Living without Danger
Chapter 25: Plumpton Pass (Year 2)
By Anne B. Walsh
Chapter 25: Plumpton Pass
As they entered the castle, Padfoot stopped Harry before he could start up the stairs. "Detour," he said, pointing to a hallway which led to the ground floor classrooms. "Come on, everyone, we need to get a few things straightened out."
"What’d we do now?" muttered Draco.
"Nothing," said Letha. "But this is to prevent you from doing something."
Harry glanced back in time to see Draco’s fingers move. How does she do that? He smiled a little. He’d often wondered the same thing. Were all mothers, even Pack-mothers, gifted with uncommonly sharp ears?
A few waves of the adults’ wands pushed desks and chairs aside and conjured sofas and armchairs in a rough circle. Moony and Danger took one of the sofas, Padfoot and Letha another, and Meghan perched on the third and looked at Harry appealingly, patting the place beside her.
Another smile found its way to his face. She looked so much like Padfoot in his dog form when she did that, all large eyes and hopeful pleading. He sat beside her as the rest of the Pride found seats.
"Harry, we need to ask you another hard question," said Letha. "What do you remember of last night?"
"As much as you can remember would be helpful," added Moony. "Start at the beginning. Why did you leave the feast?"
Harry’s throat tightened, but he knew the Pack-parents were right. He had to talk about it eventually. Although he didn’t understand why it had to be now, he trusted them. "I heard Siss talking," he said. "She was saying she was hungry. She seemed to be moving very fast. I was worried that she might bite someone, or eat something that wouldn’t be good for her, so I went to find her and get her something to eat."
"You say she was moving?" asked Danger. "How could you tell?"
"Her voice was moving. First it was right level with me, then it started going up. She must have been on a staircase, just where I couldn’t see her. Or inside the wall, in a secret passage."
"That makes sense," said Padfoot. "Go on."
"I followed her voice up the stairs. Two flights. She said she’d found food, and I yelled for her not to eat it—"
"You yelled?" asked Letha. "Do you mean in Parseltongue?"
Harry nodded. "Is that bad? I thought no one would be around to hear me, everyone would be at the feast..."
"You did it more than once," said Neville unexpectedly. "I remember saying something to you the first time."
"You’re right," said Harry, recalling this himself. "I told her to wait for me once. Then I heard her say that about food, and shouted for her not to eat. And then she screamed my name..."
Meghan’s arms were around him, anchoring him to the present, he would not lose himself in tears again, not even for the memory of Siss’ voice echoing down the halls, sounding so frightened, she who had never been afraid of anything, who should have been a Gryffindor herself...
"Do you remember anything about the place where you found her?" asked Danger gently.
Harry shook his head, not trusting his voice.
"There was writing on the wall where you found Siss, Harry," said Moony. "It looked as if someone had intended her to be found in conjunction with their message. To make it clear that they’re serious, I suppose."
"Writing on the wall?" Harry frowned. There had been something unusual on the wall under the torch, he thought, but he couldn’t recall it clearly. "What did it say?"
"‘The Chamber of Secrets has been opened,’" recited Padfoot. "‘Enemies of the Heir, beware.’"
"Heir of who?" asked Harry, thinking of his pendants. "Or what? And what’s the Chamber of Secrets?"
"This is why we got you all together," said Letha. "So you can hear the straight story from us. There will be a thousand wild ideas flying around this school. For once, you are perfectly free to set the record straight. Tell as many people as you want to about this. Understand?"
The girls perked up at the thought that they would be allowed to tell something. Even the other boys looked interested. Harry nodded again. "We’re listening," he said for the Pride.
"The Chamber of Secrets is a legend that dates from the days of the Founders," said Moony. "You all know how Hogwarts was founded, and by whom, and about the disagreement over purity of blood. Some stories say that Salazar Slytherin knew the break would come, so before he left the school, he built a secret chamber within it, ever so originally named the Chamber of Secrets."
Everyone snickered a little at this.
"The Chamber is said to be accessible only to Slytherin’s true heir," said Danger, picking up the story. "And inside it Slytherin sealed something which would, in his opinion, cleanse the school, removing the undesirable element."
"He put something in there to kill all the Muggleborns?" blurted Hermione in shock.
"That is the general idea," said Padfoot. "No one knows what exactly is supposed to be inside the Chamber, but most stories say it’s some sort of monster."
Draco snorted. "And it can smell blood purity or something? Please."
"It would have to be directed," said Ginny. "Told who to kill and who to leave alone."
"You can’t direct a monster," said Ron, just a trifle scornfully. "They don’t listen to anyone — well, sometimes they do," he corrected himself. "Depends on what kind they are. Hagrid’s got some amazing stories."
"Some monsters respond to things you do, or to a special talisman," said Luna. "The Praxotuil of the Himalayas won’t attack you if you sing for it. And Henileges are repelled by things in the shape of the letter B. Maybe Slytherin passed down the secret, or the talisman, in his family, so that only his Heir would have it and be able to control the monster."
"But after a thousand years, would a talisman still be intact?" Draco looked skeptical. "It’s got to be something else. Something he taught his sons, and they taught their sons..."
The same idea seemed to occur to the entire Pride at the same time. Harry could see it mirrored in the excited eyes around him. He got up. "Thank you for telling us," he said to his Pack-parents. "Please may we go now?"
"In a hurry to get started telling everyone?" Letha smiled. "Go on, and don’t let Filch catch you out of bed too late."
"Yes, ma’am," said Harry, and started for the door.
They had a way to find out if Slytherin had taught his sons anything.
xXxXx
Alex was lounging in his chair, holding something Harry would not have expected. "Is that a bubble wand?" he asked.
Alex jumped and hastily stowed the bright green plastic stick behind him. "No. What are you doing here? It’s not full moon for another week or so, is it?"
"We need to ask you something," said Harry as Neville shut the door of the green bedroom behind himself. "About the Chamber of Secrets."
Alex rolled his eyes. "I had a feeling this was going to come up. It’s all anyone’s been talking about today. ‘The Chamber of Secrets has been opened,’ has it?"
"Do you know anything about it?" asked Draco. "Anything that might help us figure out where it is, or who’s opening it?"
"You know I can’t tell you who," said Alex. "We covered that this summer. You have to figure out the blood Heirs on your own. As for where, I’d tell you if I knew, but I’m afraid I don’t. I wasn’t in my father’s confidence much in the time span he would have done something like that. I’m positive Matthias knew, though. Probably knew how to open it, too, and been passing the secret down through the family ever since."
"So it’s a secret?" asked Harry. "Not a physical key or anything?"
"I didn’t say that," said Alex in slight exasperation. "I’m telling you, I do not know. It might be a real key, or some other object that acts as one, or a spell or charm — it could even be a potion of some sort, our family’s always been noted for potion-making skills. Look to see if there are unusual stains or smells on anyone’s robes."
Everyone laughed a little.
"Sorry I can’t be more help," said Alex. "Good luck with it."
"Thanks anyway," said Harry, turning to leave.
"Harry, hold on a second?" Alex requested in Parseltongue.
Harry turned back as the rest of the Pride left the green bedroom. "What’s up?"
"I was sorry to hear about Siss," said Alex, switching back to English. "I’ll miss her."
Harry nodded, feeling the familiar tightening in his throat. "Me too."
"You know I’m very circumscribed about what I can tell you. But I will say this. There is no way that the Heir of Slytherin should be at Hogwarts right now, and the fact that the Chamber’s being opened makes me very uneasy. Be careful of yourself, Harry. And use what you have wisely. Especially things that no one else has."
"I will."
"Oh, and you were right." Alex winked, producing the bubble wand from behind him. "I just didn’t want to say it in front of everyone."
"Isn’t there a wet spot on your bum now?" asked Harry curiously.
Alex got up, looked over his shoulder, and winced. "Yes. Thank you." He drew his wand and started drying it, then realized Harry was still watching him, stopped, and walked with dignity out of his frame. "Go to bed," came his sibilant voice from off the left side. "It’s late, and you have class tomorrow."
"All right."
Harry slipped out of the bedroom, recalling with a pang Siss telling him about a snake-sized entrance hole in this room. Perhaps someone else to use this place had had serpentine friends...
Harry froze as the answer hit him. It had been staring him in the face the entire time, he couldn’t believe he’d been so stupid as not to see it...
He was jumping on the red bed, sliding up the passage, climbing out in the Gryffindor common room, ignoring Ron and Hermione, who both tried to say something to him. He charged down hallways, taking a secret passage whenever he could, finally fetching up outside the door of Padfoot and Letha’s quarters, hammering on it.
Letha yanked it open, holding her dressing gown closed with one hand. "Harry, what’s wrong?"
Harry looked up at his Pack-mother, panting. "I know who the Heir of Slytherin is," he said breathlessly.
xXxXx
"Voldemort," said Dumbledore in a considering tone, tapping the ends of his fingers together. "And why do you think so?"
"Parseltongue, sir," said Harry, fingers crossed behind his back. His first wild certainty had given way slowly to worries that he might be wrong, that surely not only the family of Slytherin had ever been Parselmouths, that perhaps Voldemort had acquired the ability at some point with a potion or a spell. "He speaks Parseltongue. Like Slytherin did."
Dumbledore nodded slowly. "And, Harry, as you do. But I certainly do not suspect you. My condolences on your loss, by the way."
"Thank you, sir." Harry felt Padfoot’s hand on his shoulder briefly, comfortingly. He and Letha had heard what Harry had to say and brought him immediately to the Headmaster. "Sir, do you know if it’s possible to learn Parseltongue? Or to get it from a spell, or a potion?"
"I do not know that, Harry, but I doubt it could be learned, as human languages may. I believe that many of the sounds snakes use to communicate are beyond the hearing range of an ordinary human. But at the moment, this is beside the point. Let us assume, for the sake of argument, that Lord Voldemort is indeed the Heir of Slytherin. It would, therefore, be he who opened the Chamber of Secrets."
"But how would he be here?" asked Padfoot. "Harry defeated him last year, and Danger killed off his host. Unless he’s got a hold of another one since then..."
"Possible, but unlikely, Sirius. I have checked all the students and staff periodically since school resumed. None of them show any signs of being possessed by Voldemort. And I have made certain to do these checks all at the same time, so that there is no possibility of his moving from host to host to avoid my eye, as he did with such success last year." Dumbledore looked briefly apologetic. "Hagrid and the centaurs assure me there is nothing in the Forest which should not be there, and the merpeople the same for the lake. I also have friends in the village, who keep an eye on things there for me."
"So he’s nowhere around," said Letha. "But that leaves us with the same problem as before. Who’s opened the Chamber?"
"Has it even been opened?" countered Padfoot. "This might just be a really nasty prank by someone who’s read up on Hogwarts history and wants to scare Muggleborns."
"But why would they kill Siss?" asked Harry, trying as hard as he could to keep his voice from going into a little-boy whine. "Slytherin was supposed to like snakes. Why would someone who was trying to make us think he’s Slytherin’s Heir kill a snake?"
"And then there is the possibility that we have not even discussed," said Dumbledore. "The possibility that Voldemort is not the Heir of Slytherin who has opened the Chamber of Secrets — for I do believe it has truly been opened. But I do also believe you are correct, Harry. Lord Voldemort is indeed an Heir of Slytherin. I thank you for bringing it to my attention."
He stood and held out his hand to Harry, who got up himself to shake it. "Thank you for listening, sir," he said.
"I do my best to listen to everyone, Harry. Good night."
"Good night, sir." Harry hugged Letha good night, and scent-touched Padfoot, before leaving.
This was probably going to be an unscheduled den-night. He had a lot to talk over with the Pride.
xXxXx
Sorrow for Siss continued to strike Harry at unexpected moments throughout the next few days, but he learned to deal with it, to put his head down for a few seconds and fight back the tears before lifting it again, to slide into the boys’ bathroom for a quick cry between classes. He wondered if this was what it was like to be a girl. He had a fuzzy impression that they cried a lot more readily than boys did.
The school was indeed buzzing about the Chamber of Secrets, but, to Harry’s relief, nothing had gotten out about Siss. Percy, the only person aside from the Pack and the Pride who had seen her, was apparently keeping his mouth shut about it.
Harry realized Professor McGonagall must know when she returned his weekend homework on Tuesday with no comments about the two or three blurred spots where he hadn’t quite been able to stop tears from falling. Hagrid had obviously been informed too, and just as obviously been told to keep it under wraps. He pulled Harry aside later that day to offer his condolences, and nearly squeezed the breath out of him with a hug.
On Wednesday morning, however, something happened which temporarily drove everything else out of Harry’s mind.
xXxXx
"Eurgh!" said Ron’s voice.
Harry rolled over and took a deep breath, then wished he hadn’t. "Eurgh" was an understatement.
"That’s disgusting. What is it?" he said, sitting up.
"Don’t know, but it’s really foul," said Seamus, pinching his nose shut. "Can’t have been me, all my stuff’s just back from the laundry."
"Mine too," said Dean. "After I fell in that mud last week, I had to wash everything."
"It’s like there’s more than one of whatever it is," said Neville, risking a second sniff and making a face.
Draco suddenly groaned. "I know what it is."
"What?" asked Harry. "And can you get rid of it?"
Draco fumbled for his wand. "Smellius Interruptus," he said, pointing it at his wardrobe.
"Oh, come on, Draco," said Ron. "Even I can tell that’s not a real spell."
Draco ignored him, turning his wand on himself and repeating the incantation, then going around the room and doing the same to Harry, Ron, and Neville, and their belongings, while Seamus and Dean opened the windows.
The air in the room was decidedly fresher when Draco had finished. "Now what’s not a real spell?" he said, looking challengingly at Ron.
"All right, you win," said Ron, shaking his head. "What happened?"
"Tell you later. I have to go find the girls. They’re going to need it too — though I suppose Hermione’s figured it out by now."
Hermione had indeed figured it out, as Harry found when he descended the stairs five minutes later, and further, she was perfectly willing to tell them what had caused the awful stench.
"It’s the second half of the effect of that potion we left for Snape," she said, as they walked down to breakfast. "Three weeks after it’s brewed, anything it’s touched will start to smell terrible, and only stop when you use that incantation. The person who invented it — they just signed themselves L.C. — thought it would be funny to make it respond to a spell that sounds completely fake."
"And Snape’ll never think of it," said Ginny, grinning. "So his best cauldron’s going to stink, and keep stinking."
"And so will Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom," said Harry. "That stuff went all over everything."
"Does that mean we have to clean everything in the bathroom?" Neville looked worried. "There’s so much in there."
"Don’t worry, Neville, the spell’s an area effect," said Draco. "So we’ll be able to do sections at a time. With all of us working, we should get it done quickly."
"Except those of us who don’t have a wand yet," said Meghan, pouting.
"You can be the boss, then," said Ron. "Crack the whip on us and make sure we don’t slack."
"I wish you hadn’t said that," said Harry as Meghan giggled. "She’ll take you seriously."
"We can do it after lunch," said Luna. "Ginny and I have break then, and you five only have History of Magic, and Professor Binns never notices if you’re late."
xXxXx
Snape spent the morning’s Potions class glowering at everyone as if daring them to comment on the way he smelled. He had obviously gotten some of the potion on his skin or robes. The Pride worked assiduously, not daring to look at one another for fear they’d laugh out loud.
After lunch, they dealt with Myrtle’s bathroom, Meghan checking off squares on a grid Hermione had drawn up to make sure they didn’t miss anywhere. Myrtle thanked them a bit huffily when they were done.
"I think she liked the smell," said Ron as he and Harry prepared to leave. "Kept people out."
He opened the door, stepped out into the hall, blanched, and slammed it shut in Harry’s face. Harry jumped back, just missing getting his finger caught in the hinges.
What the...
"Ron! What are you doing here again?"
Percy. I should have known.
"Just having a look round," said Ron, trying to sound unconcerned and failing miserably, as far as Harry could tell from listening at the keyhole. "Seeing what we can pick up about where Harry’s snake got killed."
Good story. I wouldn’t have thought of that.
"I thought I told you to stay away from here! Do you have no respect for authority at all?"
"Course I do." The pause was highly significant.
"I," said Percy in tones of injured dignity, "am a school prefect."
"Oh, is that what that great P on your chest stands for? I thought it meant ‘prat.’"
Harry was having a very hard time keeping himself from bursting out laughing, which would ruin the whole game — Ron was obviously doing this so that he, Harry, would not also be discovered in the girls’ bathroom and get into trouble. To calm himself, he took deep breaths through his nose, which was a mistake. The smell was back.
Damn, we must have missed a spot.
"That’s detention," said Percy harshly. "Come with me. We’re going straight to Professor McGonagall to arrange for it. And I’m writing to Mum about this."
Harry counted a slow twenty after their footsteps had faded before breathing a sigh of relief and opening the door.
"You owe me," said Ron to Harry that night at den. "A lot."
xXxXx
An owl dropped a letter in front of Aletha on Thursday at breakfast. "It’s from Aunt Amy," she said, opening it and beginning to read.
"That’s nice." Sirius took advantage of the distraction to try to steal some of Aletha’s sausage.
She slapped his wrist without looking up from the letter. "Get your own."
Sirius Summoned the plate of sausages from the other end of the table, just in time to foil Snape’s plan to take one, and gave the Potions Master a cheery wave. "So what does she have to say?" he asked, dumping five links onto his plate.
"Nothing too important. Work is fine, her dance concert went well, she’s helping organize this year’s Nutcracker at the school she goes to. Oh, and she wants to know what the cubs’ favorite colors are."
"Why?"
"She doesn’t say. Something about Christmas gifts, probably."
"Harry likes red," said Sirius thoughtfully. "And Draco green, I think. Does Meghan prefer blue these days? I can’t remember."
"She switches around a lot. I think it’s yellow this week, but I’ll ask her. I know Hermione likes blue for sure..."
Both their attentions were pulled by a roar from the Gryffindor table.
"RONALD WEASLEY! WHAT’S THIS I HEAR ABOUT YOU BEING CAUGHT IN A GIRLS’ TOILET? THAT SORT OF BEHAVIOR IS ABSOLUTELY INAPPROPRIATE FOR A YOUNG MAN OF YOUR AGE..."
"So what age is it appropriate for?" asked Sirius, averting his eyes from Ron, who was turning the same color as his hair.
"...SPENDING MORE TIME ON SPYING THAN ON YOUR STUDIES, IF YOU’RE NOT CAREFUL WE’LL SEND YOU TO EAST COAST IN AMERICA, THAT’S ALL BOYS, THEN PERHAPS YOU WOULDN’T BE TEMPTED..."
"East Coast?" Sirius asked.
"Sister school to Salem Witches’ Institute. Or maybe brother school would be more appropriate. Full name is the East Coast Wizards’ School."
"Why are they segregated?"
"It’s an American thing, I think."
"...NEVER BEEN SO ASHAMED OF ANY OF MY SONS, NOT EVEN FRED AND GEORGE, AND IF I HEAR YOU’VE BEEN SO MUCH AS THROWING SPITBALLS IN CLASS AFTER THIS WE’LL BRING YOU STRAIGHT HOME AND PUT YOU INTO APPRENTICESHIP."
Aletha watched the Howler burst into flame. "Don’t you dare," she said to Sirius.
"What?"
"Harry would never forgive you if you got Ron pulled out of Hogwarts."
"I wasn’t even thinking about that!"
"Weren’t you?"
"All right, I was thinking about it. But I wouldn’t do it."
"Wouldn’t you?"
"Well... I’d tell her it was a joke before she actually went through with it."
"So you would."
"You know I would."
Aletha looked at the ceiling, which today was a foggy sort of grey with patches of blue here and there and the sun just starting to peek through to one side. "And I stay with him, why?" she asked it rhetorically.
xXxXx
"You really owe me now," said Ron, still red-faced, as they left breakfast.
"I’ll make it up to you," promised Harry. "What if I could get you into the first Quidditch match?"
"You mean to play?"
Harry nodded. "I think I can talk Wood into it. Do you want to?"
"Want to? I’d love to!"
"All right. Just let me work on it for a few days."
xXxXx
Flying reminded Harry painfully of Siss, how she had loved to fly with him, but he forced himself to go to Quidditch practice anyway, and as the first game approached, even found that he was enjoying it again. As he had promised Ron, he began working on Wood, talking to him about how much Ron had improved, and how good it would be for him to get some actual field experience. Wood grunted noncommittally. Finally, about a week before the match, Harry brought out his best argument.
"I saw Slytherin practicing the other day," he said. "They’ve got some nice brooms."
"Some nice brooms?" Wood laughed resentfully. "Harry, they’ve all got Nimbus Two Thousand and Ones!"
"Yes, I noticed. Where’d they get them?"
"Someone donated them," said Wood. "At least that’s what Flint said when I asked him. I’d bet you anything it’s someone’s father who doesn’t want to see his baby boy lose at Quidditch, because then he’d cry big salty tears and be all sad."
Harry had seldom heard Wood this bitter. "You know, there’s a way you could show them you don’t care," he suggested casually.
"What?"
"Field some of the reserve in this game. Like you’re saying Slytherin’s such a nothing team you don’t even have to put your first string in the field."
"Hmm." Wood seemed to be considering it. "As long as it wouldn’t make us lose," he said. "I’m not worried about Black, he’ll do fine. It’s Weasley. He’s terrific when he’s on form, but if he misses one, he’ll miss seven more after it."
"And that still gives us a margin of seventy when I catch the Snitch," argued Harry. "Plus, our Chasers won’t just be sitting on their brooms. And if Ron’s no good in a game, isn’t it better to find that out now, when there’s still time to make it up in the rest of the year?"
Wood nodded. "All right, Harry, you’ve convinced me. I’ll put Weasley in this first game."
xXxXx
Ron’s spirits were so much lifted by this news that he performed spectacularly during practice for the next week, bolstering Wood’s confidence further.
"Couldn’t have put in a good word for me at the same time, could you?" asked Draco a day or two before the game.
"I did. But I don’t think I needed to." Harry looked across the common room. "Alicia’s been looking off-color for a couple of days now." Their teammate was indeed dabbing at her nose with tissues in between scribbling on her parchment, and she was rather flushed, although she was sitting much farther from the fire than they were.
Draco grimaced as the portrait hole opened and Percy climbed in. "I hate being reserve. I’m always hoping people get sick, and then feeling bad for it."
"At least you’re on the team," said Ginny, tapping the two decks of Self-Shuffling cards twice with her wand to get them started. "I won’t even have a chance until next year. Come on, all in for Spoons."
The Pride gathered around the table. The rules of Spoons were simple. Everyone got four cards, and had to pass cards around the table until someone got four of a kind. When that happened, that person had to take a spoon from the center. Then everyone else did as well. The trick was that there were always fewer spoons than players. In this instance, with eight players, seven spoons, borrowed from the kitchens by Dobby, lay in the center of the table.
Draco was dealing. He gave everyone four cards, then started picking up new ones from the decks in front of him, passing them along to Meghan if he didn’t want them, trading them into his hand and passing his discard if he did.
Meghan passed to Harry, who passed to Luna, who passed to Ron, who passed to Hermione, who glanced at it and snatched a spoon from the center, and everyone grabbed for the remaining ones. Neville and Ginny ended up tug-of-warring over the last one, and Ginny finally lost her grip on it and fell over backwards, laughing, as Neville held it up triumphantly.
They’d acquired an audience, Harry noticed. In fact, most of the common room was watching them.
"Maybe we should only play this in the Den from now on," he suggested quietly.
"Nah, I don’t mind if you don’t," said Ron, tossing his cards to Draco. "That’s S, Gin."
"As if I didn’t know." Ginny elbowed Neville. "I thought you were a nice boy."
Neville smiled a little sheepishly, dropping his prize back into the middle of the table, and didn’t answer.
"Being nice in this game is how you lose," said Hermione, displaying her four sevens before handing them to Draco. He started the cards shuffling, then pushed them over to Meghan, who let them finish before she started dealing them out again.
And Neville could stand to be a touch less nice.
Harry felt a little mean for thinking this, but it was true. Neville was nice to everyone, to the point where he let some people walk all over him. The Pride could protect him from some of it...
But we shouldn’t have to. We won’t always be around.
"Harry!"
He looked up and realized there were three cards by his elbow. Everyone was staring at him indignantly.
"Sorry," he said, quickly picking them up and comparing them to his hand.
This round took a little longer, and it wasn’t until Harry heard a slight jingle that he looked up and realized there was only one spoon left on the table. He lunged for it, but Ron had longer arms.
"Who got it?" he asked when he’d recovered his breath.
Draco held up four aces. "No one even noticed," he said smugly. "I am the king of sneaky."
Harry took the cards from Meghan and pulled out his wand. "I’ll remember that when my Christmas presents go missing," he grumbled. "Everybody in."
xXxXx
In the Slytherin dormitory, Dudley Dursley sat by himself in a corner, stroking the wood of a beautiful broomstick.
Tomorrow, he knew, would be a day to remember.
xXxXx
"It’s a beautiful day for Quidditch, isn’t it? Cool and fair, not a cloud in the sky — well, all right, it’s not all that cool, and there might be a cloud or two — in fact, there’s quite a few, and was that thunder in the distance there? No matter, it’s always a beautiful day for Quidditch, because Quidditch is a beautiful thing, and it’s Gryffindor versus Slytherin today, so it’s even more beautiful than usual. The classic battle, red against green, gold against silver, good against evil—"
"JORDAN!"
"Sorry, Professor. They’re lining up, there’s the whistle — and the Quaffle is taken by Draco Black of Gryffindor, usually a reserve, today playing for Alicia Spinnet, on the sick list this game — hope you feel better soon, Alicia, and the team’s vowed to win this one for you."
Massive cheers from the Gryffindor section greeted this.
"Black halfway down the pitch already, he is really flying — passes to Angelina Johnson, who passes to — Marcus Flint! Marcus Flint of Slytherin has taken the Quaffle, intercepted a pass to Katie Bell, using the superior speed and maneuverability of his new Nimbus Two Thousand and One broomstick, the best model on the market today..."
Cheers from the Slytherin section mixed with boos and groans from the Gryffindors.
"Flint on his way back up the pitch, a Bludger intercepted by Beater Dursley, also normally a reserve, and about to face Keeper Ron Weasley, still another reserve — it’s the game of the reserves, it seems, Captain Oliver Wood trying to season some of his newer players, including Weasley, his eventual replacement... Flint taking his time over this, trying to fake Weasley out — YES! He’s been Bludgered — Weasleys stick together, nice play by the Gryffindor Beater, and Weasley recovers the Quaffle and passes to Bell..."
Lee’s voice became somewhat muffled, as if he were covering the microphone with his hand. "We’re going to have to do something about this, Professor, three Weasleys on a team is too many..."
Lee might feel that three Weasleys on a team was too many, but the Gryffindors at large didn’t seem to. Ron allowed only three of the next ten goal attempts to slip past him, and Katie and Angelina each scored twice, putting Gryffindor in a slight lead, as Draco took the Quaffle once again.
Harry was using his usual tactic of flying high, watching the field below him, when he felt something whiz by his left ear. He turned sharply, then lifted his left hand casually, as if to scratch his ear, and felt a tickle against his wrist.
"And the Gryffindor Seeker seems to be taking time out to scratch..." Lee’s commentary drifted up from below. "His team’s not that far up, though they’re starting to get there — Black nearing the Slytherin goals, some fancy flying there, he also has a Nimbus Two Thousand and One, meaning the Slytherins have no edge on him..."
Harry grinned to himself and aimed his broom for the Gryffindor goalposts, so as not to make Draco nervous by watching too closely.
"What were you doing up there?" Ron shouted to him.
"Just swatting a bug," Harry yelled back, taking a position about fifteen feet above the goal hoops. He could see everything from here — Draco was darting and dodging around, bouncing the Quaffle off his hands, rolling it on the back on his arm, playing with the Slytherin Keeper and Chasers as he loved so much to do.
"Probably the left hoop," muttered Harry, directing his broom a little higher so he could see better. "He usually goes to the left when he plays like that... come on, Draco, don’t drag it out too long... you’re not perfect, they could still steal... come on, shoot already..."
His attention was so much on the other end of the pitch that he never heard it coming. A sudden, blinding pain in the back of his head, a chill against his chest, and he was falling, falling forever, until forever ended abruptly with another pain, this one in his neck and back...
xXxXx
Draco aimed and threw, and the Quaffle soared through the left goal hoop.
"BLACK SCORES! Fifty-thirty to Gryffindor!"
Cheers echoed around the stadium. Danger added her voice to them, pumping her fist in the air.
That’s my fox! My little boy, all grown up… I’m so proud…
Her next cheer died in her throat as her pendants went suddenly, horribly cold.
What in the world? Who…
"Harry!" shouted Remus, pointing at the other end of the pitch. Danger’s head whipped around.
Harry was falling through the air, arms and legs outflung. Ron was staring up at him in horror, frozen. It was a feeling Danger could appreciate.
I have to help him, I have to do something…
But nothing would cooperate with her. Her body, and her magic, seemed to have been Petrified, neither would respond to her at all...
With a sickening thud, Harry’s body struck the center goal hoop, arching backwards over it in a parody of a backbend. The sight shocked Danger out of her trance.
Bring him here! she cried inwardly, and what was left of her wild magic responded. She would pay a heavy toll for it later, but Harry was hurt — he needed prompt treatment if he was to have even a chance —
She flung out her arms to receive him, and gasped at his weight. Remus was gone, he must be fetching Madam Pomfrey, she would have to deal with Harry herself for the moment. People were hastily vacating the bench on either side of her. She moved down and ever so carefully slid Harry off her lap. His face was white and still, and cold as she touched it, and his hands were limp in her grasp…
Pounding feet on the stairs signaled the arrival of Sirius and Aletha, Remus and Madam Pomfrey right behind them, and Neville and the girls right behind them, as Draco and Ron vaulted off their brooms into the stands and raced up to where Harry was lying, with Madam Pomfrey now running her wand up and down him, her face grim.
"Oh no, oh no, oh no," a frightened voice was saying. Danger turned and found herself face to face with Dudley Dursley. The Slytherin was still clutching his Beater’s bat, and looked close to tears. "I didn’t mean to," he said, staring at her. "I didn’t mean him to fall. It was just part of the game. He wasn’t supposed to fall. Is he going to be all right?"
"I don’t know," said Danger, and commanded her voice to stop shaking. Of course Harry would be all right. He was strong. He had survived worse than this. "I don’t know."
Come here, said Remus, his tone flat. She wants to tell us all together.
Danger turned and took the three steps that brought her to Remus’ side. Is it bad?
I think it is. Her love was very pale, Danger saw as she looked at him. She hadn’t seen him looking like this since the first day they’d met, when he’d been depressed and suffering from the effects of an upcoming full moon. Aletha was standing very still, almost visibly preparing for bad news. Sirius was white, his hands fastened in his robes.
Madam Pomfrey looked away from Harry, up at the four adults, and slowly shook her head. "There’s nothing I can do," she said. "There’s no way to repair damage this extensive, even if it were safe to move him, and there’s no time in any case. I’m so sorry."
Sorry? Nothing she can do? She’s talking as if…
Madam Pomfrey looked back at Harry. "He should have died on impact," she said quietly. "He’s dying now."
The word rippled through the crowd. "Dying… he’s dying… Harry Potter’s dying…"
Danger felt her knees give way. Remus lowered her gently to the bench, sitting beside her, holding her against him, keeping her upright, though she wanted nothing more than to collapse and cry.
No. No. This is all my fault, if I’d only pulled him in a second sooner… if I hadn’t hesitated…
Sirius was on his knees beside Harry, clutching his godson’s hand, searching Harry’s face for signs of life, unashamed tears falling from his eyes. Harry’s left sleeve seemed to have taken on a life of its own, Danger noticed irrelevantly, jerking about oddly, as if something within it wanted to escape. Aletha reached over Sirius’ shoulder and slid her hand up the sleeve, emerging with something small and golden, which beat silver wings against her fingers.
"It was a Plumpton Pass," she said, her voice very strained, as she displayed the Snitch. "Gryffindor’s won."
And he didn’t tell anyone because he wanted to give Draco a chance to score…
How fitting, that the last thing he did was win a Quidditch game.
Last thing. The words echoed inside her head, growing louder every time. The last thing. The last thing he did.
Because he’s dying.
A scream shattered the silence of the darkened Quidditch pitch, as the first drops of rain began to fall.
"NO!"