Awakenings
Chapter 8 — Green-Eyed Monsters
By Lady Alchymia
There's a spot in this chapter with a piece of music called Resta Qui by Andrea Bocelli. If you go to the link below, you'll find a song sample under track 6 (nb, the CD is well worth buying!). In this chapter, the piano music for the song is played, and I'd suggest you nip off now to have a wee listen, then come back to read the chapter.
http://music.msn.com/album/?album=39638513&menu=songs
Other Disclaimers for lyrics referenced in this chapter:
Have You Met Miss Jones, by Rodgers & Hart is referenced with slight changes.
Greensleeves, traditional folk song.
*****
Harry woke early on Saturday morning with a smile still on his face.
"Morning, folks," he said, yawning and stretching as he padded into the bathroom to meet the day, but even Mirabella, his overly chatty haddock, was fast asleep, as was the rest of the house.
After dressing in jeans and a Hobgoblins T-shirt, he sat at his desk, flicking through the guitar lesson book Susan Bones’ gave him. His Weird Sisters songbooks were way more interesting, but also way beyond him just yet. Harry peered into Frank’s basket and gave him a tickle; he wasn’t facing Fretful Favourites alone — nor in a room without a good Dumber. Frank opened one misty eye then shut it again.
"Ugh, don’t tell me," he moaned when Harry was obliged to increase his tickle to a poke, "you just love the morning."
"Best part of the day!" Harry proclaimed.
"A gentleman is never at home to callers before eleven," Frank declared sternly. A new thought seem to strike him. "You know, a little fish for elevenses would be nice."
"Right …" said Harry. "I just thought you might like to join me downstairs for some music practice, but if you’d rather sleep —"
"Music?" said Frank. "Well, why didn’t you say so, dear boy." And with that, Frank slithered up and around Harry’s neck.
"You quite comfortable there?" Harry said. Frank wriggled a little.
"Yes, thank you. Well, get along then," he commanded.
Down in the drawing room, free of his basket, Frank peered around curiously.
"This is nice," he said approvingly. Harry dumped him atop the piano. "A pillow would be lovely," sniffed Frank. "Oh no, don’t get up," he said after Harry already rose and grabbed a pillow from the sofa.
The first ancient ditty in Fretful Favourites was the medieval ballad Greensleeves, which Harry considered diabolically dull, but it was the only song he knew, and it only needed four chords. Following the instructions carefully, it wasn’t long before he could play it tolerably well.
"Wanna hear it?" he gamely asked Frank.
"You’re going to sing?" Frank said dryly, drawing closer. "This should be interesting."
Harry slipped outside to check the room’s Dumber was on the strongest possible setting. Back at the piano seat, he steeled himself for battle.
"Alas, my love, you do me wrong …" he sang.
After he’d mangled his way through a few verses, he turned to Frank, curious for his first review. Frank was strangely silent. He retracted his head from between James and Sirius and let it flop dramatically against the pillow, making the tassels shake.
"Well, if you must sing in English," he started, sounding very miffed, "I suppose I’ve heard worse."
Harry gave a short laugh. "Sorry about that. Sometimes I forget which language I’m using."
Frank considered this.
"Well ..." he began slowly, reaching his head around Lily, who peered back at his huge snakehead curiously, "you may find thinking about me might help ..." Frank paused a moment then confided, "I’m very inspirational, you know."
"Thanks," Harry said, chuckling, "but I think I’d better stick with English."
"Oh well," said Frank, sighing deeply, "if a thing is worth doing, it is worth doing badly, I suppose. But I shan’t quibble."
A knock sounded on the drawing-room door. Harry started to call out for the person to enter then remembered the Dumber was on. Padding to the door, he found Susan in a dark-green DA bathrobe and a pair of feathery phoenix slippers. Her long hair was out of its usual plait and tumbled in loose waves down her back.
"Morning!" she said brightly. "Professor Moody said you were practicing. Mind if I join you?"
"Not at all," Harry said, standing aside.
Susan stopped when she saw Frank coiled on his pillow. "Er, Harry?"
"Ah, sorry, sorry," Harry said, dashing forward. "He won’t hurt you, but I can put him away, if you like?"
"Oh, I don’t know," Susan said, tilting her head at the python, "he looks pretty comfortable where he is."
Frank lifted his head and gave Susan a bit of a grin, which she returned.
"Susan Bones," Harry said, "meet Frank!"
The python stretched his jaws impressively, and shook his head, clearly just showing off. Susan ran an inquisitive finger under his flexible jaw.
"Hello, Frank. And how are you this glorious morning?"
"Good morning, you darling creature!" he replied, bowing deeply to the girl. "I find myself extremely well, thank you so very much for asking. And you?"
Susan stared curiously at the weaving, softly hissing snake. When Harry said nothing, Frank hissed at him and tossed his head back towards the girl.
"Frank says hi," Harry said in English. Frank bared his jaws at Harry, but this only made Harry laugh. "Give it a rest, Frank, I’m not repeating all that."
But this only made Susan more curious, and Harry was obliged to translate the whole message.
"He really said all that?" she cooed gleefully.
"Yep."
"Wow," she breathed. She bowed respectfully to the python and said very properly, "I find myself in the very best of health, thank you, Frank."
Frank’s tail positively quivered with delight.
"I like this one," he whispered to Harry, as if confiding a great secret.
"How’s it going?" Susan said to Harry with a nod to Fretful Favourites. "What are you up to?"
"Greensleeves," Harry replied, pulling a face. Susan folded her own green sleeves over the edge of the piano and grinned mischievously.
"Go on then," she said. "Sing it for me."
"Not in this lifetime," Harry said very seriously.
"Oh, come on. I’m sure you sound fine."
"In the shower, maybe," said Harry ruefully.
"Ah, so it’s a fluidity thing," Susan said, nodding wisely. "I could get a bucket of water and pour it over you if that’d help."
Frank snickered appreciatively.
"It’s not nice to make fun of the musically challenged," Harry said archly.
Susan donned a contrite expression, but her eyes were dancing. Harry admitted he’d never sung for anyone before (Frank hissed rather indignantly at that).
"Well," Susan said musingly, "you can listen to other people, and it’s enjoyable, but it doesn’t feel the same as doing it yourself. How does it feel when you sing?" Harry confessed it felt good. "So ..." Susan said in a most unreasonably reasonable way, "are you planning on singing in the shower forever?"
Harry’s eyes found the ceiling. "But it’s Greensleeves! It has got to be the most pathetic song ever written in the history of the English language!"
"Do another one, then."
"It’s the only one I know!"
Susan’s lips were twitching. Leaning lower against the side of the piano, she rested her chin on her folded arms, waiting. Harry rolled his eyes.
"Fine," he said irritably, "but no laughing!"
Frank snickered.
"That means you, too!" Harry hissed at Frank.
"Oh, don’t mind little old me," Frank said silkily. He dangled his head coyly over the edge of the piano and gave his tail a little flick.
Harry started playing and singing but stopped halfway through to grumble, "Seriously, who says ‘wouldst’?"
"Keep going," Susan said serenely. "But slower."
Harry groaned heavily and resumed singing.
"Greensleeves was all my joy, Greensleeves was my delight, Greensleeves was —"
"Okay, okay, you can stop!" Susan said, waving her hands and laughing in response to a particularly tortured expression on Harry’s face.
"Rubbish, isn’t it," he said flatly.
"No, no, no," said Susan. "A few chord changes were scratchy, but it definitely wasn’t rubbish. Your voice isn’t too bad, actually." Harry bashfully mumbled a thank you. Susan plucked Fretful Favourites from the sheet rest and said, "Let’s see if we can’t find you something a bit chirpier. How about A Maiden Did Bathing Go? Erm … hang on, no, I can’t see you singing ‘each fish did wish himself a man’. Loch Lomond might be good. You probably know it." Harry shook his head. "Sure you do," said Susan, and she sang a line. "‘Oh, you’ll take the high road and I’ll take the low road …’. No? Okay, still looking. I think we can skip Charlotte the Harlot." Susan chuckled at the look of renewed interest on Harry’s face. "I’m afraid Charlotte’s a bit out of your league just yet, old son. Come on, we’ll give Greensleeves another try."
She walked around the piano and sat next to Harry on the wide black bench.
"We?" said Harry, surprised. "You’ll sing it with me?"
"That’s what we usually means," Susan said. "Unless you’d rather fly solo."
"No, no," Harry said. "I like we. We is good. We is excellent!"
With Susan to sing along with him, and keep him in time, the song didn’t seem quite so unforgivably moronic, and Harry managed to play it all the way through without a single error.
"Excellent!" Susan said happily. "That was so much better."
"Thanks to you," said Harry, shaking his head.
"You were the one playing," Susan noted.
"No, the boy’s right," Frank assured her. "It was you."
Whilst Harry sneaked a look through Fretful Favourites for Charlotte the Harlot, Susan’s gaze drifted towards the photographs atop the piano.
"Is this your family?" she asked interestedly. Harry nodded to a photograph of a man in his early twenties.
"That’s my dad, James."
"I suppose everyone says you look alike," Susan remarked.
Harry suppressed a sigh. "Yep."
"They say it like they’re telling you something you want to hear," Susan observed with just a trace of bitterness. Then she gave him a sad half-smile. "My cousin Lydia," she explained, "I never knew her, but my Auntie Amelia is always going on and on about how much I resemble her." Susan picked up the eleven-year-old Lily. "And who’s this?"
"My mum," Harry said. "When she was little, obviously. Her name’s Lily."
"She’s beautiful," Susan said. She chuckled when Lily winked at her and did a little curtsy. "All right, I’ll say it: you do have her eyes."
Harry conceded a crooked smile. "I don’t mind that. I just wish I had her eyesight."
Susan exchanged Lily for of photo of a second handsome young man. Sirius gave Susan a rakish wink. Susan smiled back at him then squinted in thought.
"He looks familiar," she said. Sirius affected a nonchalant air, clearly pleased by the attention.
"Sirius," Harry said quietly, "Sirius Black." Susan sucked in a breath, but no revulsion graced her face for the convicted mass murderer. "That was taken before my parents died, before he went to prison. He didn’t do it. He didn’t do any of it."
"I know," Susan said. "My auntie told me what happened at the Ministry. How you tried to save him. She said you knew him — after he escaped from Azkaban — after all those years with the Dementors … and the Death Eaters." Susan shook her head sadly at the photograph.
"He was my godfather," Harry volunteered. "He hid out in a cave near Hogwarts — to be close to me. I’d take him food. Then he hid here — I’d visit him in the holidays. This was his house before he ..." Harry’s voice drifted off; he didn’t know why he was telling Susan all this.
"… Before the Death Eaters killed him," Susan finished for him. "I’m so sorry, Harry. I can’t even imagine what he went through: so many years all alone."
Harry nodded slightly; he had not forgotten the toll the Dark Order had taken on Susan’s family.
Susan set the framed photo carefully on the sheet rest. Then she started to play — low, lonely notes Harry felt he recognised, yet was sure he’d never heard before. Gripping his guitar tightly lest he twang something, he watched and listened as the girl played for the handsome young man with the dancing eyes, imprisoned now in silver and glass.
Time slowed to nothing. Harry was mesmerised by the way Susan’s fingers travelled the keyboard so assuredly, sometimes aggressive, sometimes soft, rhythmically pressing life into the cold keys, conjuring sounds that didn’t know they ached to be heard. Long before Harry was ready for the music to stop, it did. As Susan withdrew her hands, the final notes lingered upon the air, filling a deep silence and a stillness defied only by morning sunlight spilling across the glossy black piano.
"Resta Qui," Susan murmured into the silence. "Stay here — with me ..."
Chimes sounded. The spell broken, Harry stared at the grandfather clock in bewilderment. He never heard it so much as dong before, but at least it wasn’t shooting arrows at them.
"It’s not eleven already, is it?" said Susan.
Harry checked his watch. It wasn’t even ten. Bemused, he opened up the grandfather clock and set it to the proper time.
"Still, pretty late," he said apologetically to Susan. "You must be starving."
Susan smiled sheepishly. "I am a bit."
"I make a great omelette," offered Harry.
"You’re on," said Susan.
Frank, who hadn’t taken his eyes off Susan since she started singing, suddenly began to croon:
Have you met Miss Bones
Someone said as we shook hands.
She was just ‘Miss Bones’ to me ...
Harry dearly wanted to laugh; the python was clearly in love. Frank continued singing merrily to the girl from Harry’s neck as they all headed for the kitchen. Glancing at his moodband, Harry spied a sparkling emerald green.
…
And all at once I lost my breath
And all at once was scared to death
And all at once I owned the earth and sky
And now I’ve met Miss Bones
And we’ll keep on meeting till we die
Miss Bones and I.
Harry and Susan weren’t the only latecomers to breakfast. Guests milled about in their colourful pyjamas, grazing on anything anyone put out. Mr and Mrs Weasley had just left in search of more supplies for the teen locusts. There was no sign of Cho yet, nor George. After a few discreet inquiries, Harry discovered the twins had left at dawn for Diagon Alley; Saturday and Sunday were their busiest days.
True to his word, Harry whipped up a tasty mushroom omelette for Susan and another for himself. Sitting down between her and Hannah to eat, he felt fingers running through his hair, pulling it this way and that. Lifting his eyes, he found Lavender staring down at him as if he was her next Herbology experiment.
"I’ll give you your haircut this morning," she decided.
"I’m right, thanks," Harry said firmly. He knew he could use a cut, but he wasn’t inclined to be transfigured into Lavender’s pet poodle.
"Oh, go on, Harry," begged Hannah. "Lavender’s really good!"
Harry snorted a laugh. "Is this some kind of attempt to get me to use Geoffrey’s gunk?"
"It’s not gunk," she said earnestly. "Oh, come on, you looked so handsome! And it’s free!"
"Someone giving free haircuts?" piped up Oliver; his hearing really was exceptional sometimes.
Lavender played her trump. "I do Justin’s! Tell him, Susan!"
"It’s true," Susan said fairly. "Lavender does a wonderful job."
Harry glanced down the table towards Justin Finch-Fletchley, whose artfully floppy chestnut curls were well known for inspiring a great deal of insipid swooning amongst Hogwarts’ girls.
"It’ll just grow back the same," he told Lavender. Lavender patted his cheek.
"Of course, it will," she said comfortingly. Harry shrugged his consent and Lavender started fussing with his hair again. "Oh, I’ve been wanting to do you for years!" she declared. There was general laughter at this and Lavender blushed.
"Okay," Harry chuckled, pulling a hair from his omelette, "but not at the breakfast table."
The minute he was finished eating, Lavender dragged him to his bathroom, where she cut his hair under the watchful eyes of Mirabella, Hannah, and Frank. The girls weren’t gone long when Colin Creevey knocked on Harry’s door. He had a thick stack of party photos he’d taken the liberty of developing from Harry’s new Snapparazzi 630.
"I tried not to look, honest," the boy whispered nervously before fleeing.
Relaxing on his bed with Frank, Harry glanced through the photos, curious to see what his surrogate eye decided he ‘wanted to know’. He was dead pleased with himself when he spotted a photo of Cho taking a sleepy bubble-bath that morning. Ever so patiently, he tried to shake the bubbles out of the way, but Cho kept waking up, scowling at him and preserving her modesty.
"You have been busy, haven’t you?" Frank snickered. "You know," he observed, sliding down and around Harry’s shoulders for a better look, "I can see why they wear clothes — they’re very lumpy."
Harry snorted a laugh. The if-anyone-sees-these-I’m-dead pile steadily grew to over a dozen shots, mostly of Cho, but Harry apparently had his eye on other girls, too. There was a most interesting shot of Susan undressing, but, vexedly, her back was to the camera, and no amount of tickling, blowing, or promises of being framed would convince her to turn around.
Harry knew he was going to be saving Voldemort a lot of trouble if the girls ever found the photos, and in the back of his mind a tiny, insistent voice (which sounded a lot like Hermione) urged him to destroy them, but he just couldn’t do it. Frank was just as curious about all Harry’s ‘young ladies’, and slithered across the bed, using his tongue to flick the photos over.
"Hey! Stop that," said Harry, tossing him onto his pillows.
Grinning, Frank sneaked closer again but kept his tongue to himself. Until, that is, he saw a photo of Harry kissing Cho under a crimson sunset.
"What happened to Susan?" he hissed indignantly. "I liked her!"
Harry laughed and tried to distract Frank with talk of food.
"Are you hungry yet?" he asked; the python had barely nibbled at the chicken mince Harry left him.
"Thank you, no," said Frank, resting his wedge-shaped head affectionately on the boy’s knee, "but I really should think about my breakfast order, shouldn’t I?"
Whilst Frank expounded upon the many ways one might prepare tuna, Harry smiled at a shot of Cho twirling blissfully on the rooftop. But then he turned over one from the Wheel of Destruction that blackened his moodstone and set his blood boiling. Knowing George and Cho kissed before he and Cho got back together offered no comfort whatsoever. Frank poured himself into Harry’s lap and slid his head up the boy’s heaving chest for a better look.
"That Cho certainly gets around," he observed serenely.
Harry’s moodstone couldn’t stay black long. Not when he was getting a training session from the Viktor Krum. The Seekers had been out on the pitch for several hours, fine-tuning Harry’s different body positions and discussing defensive strategies against Bludgers.
"Every team," Viktor sighed, "say: ‘take out Seeker’. You have to be eyes in back of head — all times."
He cast a casual glance over his shoulder to Ron Weasley, who was trying to listen in without showing he was trying to listen in. Harry eagerly lapped up the star Seeker’s tips. And it wasn’t just what Viktor said, but also from being able to watch him up close, surreptitiously noting little things like how he banked to the left when reaching for the Snitch.
Back in the poolroom bar, people were eating sandwiches and drinking Butterbeers. Hannah and Ernie were busy sorting through a huge stack of Chocolate Frog Trading Cards on the pool table, and Justin and Susan were deep in conversation about something or other. Maybe he was who she liked, mused Harry, remembering Susan said she fancied someone during her truth session. Looking at her animated face, Harry was surprised to find himself a little jealous of the Hufflepuff boy. He shook off the silly notion and turned his attention to the Quidditch friendly Angelina was organising. All the girls wanted to play with Viktor, so Angelina decided on a girls’ team led by Viktor and a boys’ team led by Harry. She automatically listed Harry and Viktor as opposing Seekers, but the birthday boy had other ideas, and he found a most enthusiastic ally in his Bulgarian guest.
"Hermione!" Ron cried, when he saw the team lists. "Is this a joke?"
"No joke," Harry said brightly. With Viktor fussing over Hermione, Cho would be able to play Seeker. "Which reminds me — Katie!"
Harry arranged for Hermione to borrow Katie Bell’s kit and broomstick. As he and Viktor helped her buckle up, Harry winced inwardly, wishing he had a helmet for her as well. Only half-joking, he suggested a Sticking Charm to Viktor.
"What?" Hermione squeaked in alarm.
"Bad for manoeuvring," Viktor said, also starting to look a little worried. "I think I get my vand," he decided.
Ron waited for Viktor to leave then stormed over. "What do you think you’re doing, Hermione? It’s not a game you know!"
Hermione raised one eyebrow. "Oh, really, Ronald, enlighten me."
"You’re terrible at flying! You’ll get yourself killed! You should stick to your books, let someone else play!"
"It’s really none of your business what I do, Ron," said Hermione icily.
"Right," nodded Ron, his ears crimson and his eyes bulging. "Right," he repeated, still nodding, "well, if you want to make a complete idiot of yourself!"
Hermione glared in open-mouthed fury at Ron, her clenched fists shaking. Harry yanked Ron away to their changing room before he could do any more damage — and before Hermione could engage her tongue. The fiery redhead strode around the room, kicking at the wooden benches. Bruce buzzed nervously around his head.
"She’ll be fine," Harry assured him. "I’ll talk to the boys — it’s just a friendly."
"And accidents never happen," Ron said, nodding, pacing fitfully around the room. "You know she can’t duck!"
Harry grabbed Ron by the shoulders.
"Ron. Ron! Listen to me for a minute," he said sternly. "I know you don’t want to hear this, but Viktor’s not going to let Hermione out of his sight. Whatever you might think of him, you know he’s not going to let anything hurt her."
Ron’s only response was a glare. Harry chose to take this as a good sign. He steeled himself for what he felt he had to say.
"You’ve got to let Hermione make her own choices." Harry looked hard into his best friend’s blue eyes. "You can’t force her to do what you want, and if you try, you’ll lose her."
Ron’s fierce face crumpled and he slumped onto one of the benches. Bruce landed on his right hand and crawled across his fingers.
"Look," Harry said, trying to get back on an even keel, "I’ll talk to the lads. No one’s gonna kill anyone."
Back in the bar, Harry decided he wasn’t so sure about that when he spotted George Weasley, returned from work, standing over Cho, who was looking toned and gorgeous in jeans and a white tank-top. George, draped in black referee-robes, leaned closer to whisper something in her ear then slid his hands up and down her bare arms in just a completely unnecessary way. Laughing nervously, Cho pulled away from him. Righteous rage inflated Harry’s chest. Didn’t George realise Cho was taken?! Surely, the git wasn’t that thick! Okay, maybe he was that thick, but that was hardly Harry’s problem. Shoving an armful of orange robes at Dean, he strode across the room.
"Allow me," he said frostily, yanking Cho’s wrist guard from George’s hand. "Don’t you have some balls you need to get sorted, George?"
Looking relieved, Cho held out her wrist to Harry. George’s eyes narrowed dangerously at his fellow Gryffindor, but whatever was about to roll off his tongue was bitten back when his mother came bustling over with purple robes for the girls.
"Oh, that’s much better, dear," Mrs Weasley said approvingly of Harry’s haircut. "George, hand these out, there’s a good boy."
George accepted the chore, but the look he gave the birthday boy was anything but friendly. Victorious, Harry slid a hand around Cho’s shoulders and smiled smugly down at her.
"Nice," she said appraisingly of his haircut, "but I kind of liked it all messy — like you’ve just tumbled out of bed, just begging to have someone’s fingers running through it."
Harry could have kissed her for that. Then he realised he could, so he did. And he made sure George got a good eyeful!
"Don’t worry," he said cheerily, "I’ll grow it back, especially for you!"
Cho smiled dreamily back at him and reached a hand up through his short hair and down his bare neck, setting his skin tingling and his mind thinking of anything but Quidditch.
"HARRY’S HORNTAILS V VIKTOR’S KRUMPETS, LADIES AND GENTLEMEN!" roared Lee through the charmed megaphone. "AND THEY’RE OFF!"
Dipping and diving, Ginny eluded all Beaters and Bludgers to score an easy first goal.
"Wake up, Ron!" yelled Harry. He didn’t really care that Ginny scored, more that Ron’s attention was fixated on Viktor and Hermione.
Lee egged the crowd on, cheerily calling out, "And let’s hear a round of Weasley is our king!"
Zacharias Smith zigzagged through the girls and made a good attempt on goals, but Padma deftly deflected the Quaffle. Ginny retrieved the ball and gently tossed it to Hermione.
"Granger takes the Quaffle," Lee called. "Somewhat unorthodox flying style, but seems to work for her. Her way seems clear — she shoots … OOH, she misses! Never mind. Where’s Lavender got to?"
Ron tossed the Quaffle to George and returned, brooding, to his goals.
"Oh, there you are Lavender ... anyone got nail clippers?" said Lee. "Where were we? Ah, Corner ducks a Bludger from Krum … passes to Smith … back to Corner … to Smith … Horntails take another shot. Padma blocks it! Not bad this girl: beauty, brains, definitely a Keeper."
Hermione regained the Quaffle and hurtled erratically down the pitch. Viktor flew beneath her, anxious as a mother hen, but Harry’s Horntails were far too star struck to do anything but watch as the Bulgarian superstar swept past them. When Hermione neared the goals, Viktor batted a Bludger towards the opposing Keeper. Ron ducked the Bludger, but Bruce was not so fortunate.
"Bruce?" whimpered Ron, watching helplessly as his blowfly plummeted. "RIGHT!" he declared fiercely. Zooming past a startled Hermione, he abandoned his goals and swept past Dean, growling, "I NEED THIS!" He wrenched the Beater’s bat from Dean’s hand and was off.
Harry didn’t have to guess who Ron was determined to bludgeon. Hermione, although confused by the unguarded goals, kept going and stopped to take a dainty netball shot into the centre ring.
"GRANGER SCORES!" roared Lee.
The look on Hermione’s face was priceless to Harry. And as he cheered her goal, he couldn’t help but be glad Ron buggered off for a bit. Ever practical, though, he sent Dean to guard the goals. He doubted Ron would be back any time soon.
Lee spotted the changes. "Weasley’s moved to Beater and takes a mighty swipe at Krum. Krum deflects and pursues Granger. But — yes — not before sending a second Bludger to Weasley. Seems to be a bit of a contest going on there!"
As the game progressed, Lee maintained a jovial commentary, making sure to say something complimentary about each girl, and Harry found it increasingly difficult to ignore Ron and Viktor trying to wipe each other out. The battle was getting ugly, and Harry could see Viktor’s patience was rapidly running out. For Hermione’s part, she ignored them all and zoomed around in an increasingly casual manner. Harry called Anthony Goldstein over and pleaded for him to keep an eye on her then he flew down to Ron.
"Ron — mate ..." started Harry, close enough now to need to duck the Bludgers flying back and forth, "… c’mon, you don’t need to wipe Viktor out."
Ron spun around, his eyes bulging. "HE KILLED HIM!"
"What are you going on about?" Harry asked, bewildered. "Killed who?"
"BRUCE!" roared Ron. Then, rising before their very eyes, soared a battered green blowfly. "Bruce!" breathed Ron.
Bruce had clearly taken a beating, and one of his wings looked a bit crooked, but he buzzed around enthusiastically nonetheless. Ron eyed the fly affectionately before pointing his bat to Viktor and saying, "Sick ’em, Bruce!"
Bruce enthusiastically zoomed off. Bemused, Harry watched as Viktor tried to hold onto his broomstick, beat off Bludgers, and get Bruce out of his face. Before Harry could warn him, Viktor whipped out his wand and tried to Vanish Bruce. A swarm of angry blowflies erupted from thin air and attacked him. Laughing hysterically, Ron rolled over and over on his Cleansweep.
"Call them off, Ron!" Harry yelled, appalled, but Ron was too far gone to listen.
"Onya, Bruce!" he cried appreciatively.
Lee finally noticed what was going on. "What’s up with Viktor? ... Some kind of black cloud ... OHO — AND GINNY SCORES! Krumpets lead by thirty! Come on, lads! It’s the noble sport of warlocks, remember!"
Referee George flew by only to gleefully raise a fist and bellow, "THE HIVE LIVES!"
Harry spun around angrily. "Get back here! Get rid of those flies! NOW!"
But George wasn’t listening; he swore at something beyond Harry and zoomed straight past him.
"HERMIONE! SOMEONE GRAB HER!!" screamed Lee. "GOLDSTEIN!! YOU LITTLE RIPPER!! ... WICKED CATCH!"
Harry was already hurtling at breakneck speed towards Hermione when Anthony caught her and deposited her safely on the ground. Seeing she was safe, George arced around to return to the game. Harry kept going. Stumbling off his Firebolt, he wrapped Hermione in a bone-crushing hug.
"Are you okay?" he begged breathlessly.
Laughing, Hermione wriggled free of Harry’s arms and said, "Well, I will be if you don’t crush me to death!" She turned to Anthony, her eyes shining, and said, "That was brilliant!" She gave him a swift kiss on the cheek, re-mounted her broom, and zoomed skywards again.
Harry gaped as Hermione flew away, lurching from side to side.
"She really is a Gryffindor!" Anthony exclaimed admiringly before chasing after her.
"Hey, what’s Oliver doing out there?" called Lee.
Harry mounted his broom and sped back towards Ron and Viktor. Oliver had banished the Bludgers and was regarding Viktor’s black cloud with dismay. Bruce’s friends now numbered in the tens of thousands. Fred flew in and issued the correct counter-charm and the cloud vanished. Ron wisely backed away, alarmed at the expression on Viktor’s face. Harry flew to a halt between the pair, holding a hand up to each side. He was utterly fed up with both of them.
"Back off Viktor! And you can just wipe that smile off your face, Weasley!"
"He cast the spell!" complained Ron.
"Just shut your trap!" Harry yelled. "Trying to bludgeon him to death! What’s he ever done to you? This was supposed to be a friendly!"
Viktor grunted his agreement, but Harry turned on him as well.
"And you!" he roared. "Did you even notice Hermione fell off her broom? You promised me you’d take care of her!"
Both Viktor and Ron paled and scanned the pitch for Hermione. Other than Bludgers, falls from brooms were a player’s worst fear; gravity had a way of beating wands hands down.
"Anthony caught her!" Harry declared scathingly. "She’s fine, as if either of you two care! Neither of you deserve her! This stops, right here, right now!"
Shamefaced, Ron and Viktor mumbled their apologies to Harry.
"And people wonder why You-Know-Who’s on the run," Fred observed dryly.
Harry tried not to laugh. Drifting backwards, he motioned to the troublesome pair to come together.
"Now shake hands," he ordered them.
The players advanced cautiously and exchanged the briefest of handshakes. A lone blowfly flew onto Ron’s shoulder.
"You," Harry ordered, pointing at Ron, "get back to goals! And you," Harry turned to Viktor, a reluctant grin sneaking onto his lips, "get back in the game. And neither of you goes anywhere near Hermione!"
Viktor and Ron slunk off obediently.
Without Bludgers, the game was more carefree for both sides. Harry’s attention turned back to Cho and the Golden Snitch. Smiling at each other from a distance, they circled the pitch at speed in ever-decreasing arcs. The Snitch suddenly appeared between them. Charging, the Seekers collided, the fluttering Snitch trapped between their bodies.
Cho giggled hysterically. "Oh, that tickles!"
Harry continued grabbing for anything that wasn’t the Snitch. Brooms and bodies tumbled over each other as the pair spiralled downwards.
"OH NO!" cried Lee. "CHANG AND POTTER ARE IN DISTRESS! ... Ah, no, hang on, maybe not …"
As the ground rushed towards them, Harry pulled up short and they tumbled off their brooms, coming to rest with Harry flat on his back and Cho kneeling astride his stomach, her fist raised in triumph.
"CHANG HAS THE SNITCH!!" bellowed Lee. "KRUMPETS WIN!"
His chest heaving, Harry grinned up at Cho’s beaming face. Reaching up with both hands, he grabbed her robes and pulled her down for a laughing, sweaty kiss. Cho, one hand still raised in triumph, kissed him back with great enthusiasm.
"Potter seems to be, um, congratulating Chang," noted Lee. "Rather a lot by the look of it. Can someone separate those two? ... OOOH! ... Now, that’s just not Quidditch! Clearly a personal foul!"
Harry’s legs jerked uncontrollably, bucking Cho right off him.
"That’s the way," George said, smirking, "I’d hate to have to hex you, too, Cho."
Floating above them, George toyed with his victim for a wee while before lifting his Tickling Charm and shepherding the pair towards their broomsticks.
"I think we can take it from here, George," Harry said, scowling, still shaking off the hex.
"All part of the service," he declared, smiling benignly.
"Bugger off, George," Cho said sweetly.
"You wound me, Miss Chang!" George cried, slapping a hand melodramatically to his heart and shaking his head sorrowfully as he flew away.
Harry looked up at the Krumpets, flying high above them, still circling and cheering each other.
"Girls look happy," he observed, smiling. "Congratulations."
Harry pulled Cho into his arms and kissed her deeply. Cho wrapped her arms around his neck, but Harry jerked away, laughing and swiping at his ear.
"Oh, sorry," laughed Cho, holding up the fluttering Snitch. "What say we slip away from all this," she purred, leaning close again and waving the Snitch vaguely towards the players now landing on the pool room balcony.
Harry beamed back at her. That was the best idea he’d heard all day! Hand in hand, they flew back to the poolroom balcony, where Viktor’s excited Krumpets rushed forward to hug Cho — Harry’s Horntails weren’t far behind, and so was referee George. Cho eyed him up and down disdainfully.
"Oh, come on," George said winningly, "what’s a little hex between friends?"
Harry stared in shock; he couldn’t believe his eyes! Cho! She was smiling dreamily at George. Her full lips were parted — she was sliding her arms around his neck — she was going to —
George jumped in alarm as the Golden Snitch fell down the back of his robes. The crowd laughed and cheered to see George writhing and twisting, desperate to escape the Snitch. Cho skipped over to Harry, grabbed his hand, and pulled him from the room. The pair bolted up the stairs, higher and higher until they tumbled, laughing, into Harry’s bedroom.
"That was just brilliant!" Harry gushed, pinning her against the closed door.
He would worry about George’s revenge later; right now he had much more important things on his mind. Giggling, Cho pushed him away and spun around, pulling him over to the bed where they collapsed in a tangle of robes, arms, and legs.
"Now, where were we," she purred, "before we were so rudely interrupted?"
"Harry, are you in here?" called a man’s voice barely minutes later.
Harry and Cho broke apart, startled, as Remus stepped into the room, a pair of Omnioculars in his hands. Cho let out a gasp and Disapparated from beneath the boy. Harry immediately flopped onto the mattress and let out an anguished moan. A small sigh escaped Remus’s lips.
"I think we need to have a little chat, Harry," he said, closing the door.
Harry groaned deeply. Stretching a hand across the mattress, he retrieved his glasses before rolling off the bed. Folding his arms across his chest, he glared at Remus’s feet and waited mutinously for the lecture to begin.
"I’m not sure how I feel about you having girls in your bedroom, Harry," started Remus.
Harry rolled his eyes; he thought Remus sounded like he knew exactly how he felt about him having girls in his bedroom.
"We weren’t doing anything," he grumbled.
"At least you’re wearing protection," Remus joked, eyeing Harry’s full Quidditch garb.
Harry regarded Remus’s shoes sullenly. A lot of things were running through his mind, but one thought kept recurring: he really needed to install that compromising-situation door-bolt!
"Harry, I’m responsible for these girls —" Remus began.
"Cho is overage," Harry cut in curtly; he was not feeling a lot of love for his guardian right now.
"I’m responsible for these girls this weekend," Remus repeated stiffly, "and I don’t want to find you and Cho closed up in here like that again." Harry stared hard at the floor, wondering what Cho was thinking right now. "Are you listening to me, Harry?" Remus said sharply.
"Yes, sir," Harry said shortly.
Remus pulled his fingers through his hair.
"Would you do me the courtesy of looking at me when I’m talking to you?" he snapped.
Harry looked up just as Remus’s hand whipped back down to his side. Reflexively, he jumped back and felt for the wall, long years of eluding his aunt and uncle, as well as regular beatings from Dudley, triggering an automatic reaction to get out of harm’s way. Harry felt his face burning, mortified, but also confused, by his own reaction. He knew Remus would never hit him — didn’t he?
An uncomfortable silence hung heavily between them. Harry struggled to think of something to say to fill the horrible void.
"Harry ..." Remus murmured. He stepped closer and tried to reach out to stroke Harry’s hair.
Harry fell to one knee and started unbuckling a leg guard. "Do you want a hand with dinner?" he asked.
Remus’s hand fell to his side. Several long moments passed before he spoke again.
"Molly’s agreed to pizza ..."
Harry just nodded at the floor and switched knees, unbuckling the other guard.
"I know I’m not all human, Harry," Remus began, each word costing him, "but I don’t want you to be scared of me."
"What? No!" Harry said, standing to face him. "I’m not afraid of you. Never think that!"
Confused for a moment, the colour drained from Remus's face as comprehension dawned. Harry could almost see him putting all the pieces together. The man asked only one question.
"How long?" he said bleakly.
An irrational feeling of shame swept over Harry to be understood so easily.
"I dunno," he muttered, "ever since I can remember."
Fresh horror crossed Remus’s face.
"And I nearly sent you back there! No wonder you —" He broke off and spun away, flinging the Omnioculars onto the bed and clenching and unclenching his fists. "Dumbledore wants to send you back to them next year!" he said incredulously, building up steam again. "Well, I won’t have it! You are never going back there!" he said, jabbing a finger at Harry. "Do you hear me? Never! Your home is here with me! Right?"
"Right," Harry said at once; it was all he ever wanted.
"What use is a month of sanctuary a year from now, anyway?" Remus muttered, more to himself than Harry, though Harry heartily agreed. Remus, meanwhile, was still working himself into a lather. "They have to pay!" he growled, pacing back and forth like a caged animal.
Looking at Moony in this state, Harry couldn’t help but smile at the glimpse he was getting of the werewolf within.
"What?" Remus said, frowning deeply. "Why are you smiling?"
"Sorry," said Harry, scratching his head. "Look, this is all ancient history to me — water under the bridge and all that. As much as I’d love you to rip into the Muggles, they just aren’t worth the grief."
Remus glared at his ward. "You’re worth the grief!"
Harry smiled at his feet.
"Stop smiling! This is serious!" insisted Remus, but he was losing steam in the face of his grinning ward. "Tell me what I can do for you!" he pleaded.
"You’re already doing it," Harry murmured, feeling doubly fond of his guardian. "It just feels good to have someone on my side."
"Always, Harry," Remus said, his hand reaching out, successful this time in caressing the boy’s hair, "always."
Harry’s toe found a need to interrogate the rug. It had only just hit him. Remus was real, no longer just a holiday from reality. He was truly home. The thought left him feeling strangely giddy.
"Except when I’m snogging girls in my room?" he prompted cheekily.
Remus snorted a reluctant laugh.
"Right. Girls. I almost forgot." He rubbed his hands over his face and shook his head in defeat. "I am so out of my depth; this is all so new to me."
"What?" teased Harry. "Being a dad?"
"Yes, being a dad," Remus moaned. "I have no idea what I’m doing half the time."
Harry was delighted; Remus always seemed so calm and in control.
"Well, if you want my opinion," he said, slapping a hand on the man’s shoulder, "Exceeds Expectations!"
"Yeah?" Remus said softly.
"Yeah. But then again," Harry held his up his hands and shrugged, "like I would know one way or the other."
Remus chuckled at that and started again.
"Look," he said, rubbing at his neck, "about Cho in your room, house rules might relax in the future, but please, I’m begging you, not this weekend, okay?"
"Yes, Dad," joked Harry.
Remus smiled down at his feet. An odd feeling of guilt caught Harry off guard. He shook off the feeling; he was being daft — it was just a laugh; he knew who his dad was.
"Viktor’s still running his tryouts for tomorrow’s game if you want to come down and watch," Remus suggested fondly.
Harry winced. "Ah, yeah … first, I think I’d better find out where Cho landed."
Remus just rolled his eyes and held a hand towards the door. At the doorway, he slung a confidential arm around Harry’s shoulders.
"I wouldn’t go near the girls’ dorm; I’ve put a gender line across the door ... oh, and the airing cupboard’s probably not a wise idea either."
Harry glared at Remus, who merely toddled off down the hall and practically bounced down the stairs.
"Does this mean we’ve seen the last of Cho?" hissed a hopeful voice.
Harry glanced back over his shoulder to Frank, who was now dangling from the rafters of his bed.
"You heard all that before — with Remus and me?" he said slowly, closing the door.
Frank stretched his long neck out towards Harry.
"You know," said the serpent, weaving from side to side, "one’s handlers are not always kind ... I’ve had a few rough ones in my day, too."
Frowning, Harry crossed the floor to stroke his python. "I’m sorry to hear that, Frank."
"Your current handler doesn’t seem too bad," said Frank. "Has he had you long?"
Harry gave a short laugh and shook his head. "No, not too long ... no."
"Well then," Frank said brightly, "a new beginning for both of us!"
Harry slid his hand affectionately over Frank’s smooth scales.
"Yep. But right now, I need to find a girl. Wish me luck!"
"Find a good one!" Frank cried out encouragingly.
Giving the girls’ dorm a wide berth, Harry dashed down to the poolroom, saw Cho wasn’t there, grabbed the hand of the first girl he could find and dragged her up the stairs. He only got as far as the third-floor landing when he found a stony-faced Cho Chang glaring down at him.
In retrospect, running up the stairs, holding hands with a loudly giggling Parvati Patil, and panting breathlessly, "I need you in the bedroom," might not have been the cleverest of Harry’s ideas.
Saturday evening of the Potterfest weekend saw an impromptu band taking stage in the drawing room: Tonks on drums, Bill on guitar, Hestia Jones singing, and Kingsley Shacklebolt both singing and playing the double bass. Susan, Justin, and Ernie were also in the band, playing piano, saxophone, and trumpet respectively. Even Oliver made a contribution, of a sort, on his bagpipes, and there was much cringing at his mournful, but enthusiastic, wheezing. Everyone who could find a partner was on their feet, including Molly and Arthur Weasley, breathlessly jiving to both the chagrin and delight of their numerous offspring. Even Mad-Eye Moody looked as if he was enjoying himself, leaning against the grandfather clock and tapping his wooden leg in time with the music.
"I keep telling you," Harry hissed in exasperation, holed up in a far corner with Cho, half-hidden behind the musty old Black Family Tree, "Parvati doesn’t mean a thing to me. Not a thing!"
"What about Natalie?" challenged Cho.
Harry sputtered indignantly, "What’s Natalie got to do with anything? Natalie’s just my godmother’s niece! I was just showing her around the shops! I’ll take another truth mint if you don’t believe me!"
Cho said nothing to that. She seemed to be weakening, which was lucky because Harry was bluffing about Natalie. He pressed his advantage, tugging Cho out of the noisy room and into the hall and up against a nice solid wall, where his lips found her neck and his breath her ear.
"You’re the one, Cho. You’re always the one."
That did the trick. At last, she surrendered, melting into his willing arms, fitting into him like a perfectly matched puzzle-piece. Harry’s senses were achingly full of her: the scent of her, the taste of her delicious skin — her lips so soft, so yielding ...
"Hem, hem!" sounded an Umbridge-like voice, accompanied by sniggers and laughs. Both Cho and Harry groaned deeply. "Mr Potter and Miss Chang — oh, dear me," Ginny declared in a sickly-sweet voice, "late for class again! I really think I’m going to have to separate you two. A lifetime snogging ban should do the trick, I think."
Dean, Seamus, and Lavender laughingly pushed the hapless couple back into the drawing room, where they joined the rest of teenagers in making cheerfully clumsy attempts at imitating the senior Weasleys. Much more impressive was Remus Lupin. Harry wasn’t letting Cho out of his sight, and he and his girl watched on, amused and impressed, as Remus expertly swung a beaming Hestia through Kingsley’s rendition of Have You Met Miss Jones?
Cho slipped from Harry’s grasp long enough to join a gaggle of girls at the drinks table. After taking a moment to check George was nowhere near, Harry headed to the bay-window end of the room, where the air was fresher and Bill and the other musicians were taking a break. Harry discovered they already had a groupie.
"And just how did you manage to get down here?" Harry said in English, playing with Frank’s tail.
"It was the lovely Susan’s idea," whispered Frank.
"That’d be me," said Susan sheepishly. "I found him slithering around under my cloud bed. I hope you don’t mind."
"Not at all," Harry said.
Cho came over with a water bottle and a smile for Harry, but she was about as pleased to see Frank as Frank was to see her. Susan beckoned the python to her and he gladly slithered across the gleaming piano top and disappeared over the edge.
"You-Know-Who has a snake, doesn’t he?" Cho said in an odd voice, staring at Frank’s vanishing tail. "That’s what you said in the article about Cedric. The night he was killed, there was a snake."
Harry’s insides went as cold as if he’d been breathed upon by a Dementor. Cedric. Bill and Susan exchanged a wary look.
"Frank is nothing like Nagini," Harry said stiffly. "Nagini’s a —" Harry broke off as his head filled with the terrible memory of crunching his powerful fangs into Arthur Weasley’s ribcage. "Nagini’s a monster, a killer. He could swallow a man. Frank is just a snake. My snake," he added firmly.
"Okay, okay, I get it," Cho said, holding up her hands in surrender, as if the boy needed to be humoured, "he’s just a snake."
She slid her hand around Harry’s waist and cuddled into his body. Harry’s hand involuntarily slid around her bare shoulders, her halter-top rendering resistance futile. The band started up again, and Harry sipped at his water, trying to get his head back in the game. Everyone else was having fun, talking and laughing and dancing. Well, not everyone. Harry spotted Ron holding up a wall and staring broodingly into the dance floor. Viktor was on the opposite side of the room doing the same. Between them, Anthony and Hermione were dancing. The two Prefects were accepting earnest instructions from Hannah and, of all people, Neville Longbottom.
"Do you want to learn properly?" Cho asked Harry hopefully.
Harry stared blankly at the girl. She couldn’t actually be serious. Cho resignedly blew out her cheeks and stayed with him by the wall, just watching. But then George came over and asked her to dance, citing a severe shortage of girls.
"You don’t mind, do you, old son," George said, clapping Harry cheerily on the back.
"Better you than me," Harry said, but he was far from pleased.
Standing against the wall near Bill, Harry’s glowering green eyes tracked the pair on the dance floor. Bile rose in his throat when George slid his hand across Cho’s bare back. A litany of curses formed behind lips that were pursed impotently. When George pulled Cho into his chest, Harry’s plastic bottle burst, spraying water all over Bill’s dragon-hide boots and causing the man to take two judicious steps away from the Boy-Who-Blew-Up-His-Auntie.
Muttering an apology to Bill, Harry made a Herculean effort to distance himself from the jealousy stabbing at his chest. It was only George, he kept telling himself. Cho wasn’t doing anything to encourage him — was she? Another song started then another and still Cho and George kept on dancing. Was Cho trying to drive him nuts?
Cracking and un-cracking his broken water bottle, Harry was startled to see his moodstone had not only blackened but was now shooting red sparks. He frowned at the stone. That really couldn’t be good.
At last, the band took a break and Cho slipped away from George to return, smiling, to Harry’s side; she seemed utterly oblivious to how torn up he was.
"Fred’s a good dancer, isn’t he," she said happily.
"That was George," Harry said stonily.
Cho’s mouth formed a delicate O and she laughed a little. Harry was not amused.
"Oh come on, don’t be like that," she said, rolling her eyes.
Harry’s arms remained folded; he would be any way he wanted! Fred, indeed!
"Look, I’m spent," Cho said, stretching to kiss his cheek before he could stop her. "I might turn in. Night."
"Nightie night!" Frank called cheerily from the piano top. "Off you go!"
"Shut up, Frank," Harry hissed in Parseltongue.
By the time he turned back to give Cho a good piece of his mind, she was gone. Still seething inside, Harry decided that Cho Chang was slipperier than quicksilver when she didn’t want to deal with him! Slumped broodingly against the wall, he noticed Remus sneaking glances his way from across the room. Harry fleetingly considered going to him for advice but just as quickly discounted the idea — the man was practically a monk.
"Cheers," Harry muttered when Bill strolled over to him with fresh water bottle. "Sorry about your boots."
"A splash of water’s never going to hurt dragon hide," Bill said easily. He slung an arm casually across Harry’s shoulders and lowered his voice so only Harry could hear. "You okay? You seem a bit …" Bill’s voice trailed off leadingly. "You know, if you ever want to talk …"
Harry was sorely tempted. Bill wasn’t that old; he’d understand about girls, and yet Harry didn’t fancy the man thinking he couldn’t even hang on to one for more than twenty-four hours.
"Maybe some other time," he managed to mumble. "I’m pretty beat."
"Sure," Bill said, giving the boy’s shoulder a friendly squeeze before letting him go. "But you know, Harry," he added in a low voice, "you really don’t want to bottle things up too much; they have a way of — exploding."
"Yeah," Harry mumbled uneasily. As appealing as the thought was of adding an inflated George to the party decorations, Harry knew he’d be kicked out of school for sure. "Come on, Frank," he said, collecting his python, "time to retire."
"Must I?" Frank protested, trying to squirm off Harry’s shoulders.
"Yes," Harry said shortly. He slipped out of the room, keeping a firm hold on his snake.
"Did you get rid of that Cho?" Frank asked hopefully as they headed upstairs to Harry’s bedroom.
"None of your business."
"Well, really," sniffed Frank. "There’s no need to take it out on me if you’re still stuck with her! Now, Susan, on the other hand —"
"Shut up, Frank!" Harry hissed angrily. "My love life is officially off limits!"
Frank bared his jaws at the boy in annoyance. Harry strode over to his desk, dumped the python in his basket and shoved on the lid. Still churned up, he fitfully pulled off his clothes and paced around the room. Party photos were still strewn face-up across the bed, each one a little movie screen, replaying some mortifying turn of the Wheel of Destruction. Harry’s jealous green-eyes found the worst shot. Snatching it up, he glared furiously at George, who was passionately snogging Cho’s socks off. Righteous fury rushed to Harry’s head to see his girl pressed into someone else’s body — someone else’s lips tasting her skin, her lips, her tongue …
Harry ripped the wretched photo in half, then quarters, then eighths, but he still couldn’t pry their lips apart. Incensed, he hurled them into the fireplace then spun back to the bed. Wrenching off the blankets, he sent the rest of the photos flying. But all that achieved was the papering of his floor with dozens of Rons, Hermiones, Chos, and the rest of his friends, all staring up at him resentfully. Sat slumped upon his messed up bed, Harry dropped his head into his hands and tried hard to clear his mind. Not a chance. Something was writhing in his guts, as if a serpent fighting to escape. It was still twisting him in knots when sleep claimed him.
Cho stood before him, smiling and twirling, her arms wide open, her beautiful face tilted up to a vivid crimson and gold sunset. Harry tried to grab her, but his hand went straight through her body. He felt an icy dread sweep through him, as if she were a ghost. Then she was gone and he was on his broomstick. The sky darkened ominously. Another flier, draped in black, hurtled towards him at speed, screaming his name. It was George, the idiot! He was going to kill them both! Harry tried to dodge out of the way, but suddenly his Firebolt was gone and he was plummeting into an abyss, head over heels. George raced to get underneath him, scrambling to grab him as he passed. Yanked from his fall, Harry looked up gratefully at George then screamed on beholding a black-faced woman grinning down at him, her eyes dripping with blood, her hair a mass of spitting snakes, every single one of them hissing her name.
"MEGAERA!" Harry yelled, struggling to break free.
Victorious, the demon dug her talons deeper and crowed with laughter. She had him now!