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SIYE Time:5:38 on 29th March 2024
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Gods Bless Accidental Magic!
By Dopeydo

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Category: Alternate Universe
Characters:Harry/Ginny, Hermione Granger, Neville Longbottom, Ron Weasley
Genres: Action/Adventure, Crossover, Humor, Romance
Warnings: Mild Language, Mild Sexual Situations, Spouse/Adult/Child Abuse, Violence, Violence/Physical Abuse
Story is Complete
Rating: PG-13
Reviews: 306
Summary: Everybody has their limits. As Harry finds his reason to live, he will break many of them… and not all intentionally. As Harry finds his reason to live, he will learn what it means to be broken in turn. There is a great power in friendship, but there is just as great a power in fear. (Crossover occurs late in the story.)

Note: Picks up from halfway through chapter six of PS. Abuse warnings are limited to pre-Hogwarts experiences. Rating is mainly for language.
Hitcount: Story Total: 200333; Chapter Total: 8274
Awards: View Trophy Room




Author's Notes:
Another re-write down.




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Malfoy looked completely dumbfounded when he saw that the three of them were still at Hogwarts the next day, looking tired but perfectly cheerful. Indeed, by the next morning Harry, Ginny and Ron thought that meeting the three-headed dog had been an excellent adventure, and they were quite keen to have another one. In the meantime, Harry filled everyone in about the package that seemed to have been moved from Gringotts to Hogwarts, and he spent a lot of time with Ron and Ginny speculating about what was so incredibly valuable.

 

Neither Neville nor Hermione showed the slightest interest in what lay underneath the dog and the trapdoor. All Neville cared about was never going near the dog again.

 

Hermione was refusing to speak to any of them at this point, which Ginny seemed to be taking pretty hard. Every now and then, Harry would notice Hermione look furtively at Ginny, but then turn away huffily. If he was honest with himself, he shared Ron’s happiness at the situation. He was really only friendly with her because Ginny was close to her, since most of the time she was incredibly annoying and overbearing. The fact that she’d followed them all the way around the school last night purely because she was too damn eager to lecture them was a case in point.

 

With the morning mail that day came a rather large surprise. A long, thin package was being carried down by six screech owls. Harry nearly choked on his sausage when it landed in front of him. The owls were only just taking off again when a letter fell atop the long box-shaped parcel wrapped in thin parchment.

 

“Well,” Ginny whispered, “either some generous person has sent you a staff, or McGonagall’s come through for you.”

 

A thrill surged through Harry as he ripped the letter open.

 

DO NOT OPEN THE PARCEL AT THE TABLE.

 

It contains your new Nimbus Two Thousand, but I don’t want everybody knowing you’ve got a broomstick or they’ll all want one. Oliver Wood will meet you tonight on the Quidditch field at seven o’clock for your first training session.

 

Professor McGonagall

 

Harry bit his lip to hide the burgeoning grin as he offered the letter for the others to read.

 

“A Nimbus Two Thousand!” Ron moaned enviously. “I’ve never even touched one.”

 

“Isn’t everyone going to find out anyway when you come soaring out onto the Quidditch pitch?” Ginny smirked. “Or is she planning to make it invisible?”

 

“That’d be even worse,” Harry laughed at the image in spite of himself, and it came out a little strained. “Just another reason for people to point and stare.”

 

“That stuff really bothers you, doesn’t it, Harry?” Ginny asked in a small voice.

 

“It did get old incredibly quickly,” Harry grimaced. Ron was completely oblivious to the conversation, absorbed as he was in simply running his hands up and down the package.

 

Ginny bit her lip for a moment, then smiled up at him. “Let’s go check this thing out,” she urged.

 

They left the hall in a hurry, but halfway across the entrance hall they found the way upstairs barred by Crabbe and Goyle. Malfoy tried to seize the package from Harry, but he wasn’t quite quick enough. Harry slung it up behind his back while Ginny grabbed Malfoy by his reaching wrist.

 

“Nuh-uh-uhhh,” she sang. “No touching!”

 

Malfoy scowled at her, jerking his hand free. She folded her arms and smirked up at him. “That’s a broomstick,” he said accusingly, with a mixture of jealousy and spite on his face. “You’ll be in for it this time, Potter, first years aren’t allowed them.”

 

Ron couldn’t resist it.

 

“It’s not any old broomstick,” he said, “it’s a Nimbus Two Thousand. What did you say you’ve got at home, Malfoy, a Comet Two Sixty?” Ron grinned at Harry. “Comets look flashy, but they’re not in the same league as the Nimbus.”

 

“What would you know about it, Weasley, you couldn’t afford half the handle,” Malfoy snapped back. “I suppose you and your brothers have to save up twig by twig.”

 

Before the situation could escalate, Professor Flitwick appeared at Malfoy’s elbow. The professor was a truly tiny man, so small that even Ginny looked down on him unless he perched upon a pile of books as he did in his Charms classes. He was fairly old too, with a considerable amount of grey in his dark hair. Apparently, he’d been a duelling champion in his youth, but with his small stature and exceedingly pleasant disposition, Harry found it quite hard to believe.

 

“Not arguing, I hope, boys?” he squeaked.

 

“Potter’s been sent a broomstick, Professor,” said Malfoy quickly.

 

“Yes, yes, that’s right,” said Professor Flitwick, beaming at Harry. “Professor McGonagall told me all about the special circumstances, Potter. And what model is it?”

 

“A Nimbus Two Thousand, sir,” said Harry, fighting not to laugh at the look of horror on Malfoy’s face. “And it’s really thanks to Malfoy here that I’ve got it,” he added.

 

They headed upstairs, smothering their laughter at Malfoy’s obvious rage and confusion. “Well, it’s true,” Harry chortled as they reached the top of the marble staircase, “If he hadn’t stolen Neville’s Remembrall I wouln’t be on the team....”

 

“So I suppose you think that’s a reward for breaking rules?” came an angry voice from just behind them. Hermione was stomping up the stairs, looking disapprovingly at the package in Harry’s hand.

 

“I thought you weren’t speaking to us?” said Harry.

 

“Yes, don’t stop now,” said Ron, “it’s doing us so much good.”

 

Hermione marched away with her nose in the air.

 

“Boys!” Ginny cried indignantly. “Hermione, wait!”

 

She didn’t, though.

 

Harry had a lot of trouble keeping his mind on his lessons that day. It kept wandering up to the dormitory where his new broomstick was lying under his bed, or straying off to the Quidditch pitch where he’d be learning to play that night. He bolted his dinner that evening without noticing what he was eating, and then rushed upstairs with Ginny and Ron to unwrap the Nimbus Two Thousand at last.

 

Under the paper was a gleaming wooden box engraved with elegant golden lettering.

 

Nimbus Racing Broom Company

Producing fine brooms since 1967

 

2000

 

The model number, unlike the rest, was written (drawn being a more accurate term) lengthways and in comparatively huge, but slender hand, such that it covered almost the entirety of the top of the box. Harry had to admit that the effect was rather attractive, but not nearly enough to justify the blissful, reverent looks the other two were giving it.

 

Ginny reached out hesitantly. “Harry ... do you think I could...” she said in hushed tones.

 

“Go ahead,” Harry shrugged.

 

Ginny bit her lip, looked back up at Harry, then slid the top off the box. “Ohh...”

 

“Wow,” Ron sighed, as the broomstick slowly appeared.

 

Even Harry, who knew nothing about the different brooms, thought it looked wonderful. Sleek and shiny, with a mahogany handle, it had a long tail of neat, straight twigs and Nimbus Two Thousand written in gold near the top. A brass frame straddled it in the box, apparently to be fitted as a sort of footrest. Ron reached out to touch it, but stopped short and just stared.

 

As seven o’clock drew nearer, Harry left the castle and set off in the dusk toward the Quidditch field. He’d never been inside the stadium before. Hundreds of seats were raised in stands around the field so that the spectators were high enough to see what was going on. At either end of the field were three golden poles with hoops on the end. They reminded Harry of bubble blowers, except that they were fifty feet high.

 

Too eager to fly again to wait for Wood, Harry mounted his broomstick and kicked off from the ground. What a feeling – he swooped in and out of the goal posts and then sped up and down the field. The Nimbus Two Thousand turned wherever he wanted at his lightest touch.

 

“Hey, Potter, come down!’

 

Oliver Wood had arrived. He was carrying a large wooden crate under his arm. Harry landed next to him.

 

“Very nice,” said Wood, his eyes glinting. “I see what McGonagall meant... you really are a natural. I’m just going to teach you the rules this evening, then you’ll be joining team practice three times a week.”

 

He opened the crate. Inside were four different-sized balls.

 

“Right,” said Wood. “Now, Quidditch is easy enough to understand, even if it’s not too easy to play. There are seven players on each side. Three of them are called Chasers.”

 

“Three Chasers,” Harry repeated, as Wood took out a bright red ball about the size of a soccer ball.

 

“This ball’s called the Quaffle,” said Wood. “The Chasers throw the Quaffle to each other and try and get it through one of the hoops to score a goal. Ten points every time the Quaffle goes through one of the hoops. Follow me?”

 

“The Chasers throw the Quaffle and put it through the hoops to score,” Harry recited. “So – that’s sort of like basketball on broomsticks with six hoops, isn’t it?”

 

“What’s basketball?” said Wood curiously.

 

“Never mind,” said Harry quickly.

 

“Now, there’s another player on each side who’s called the Keeper. I’m Keeper for Gryffindor. I have to fly around our hoops and stop the other team from scoring.”

 

“Three Chasers, one Keeper,” said Harry, who was determined to remember it all. “And they play with the Quaffle. Okay, got that. So what are they for?” He pointed at the three balls left inside the box.

 

“I’ll show you now,” said Wood. “Take this.”

 

He handed Harry a small club, a bit like a short baseball bat.

 

“I’m going to show you what the Bludgers do,” Wood said. “These two are the Bludgers.”

 

He showed Harry two identical balls, jet black and slightly smaller than the red Quaffle. Harry noticed that they seemed to be straining to escape the straps holding them inside the box.

 

“Stand back,” Wood warned Harry. He bent down and freed one of the Bludgers.

 

At once, the black ball rose high in the air and then pelted straight at Harry’s face. Harry swung at it with the bat to stop it from breaking his nose, and sent it shooting off towards the nearer set of hoops. It did a quick about turn after a few seconds and then shot at Wood, who dived on top of it and managed to pin it to the ground.

 

“See?” Wood panted, forcing the struggling Bludger back into the crate and strapping it down safely. “The Bludgers rocket around, trying to knock players off their brooms. That’s why you have two Beaters on each team – the Weasley twins are ours – it’s their job to protect their side from the Bludgers and try and knock them toward the other team. So -- think you’ve got all that?”

 

“Three Chasers try and score with the Quaffle; the Keeper guards the goal posts; the Beaters keep the Bludgers away from their team,” Harry reeled off.

 

“Very good,” said Wood.

 

“Er – have the Bludgers ever killed anyone?” Harry asked, hoping he sounded offhand.

 

“Never at Hogwarts. We’ve had a couple of broken jaws but nothing worse than that. Now, the last member of the team is the Seeker. That’s you. And you don’t have to worry about the Quaffle or the Bludgers.”

 

“Unless they crack my head open,” said Harry, feeling more than a little on edge.

 

“Don’t worry, the Weasleys are more than a match for the Bludgers – I mean, they’re like a pair of human Bludgers themselves.”

 

Wood reached into the crate and took out the fourth and last ball. Compared with the Quaffle and the Bludgers, it was tiny, about the size of a large walnut. It was bright gold and had little fluttering silver wings.

 

“This,” said Wood, “is the Golden Snitch, and it’s the most important ball of the lot. It’s very hard to catch because it’s so fast and difficult to see. It’s the Seeker’s job to catch it. You’ve got to weave in and out of the Chasers, Beaters, Bludgers, and Quaffle to get it before the other team’s Seeker, because whichever Seeker catches the Snitch wins his team an extra hundred and fifty points, so they nearly always win. That’s why Seekers get fouled so much. A game of Quidditch only ends when the Snitch is caught, so it can go on for ages. I think the record is three months; they had to keep bringing on substitutes so the players could get some sleep.

 

“Well, that’s it. Any questions?”

 

Harry shook his head. He understood what he had to do all right, it was doing it that was going to be the problem.

 

“We won’t practice with the Snitch yet,” said Wood, carefully shutting it back inside the crate, “it’s too dark, we might lose it. Let’s try you out with a few of these.”

 

He pulled a bag of ordinary golf balls out of his pocket and a few minutes later, he and Harry were up in the air, Wood throwing the golf balls as hard as he could in every direction for Harry to catch.

 

Harry didn’t miss a single one, and Wood was delighted. After half an hour, night had really fallen and they couldn’t carry on.

 

“That Quidditch cup’ll have our name on it this year,” said Wood happily as they trudged back up to the castle. “I wouldn’t be surprised if you turn out better than Charlie Weasley, and he could have played for England if he hadn’t gone off chasing dragons.”

 




 

“Come on, Potter! Time to wake up, we’ve got practice! Now!”

 

Harry blinked rapidly, revealing a mass of scarlet around something pinkish and brown. He reached for his glasses, and they brought the world into some semblance of focus. The Quidditch Captain, Oliver Wood, was standing over him. Oliver glared down at him, and went straight back into the yelling.

 

“On the double, Potter — the game is in barely over a week from now!”

 

That was true enough. Gryffindor versus Slytherin. The most highly anticipated game of the season, shuffled to the front of the schedule nearly two hundred years ago to minimise high-spirited hexing in the hallways.

 

“Alright, Oliver,” he groaned. “I’ll be down in a minute.”

 

“That’s the spirit!” Wood said enthusiastically. “The cup has our name on it this year, I’m telling you!”

 

Harry breathed a sigh of relief when Oliver left. Checking the time, he discovered that it was half past five in the morning. He groaned again — he never, ever woke up this early. From his early morning physical training to his all-weather practice sessions, Wood was a curse. Harry looked over at his dorm mates, and saw (or heard) they were all happily snoring.

 

Stretching, he let out a slow yawn that left him even more aware of his weariness than before. The fight with a troll the previous night had taken something out of him, but it had given a lot in return, including Hermione, with whom he and Ron were now on much better terms. It seemed that there was something about saving a person from a violent, fourteen foot tall, rampaging troll that made them warm to you.

 

He dressed straight into Quidditch gear, since they were only rushing some training and a quick practice in before classes. The real practice lasted for three hours after classes. Harry really didn’t mind all that much. His first class was Transfiguration, and McGonagall wanted them to win as much as Wood did, so being slightly late might not matter. And then there was the flying itself, which Harry thought was probably the best thing in the world. So, it wasn’t so bad.

 

Like everyone else, he’d thought he’d been a bit lucky on his first flight, but after his first practice, he had to agree with Wood’s assessment of him. He was a natural. He just didn’t make mistakes — the whole thing of flying was second-nature to him, almost as if he’d been born to do this. Knowing when to pull out of fifty metre dives, knowing just when to reach out for the snitch, judging his balance when avoiding bludgers — it was all just too easy.

 

Of course, the broom he’d received from his head of house had helped. The Nimbus Two Thousand was beyond brilliant. It was so nimble, responding to the slightest shift, the barest nudge. He loved to stretch it to the limits, playing chicken with the stands or the ground. He had discovered the most satisfying thing in the whole world when he paced a bludger the length of the pitch then pulled back on the handle at full speed, completing a tight 180 and watching the bludger sail away, carried on by its own momentum.

 

Pulling his right boot on, he didn’t even bother to tie up the laces before shoving his school robes into his bag. It was quarter past now, and he needed to get a move on. The sunlight was streaming through the windows, and he needed to be down at the pitch by a quarter to seven, or there was no point. He suddenly got the idea that Ginny was waking up. He didn’t know where it came from, only that she had stirred from her rest. He grinned to himself, for if she was waking up now, she’d be there to watch him.

 

As he grabbed his broom, Harry decided to try something new. He threw open the window behind his bed. A cold wind slapped him in the face, finding all the gaps in his clothing and diving in, making his robes billow out behind him and wrapping his body in an icy embrace. Harry stared out across the school grounds, swathed in darkness. Being on the top floor of the tower, there was a long way to fall. He clambered up onto the windowsill and threw himself straight over the edge. Staring at the ground rush up to him gave him a thrill of fear and excitement. He delighted in it, revelling in the way his mind and body seemed to come alive with the urgency of his situation. All his weariness from the previous night, all of his worries about Snape and Vault 713 and the Slytherins ... it all faded away. Swinging the broom under him, he urged it forwards, and seconds later his feet were brushing the grass as the Nimbus overcame his descent.

 

He landed gently in the Entrance Hall, to see the twins and Angelina applauding and also holding their brooms — Cleansweep Fives for the twins and Angelina had a Nimbus 1950.

 

“Bravo,” Angelina remarked. He grinned.

 

“Yes, an inspiring display,” Fred said in an imitation of Percy’s pompous manner.

 

“We’re almost awake now,” George added. He nodded his head back towards the Great Hall. “He’s actually insane.”

 

“Yeah,” Harry agreed, “but I guess he is right. It is only a week.”

 

“You’ll want to stay away from that one, George — he’s been infected.”

 

“Will we ever be safe?”

 

“I wouldn’t count on it.”

 

“Oh shut it, you two,” Angelina reprimanded. “If we want to do any practicing, we need to get a move on.”

 

“But we don’t. We want to sleep!”

 

She glared at Fred, and he sent a scathing look right back before rolling his eyes. “Actually, maybe we ought to get down there now, bro. We’re already up, after all.”

 

George smirked. “You know, I don’t think Harry’s the only one infected around here.”

 

Fred scowled, and muttered something that neither Harry nor Angelina heard, but George smirked still more broadly.

 

Attempting to divert Angelina’s attention, and get everyone moving, he butted in. “Um, I was going to get some toast on the way to the pitch. Oliver isn’t going to hex us for eating first, is he?”

 

“Doubt he’d try to hex you, o exalted one, especially since our Ginny seems to have employed herself as your personal bodyguard.” Fred smirked as he blushed.

 

“Unless, of course, she’s with you all the time for some other reason,” George added.

 

“Get lost,” he replied heatedly. He hurried through to the Great Hall, grabbed a few slices of toast, and flew off to the pitch without even buttering them. But he wasn’t fast enough to miss the gails of laughter that followed him.

 




 

Hermione was, as she always was when she didn’t have class, headed for the library. She didn’t have much else to do usually, and she had picked up a burning curiosity about trolls after the encounter last night. She shivered in the morning air. Peeves, the school poltergeist, had broken windows all over the castle during the night. Some of the corridors still had minor flooding issues, and the hem of her robe was soaked through.

 

When she’d been told about Hogwarts, she’d hoped so desperately for something different. That there might be a school of children just like her, who couldn’t care less about who kissed who behind the bike shed; people who wanted to further themselves in a world beyond imagination, and who caused terrible, terrible things in their fury. She remembered her first bit of accidental magic like it was yesterday.

 

She’d gone to the cloakroom at the end of the day to find her coat missing, for the umpteenth time. In her frustration, she’d called out for it. And to her surprise, it came soaring towards her. But she wasn’t the only one who saw, and from then, the verbal abuse she got for not having any real friends and always knowing everything in class and so on, became real harassment. The story of her making her coat fly spread quickly, and everyone wanted to see her do it again. The teachers, of course, thinking it was all just a made up story, didn’t interfere. But the other children, especially the ones who’d seen, were more than eager to see a magic trick. They were scared. What if she could do that to us? Will she be angry for the things we’ve said to her?

 

The second, and last example of her accidental magic, she lived with every day.

 

“Show us your trick,” Anne demanded. Hermione had stayed late to talk to her maths teacher, and realised suddenly that the school was fairly empty half an hour after home time on a Friday.

 

“You’ve asked a million times,” Hermione complained. “There’s no trick.”

 

“We saw it,” Felicity argued. “Don’t be stupid.”

 

“You can do other stuff, too, can’t you?” Katie snarled. “You’re a witch or something, aren’t you?”

 

“I’m not, I swear,” Hermione replied tiredly. “Just leave me alone.” She tried to push past and get out of the cloakroom where it all began two months before, but she was blocked off and pushed against the wall.

 

“Mehmehmehmehmehhh,” Felicity mocked.

 

“Do it,” Anne said firmly. “Or I’ll get my brother to make you.”

 

Her brother, John, was fourteen and played rugby. Hermione was a nine year old girl who read a lot of books and liked to go swimming from time to time. Her eyes widened. “What?” she asked faintly.

 

“That’s right,” Katie affirmed. “And all his friends. You’re dangerous, you are.”

 

“It’d be for all our good,” Felicity smirked.

 

“I’ll call Miss Mason,” Hermione warned, backing away.

 

“No you won’t,” said Katie.

 

“You’ll show us your tricks,” Felicity said.

 

“Now,” Anne added harshly.

 

“Don’t make us make you,” Katie warned.

 

Hermione trembled. Her fear became indignation. How dare they threaten me! I’ve done nothing to them!’

 

When Felicity slapped her, her indignation turned into anger.

 

“LEAVE ME ALONE!” she screamed. Shaking her head to clear her suddenly blurred vision, she found herself standing, sweating, over three quivering bodies. She didn’t know what else to do. She ran. But no matter how fast her legs carried her, she couldn’t escape their pale, terrified faces. She didn’t understand what she’d done. She didn’t understand why the three girls, who’d been perfectly happy to heckle her for the past few years, never spoke another word to her. But she knew she was somehow responsible.

 

Coming to Hogwarts had put hundreds of miles between her and those people. The distance helped, to a degree. Her studies helped a lot too. Burying herself in History of Magic or Transfiguration theory let her lose herself, at least for a while. But Ginny was the true godsend. There was something about her that just made Hermione feel at ease. When she talked to Ginny about magic, or Hogwarts, or how annoying Lavender and Parvati were being, or how Harry was trying to kill himself on his Nimbus ... she was normal. Ginny would never know quite how grateful she was for that.

 

The other girls in her dorm weren’t too friendly with her though. Lavender and Parvati, for instance, were n’t altogether different from the girls at her old school. They were gossipy, giggly and seemed infuriatingly shallow sometimes. The other girls, Rionach O’Neal and Fay Dunbar also tended to leave her alone, although they at least were not at all hostile.

 

“Excuse me, Madam Pince,” Hermione whispered, “can you please dry my robes?”

 

She earned a near smile from the austere librarian. “It’s refreshing to meet students with a proper appreciation for the sanctity of a library.” She pulled out her wand and cast the drying charm over Hermione’s robes and shoes. “You should find the Drying Charm in The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 3, but I would practice it for a while before using it on your clothes. It requires a certain finesse if you don’t wish to cause damage.”

 

“Thank you, Madam Pince,” Hermione said softly. “I’ve finished with these.” She pulled The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 2 and Numerology and Grammatica out of her bag.

 

This did earn her a smile. “Keep this up, girl, and you may become one of the very few students of Hogwarts who can call themselves scholars. Tell me, do you have any aspirations for what you might do after you graduate?”

 

Hermione frowned slightly. “I was always sure I would go to a muggle university, but I won’t get the qualifications I need if I’m at Hogwarts.”

 

“Well I’m sure someone as studious as yourself will find a way,” the librarian replied with a secretive smile.

 

Hermione felt a tingle of excitement. ‘Challenge accepted.’ “Thank you, Madam Pince,” she replied. ‘It seems so ridiculous... How can I achieve that, really? I’d have to be in two places at once!’ She looked around at the long hall, and the staircase which connected the three floors of the library. Shaking her head, she cursed her lack of time. ‘Time... NO WAY!’ She could barely contain herself. Hermione turned to see Madam Pince signing her books off. “Did you mean time travel, Madam Pince?” she whispered.

 

The witch put a finger to her lips. “I don’t know where you got an idea like that, but it was not from me.” Hermione sagged slightly. ‘Well, it was a nice idea, anyway.’ Madam Pince smiled. “I cannot help you, child. These are powerful and dangerous things. But that is the path you seek, and you shall find it. Of that I have no doubt.”

 

She blinked. ‘What have I gotten myself into?’ “Um, thank you?” she stuttered, before heading up the first flight of stairs to her usual reading spot. It wasn’t her favourite. Her favourite was at the back of the ground floor near the Restricted Section, because it was the quietest area of the library she knew. However, Ginny insisted on a spot by the railing of the middle floor. It meant she got one of the best vantage points in the library. Hermione had only acquiesced because usually only the OWL and NEWT students ever needed to use the first floor. This meant that besides the occasional moaning potions students looking for books on whatever obscure topic Professor Snape had assigned them to, it tended to be bearable enough. Hermione had made Ginny swear to start working on a muffling charm in return, though.

 

She suddenly noticed that Ginny was already here. With Daphne Greengrass. A Slytherin. The blonde turned to look at her, and her blue eyes were like ice. She couldn’t care less about you, leave her alone.’

 

“Hey, Hermione,” Ginny grinned. She sat at their table, and Daphne went straight back into a book about manticores.

 

Now that she thought about it, Ginny disappeared quite a lot. She’d attributed it to hanging out with the boys and watching quidditch practices before, but unless she much preferred their company (which worried her more than she wanted to admit), that just didn’t add up. Perhaps she spent that time with people from other houses.

 

“Shouldn’t you be going to see Dumbledore soon?” Hermione asked.

 

“I really love spending time with you too,” Ginny replied teasingly. “I’ve got time. You really should have come down to Quidditch practice today.”

 

Hermione gave her a look which clearly conveyed her feelings on the idea.

 

“No, seriously, it was hilarious,” Ginny laughed. “Wood decided to dedicate the practice to physical training. I think Fred was going to shove his broom up his ar-”

 

“Shh!” Hermione whispered, though she was laughing herself. Daphne’s face was hidden, but she couldn’t conceal the way her shoulders were shaking. “You’ll get us kicked out!”

 

“Harry’s way stronger than he looks, you know,” Ginny mused. “Or maybe he’s just way more determined.”

 

“Well, you know him better than I do,” said Hermione.

 

“I guess,” Ginny replied idly. “Still, he was the last one to stop running around the pitch, and that was because Fred stopped him. He’ll probably work himself into the ground.”

 

“If he doesn’t fly himself there first,” Hermione scowled. “Have you seen what he does on that broom?”

 

“Yeah, he’s fantastic,” Ginny grinned. “I know you don’t think so, Hermione, but he enjoys it, doesn’t he?”

 

“I suppose I shouldn’t care,” Hermione said. “But Hogwarts is supposed to be safe. They have wards here that limit spell damage and keep people from getting seriously injured. That’s some fairly serious precautions. But what’s the point if they let students break their necks on the Quidditch pitch?”

 

“Oh, he can handle himself just fine, Hermione,” Ginny said assuredly. “He’s broken a Killing Curse. I doubt a crash is going to do him in.”

 

“How come you never seem to worry?” Hermione asked. Harry was nice enough to her most of the time, but she supposed she felt an extra fondness now for the three people who’d rescued her last night.

 

“I believe in him, I suppose,” Ginny replied. “He’s Harry Potter.”

 




 

The last practice before the big game was meant to be started at 5 o’clock that Friday afternoon, but, of course, they had to be properly inspired and psychologically prepared for the feat that awaited them. So it started at 6 instead.

 

“Miss me, Potter?”

 

“Ginny!” he grinned .

 

 

“I got here just now,” she said . “Fred and George warned me about that one. I decided to play safe.” She didn’t have to point to make herself clear.

 

“Yeah, um, Ginny, the thing is...”

 

“Look, Harry, you’re the best Seeker any of us has ever seen. You’ll win us that cup.” She smiled at him, and walked up to find a seat.

 

“Thanks, Ginny,” he called to her. There was so much pressure. He’d never felt so inspired before, and never been so afraid of failure. He sighed and mounted his Nimbus. Flying would clear his head. It always did.

 




 

“Come on, Harry, you need your strength. Seekers are the ones that always get clobbered by the other team.”

 

“Thanks, Seamus,” he replied, watching him pile ketchup onto his sausages.

 

“Harry, you better eat something or else,” Ginny glared at him. He gulped, and buttered some toast quickly, taking a bite of it. It tasted like cardboard. She smirked, then turned to engage Hermione in conversation. He tried to discretely put down the slice, but somehow, Ginny could just tell, and sent him another glare. He shovelled down the rest of the toast as quickly as he could. “Oh, Harry, you’ll get indigestion! That won’t help you!”

 

He threw up his hands in exasperation as he spoke up. “What do you want from me?” George winked at him, and he scowled back.

 

“Well, I hope I don’t have to feed you now, do I?” she said. Ron, Seamus and Dean cracked, and Neville looked like he wanted to. The twins’ silence, even though they were a little way down the table, was worrying, but he ignored it. He shot her a glare, and began buttering another slice of toast. I’m going to have to make her pay for that one. Somehow.’

 

“Good luck, Harry,” Parvati and Lavender said together as they passed.

 

“Thanks,” he replied. Ginny scowled, and he made a mental note. Ginny’s getting jealous? Over me?’ He smiled softly to himself, and munched on some infinitely better toast. Maybe his chances were better than he’d guessed. Now, if only he knew what to say.

 

“Good luck today, Potter,” came a snide voice. His head snapped around. “Then again, now that you’ve proven yourself against a mountain troll, a little game of Quidditch ought to be easy work for you. Even if it is against ... Slytherin,” Snape said before he walked off with a slight limp.

 

“That was all Ginny and Ron, professor,” he called after Professor Snape. The professor snapped around to stare into his eyes. Then he sneered and continued on to the head table.

“Well, that explains the blood,” Harry said.

 

“Eh?” Ron asked, not taking his narrowed eyes off the Professor.

 

“On Halloween,” Harry continued, “after we dealt with the troll, I saw blood on Snape’s leg. Don’t you remember, he left the Hall before all the other professors.”

 

Hermione turned her head. “Are you suggesting...”

 

“Snape went to the third floor that night and got bitten,” Harry said matter-of-factly.

 

Neville gasped. “He actually took that thing on?!”

 

“Shh, Neville, keep your voice down! But yeah, that’s my theory.”

 

“I hope you’re wrong. Otherwise, Snape’s vile, cruel and insane!”

 

“I don’t think he’s insane, Neville. I think he’s just real desperate for whatever’s under that trapdoor,” Ginny suggested.

 

Neville opened his mouth then stopped, obviously thinking. “So he was probably scouting the place, then. Anyone got any theories on what’s actually down there?”

 

There was a unanimous negative response. “There’s only one person I can think of who might have an idea,” said Harry. “We can go talk to him after the match, okay?” Harry said, getting nods from the others.

 

“Come on, Potter, Spinnet. We’ve got to get going,” Oliver said, suddenly appearing.

 

“But Oliver,” Alicia began, “the match is in an hour!”

 

“So we’ll have plenty of time to ready ourselves. Now let’s get moving!”

 

They both groaned. Fred and George grimaced as if to say, ‘we’re suffering too,’ and they left to rousing choruses of good luck, and not just from their table, either.

 

Harry gave a small smile to his friends as he left, hoping to appear braver than he felt, and then followed the rest of the team to the Quidditch pitch. At least while Wood ranted and lectured, he’d be able to catch up on a little sleep.

 




 

Ginny smirked as the team left. Wood really was every bit as bad as the twins made out. She was surprised there hadn’t been a mutiny. She was still hungry. Though, I don’t think I’m ever that hungry.’She tried not to look at Ron’s display. She sometimes wondered if he actually needed to swallow, or if it just all slid straight down.

 

“Nice banner, Dean!” she commented, as he brought out a colourful banner which read ‘Potter for President’ and had two lions either side. “You’re pretty good at drawing.”

 

“Thanks ,” he replied happily. “I couldn’t bring it out while Harry was still here. Anyway, Hermione, I was hoping, maybe you knew a charm to make the writing flash, or something cool like that.”

 

“Oh, yes, I do actually. I don’t know if this will work very well, since I haven’t practiced it before, but I saw it in a charms book last weekend,” she replied, at which Ron rolled his eyes. “Fulgor cum coloratum lumen !” The writing went from a solid red to vibrant flashing scarlet and gold.

 

“Cheers, Hermione,” he said. They all took a moment to admire her handiwork. She really was brilliant. Dean grinned at Hermione before starting to roll it up.

 

“Wait, Dean,” Ginny interrupted, “I want to try something.”

 

“Um, okay, Ginny.” He unrolled it again, and she held her hand over it and concentrated. She closed her eyes, and imagined the lions rearing and roaring, willing them to come to life. She began to hear roars in her head, and thought it was merely her still imagining it until...

 

“Bloody hell!” She looked up to see Ron, with a lot of pumpkin juice down his front, his eyes popping. She looked back to Dean, who was a little stunned, and looked down at the lions. She realised then that they were roaring quite loudly. Most of the Great Hall was looking at them. The beasts were pacing up and down in the banner, confined to either end by the text, and were no longer the pale imitations of an eleven year old boy. They appeared to be actual lions trapped in the linen.

 

Hermione didn’t even bother with scolding Ron. “Ginny, I’m pretty sure that was at least O.W.L. charm work!”

 

O.W.L.s, or Ordinary Wizarding Levels, were the first level of wizarding qualifications, which they worked towards between third and fifth year. Above these were the Nastily Exhausting Wizarding Tests, which was as far as school took them. Beyond that you could get an apprenticeship, but it would all be about making a name for yourself. Such as Ginny Weasley, Chaser Extraordinaire and Star of the Holyhead Harpies...

 

“Yeah, well, you know how this thing works,” she replied quietly. She was smouldering with the spell’s heat discharge, and suddenly felt like she’d just sprinted all the way from the dorm. “I better go. If we leave the team to Wood they’ll fall asleep on their brooms, or go crazy.”

 

“See you, Ginny,” Ron said, his mouth empty for once.

 

“Yeah, see you,” Dean and the others chorused. “You don’t think there’s something we can do to shut it up for now do you?” she heard him mutter. She smirked. He was going to have serious earache in a minute.

 

“Just roll the thing up,” Seamus suggested.

 

She drew a deep breath of fresh air as she stepped out of the massive doors of the Entrance Hall. It was a beautiful day, if a bit cold. ‘But then, we’re in Scotland.’ She began the trek down to the Quidditch Pitch. The team had left about ten minutes or so ago, so they’d probably just gotten in, unless they’d flown. Knowing Harry, he probably had. She smiled. He loved flying. With that broom, anyone would love flying! Except maybe Hermione or Neville.’ She had a guilty little laugh thinking of how they might react to the Nimbus, considering the mess they made of themselves on the school brooms.

 

She was wondering whether Ron and the twins would let her play Quidditch now that Ron had seen her fly, when she realised she’d reached the bridge to the Pitch. She sat on the edge and dangled her legs over the side, gazing down into the blue water. Every now and then, a fish would come into view, before descending again. She wondered how deep it was. Just for an instant, she saw straight through to the bottom, at least ten metres below the surface. She sat there for a while, contemplating cooling off in it. She could dry herself and her clothes afterwards...

 

She got up and took a swan dive off the other side, breaking the water’s surface with barely a splash. Ginny took a moment to look around at the fish swimming past her. They didn’t seem to care that she was there. Right at the bottom, she could see the tail end of an old broom that was rotting to pieces. Some Seeker had clearly run out of luck on passing the bridge. Feeling the need for air, she kicked up to the surface and felt the sun on her face. Her dry face. She hadn’t thought about shielding herself from the water, but somehow she’d done it anyway. The heat generated by the charm was being carried away quickly enough by the water, so she felt cool and refreshed regardless. She climbed out, and noticed that she had a little audience.

 

“Hi Fay,” Ginny said.

 

“Hey,” the annoyingly tall girl replied. Fay Dunbar was Ginny’s polar opposite in that respect, and only Ron was taller than her. Apart from that, they had a great deal in common, from things as trivial as the length they kept their hair, through hobbies like singing and taking the piss out of the bullies in Slytherin, right up to a life goal of playing quidditch. Unfortunately for her, she favoured the Beater position, which meant she was unlikely to make the Gryffindor starting lineup until sixth year. “Thought I’d come down early and get decent seats. How come you aren’t wet?”

 

“Shield Charm,” Ginny shrugged.

 

“You’re getting really good at that wandless magic, aren’t you?” Fay grinned. “I heard you and Hermione talking a few days ago.”

 

Ginny groaned. “No one’s supposed to know...”

 

“Ginny, don’t be stupid,” Fay rolled her eyes. “You have a special timetable, and out of the blue you’re setting a broom on fire. Now, you animate a drawing in front of the entire great hall by passing your hand over it. Even if people don’t know, they’ll figure it out.”

 

“I guess you’re right,” she agreed. “Come on, let’s find somewhere to sit. I guess it would have gotten pretty boring up there without any company.”

 

“No kidding,” Fay laughed. “Still, you could’ve gone down and annoyed Wood.”

 

“Yeah, there’s that,” Ginny smirked. “But I kind of want Gryffindor to win.”

 




 

“Fred, George, you can pretty much ignore their Seeker. Harry’s a far better flyer, and his broom will leave the guy for dust.” He suddenly realised Wood was probably looking at him, and tried to look like he’d been paying attention. He gave his captain a weak smile. “What’s wrong with you lot? This is IT! The big one!”

 

“The one we’ve aw-all been waiting for,” George yawned. Wood glared, and Katie giggled.

 

“We know his speech off by heart,” Fred said to Harry. “We were on the team last year.”

 

“Shut it you two. We will win this year. This has to be one of the best teams Gryffindor has ever seen. We have chasers who are so synchronised it’s like you can read each other’s minds.” Angelina smirked towards Katie at that comment. “Our beaters are world-class.”

 

“Oh, Oliver, you’re too much,” Fred simpered. The girls giggled, and Oliver started glaring again.

 

“We have the youngest seeker in a hundred years, and if that doesn’t say something, I don’t know what does.”

 

“Don’t go forgetting yourself, Oliver,” Katie grinned.

 

“Yeah, we think you’re quite good, too,” George added.

 

“So, we’re going to get out there and show those bloody Slytherins how to fly!”

 

“Yeah!” everyone shouted.

 

They grabbed their brooms and trooped out of the changing room. They could already hear the crowd forming. Then, out of nowhere, Ginny appeared. Harry grinned.

 

“Has Hermione defeated her hate of flying for this?”

 

“Yeah, but that’s not why I’m here,” she said quietly. Then, she stretched up and kissed him on the cheek! “For luck.” Then she ran off, leaving him gaping in her wake, holding a hand tenderly to his cheek, which was still tingling.

 

“Come on, Potter, you can finish what she just started after the game,” Angelina laughed. He didn’t even bother to argue with her, being still stunned as he was. Grabbing his arm, she tugged him insistently toward the gate. He wasn’t quite sure why they called it a gate, since there wasn’t a gate there ... He looked out on the pitch, and saw the students fighting for the best seats. What can possibly go wrong today?’

 

They all mounted their brooms. He was at the front with Wood, the twins were behind them, and the chasers behind them, with the two reserve chasers Finkley and Taylor bringing up the rear. He wondered absently why he’d never spoken to either of them, when he heard the whistle summoning them onto the pitch. He kicked off, and zoomed off into the sky, leaving the rest of the team behind him. A few loop-the-loops, barrel rolls and laps of the pitch later, he let his broom drift down towards Madam Hooch, and scanned the crowds for Ginny as well as Ron, Hermione and Neville.

 

With the loss of the wind in his ears, he heard some ground-shaking roars from his left. There was an enormous banner which read ‘Potter for President’, and had a couple of very realistic lions roaring and growling. Ginny was holding it in the middle, draped as it was over the front of the Gryffindor stands. The whole of his form was with her, even Alice, who wasn’t at all fond of quidditch. He grinned, and looked to Ginny, who was the only one not yelling or whooping. She blushed, but didn’t break eye contact.

 

He finally turned his attention back to Madam Hooch, who was talking.

 

“... nice fair game, all of you!” He couldn’t help but give a snort. The Slytherin captain, Flint, looked like he had a bit of troll blood in him. He just wanted to get going again. Luckily for him, his note of disbelief was lost to the wind. She blasted open the ball box with some kind of jinx, then sent the quaffle rocketing upwards. The game was on. He soared up above everyone else, and began his search.

 

“And the Quaffle is taken immediately by Angelina Johnson of Gryffindor – what an excellent Chaser that girl is, and rather attractive, too...”

 

“Jordan!” McGonagall cried.

 

Grinning, Harry settled for watching the game for a little while as the snitch proved elusive. Suddenly, there it was — the snitch! Or so he thought, until he realized exactly what was shining by one of the twins’ broom handles. Dammit, they ought to have taken their bloody watches off!’ He glided around, trying to get a glimpse of it while listening to Lee Jordan’s commentary. It appeared McGonagall was sitting right behind the megaphone just to keep control of him. He ducked quickly to avoid a painful headshot from a bludger, and grinned as Fred or George smacked it at Flint. Then the whole world slowed.

 

“Pucey has the quaffle, ducks both bludgers, Weasleys, and Chaser Bell — is that the snitch?!” Pucey dropped the quaffle to stare at the flash of gold that zoomed by his ear.

 

Harry snapped into action, the whole world around him a blur as he focused entirely on the glint of gold. It was a unique experience. He had never been this fast before. Uncle Vernon kept strictly two miles an hour below the limit on the motorway while they were running from Hagrid. The top speed of his Nimbus was over a hundred miles an hour, and he was closing on a hundred now, from the way the broom was humming. Everything around him was reduced to a colour, stretching behind him to infinity. All sound was drowned out by the wind in his ears. The Slytherin Seeker, Higgs, had been closer but Harry left the bigger boy behind in only seconds. His focus was on the snitch, and his opponent just didn’t matter.

 

He could see all the beautiful detail on the snitch now, as it dashed around ahead of him, twitching from side to side, up and down. He was gaining on it quickly. The chase would last seconds, but time stretched out. He extended his arm and it turned over his head and sped the other way. He squeezed tight to his broom, cursing under his breath, and tugged on the handle. The forces pulled at his gut, and he didn’t even bother to upright himself. He was too close to let go now, and he focused on simply accelerating. The broom was more than just humming now, it was tangibly vibrating with energy. He urged it on, barely noticing as he left Higgs behind again.

 

It was no more than ten inches now, nine... Is it actually possible for time to slow down like this?’ It was the last thought that crossed his mind before time was restored to normal with a disturbing crunch. He’d hit something. Hard. As he clung desperately to his broom, trying to level himself out and stop spinning, he heard Hooch yelling at Flint. Bastard. I had that thing!’ He’d put himself in between Harry and the snitch, and Harry had collided with some part of him. I hope it hurt like hell!’

 

“He won’t do that again!” one of the twins called to him. “You hit him in the arse, Harry!” He laughed and looked up to his friends in the stands. Ginny was giving Flint a death glare. Hagrid was there with a pair of binoculars, and was grinning at him. He must have seen where Harry’d hit him. But Harry barely noticed. Seeing Ginny standing up for him like that gave him such a warm feeling inside... He shook his head, and looked for the snitch. He was still a little dazed. It had been a pretty high-speed collision, and considering what happened to cars at lower speeds, he was astonished his broom wasn’t harmed. Maybe magical protections. Ron’ll know.’

 

He couldn’t find the snitch, but he noticed that Gryffindor had scored a couple of times while everyone was distracted by the discovery of the snitch. Lee was making a lot of comments on the Slytherins’ tactics, and McGonagall’s reprimands seemed a little half-hearted to him.  Alicia scored the penalty Hooch had awarded with no trouble, and then suddenly... Bloody hell!’ He was chucked to the side, and, thinking that the broom had been damaged after all, he tried to gently lower it. Then, he realised that he no longer had any control over his precious Nimbus. It was trying to throw him off!

 

“Fred! My broom!” he yelled. Play had just started. Both twins turned to him, and swore loudly. One of them flew to him to try and help, while the other sped off towards Hooch. I can’t do this for much longer...’ He tried to reach a hand out to grab the twin’s outstretched arm, but the broom shot up a metre or so, and he had to wrap himself tightly and completely around it. He gave up on the footrests in favour of hooking and locking his legs around the handle, thanking his short frame, since he was in no danger of poking his eye out on the end of the bucking broomstick.

 

Hooch’s whistle rang out piercingly, and Harry thanked whatever deity that she had noticed his predicament. He was going to give the twins anything they wanted at Christmas. The bucking slowed, and an ominous thought crossed his mind. What if it’s only stopped because someone was doing something to it and didn’t want to be caught?’

 

“What on earth was that, Potter?” Madam Hooch demanded as she rose to meet him.

 

“It just started bucking randomly, and I couldn’t control it,” he gasped.

 

“I believe you, Potter. That kind of thing can’t be faked easily. The question is why. It couldn’t have been the collision, which means...” Her hawk-like eyes scanned the crowd. He looked toward the teachers’ box, and saw Snape there. Harry’s eyes narrowed with suspicion, and the p rofessor glared back. “I’ll have to talk to the Headmaster about putting more wards here. Are you alright with getting back into the game, Potter?”

 

“Yes, Madam Hooch.”

 

“Right then. Ascensius quaffle!” It rocketed upward once more. He rose with it, scanning for the snitch. Flint was rising to catch the quaffle. He knew he wasn’t allowed to touch it, so he turned to face Flint with a predatory glint in his eye, which made the chaser back off subconsciously. Harry grinned, nodded curtly to him, and zoomed off to circle above the pitch. The Nimbus started jerking again, but then there was a loud crash, and it calmed down. He looked over to the teachers’ box, and saw that half of it had collapsed. Back in the Gryffindor stands, Ginny had her arms stretched out and her eyes were glowing slightly. He grinned at her, grateful for the intervention, and she grinned back, blushing again. Madam Hooch didn’t even bother to stop the game.

 

He accelerated rapidly into a steep dive to vent his feelings, and whooped, then choked. He barely managed to pull out of the dive before his choking forced him off his broom. The impact knocked the snitch out of his windpipe, and it fell to the ground. Harry grabbed it in case it tried to fly off, but he really needn’t have bothered. Saliva was trickling down from the weakly fluttering wings and dripping off the snitch onto his sleeve. He jumped back on his broom, holding the snitch aloft for all to see. Once Lee had declared it, and Hooch had blown the end-of-game whistle, Harry threw it into the air.

 

He knew the rest of the team would have wanted to celebrate the win with him, but he didn’t care. He glided toward his friends, jumped off his Nimbus, dropped it to the ground, and kissed Ginny. He’d known he wanted to do it for weeks, and after all, Ginny had kissed him before the game, so what was wrong with him doing the same? Well, it wasn’t the same — it was on the lips this time, but from Ginny’s reaction, she didn’t mind at all. She wrapped her arms around his neck, and he put one arm around her waist and the other hand in her glorious hair. He didn’t hear the whistles, the catcalls... Nor did he hear the sounds of outrage from Ron, or Hermione, Neville and Seamus restraining him. All he knew was Ginny.

 

They slowly broke apart, their eyes locked together now. “Good game, Harry,” she whispered.

 

He chuckled, “Good curse.”

 

“Mmm.”

 

Ginny’s hair was so soft to the touch, her body felt so light, her lips so warm and yielding...

 

“Not that we didn’t see this one coming-”

 

“But if you don’t stop soon, it’ll be imprinted on everyone’s minds for the rest of time.”

 

Ginny pulled away, scowling. “Go away, you two, or I’ll hex you so bad your faces will never look the same again!”

 

“Who are we to get in the way?” one of them laughed.

 

“Just be sure to leave some of him for the rest of us, eh?” Katie called. Harry blushed. Ginny responded with a vibrant string of curses that made him want to wash her mouth out, before dragging him away from the throng of screaming boys and girls.

 

When an ominous grinding sound came from the teachers’ box, the crowd was distracted just long enough for Ginny to pull him into the support structure of one of the parents’ boxes.

 

Harry let out his breath and collapsed against a strut. “That had to be the jammiest catch I’ve ever taken.”

 

“Yeah, even worse than that time Fred hit it at you with his bat,” Ginny giggled.

 

Harry threw his Nimbus a little deeper into the foundations, where it hovered, waiting. “They’re really making a big deal out of it, aren’t they?”

 

“They should be,” Ginny grinned. “You should’ve seen Malfoy’s face! He was ready to pop!”

 

Harry laughed aloud. He felt so incredibly free. “Come on,” he said. “Let’s explore this place. Someone’s bound to look under here soon.”

 

“Sure,” she replied, jumping onto the broom behind him. He felt a powerful urge to do something very stupid and impressive the moment he felt her arms and legs wrap around him.

 

He drove the broom through a series of corkscrews, diving down into the network of wooden beams and stone columns that held the tall box up. They soon discovered that there was far more room here than they had imagined. In fact, there seemed to be an underground passage connecting all the structures together. Harry weaved effortlessly through the maze, dropping to the hard packed earth ten or so metres below.

 

“Well, I wasn’t expecting this,” Ginny said.

 

“Or this,” Harry replied, flipping the broom over backwards and kicking it into a few tight backward spins around a cross beam before rocketing up the box they were under. Ginny was screaming in delight as they dodged entire platforms, squeezing through gaps meant only for people on the stairwell.

 

They shot out over the box seats, and saw the crowds returning to the castle. The noise of their conversations was filtered slightly by the winds, but Harry knew that the celebrations in the common room would be raucous. He grinned back at Ginny, and started playing with the now docile snitch. Yes, Hagrid. I am a bloody wizard.’

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