prevent, he landed on Harry's broomstick and hooked his arms around it, pressing his cheek to the pale wood. The broomstick dropped twenty feet at least, emerging from the back of the stands and shooting straight for the Whomping Willow.
Draco let out a warcry he didn't even know he had in him, half yelping pain and half ecstasy. The Nimbus rocked and jerked, spun and bucked, but Draco clung tightly and whooped again. He whipped it round to a halt and felt the brush of a leaf as the Whomping Willow reached out to club him and missed by a hair's breadth. The Nimbus jerked once, rebelliously, and then began to descend. Draco was damned if he'd drop down to the level of the swarming Dementors, even if they were what seemed like miles off by now. He jerked it up, firmly, and shot into the air above the forest.
"Yah!" he said daringly. "Take that!"
He was aware that he was wet and trembling, but he had Harry's broomstick, and that was what counted. Sirius would be proud, he was sure, and Harry would be pleased.
By the time he reached the Quidditch Pitch, however, he was worried. The stand and field were empty, echoingly empty. He hovered the broomstick over the field for a minute, feeling like an intruder, and then hurriedly flew back to the castle, looking over his shoulder for Dementors. It was a long journey, or at least it felt like much longer than usual, and when he arrived at the door there was nobody there, either. It was bolted shut. If the front door of Hogwarts was closed and locked, all of them would be.
He could go to the kitchens and bang on the windows for the elves to let him in, or he could probably knock on the window of a professor's office, but the idea filled him with dread. Hufflepuff dormitory was underground, no help there, and he didn't think he was brave enough to try Gryffindor or Ravenclaw, at the tops of the tall towers.
Harry would be in the hosptial wing though, wouldn't he? And if it came to the absolute worst he could try Remus' rooms. That would be mortifying in the extreme, but Remus wouldn't tell anyone, at least.
He lifted off again and rose slowly, still checking for Dementors. Past the first and second floors and up and up to the windows of the hospital wing. One of them was open and he studied it briefly before sliding inside, pulling the broom behind him.
It was empty and quiet here too, except for Harry, lying on the bed nearest the door. Over the fear and the weird loneliness of the empty grounds, Draco felt a twinge of pride as he set the broomstick by Harry's bed. He could sit on the bed next to him and dry off a bit, then he would go down to Hufflepuff.
He leaned back on the bed, boots dangling off the edge, and stared up at the ceiling. Eventually, without meaning to at all, he drifted off to sleep.
***
Two men stand in the forest, watching the castle and the empty grounds. One is tall and gaunt, but he wears the most expensive clothing it is possible to steal from Hogsmeade. The other is shortish, roundish, with a pointy ratty face. He is ranting, nearly raving.
"I have told you time and again that we will fetch the boy when the time is right, and not before!" he says, quiet but intense. "You've already cost us access to the castle with your stunt!"
"We will take him when we take Potter," the tall man says dully. "When will that be?"
"When we have a safe place to keep him and when he is alone. When he won't be missed. The men watching him aren't fools!"
"Shut up," says the tall man, and the smaller man obeys, looking surprised.
"Lucius," he snivels, after a moment, "There are things yet to be prepared and -- "
"He is my son," Lucius says proudly. Behind him, the smaller man rolls his eyes.
"Lucius, we have to be careful."
Lucius is lucid for the moment, though he slips in and out.
"Did you see him jump from the high places?" he asks distantly. "Like Astyanax?"
"Who?"
"He leapt and did not fall."
"Come away, Lucius," says the small man, and Lucius smiles proudly.
"Yes, Peter," he replies.
***
Draco woke, several hours later, to a hoarse cry.
"FOUND HIM! HOSPITAL WING!"
The cry echoed weirdly around the room, as if it were passing through the walls. Draco sat up, startled, and nearly banged his head against Severus Snape's beaky nose.
"What are you doing here?" the man demanded.
"Um?" Draco said.
"Malfoy, what the ten kinds of hell are you doing here?"
Draco swallowed. "Brought Harry his broomstick," he said thickly.
"And decided to take a nap?" Snape asked.
"No...I just fell asleep..."
"While we searched the entire castle? Merlin, you are the world's own fool. Did you not hear me order everyone to their common rooms?"
Draco rubbed his eyes. He was not prepared to wake to an interrogation by his most feared professor.
"The door was locked when I came up," he said.
"Where were you before we locked it?"
"Getting Harry's broomstick," Draco said in a small voice. He looked up as Sirius skidded through the door at the same time Madam Pomfrey came out of her office to see what the hullabaloo was.
"Is he okay?" Sirius demanded.
"He won't be when I'm through with him," Professor Snape answered. "Pomfrey! Did you know Malfoy was here?"
"You didn't send him up?" she asked, perplexed. "I assumed he was sent up to keep Harry company."
"We've been searching the castle for him, woman! He was missed in the Hufflepuff headcount!"
"Well, you needn't take that tone," she retorted. "Nobody told me."
Draco slid to his feet and found himself suddenly engulfed in the smell of leather and wet dog. Sirius had wrapped him in a tight embrace.
"We thought your father had got you," he said, releasing a stunned and confused Draco. "We've been looking for hours -- there are Aurors all over the Forest."
And then he said the most dreaded words of Draco's existence.
"We've called your Mum, for Merlin's sake."
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