HP: A Cadmean Victory Remastered

Harry was less anxious on Saturday morning than he'd been a week earlier, but he was still relieved when Ron arrived to keep him company.

'I'm glad we established this tradition from the start,' said Harry. 'Otherwise I'd have to take up smoking just to settle my nerves, and I suspect Tuttle wouldn't approve.'

'I need to see her in action one of these days,' said Ron. 'I've heard bits and pieces from you, and Janet gave me an earful last night.'

'I'm not surprised ... Our practice match dragged on for hours—in the pouring rain, mind you—and then Tuttle kept us on the benches afterwards with copious notes. Janet was not pleased.'

'I know—she literally had smoke coming out of her ears.'

'Yes, but that was partly because they gave up Pepper-Up Potion as a preventive measure.'

'Are you feeling all right, for today's match?' asked Ron.

'I'm feeling great. How was Janet this morning?'

'I wouldn't know ... She kicked me out at half ten. She has strict rules about the night before a match, apparently.'

'I suppose I do as well,' said Harry. 'So far, anyway … I had a quiet evening with Kreacher.'

'How romantic. Does your "ravishing, unnamed companion" know?'

'She knows all about Kreacher ... Hermione sent me a Howler when she heard I'd locked him in the cupboard, and it arrived at a highly inconvenient moment.' Harry's description of the incident left Ron in hysterics, gasping for breath.

When Ron calmed down he asked, 'What on earth did you do in a past life to have such a completely mental one this time around?'

'I've often wondered. Do you have any theories?'

Ron thought for a moment. 'My best guess is that you pulled a Fred and George with some dungbombs at a Seers' Convention, and they vowed eternal revenge.'

'That would explain a lot.'

'But clearly the Howler didn't wreck everything, otherwise your "exceptionally lovely" witch wouldn't have come back for seconds. Will you be seeing her again, or has she already grown tired of your long-suffering Boy-Who-Lived act?'

'I don't have an act!'

'You don't need one,' said Ron, laughing. 'Just like I don't need one either—not anymore. I should send a thank-you owl to the Order of Merlin committee. Do you reckon Dumbledore made the most of his? I'm sure Lockhart did.'

'I have no interest in following this train of thought,' said Harry. 'In answer to your previous question—yes, I'm seeing Helena tonight, and I've invited her to the party as well.'

'Really? Are you that serious with her already?'

'No, not at all. She knows it's just a fling, and I get the impression that suits her. She has a strong aversion to publicity, as you might have gathered from that photograph in the Prophet.'

'You know, you would have done the same a few years ago,' said Ron. 'I think you're finally comfortable in the spotlight.'

Harry sighed. 'I can't believe it, but I have to agree. And it's a bit mortifying … I feel like I'm proving Snape right.'

'What, that you're an attention-seeking glory-hound after all?'

'For example.'

'It took me years to understand why you didn't want attention,' said Ron. 'Merlin knows I wanted it. Still do, truth be told.'

'Right, but you're getting attention for your accomplishments. I got attention for having a psychopath after me, and for the not at all unique status of having dead parents.'

'Yes, but you were also the Boy Who Lived.'

'Which was a load of bollocks. All I did the first time Voldemort attacked me was probably shit my nappies.'

'"The Boy Who Shat" doesn't have the same ring to it, does it?' mused Ron.

Harry laughed. 'No, it really doesn't. I should be grateful it never caught on.'

Kreacher served their breakfast, which Harry had allowed him to prepare, and they continued the conversation whilst eating.

'I can't remember if I've apologised before,' said Ron, 'but I'm sorry I was such a jealous twat all those years.'

'You have apologised, and stop worrying about it.'

'It still weighs on me though,' admitted Ron. 'Like during the Triwizard Tournament, when I was daft enough to believe for weeks that you'd put your own name in the goblet.'

'That really was daft. You knew how mediocre I was at Charms.'

'Hermione tried pointing that out—in those exact words—and the twins did as well. But I couldn't hear it. All I could think was that you'd somehow taken the slot away from me.'

'No, I'm fairly certain Neville was next in line,' said Harry, and Ron chuckled. 'But you're right,' he added in a more sober voice. 'It was hard when you didn't believe me. Though I suppose it was good practice for fifth year, when nobody believed me.'

'At least I had your back then, even though you were a tetchy bastard the entire time.'

'That's true—I definitely had my revenge.'

'Amazing how we can laugh about it now,' said Ron.

'I suppose it is, to the extent you can call this laughing and not just gallows humour.'

'It certainly helps to have the last laugh. Unless you consider all the people who didn't, of course.'

'You just had to bring them up, didn't you?' said Harry with a bittersweet smile.

'They turn up on their own somehow, haven't you noticed?'

'Yeah. But at least they don't need Cannons tickets. Your family alone nearly used up my entire allotment. It's just as well Fred isn't around anymore.'

'Nah, you could have just skipped Percy,' said Ron, and Harry laughed.

'I'd hoped to offer tickets to everyone from Auror training, but I can't see when I'll ever have enough. Apparently the home games have all sold out this season, and most of the away games as well.'

Ron was impressed. 'The team owners must be raising their glasses to you. Perhaps they'll send you a fruit basket.'

'I'd rather they sent me some bloody tickets,' grumbled Harry. 'How's the Auror crowd anyway? I'm sorry I scarpered without saying goodbye—apparently I needed a clean break.'

'Yeah, that wasn't your most diplomatic move,' said Ron. 'But you never really got to know them in the first place, so I don't think anyone was surprised.'

'Are you getting to know them now?'

'I am, actually. Harper and I are usually paired up, and I tend to eat lunch with his group. They're a lot of fun.'

'It occurs to me they almost certainly went to schools other than Hogwarts. I can't imagine why it never came up in conversation.'

Ron looked at Harry. 'You don't suppose there are memory wards at the Ministry too?'

'Oh, bloody hell. There probably are. Can you mention it to Bill next time you see him? I'll pass it along to Hermione and Minerva.'

'I can't believe you're on a first-name basis with Professor McGonagall,' smirked Ron. 'Do you think if Snape were still alive you'd be calling him Severus? I'm guessing yes.'

'Not possible. Sirius probably charmed the ring to force me to call him "Snivellus."'

'There's a thought ... Do you suppose the ring is compelling you to wear robes now as well? That's the most likely explanation, really.'

'What, I can't decide I like robes on my own?'

'You look like Lucius bloody Malfoy,' said Ron, and Harry scowled. 'Relax, I'm just taking the piss. I thought they looked good.'

'Cheers ... Oh, there's the owl with the Prophet. I wonder if they printed my statement.' Harry walked to the window to collect the newspaper.

'You sent them a statement?'

'Yeah, about how lordships are complete bollocks,' said Harry, unrolling the newspaper. The front headline blared:

'Potter: Lordships Are "Complete Bollocks."'

'Blimey,' exclaimed Ron. 'You really said that?'

'The original version said "nonsense" but I changed it. I didn't see the point in mincing words.'

The article read:

In a written statement laced with his trademark vulgarity, Harry Potter, 18, denounced wizarding lordships just days after his own title became public.

Potter's statement, sent to the Prophet by express owl on Friday morning, is printed without omission below:

'I, Harry James Potter, hereby request not to be addressed or referred to as Lord Black. Although I readily accept the role of head of House Black, having been so named by my late godfather, Sirius Orion Black, I have no wish to embody or perpetuate the system of wizarding peerage. Bluntly stated, it is my decided opinion that wizarding lordships are complete bollocks.

'Unlike Muggle titles, which have for centuries been granted by the monarch in recognition of service to the Crown, wizarding lordships were sold—yes, sold—in 1707 to a handful of families who contributed funds towards the construction of the Ministry of Magic. The Blacks were one such family, and it is absurd that I be called "Lord" above nearly every other witch and wizard for a mere monetary transaction. I should note that the monies donated were probably stolen from Muggles in the first place.

'As we strive to rebuild wizarding Britain along more egalitarian lines, I invite a frank discussion of the value of lordships and other "traditions" which, in my opinion, make a mockery of the noble traditions shared by all magical peoples, irrespective of how rich or pretentious their ancestors were.'

Ron was flabbergasted. 'Holy shit, I can't believe you sent that. Were you drunk or something?'

'I was not drunk! In fact, Hermione, Minerva, and Bill helped me write it.'

'The final version?' asked Ron pointedly.

Harry twisted his mouth in contrition. 'I may have tweaked it a bit.'

'Let me guess. Clearly the "bollocks" part. I gather "rubbish" wouldn't have been strong enough?'

'Everyone would have known what I'd really meant. I figured profanity would make a stronger impression.'

'I reckon you're right.' Ron continued scanning the text and said, 'You probably added the part about how the money was stolen in the first place.'

'No, that was Hermione.'

'Yeah, that makes sense. But you had to have added the last bit: "irrespective of how rich or pretentious their ancestors were."'

'Guilty as charged. But I think it adds a real punch.'

'That it does,' said Ron, before continuing to read the article:

The Prophet has been unable to verify the truth of Potter's claims regarding the origin of wizarding lordships, but Delenda Lidwick, editor of Lidwick's Social Gazette, offered the following response:

'Potter is surely mistaken in his assertion that lordships date only to the founding of the Ministry. It has long been my understanding that they predate the Wizengamot and were, in fact, granted by Merlin himself to his most trusted acolytes. Personally, I'm sorry to see young Potter scorn such an essential aspect of wizarding culture, and I'm certain his forebears would feel the same. The Potters, although an old wizarding family with distinguished strains such as the Peverell line, have never risen above what might be called the prosperous middle class, and in renouncing the title Harry is guaranteeing that the Potters remain thus.'

'What gives that Lidwick cow special insight into what my "forebears" would have thought?' grumbled Harry. 'Did it occur to her that the Potters simply weren't a bunch of prats?'

'There had to have been at least a few prats,' said Ron. 'My family has Percy, for example.'

'Fair point, but I don't think even Percy would want a lordship. He'd much rather earn his honours.'

'That's true,' said Ron.

The article continued:

Lord Romulus Wynter, 91, offered the following perspective. 'Whilst I commend young Potter's passion, he clearly doesn't understand the true significance of a wizarding lordship. He appears to think they only indicate status and demand deference, when in fact a wizarding lordship confers sacred duties upon its holder. These would be evident were Potter to attend a Wizengamot session, which is now his right as Lord Black, regardless of how he asks people to address him.'

'Do you know what he's talking about?' asked Harry. 'Andromeda didn't mention any Wizengamot duties other than voting. And I can't say I noticed the lords doing anything special during the war trials last summer.'

'No, but they all wore those funny hats,' said Ron. 'And one of them kept striking a gong.'

Harry grinned mischievously. 'Oh please tell me that's what he's referring to. I'm sure I'll find out soon enough.'

The article concluded:

The Prophet hereby pledges to respect Potter's request to be called by his birth name, unless he should change his mind and choose to honour what was clearly his godfather's dying wish. We also invite further response from the Lords and Ladies amongst our readers, who can only want to correct Potter's misapprehension, which surely originates in his Muggle upbringing.

'My godfather's dying wish?' blurted Harry. 'In Sirius's last letter to me he specifically mentioned what a load of bollocks the title was and encouraged me to ignore it. I can't believe he'd disagree with anything I wrote in that statement.'

'Calm down—of course Sirius would agree with you. In fact, wherever he is, he's probably laughing his arse off.'

'Not probably—definitely. In fact, I'm starting to wonder whether my entire life isn't an elaborate prank cooked up by the Marauders. All four of them.'

'You're sounding a bit paranoid, mate,' said Ron.

'I suppose you're right. We should probably go back to your "angry Seers" theory.' Harry looked again at the Prophet and said, 'I wonder if the Silver Arrow people are regretting their offer ... They contacted me this week about an endorsement.'

'Are you serious? That's brilliant!'

Harry shook his head. 'No, I'm not interested.'

'Why not? I thought you loved your new broomstick. You told me it's the best you've ever ridden.'

'Yes, but that's irrelevant. They want me to appear in their advertisements and store displays, including a life-sized animated cardboard cutout. Can you imagine?'

Ron grimaced. 'I see your point. Quidditch supply shops are heavily trafficked by teenage boys ... You'd have a cock and balls drawn on your cheek within the first hour. But couldn't you negotiate that part out?'

'No, they also want to name the broomstick after me, and I can't do it. It's too Lockhart.'

'You'd make a shit-ton of Galleons,' persisted Ron.

Harry sighed. 'I know. But I'm already likely to clean up on team merchandise—Lara told me they're getting flooded with advance requests, even though nothing's been available yet.'

'Surely they'll have items for sale today.'

'Yes, heaps of them.'

Ron laughed. 'We'll have to send something to Professor McGonagall so she can display it in plain sight of Snape's portrait.'

'Oh dear, she might actually do that, on behalf of Gryffindor House.'

Ron was silent a moment before saying, 'It's a good thing I also got over my jealousy regarding money. My younger self would be grinding his teeth right about now.'

'I'm sorry,' said Harry. 'I wish I'd known how to handle it better.'

'You did nothing wrong. It's not your fault the Potters had gold and the Weasleys didn't.'

'You realise I'd have traded it all for a family, right? Other than the Dursleys, of course.'

'I know that now. I think it took losing Fred to make me appreciate what I have.' After a pause he asked. 'Are you still in touch with them?'

'No, but I ran into Dudley last week, with Hermione. He asked me for her telephone number.'

Ron burst out laughing. 'That's even harder to picture than her and Ryan Bellamy.'

'You'll see for yourself today, since he invited her to the match. And if we win he'll be joining us at the Spyglass—Renée made him promise.'

'Hermione at the Cracked Spyglass? That I have to see, from a safe distance, of course.'

'Are you worried about a confrontation? That seems unlikely.'

'No, of course not. I'm more concerned about Janet. If she's in high spirits she might want to, I dunno, compare notes or something.'

'You're right—I could definitely see her doing that. Best to prevent it.'

'By the way, thanks again for introducing us. She's a firecracker all right,' said Ron with a gleam in his eye. 'And you've actually got George dating as well—he's seeing Rebecca again tonight.'

'I'm glad to hear it. George doesn't believe me, but he had it in the bag as soon as she learnt he'd invented Canary Creams.'

'I suppose you're developing an instinct for that sort of thing … Do you reckon you can help Charlie while he's visiting? I don't think he's ever brought a witch home.'

'Are you sure he fancies witches?'

'Good question, and I've no idea. He's definitely the quiet Weasley. I still don't know why he never went out for professional Quidditch. Several teams recruited him, you know.'

'Really? I can't believe you never told me that before.'

'I didn't know until recently. Dad let it slip at Sunday dinner after you joined the Cannons. But apparently Charlie wasn't interested—he caught the first portkey to the Continent instead.'

'And to think, you mightn't have been the most famous Weasley.'

'I'm not so sure about that. I expect Order of Merlin, First Class, outranks league Seeker.'

'I couldn't say … I've got both,' drawled Harry.

'Harry!' cried Ron, aghast. 'Where the hell did that come from?'

Mortified, Harry said, 'I'm so sorry, it just popped out. I reckon all the taunting during practice is creating a monster.'

'Or unleashing one. Merlin! Don't let your detractors hear you talking like that!'

'I'll try, but it's not easy to shut off.'

'Try harder then. Blimey!'

They talked Quidditch for the next few hours, punctuated by a lively visit with Padfoot. 'I've engaged a dog trainer,' said Harry. 'She'll be working with him intensively this week ... My hope is that he'll be a bit more presentable for the party on Saturday.'

'That's good,' said Ron. 'There's a lot of mingling space here in the entrance hall, but nobody's going to want to hang around if he's barking at full volume.'

'She's hopeful he'll train up tolerably. It's not clear what breed he is—apparently he's a mongrel, which seems appropriate for Sirius's alter-ego—but she said he ought to be fairly intelligent, for a dog anyway. She's also going to consult a Charms expert to see if there's any way to draw on the overall magic in the house. She seemed to consider it a challenge.'

The time arrived for Harry to leave for the Cannons training grounds. 'Good luck, mate,' said Ron. 'I can't wait to see the new strategy ... I haven't breathed a word to the rest of the family, so they should be suitably gobsmacked.'

'Thanks—it should be a lot of fun, assuming I don't collapse from exhaustion.'

'I'd tell you to conserve some strength for Helena, but as far as I'm concerned you can lie in a coma all week as long as the Cannons win at the weekend.'

'I'm glad you're looking out for me. You're a true friend.'

Ron departed through the fireplace, and after a few last-minute preparations Harry Apparated to join the rest of the team.

Janet greeted him. 'Have you just seen Ron, then?'

'I have,' replied Harry. 'He seemed rather put out to have been chucked to the kerb last night.'

'I did no such thing! I chucked him into the fireplace, like any good wizard.'

'You'll have to make it up to him tonight, then.'

'Believe me, that's what I have in mind.'

'Focus, Lindhurst ... mind the hoops instead.'

'You and your stupid priorities.'

The weather was still lousy but not as bad the day before had been. But the sky looked threatening, and the ground was saturated. 'Do you know if the weather is similar at the stadium?' asked Harry.

Gary said, 'Yes, I stopped by my parents' house this morning and watched the weather forecast. We can definitely expect rain during the match.'

'Brilliant,' groaned Harry. 'Spotting's not so easy in low light.'

'At least the fans won't be disappointed by a short match. Just pace yourself with the feints ... You don't want to burn out too early.'

'I know. Learnt that one yesterday.'

'I suppose you did. Nice work, by the way.'

The trainers led the team through warm-up exercises, and the flying drills were more fun than strenuous. It started to rain, so the players ate lunch inside the building.

'Second helpings, Potter,' ordered Tuttle, shoving another box of food at him. 'You've got a long afternoon ahead of you, and I don't want you running out of steam.'

They arrived at Chudley Stadium by Floo, and Harry felt much more at home than he had at the Falcons stadium. The arrival hall was festooned what looked like centuries worth of Cannons flags and banners, and there were hundreds of team portraits and photographs on the walls, including the most recent ones.

Harry hadn't been able to closely examine the new photographs when the publicity department had shown them to him, so he was glad for the opportunity. He particularly liked the full team photo, in which Owen and Harry were kneeling together in front.

Owen approached and said, 'I'd like a copy of that one.'

'So would I,' said Harry, who kept his eyes on the photo to conceal his emotions. 'I couldn't possibly do any of this without you. There's no way I could feint like I'm expected to without the techniques you've taught me.'

'I wouldn't have been able to feint like that even before my injuries,' said Owen. 'Normally it's a bit disappointing watching a Cannons match from the skybenches, but I reckon I'll have the best seat in the house. And I can't wait to see how the crowd reacts.'

'Don't get too comfortable. You might have to substitute for me when they carry me out on a stretcher.'

'Your Muggle upbringing is showing—wizards don't use stretchers. Some lord you are,' he said, and Harry laughed.

Owen showed him to the dressing room, which was much nicer than the one at Falcons stadium. Each player had a changing area with their name painted above it, and their team robes, boots, and accessories were waiting for them.

'This is surprisingly posh,' said Harry. 'I was expecting something more like the lockers at the training grounds.'

'The Cannons might not win very often, but the fans are loyal, which means there's always money for equipment and stadium improvements.'

'Impressive. Are the visitor locker rooms also this grand?'

'Not quite, but definitely better than what we had in Falmouth.'

They changed and gathered in the arrival hall, where the referee began checking them for illegal enhancements. 'Are you going to reveal the ring in advance, Potter, or do you want to reenact last weekend's drama?' asked Suresh.

'I'll reveal it now,' said Harry, doing so. 'The cat's certainly out of the bag.'

'And then some,' said Suresh. 'That was quite a statement you released to the Prophet.'

'Oh? What did you think.'

'It mostly reinforced my previous opinion of you—that you're simultaneously brilliant and fucking insane.'

'I can live with that.'

Titus said, 'I received three separate Floo calls this morning from various family members asking whether you're on the level. Specifically they wanted to know whether that bit about 1707 was true.'

'It is. My friend Hermione looked it up in the Ministry archives.'

'Fantastic,' said Titus. 'My granddad will be delighted to hear it. After a lifetime of being lorded over—literally—by one of his colleagues, he's dying to take him down a couple dozen pegs.'

'That's a relief ... I assumed most pure-bloods would be up in arms about it.'

'No, it'll just be the actual lords, and the wankers who get off on that kind of rubbish. Most pure-bloods are more like I suspect your father's people were. Couldn't care less about it, and might even have a poor opinion of the system. You were spot on about how the money was likely stolen from Muggles.'

'That was Hermione's suggestion.'

'Good for her,' said Titus, and Harry saw Ryan beaming nearby.

The referee came around to Harry and immediately started scanning the ring. 'Sorry, we need to check whether you've added anything since last week.'

'Of course. Have at it.'

Harry was soon cleared, and after concealing the ring he waited with the other players until Tuttle arrived. When she entered she was wearing her team robes, and her hood was raised and had water clinging to it. 'It's definitely raining out there. I'm glad you had a good long test run yesterday.'

'Is it expected to rain all afternoon?' asked Darren.

'No, it might clear up in a couple of hours.' She called one of the referees to oversee the players as they used the Impervius Charm to protect their robes. Harry was grateful he no longer had eyeglasses to worry about.

It was time for Tuttle's final pep talk. 'Cannons, the stadium out there might be completely soaked, but we're about to set it on fire. The most they're expecting from us is another win like last week's. But instead we're coming out with the most fucked-up strategy since ... well, since they sent a scrawny, half-blind teenager after You-Know-Who.

'And similarly, we're going to fly over that pitch and blow the Appleby Arrows into pieces. They won't even see it coming. And it'll be all of you doing it—you worked like crazy all week and this is a group effort, just like everything we do. So get out there and show everyone what the best team in the league looks like!'

Everyone cheered, and Janet turned to Harry and asked, 'Did she just compare the Appleby Arrows to You-Know-Who?'

'Yes. Yes she did.'

'Did Albus Dumbledore ever give you a pep talk like that?' asked Darren.

Harry laughed out loud, trying to imagine it. 'No, he preferred maddeningly cryptic hints.'

A Cannons staff member entered the room and said, 'It's time,' prompting the players to march down the corridor, broomsticks in hand.

One by one the starters flew into the stadium to enormous cheers. Janet preceded Harry, and then a hush fell over the crowd. 'It's the moment you've been waiting for,' began the announcer. 'We're proud to introduce ... in his Chudley Stadium debut ... the Cannons' undefeated Seeker ... wearing number three ... Harry Potter!'

It may have been raining, but Harry hardly knew it as he flew into the blindingly orange stadium and was buoyed by the roar of several thousand fans. He was dazzled not only by the colour but by dozens of signs bearing his name, many of them animated magically. Some of them referenced recent headlines, which should have bothered him, but he could only feel cheered by the signs extolling 'The Light Lord' and depicting orange beams shooting from his wand.

As soon as he surveyed the stadium, Harry mindfully expanded into strong awareness and set his intentions for the match. He no longer limited his intention to allowing the Snitch to appear and avoiding Bludgers—he invited himself to remain in open awareness the entire time, to feint unerringly, and even to taunt with lightning precision. The colossal noise from the spectators fit perfectly into his conscious experience, providing the backdrop for everything that would unfold.

The balls were released and Harry began his circling pattern. His plan was to circle for a while before feinting—longer perhaps than Tuttle would have liked, but he felt it necessary because the rain made it less likely he'd spot the Snitch right away.

Perhaps fifteen minutes into the match the Arrows' Seeker, Julian Barnwistle, approached him. 'I see you've taken a break from your social life to play Quidditch,' he said archly.

'Yes,' drawled Harry. 'I've nothing scheduled until teatime and decided to take a turn about the pitch. What brings you here?'

'I've come to end your so-called winning streak, Potter. Or should I say Lord Black?'

'Are you trying to rattle me? You'll have to do better than that—I duelled Voldemort, you know.'

'Wow, you're every bit as arrogant as I've heard, and then some.'

'At least I did something during the war other than playing Quidditch for a bunch of Death Eaters,' he retorted, and Barnwistle flinched. Harry knew he'd struck a nerve, but he didn't persist—the plan was to topple Barnwistle with flying rather than taunts. He zipped away to continue circling.

Barnwistle flew towards him a few minutes later. 'Those white robes were a bold choice. Did you tip off the photographers in advance?' Harry ignored him and he continued, 'It's a shame you didn't warn your girlfriend—apparently she's not as addicted to attention as you are, Black.'

Harry deliberately kept his gaze open but then he fixed his pupils on a spot near the Cannons' goalposts. He feinted downwards with Barnwistle close behind, nearly plowed into two of the Arrows' Chasers—forcing a turnover—and then looped sharply around one of the posts before resuming his circling pattern. The crowd screamed in excitement, and the announcer temporarily caught Harry's attention by marvelling over 'the most astonishing feint he'd ever witnessed.'

'Holy shit, Potter. Are you some kind of maniac?' exclaimed a red-faced Barnwistle.

'No, I'm just a competent flyer.'

'That wasn't flying, that was a broom-enhanced death wish.'

Harry accelerated away and resumed circling. The rain was heavier than before, and he needed to pace himself. He cleared his head with some leisure flying and allowed the crowd's energy to recharge his conscious power.

The Snitch remained hidden, and after a while Harry felt it was time for another feint. In a calculated move he aimed for Gary, who had just slammed one of the Bludgers towards the Appleby Chasers. If Barnwistle followed Harry's feint, he would fly straight into the Bludger's path unless he took evasive action.

The plan worked—Barnwistle accelerated towards Harry's apparent target and suddenly found himself coming between his own Chasers and an incoming Bludger. He was forced to turn and nearly crashed into one of his teammates.

When he caught up with Harry he was breathing hard. 'What the bloody hell was that? Are you trying to kill me?'

'No, I'm trying to catch the Snitch. You were just collateral damage.'

'You are seriously fucking insane,' said Barnwistle, more for his own benefit than for Harry's. He was clearly rattled by the Cannons' new strategy.

The match continued for a long while along these lines. Harry would circle, and Barnwistle would either track him or search for the Snitch independently. Then Harry would feint in some new and disruptive way, forcing a turnover more often than not, and resume circling.

Barnwistle took the bait every single time. He couldn't afford not to, since Harry already had a reputation as a good spotter, so he was forced to follow whatever erratic path Harry flew. He'd given up taunting and instead expressed ongoing alarm over Harry's mental state.

'No wonder You-Know-Who tried to snuff you as a baby! He'd clearly been warned.'

'You know, that's exactly what happened,' said Harry. It wasn't even bluster—Barnwistle had landed on the truth.

Harry's candour disarmed the rival Seeker. 'Are you actually impossible to kill?' he asked with apparent sincerity. 'That's how you're flying. Or did the war fuck you up?'

'I was fucked up long before the war. Voldemort killed my parents after all.' Harry was surprised to hear himself replying so candidly, but he wanted to reassure Barnwistle he was still human. Furthermore, the calm conversation was helping him expand back into awareness and reset his intention for the Snitch to appear.

'It's a good thing you don't have parents in the stands watching ... They'd be shitting their pants.'

The Boy Who Shat, mused Harry, but he didn't say anything.

Harry checked the score and was pleased to see the Cannons had a solid lead. His feints had undermined the Arrows' Chasers, whereas the Cannons had recovered quickly from Harry's attacks. The rain had finally stopped, but the ground was soaked and he assumed the fans were as well. But the crowd hadn't thinned at all.

He finally spotted the Snitch, low to the ground and heading towards Darren and Renée. He zoomed towards it and Barnwistle followed, but Harry was closer. Just as he wrapped his hand around the Snitch, he came perilously close to crashing into his own Chasers and had to angle downwards to avoid a collision. But he slid painlessly along the ground, his impact cushioned by the saturated earth.

'Potter's got the Snitch!' cried the announcer. 'Cannons win 310-70!' The crowd exploded into a frenzy and Harry, who was covered with mud, joined his teammates in a victory lap.

'Holy shit, it worked!' cried Darren, wrapping his arm around Harry as they flew. 'We actually did it!'

'Bloody amazing!' said Gary. 'Can you believe this crowd?'

The spectators' frenzied shouts eventually resolved into a chant, 'Potter! Potter!' which continued until Janet gave Harry a shove and shouted, 'They want you to take a victory lap on your own.'

Harry held the Snitch up high and raced around the stadium, feeling the mud harden on his face. He was beyond words, completely elated.

The players finally landed and were greeted on the pitch by the reserves. Owen threw his arms around Harry, heedless of the mud. 'Absolutely brilliant flying, Harry. That was fucking legendary.'

'Thanks, and I know I'm a broken record but I couldn't have done it without you.'

'Tell it to the reporters,' said Owen. 'I'm sure my grandmum will enjoy reading it.' There was a group of reporters and photographers at the edge of the pitch—they were cordoned behind wards but would be unleashed in short order.

The two sides lined up to shake hands, and Harry made a point of wearing his mildest expression to reassure everyone who was terrified of him. 'Barnwistle,' he called. 'Good match—sorry to spring that on you!'

'Merlin, that was the wildest flying I've ever done. I can't believe I'm not lying in pieces somewhere.'

'You're a great opponent,' said Harry. 'Will you be part of the group on Monday?'

'Yes, I never miss it. You'll join us, then?'

'Definitely, I'm looking forward to it.'

Next he was congratulated by Darius and Tuttle, and then the reporters were allowed onto the pitch. Harry was still caked in mud, and he made a point of standing near Owen who was more than a little muddy as well.

The reporters had loads of questions for Harry and his teammates. The Chasers received considerable attention, having profited from many of the turnovers, and Harry was happy to share the spotlight.

Everyone congratulated him on his flying, but Harry deliberately brought the conversation around to Owen. 'There's no way I could have flown like that without Owen's training. That is, I could have flown aggressively, but I never would have spotted the Snitch—not without everything he's taught me. He's a brilliant Seeker and it's a crying shame the world didn't get to see more of him.'

One of the reporters actually applauded, and several approached Owen with questions. Harry was pulled into a separate interview, pleased to see his mentor getting the attention he deserved.

Eventually the reporters dispersed and guests were allowed onto the pitch. Harry was immediately surrounded by Weasleys.

Mrs Weasley was the first to approach him. 'Harry, you scared the living daylights out of me! Whatever possessed you to fly like that? I had my wand out the entire time, ready to cast a Cushioning Charm, and I made Arthur do the same. Promise me you'll never fly like that again!'

'Don't listen to her,' said Bill. 'That was spectacular—better than the World Cup even—and you looked like you were having a grand time as well.'

'I was,' said Harry. 'Scared the pants off Barnwistle.'

Ron was next. 'I thought I knew what to expect, but I had no idea you were capable of flying like that! That was beyond mental ... Flying into your own Beaters? I reckon they'll name that one after you.'

'He's right,' said George. 'Perhaps they could call it the Harry Potter "I Survived Two Killing Curses And Am Therefore Invulnerable" Feint? I don't know—seems a little cumbersome.'

'My teammate Owen has started calling it the Potter Kamikaze Feint,' said Harry. 'Ask one of your more Muggle-aware mates to explain it.'

Charlie was hanging back, so Harry greeted him. 'Charlie, thanks so much for coming all this way ... I'm so glad you're here. Will you join us at the pub later on?'

'I'd love to, Harry. That was a fantastic match, definitely worth the trip! Congratulations, and thanks for inviting me.'

'Great, I'll see you there.'

Mr Weasley and Percy were next to congratulate him—Arthur clapped Harry on the back and said how proud he was, and Percy shook Harry's hand with his usual stuffed-shirt aplomb. 'Well done, Harry. That was admirable flying indeed! I trust you're pleased with your performance?'

'Yes,' replied Harry, trying not to smirk. 'We put a lot of effort into today's strategy, and I'm overjoyed it worked out so well.'

Percy was about to continue when Harry's attention was captured by Gabrielle. He'd last seen her two years earlier at Bill and Fleur's wedding, when she'd still been a little girl. But now she appeared fully grown, and a small part of Harry's brain realised he wasn't as invulnerable to Veelas as he'd thought.

'Hello, Harry,' she murmured, placing her hand on the part of his arm that wasn't covered in mud. 'Félicitations, your flying was merveilleux. Thank you for inviting me.'

'My pleasure,' he replied in a low voice, gazing into her sea-blue eyes. 'I'm so glad you could attend.' She's fourteen! screamed his mind, and he summoned memories of Helena to bring him back to reality. 'Are you enjoying your visit so far?'

'Yes, very much. I hope I will see more of you—I am looking forward to your party next weekend.'

Oh dear, Bill and Fleur must have told her. I guess we'll just have to keep her contained, thought Harry, who was once again master of himself. 'It'll be great to see you then.' And not before.

Luckily he was saved by Hagrid. 'Harry!' cried the half-giant. 'I've never seen flyin' like that in my life—yeh're summat else on a broom, that's fer certain! I musta' bellowed like a mountain troll when yeh caugh' the Snitch!'

Harry hoped Hagrid hadn't deafened anyone with his shouts. 'Thanks for coming, Hagrid—I'm so glad you could attend.'

'Wouldn'a missed it fer the world, Harry. I kep' thinkin' how proud your parents woulda' bin, especially yer dad. Yeh don't look so much like him withou' yer glasses, but yer still a chip off the ol' block.'

Harry was touched, but also a little ashamed. He'd imagined having Sirius and Remus in the stands, but his own parents had been absent from his fantasy. 'Thanks, Hagrid—I'm glad you still remember them,' he said sincerely.

'I always will, Harry. Yeh know tha'.'

The only remaining Weasley was Ginny, who had been standing a little back from the group. Harry hadn't seen her in nearly two months, since she'd broken up with him at Hogwarts. He looked in her direction and she approached.

'Harry, that was wonderful, congratulations!'

'Thanks, Ginny. I'm really glad you could attend.' Merlin, she's pretty, even wearing a bright orange jersey. 'I see you've dressed for the occasion.'

'Yes, Ron gave it to me. And you've dressed for it as well,' she said, indicating the mud covering his face and robes. 'But you look terrific—I can't believe you don't wear glasses anymore. I'm not used to seeing this version of you in public.'

Harry's heart skipped a beat, remembering her old refrain: Everyone else gets Eyeglasses Harry, but this one is all mine. 'Yes, I suppose everyone gets this version now.'

There was a slightly uncomfortable silence and she added, 'So much has happened since we last saw each other. You quit the Ministry, joined the Cannons ... became a lord.' She sniggered at the last one, and Harry rolled his eyes. 'I know,' she said, 'it's ridiculous, and I'm certain Sirius would have thought so as well. May I see the ring?'

He revealed it for her but it was covered in mud, along with the rest of his left hand, so he performed a cleaning charm on it. 'Oh my god, that thing's ghastly,' she said, laughing. 'No wonder you hide it.'

He concealed it again, ignoring the part of him that wanted to say, 'You would have been Lady Black.' Harry missed her so much it hurt. 'How are you doing?' he asked.

'I'm well, thanks,' she said automatically before adding, 'I've just signed with the Holyhead Harpies ... I start next week as a reserve Chaser.'

'Congratulations, that's fantastic! I suppose we'll be playing each other before long.'

'Not anytime soon, I hope. I saw what you did to the Chasers this afternoon, both sides! That really was brilliant flying, Harry.'

'Thanks.' He kept looking at her, hoping she wouldn't leave.

'I should go now,' she said awkwardly. 'Thanks again for the ticket, and ... good luck.'

'Thanks, Ginny. Good luck to you as well.'

She walked away and he was alone for a moment until Hermione approached him—he supposed she'd greeted Ryan first. 'Harry, congratulations—that was unbelievable! Thank goodness Ryan warned me what to expect, or I'd have been terrified for the both of you.'

'Did you meet his parents, then?'

'Yes, they're remarkable, his mother in particular ... I'll tell you more about them later. It seems I'll be accompanying you to the Cracked Spyglass.'

'Brilliant, I can't wait.' He looked around and noticed his teammates had gone. 'I suppose I should shower and change—everyone's stuck here until Tuttle finishes lecturing us.'

'I'm sure she'll have nothing but praise,' said Hermione warmly, and Harry laughed.

'Be sure to tell Ryan you said that—I'm sure he'll find it as hilarious as I did.'

He returned to the locker room, where he took a long shower and scrubbed away all the mud, including a significant quantity in his hair. After putting on new robes—dark and less formal than the white ones but still closely cut—he joined his teammates in the arrival hall.

Nobody seemed annoyed he'd kept them waiting, since they were all still celebrating the victory. 'Look at you,' said Janet, admiring his robes. 'The conquering hero. Brilliant!'

'Cheers,' replied Harry, before taking a seat to listen to Tuttle's notes. There was plenty of praise, and criticisms as well—not surprising, given the length of the match. But she kept her notes brief, probably aware that no one was paying much attention anyway.

'To the Spyglass?' asked Darren, and Harry nodded. 'If you thought last week was raucous, just you wait—this afternoon it'll be mayhem. I wouldn't be surprised if some of the fans covered themselves in mud as a tribute.'

Harry looked incredulous but Gary said, 'He's not exaggerating ... Cannons fans are in a class of their own. If they've been this loyal all the years we've been losing, there's no telling how they'll react if we start winning.'

'I suppose I'll see for myself,' replied Harry as he grabbed a pinch of Floo powder and stepped purposefully into the flames.