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Chapter Four part two Secrets and Second Chances: Chapter Five
There was neither hide nor hair of a Howler from Lucius Malfoy the day after. Harry had expected the man to have some reaction to his son’s injury - but Draco had scoffed at Harry’s inquiry and said, “I’m not a baby, Harry. I don’t go running to my father over stupid accidents.”
Harry spent a lot of time over the next few days dodging out of sight whenever he saw Gilderoy Lockhart. Colin Creevey was harder to avoid, but the lad was innocent enough - Harry just hated the adrenaline rush Colin would startle out of him every time he popped out around a corner.
Another man Harry took pains to avoid was Snape. The Potions Master had been furious with Lockhart over the damage done to his Slytherin students - or so the rumor mill said. No one needed a rumor mill to see Snape squaring off with the annoying Defense professor, only to be blown off with a smile and an exaggerated wink. Harry had been rooting for Snape to hex the man, but their Potions professor had only stalked away, hands in fists at his sides.
Still, Harry didn’t understand why he kept seeing Snape in the halls. Last year, yes, with Quirrell in the building, Harry could see why Snape had taken to patrolling. Harry had done it, years and years later, near the end, when Hammerstein’s forces had grown large. Harry wouldn’t be able to sleep, so he would patrol whatever small encampment they had cobbled together, trying to wear down his nerves.
The rest of their classes were a rush of year one review. Harry gave in to Hermione’s insistence that they have a full review session on the weekend - he could use the practice, as well, to help smooth out more of his magic and gain further control.
Harry was relieved when the weekend rolled around. He, Hermione and Neville had planned to go see Hagrid at one point - Draco had already been to the gamekeeper’s hut with Theo, and, surprisingly, with Blaise Zabini in tow. We’ll have to keep an eye on that one, Harry had reminded himself. Just in case.
Harry’s plans for Saturday were dashed when he was shaken awake early that morning. He swung, instinct overriding caution. There was a shout, and then a familiar voice saying his name.
“Harry, Harry,” Fred had him. “Wake up. Sorry, Wood’s gone mental.”
“What?” Harry’s mind was a mix of sleep and memory. “Who? Where is he? We can escape…”
“Harry,” Fred gave him a shake. Harry blinked, the fog of sleep lifting. “Wake up, now. Come on.”
“What the hell, Fred?”
“Quidditch practice,” Fred tugged at his arm. Harry saw Wood at the door, George holding forth on something that had the large sixth year almost cowering back from the third year Beater.
“Come on, Harry. Wood’s been dead set on this.”
“Oh, for the love of god,” Harry slumped back into his blankets. “It’s the bloody crack of dawn.”
“Exactly,” Fred ruffled his hair. “Up and at ‘em, before we wake the whole tower.”
“Too late,” came Ron’s grumpy voice.
Harry rolled his eyes, sparing one, long moment to wish himself back asleep, and then rolled out of bed, letting Fred herd him into practice clothes and an extra cloak for warmth.
They made it to the changing rooms just ahead of the rest of the team. Harry slumped back against the wall, sharing an irate glance with Alicia Spinnet, a Chaser. The other girls, all Chasers, Katie Bell and Angelina Johnson, had set up around Harry, for which he was grateful. Wood would never dare to invoke their wrath.
“Good, good, you’re all here,” Wood clapped his hands, looking manic. “Now, I wanted to quick talk with you all before we actually get onto the field, because I spent the summer devising a whole new training program, which I really think will make all the difference…”
Wood held up a large diagram of a Quidditch field, on which were drawn many lines, arrows and crosses in different inks. He took out his wand, tapped the board and the arrows began to wiggle over the diagram like caterpillars. As Wood launched into a speech about his new tactics, Fred Weasley’s head dropped right onto Alicia Spinnet’s shoulder and he began to snore.
The first board took twenty minutes to explain, but there was another board under that, and a third under that. Harry let himself drift into a half-sleep as Wood droned on.
“So,” said Wood, at long last, jerking Harry out of dream. “Is that clear? Any questions?”
“I’ve got a question,” said George, who had woken with a start against Harry’s legs. “Why couldn’t you have told us all this yesterday when we were awake?”
Harry saw Wood scowl.
“Now listen here, you lot,” Wood said, glaring. “We should have won the Quidditch Cup last year. We’re easily the best team. But unfortunately - owning to circumstances beyond our control - we were unable to.”
Harry winced. He’d been unconscious in the hospital wing for the final match of the previous year, meaning that Gryffindor had been a player short and had suffered their worst defeat in three hundred years.
“So this year we’ll train harder than ever before,” Wood said after collecting himself. “Now, let’s go and put our new theories into practice.” Wood seized his broomstick and led the way out of the locker rooms. Stiff-legged and yawning, the team followed him.
They had been in the locker room so long that the sun was up. Remnants of mist hung low over the grass in the stadium. As Harry walked onto the field, he saw Hermione and Neville sitting next to Colin Creevey in the stands.
“Are you finished?” Hermione called.
“Haven’t even started,” Harry called back, giving the toast in their hands one regretful look. “Wood’s been teaching us new maneuvers.” He mounted his broomstick and kicked at the ground, soaring up into the air.
The cool morning air whipped at his face, waking him far more than Wood’s long talk. It felt wonderful to be back on the Quidditch field again. He soared right around the stadium at full speed, racing Fred and George.
“What’s that funny clicking noise?” called Fred as they hurtled around the corner.
“Colin!” Harry called back.
“What’s going on?” said Wood, frowning, as he skimmed through the air toward them. “Why’s that first year taking pictures? I don’t like it. He could be a Slytherin spy, trying to find out about our new training program.”
“He’s in Gryffindor,” Harry pointed out.
“And the Slytherins don’t need a spy,” said George.
“What makes you say that?” Wood retorted.
“Because they’re here in person,” George pointed.
Harry followed his arm to see the Slytherin team, in their green robes, walking out onto the field, broomsticks in hand.
“I don’t believe it!” Wood hissed in outrage. “I booked the field today! We’ll see about this!”
Wood shot toward the ground. Harry followed the twins after him.
“Flint!” Harry heard Oliver bellow. “This is our practice time! We got up specially for this! You can clear off now!”
Harry caught sight of Flint. He sure had an unfortunate adolescence. Harry winced at the troll-like visage. He knew the boy would grow out of it, as he would grow out of his bullying ways and end up on the same professional Quidditch team as Oliver. Ginny used to talk about how Flint followed Oliver around, Harry remembered. Odd how things change.
“There’s plenty of room for all of us, Wood,” Harry heard Flint say as he landed.
Angelina, Alicia and Katie had come over, too. The girls’ approach was greeted by a few faint leers and more than one mocking scowl. Harry glared at the older boys, feeling the corners of his mouth turn down.
“But I booked the field!” Wood waved his arms. “I booked it!”
“Ah,” said Flint. “But I’ve got a specially signed note here from Professor Snape. See? It says, I, Professor S. Snape, give the Slytherin team permission to practice today on the Quidditch field owning to the need to train their new Seeker. See?”
“You’ve got a new Seeker?” Wood blinked. “Who?”
Flint looked around. “Malfoy? Where are you?”
“Malfoy?” Harry heard Fred mutter.
The Slytherin team parted and Draco was pulled to the front. The second year was smaller than his teammates - although Harry knew it would not last. Draco ended up almost as tall as Ron, Harry remembered.
“This here is Draco Malfoy, and he’s our new Seeker. His father also made a generous gift to the team,” Flint smirked. His gaze never left Wood’s face as the team displayed their new brooms.
Harry kept his gaze on Draco. The blond had his eyes glued to the ground, a faint pink blush on his face as he clutched the new Nimbus Two Thousand and One to his chest.
“Very latest model. Only came out last month,” Flint continued. “I believe it outstrips the old Two Thousand series by a considerable amount. As for the old Clean Sweeps,” he smiled. “It sweeps the board with them.”
Harry caught Wood fairly seething with rage.
“Oh, look,” drawled Flint, gaze slipping past them. “A field invasion.”
Harry turned to see a crowd of Gryffindors and a few Slytherins headed their way. Closer, Harry could make out Theo and Zabini, as well as Ron, who had Dean and Seamus with him. Between them were Hermione and Neville. Hermione looked as though she was trying to mediate an argument between Ron and Theo. Behind them all trailed Colin Creevey.
“What’s this? What’s happening?” Ron stalked up to his brothers. “Why aren’t you practicing and why are they here?”
“We’re training our new Seeker,” one of the Slytherin team snapped back. “And trying out our new brooms Malfoy’s dad just gave us.”
Harry saw Draco’s shoulders come up.
“That - those - those are…”
“Good, aren’t they?” Flint tilted his broom at Wood. “Best on the line. Perhaps the Gryffindor team will be able to raise some gold and get new brooms, too. You could raffle off those old CleanSweep Fives; I expect a museum would bid for them.”
“At least no one on the Gryffindor team had to buy their way in,” Ron retorted. “They got in on pure talent.”
“No one asked for your opinion, you little blood traitor!” one of the older Slytherins snapped.
There was an immediate commotion. Draco turned on the Slytherin member, shouting. Flint had to pull apart two other team members. George had a hold of Ron, while Fred dived in to save Draco from a Slytherin fifth year’s fist. Alicia dove in to help him, while Harry rescued the blond from the fray.
“I didn’t ask for this,” Draco said, turning to him. He had grabbed onto Harry’s arm. “I swear. I told Mother I was thinking about trying out this year and Father just - sometimes he just does things and then Flint made me Seeker and…”
“It’s all right,” Harry patted his shoulder.
“How dare you!” Harry turned at Katie’s shriek. He saw the girl clutching her chest as a sixth year leered at her.
“You’ll pay for that!” Seamus shouted. He pulled his wand and pointed it at the older boy. There was a loud bang and a jet of green light shot out of his wand. It would have hit the intended target, if one of the Slytherin Chasers hadn’t tackled Seamus, causing the wand to spin off, making the curse deflect and hit Harry right in the stomach.
Bugger, was all Harry had time to think, then he was on all fours, retching bile and blood into the grass.
Harry wasn’t able to focus on much more than vomiting as pandemonium erupted. He thought he heard Draco shouting some more, and then Neville was there, with a steady hand on Harry’s back and a soothing stream of nonsense for his ears. There was more shouting, but it was all a jumble to Harry as his stomach cramped, vile and tight, as he tried to expel all of his internal organs.
It was with quite a bit of relief that Harry passed out from the pain.
~*~
Harry woke in the hospital wing. He knew where he was by the scent of the place. He felt wrecked; his head pounded in time with his heartbeat. I think this might be the new record of how fast I can end up in the Infirmary. His muscles ached, like he’d been put through a series of Cruciatus curses. He tried to sit up, but found it too painful to move.
Well, at least it wasn’t slugs, he tried to stay positive. Merlin, but Ron was miserable for hours. I think I’ll take retching blood over slugs, never could stand the creatures in the first place.
He knuckled the grit from his eyes and felt around for his glasses. Everything was blurry - but that was normal. He made a face at the taste left in his mouth. Left over blood is disgusting, he snorted as he went up on an elbow to get a better reach. He found the glasses on the bedside table and slipped them on.
“Mr. Potter.”
Harry whipped around at Snape’s voice. He clutched at the covers. “S-sir.” How had he missed the man’s presence? Unless he was under a disillusionment charm, Harry felt a touch of cold run down his spine. If he was under a charm, could he have read my mind? Was my guard up? I was asleep - I - Harry had kept his gaze on the man’s chest, avoiding Snape’s eyes.
“I will have your side of this nonsense, Potter, so that all the guilty parties may be punished,” Snape said. Harry shivered at this tone. When Snape got angry - really angry - he rarely shouted. Instead the man got very, very quiet.
“Um,” Harry winced again, anticipating the scathing remark sure to follow. He glanced up at the man’s face when nothing came. He’s not going to yell at me? Then Harry blinked.
“We were on the pitch, ah, the Gryffindor team, that is. Wood had us out early and then the Slytherin team came out with a note saying they also had permission to use the pitch,” not so fast, Harry remembered an old Auror trainer saying. When you give your reports, don’t rush. State the facts, clear and simple. “Wood and Flint were needling each other - well, Flint was goading Wood, but Oliver was so angry about the pitch schedule he missed it. Then Hermione, Neville, Theo and Zabini, as well as Ron, Dean and…Seamus? Yes, Seamus all came down onto the field. Sometimes Ron comes to watch his brothers practice.”
“A fascinating summary, Potter, but I would like to know who did what, to the best of your memory.”
Harry ducked his head, feeling his shoulders climb up around his ears.
“Someone called Ron a blood traitor,” Harry said before Snape could snap at is posture. “A Slytherin Beater, but I don’t know his name. Brown hair, with freckles. Flint had to separate his Chasers. George had a hold of Ron. Fred pulled Draco away from an older year on the Slytherin team. Then Katie got, um,” Harry gestured at his chest. “Groped? But I don’t know who did that, and Seamus tried to curse them, but he was tackled mid-spell and his wand spun off, and the curse hit me, by accident.” Merlin, I do sound like I’m twelve, Harry buried his hands in the blankets. There’s something about this man that always makes me feel like an idiot.
“So, to the best of your memory, this entire episode was caused by the Slytherin House.”
“No,” Harry snapped his head up. “An idiot started this. A stupid boy who repeats stupid things he doesn’t even understand.” He bit his lip and looked away. “Sir. Sorry, sir. I didn’t mean to be - I’m sorry.”
“You are quite fond of your own importance,” Snape sneered.
Harry clamped his mouth shut and kept his gaze trained away.
“Your version of events does stand up to all that were gathered. Mr. Malfoy has been quite adamant of those who should be punished for starting the fray. Of course, he also adds that Mr. Weasley the younger and Mr. Finnigan should be punished as well.”
Harry just shrugged.
“You would agree?”
“No,” Harry bit out. “Well, not exactly. Ron didn’t help matters, but he wasn’t the one throwing insults around to start the fight.”
“And you do not blame Mr. Finnigan.”
“It was an accident.”
“And if the curse had reached its intended target?”
“Then yes, of course, he’d need to be punished.”
“But you do not believe he needs to be punished for hitting you.”
Harry froze. “That’s - I didn’t - it really was just an accident.”
Snape set a bottle on the nightstand. “This is for your stomach. You are to take it before every meal, one sip, until it is gone. Disobey the instructions at your own peril. Mr. Finnigan’s curse could have killed you, Potter.”
Harry didn’t mean to huff out a painful laugh. “I think it’ll take more than that, sir.” He reached for the vial.
A strong grip took his wrist. Harry flinched away from the sudden movement, gaze flying to Snape’s. Why is he - please don’t hit -
Snape let go. “Only take the potion before you eat, Potter. Taking it now will be just as damaging as not taking it at all.” Snape drew back. “Mind Madam Pomfrey, Potter.” Then he swept away.
Harry blinked at the retreating back. He must be out of sorts over the fray, Harry frowned. He didn’t even mock me. Then Madam Pomfrey arrived and all of Harry’s attention was diverted to keeping the woman from grounding Harry to the Infirmary for the rest of the week.
~*~
Harry was released from Madam Pomfrey’s care by only the dent of much pleading. Harry made it to dinner with Hermione and Neville just as the food appeared. He learned, from the gossip flying around him, that half the Slytherin Quidditch team had detentions, as did Ron, Seamus and Wood, who had, at some point, gotten into a wrestling match with Flint. Both boys were glaring at each other from their respective tables.
Ron and Seamus had detention with Lockhart, which caused Harry to chuckle. Ron turned a murderous glare on him, eyes a touch red. The Slytherin detentions were to be served with Filch, which came as a surprise. Both Houses had lost twenty points for fighting.
It was on the way back to the dormitory that Harry heard the voice. He stopped, Neville and Hermione continuing on as he listened.
Come…come to me…let me rip you…let me tear you…let me kill you…
Bloody hell. Harry’s breath caught in his throat. It’s here. The basilisk is already loose.
Chapter Six