Harry woke up refreshed on Saturday. No nightmares, thank Merlin! He went downstairs for breakfast, which he allowed Kreacher to prepare, and then he answered fan mail and signed photographs until Ron arrived.
'I see your gradual transformation into Gilderoy Lockhart is proceeding apace,' commented Ron.
'Yes, very funny. But disturbingly close to the mark ... he and I now share a secretary.'
'Janet told me. Have you shagged her yet?'
'No, that would violate the team by-laws.'
'Yes, and we all know how law-abiding you are,' said Ron. 'How are you feeling this morning? Are you ready for Gilstrap?'
Harry sighed. 'I've taken every possible insult from my teammates this week, so I'd better be ready. Honestly, the timing couldn't have been worse with that article. And of course it's an away game as well.'
'Yes, I'll be holding a huge banner for you. Janet is upset I'm not holding a banner for her, but I told her I'll do it next week.'
'And every week from now on, I bet. How are you two doing?'
Ron shook his head slowly and smiled. 'She's really something. I swear she goes out of her way to provoke me, and I'm ready to strangle her once a night, but then she reels me back in. Merlin, she has the sharpest tongue of anyone I've ever met, and I can't get enough of it.'
'Wow ... have you brought her to Sunday dinner yet?'
'Are you kidding? I won't bring her anywhere near the Burrow. For one thing, Mum hasn't forgiven me for breaking up with Hermione, and I wouldn't put it past Janet to behave completely inappropriately, just to watch me squirm.'
'You may be right.' He looked at a fan letter and frowned. 'How do I even reply to this?'
Dear Harry Potter,
I am nine years old and have been a Cannons fan since I was a baby. I think you are the greatest Seeker in the world, but my mum doesn't like you because you are loose with witches. I don't know what that means but that's what she says. She says I should find a different team to support but I don't want to. Please promise you'll tighten up so my mum will let me see the Cannons play Ballycastle next month.
Yours sincerely,
Jimmy McMurphy
'Mate, I hope you frame that letter because it's bloody brilliant,' said Ron.
'It is funny,' admitted Harry, 'but I've no idea how to reply. I can't very well say, "Dear Jimmy, tell your mum to mind her own damn business. My job is to catch the Snitch, which I'm bloody well doing, and I didn't come back from the dead just to do the crossword every night. The witches are gagging for it, and I wouldn't dream of disappointing them. Yours sincerely, Harry Potter."'
Ron's jaw dropped. 'Did I hear you correctly? That may be the most obnoxious thing I've ever heard!'
'You mean since last month, when you told Hermione you didn't need to worry about your magical strength because you're a pure-blood?'
'And you've already surpassed it! What's going on with you?'
Harry sighed and ran his hands through his hair. 'It's Andrew bloody Gilstrap. Owen has been absolutely merciless all week, and I've had to pull out all the stops.'
'That you've done. Are you going to call him "Riddle" while you're at it?'
'At this rate, I might do. I think I've built him up nearly as much.'
'Harry, get a grip. I can't believe I'm saying this, but it's only a game.'
'You're right, I can't believe you're saying that. But it'll be fine, it's just Quidditch. All's fair above the pitch.'
'Yeah, but you're not above the pitch. You need to watch your mouth, now especially.'
'Why, because of Rita Skeeter? I think it's mostly blown over already.'
'Yeah, I reckon it has,' said Ron. 'That broadcast couldn't have gone better, except for the fop thing.'
Harry shrugged. 'I can handle it.'
'Maybe, but you didn't need to add fuel to the fire by talking about bloody thistles to the Prophet.'
'I think it's been firmly established that I like flowers. I might as well own it.'
'Good point. Has your florist offered you a sponsorship yet?'
'They did actually! I've half a mind to take it—it's nothing big, just a weekly flower allowance, but it would be hilarious if that were literally my only endorsement.'
'Do it, mate. Will they have a cardboard cutout of you in the shop?'
'No, just something in their adverts about being the official florist to Harry Potter.'
'Brilliant,' said Ron, laughing. 'I suppose your loose morals won't be a problem for them, since half their customers are unfaithful wizards trying to smooth things over with the wife.'
'I hadn't thought of that, but you're right.' He faced Ron and asked, 'What did people think of the photos on Thursday? I only heard my teammates' response, which of course was to taunt the hell out of me.'
'I reckon most people cut you out of the pictures and just kept the half with her in it.'
Harry laughed. 'I wouldn't blame them. Laetitia is truly a sight to behold. But she's a lovely person as well—I'm certain we'll spend more time together, but only as friends.'
Ron added, 'A few people asked me what happened with Helena and whether, er, Laetitia is your girlfriend now. I skipped the Helena part and just said you're seeing Laetitia and that it's nothing serious.'
'That's probably the right answer.' Harry looked again at the letter. 'So what do I say to this kid?'
Ron thought for a moment. 'Can you encourage him to stay strong in his convictions? Not let mum push him around?'
'I'm not sure I'm in a position to advise anyone about the maternal relationship. But that gives me an idea ... hang on.' He took a piece of note paper and began to write.
Dear Jimmy,
I'm sorry your mother doesn't approve of me. I can only imagine how much she means to you, and how much you mean to her. My mum died when I was a baby, so I wouldn't dream of coming between you and yours. If she insists you find another team to support, I recommend Puddlemere. Phil Routledge is a terrific Seeker and Oliver Wood is an old friend of mine. But I hope your mother will relent and allow you to support the Cannons.
Yours sincerely,
Harry Potter
He showed it to Ron, who burst out laughing. 'You conniving bastard! You actually played the dead mum card!'
'Damn right I did! Fat lot of good she's done me, ever since Voldemort stole my blood.'
'Don't knock your mum,' cautioned Ron. 'She kept Snape on a lead all those years.'
'You're right.' Harry looked up and called, 'Sorry, Mum! It's nothing personal!'
They spent the next few hours talking Quidditch, and Harry wrote letters and signed photographs. 'All right, time to go,' he said. 'Wish me luck.'
'You don't need luck—it's in the bag already.'
'Cheers, see you on the other side.'
Harry soon joined his teammates at the Cannons facility, where they warmed up and ate lunch. 'Lousy weather today in Montrose,' said Gary. 'Cold and dreary—it'll be like playing back at Hogwarts.'
'At least we've trained for that,' replied Harry. 'I reckon it'll bring back memories.'
'Yes, I'm certain you have no bad memories from Hogwarts,' said Suresh. 'You're always reminiscing about that Basilisk you used to run around with.'
Harry patted his arm where he'd been bit. 'Yes, good old Fangy. I'll never forget him.' Internally he added, He destroyed two Horcruxes, after all. Five, if you count the ones we destroyed with his venom.
After lunch they took a portkey to the stadium. 'Of course they have a bloody portkey,' grumbled Harry. 'They probably disconnected from the Floo network deliberately.'
'Now, now,' said Owen. 'Save your bad attitude for Gilstrap.'
'Believe me, I have plenty of bad attitude to go around.'
They went to the locker room to change into their team robes, and when Harry emerged Janet handed him a bright orange boutonnière. 'Wear it, Snitchbottom.'
'Is that a nasturtium?' he asked. 'It's practically the same colour as the robes—I doubt it'll even show up.'
'Exactly. It's a stealth flower with a secret message. It means "Victory in battle."'
'I like it,' he said, affixing it to his lapel. 'You have hidden depths, Janet.'
'You have no idea,' she said ominously.
The referee began examining Harry for hidden enchantments, and after inspecting the ring he carefully checked the flower for charms as well. 'All clear, Mr Potter.'
Harry walked over to Owen and started pacing. 'The only thing keeping me sane right now is knowing it'll probably be over by nightfall, and hopefully much sooner. I don't think I was this nervous even going into the Triwizard Tournament.'
'Presumably the match will go better than the tournament did. At least you got the portkey out of the way.'
'That's a good point ... I can always scarper on my broomstick if things really get bad. You'll be there to fill in, right?'
'I'll be poised and ready,' said Owen. 'But I don't anticipate it—I gave you my worst all week and you caught the Snitch every time.'
Harry nodded and took a deep breath. 'There's no way I could do any of this without you.'
'Perhaps, but don't let Gilstrap convince you you haven't earned your honours. I've seen you, and you work hard for everything. Yes, you were made starting Seeker the day you signed up, which wouldn't have happened if you weren't already famous. But you've more than proven you deserve it.'
'Thanks, that's good to hear.'
'And your friends think you're terrific—I certainly do. And for Merlin's sake, don't let him convince you that you're irretrievably damaged from everything that's happened to you. I know you, and you have all the tools you need to live a wonderfully fulfilling life. All you need is to develop them, and you're doing that.'
'By turning into an arrogant twat? You wouldn't believe some of the things I said to Ron this morning.' He paused and added, 'Scratch that, of course you would—we've been sparring all week. Only this time it was off the pitch.'
'The same thing happened to me when I joined the league. You'll get through it just fine.'
'That's a relief.'
Owen looked at the wall clock and said, 'Just a few more minutes until you fly out. I recommend preparing now, setting your intention and all the rest.'
Harry nodded and took a deep breath, allowing powerful energy to flow through him. His mind expanded as well, and he no longer felt nervous about the match. He lifted his lapel and sniffed the nasturtium Janet had given him, and its faint sweetness filled him with blissful equanimity.
Tuttle gave her pep talk but Harry hardly heard it. The Cannons can't lose, he thought. This is all perfect. Everyone cheered at the end of Tuttle's talk, and Harry, buoyed by their energy, cheered loudest of all.
'It's time,' said the staff member, and the starters walked down the corridor to make their entrance. Everyone patted Harry as they passed and gave him final words of encouragement.
'If in doubt,' said Darren, 'point your wand and shout, "Expelliarmus!"'
When it was Harry's turn to fly out, he was greeted by a deafening mixture of cheers and boos, which he'd expected. He had several minutes to scan his surrounding while the Magpies were announced, and he saw that fewer than half of the banners were Cannons orange, and the rest were Magpies black. But a closer look revealed that a fair amount of the dark banners were actually midnight blue, with an orange lightning bolt.
There were nonetheless plenty of hostile banners, many of which referenced Rita Skeeter's article. 'An Enormous Bed for an Enormous Ego,' declared one sign, which depicted Harry with an outsized head, identifiable by his scar and former eyeglasses. It's unfortunate for the sign painters that I had my eyesight fixed, mused Harry. I used to be much easier to caricature.
There were several new twists on his surname, beyond the old primary-school favourite, 'Potty.' Now there was a class warfare element, with variants like 'Harry Toffer,' 'Harry Posh-Twatter,' and 'Harry Posh-Rotter.' He wondered what they'd do if he actually hyphenated his name. Harry Toffer-Blatch? Harry Potty-Splat? The possibilities were endless.
Some signs were unsettling. 'Tear him to shreds, Gilstrap!' demanded one sign, which was ingeniously charmed to periodically rip itself into pieces before reforming. I'll wager Hermione is trying to figure out how they did it, thought Harry.
In what Harry suspected was a league first, a number of signs featured flowers. One hostile sign depicted an extremely phallic orchid pointed forlornly downwards, with the legend, 'There's a reason she dumped you, Potter.' And a particularly macabre sign depicted him lying in an open coffin with a large array of flowers on top—'Have some flowers, Potter!' He couldn't tell whether he was supposed to be dead or a vampire.
But most of the floral signs were friendly. 'We love you, Harry,' declared several bloom-adorned signs, and one depicted a large bed strewn with flowers and Harry's number three pulsating in Cannons orange. There were fewer marriage proposals but more of what Mrs Thwip would call 'non-matrimonial propositions.' A pair of witches held a sign that said, 'We want to see your enormous bed!'
Andrew Gilstrap was the last player to be announced, and Harry noted with satisfaction that he received boos as well. The crowd seemed evenly mixed between Magpies and Cannons fans.
The balls were launched and, as predicted, Gilstrap immediately approached. Setting his intention not to be drawn into the rival Seeker's mind games, Harry expanded powerfully into broad awareness.
'Potter, welcome to Montrose!' cried Gilstrap. 'I hope you enjoyed the portkey.'
That bastard, thought Harry. I knew it was on purpose. 'Yes, that was a charming touch. Was it your idea?'
'It was, and Chiffle was happy to oblige. We covered up the fireplace and everything.' Sylvester Chiffle was the Magpies team manager—the same one who had called Harry an 'attention-seeking glory-monger' a month earlier.
'You certainly did your homework,' said Harry. 'Most people don't remember how fond I am of portkeys.'
'I always do my homework, Potter. But it was far more interesting in your case ... usually I have to find old classmates and the like, which always feels a bit sneaky.'
'Yes, I suppose it would feel sneaky, compared with proper flying and Snitch-spotting skills. But you have to make do with the tools you've been given.'
'Oh, I have plenty of tools. There's a reason the Magpies are in second place.'
'Yes, I understand you've won two in a row,' said Harry. 'Impressive.'
'Don't get cocky, Potter—it'll be your downfall. I'll admit you did a good job against Routledge, and you managed to shock Barnwistle into defeat with all your flagrant Blatching. But the win against Underhill barely counts. I'm certain the Cannons will resume their regularly-scheduled losses soon enough.'
Harry was accustomed to this degree of taunting—he'd heard much worse from Owen all week. He continuously refreshed his broad awareness and invited the Snitch to appear to him. But there was no point in feinting just yet; his plan was to wait until he needed to clear his head from Gilstrap's stream of abuse.
'I assume the Cannons publicity team arranged your photo opportunity this week,' said Gilstrap. 'Don't worry, I won't bother with racist slurs. So unoriginal, don't you think? Same with Blood-Status slurs ... what's the point in calling your mother a Mudblood when the alternatives are so much more entertaining?'
'I'm sure you have a wide variety lined up,' said Harry.
'Yes, I really need to owl Rita Skeeter my thanks—she made my job a million times easier. But I'll keep you in suspense for now.'
'Excellent, I love surprises.'
'I'm certain you do,' said Gilstrap. 'But back to your stunning date this week ... I assume you asked for a non-ginger this time around?'
'Yes, that was my only requirement.'
'She was certainly decorative ... I'm glad you didn't limit yourself to someone shorter than you, though I'm obviously not going to mock you about your height. I hope you haven't succumbed to the raised shoe pitch.'
'Merlin, no! Can you imagine?'
'Exactly, how pathetic. You managed to defeat You-Know-Who, and he was quite a bit taller.'
Harry raised an eyebrow. 'I hadn't pegged you for the type who still calls him "You-Know-Who."'
'Habit, I suppose,' acknowledged Gilstrap. 'And then there was the name-taboo, which I understand you got caught up in.'
'Yes, that was unfortunate. I finally got around the problem by calling him Riddle.'
'I'll hand it to you, Potter, that was impressive. It's sad that you peaked at seventeen, but at least you did it with style.'
'I do everything with style, haven't you noticed?' replied Harry. 'I could start urinating from rooftops and it would become a fashion.'
Gilstrap laughed. 'I daresay you're right. You should try that sometime, see if it catches on.'
Harry cocked his head to the left and suddenly shot towards Suresh, who had just aimed a Bludger at the Magpies' Chasers. Then he lurched right and zig-zagged dangerously close to the other Bludger before zooming upwards and resuming his circling.
Gilstrap followed him the entire time. 'That was a bit predictable, really. But then predictability is your signature move.'
Harry felt serene enough to take the bait. 'And what's that supposed to mean?'
'Your whole life was a prediction, wasn't it? That's why you fought in the Department of Mysteries, to prevent Riddle from learning how it ended. By the way, thanks for the Riddle suggestion—you've started another trend.'
'There was a prophecy, but it certainly wasn't a prediction.'
'Really? I thought your defeat of Riddle was handed to you on a silver tray, just like everything else.'
'Like my dead parents, you mean?'
'Well, yes. That certainly adds drama. Narrative arc, you know. And it makes you look more deserving now that you're enjoying the spoils.'
'I certainly am enjoying them,' said Harry.
'Yes, you little dandy you ... I won't call you a fop, of course. But I'm curious, when you're trying on robes do you need to pause for a wank?'
'No, it's not necessary. I just need to walk half a block down Diagon Alley before some witch throws herself at me. Speaking of which, could you settle a dispute my mate Ron and I are having? We can't decide whether having an Order of Merlin or being a league Seeker is more effective for pulling witches. How's your track record?'
'I've no complaints, really,' replied Gilstrap. 'And at least none of my partners have juvenile 'Boy Who Lived' fantasies about me.'
'Yes, I'll admit that's been an issue,' said Harry. 'Fortunately nobody's required me to trot out my old eyeglasses.'
Their dialogue continued this way for a long time, punctuated by Harry's spectacular feints. Gilstrap didn't keep up perfectly with them—he wasn't as good a flyer as Routledge—but he didn't get bowled over either. And Harry was pleased to find his preparations had paid off and that he was able to keep his cool and maintain good Snitch-spotting practices.
One of Gilstrap's favourite refrains throughout the long match was how entitled Harry was, and how he'd never had to work for anything. But Harry found this so ludicrous that he couldn't get upset.
'You realise all the other league Seekers think you're a flash in the pan. Three wins is nothing—it's just a lucky fluke, same as everything else that happens to you.'
'Perhaps, but I was also undefeated at Hogwarts, except for the time a hundred Dementors flooded the pitch.'
'Yes, I read about that match. I understand you killed the Seeker who defeated you. Diggory?'
Harry was accustomed to taunts about Cedric but they still annoyed him. 'No, you prat, Voldemort killed him. I'm not the one whose chief strategy is tearing my rivals to pieces. Is that why you had to faff around in the reserves for so long? Because you weren't a good enough flyer?'
This time Gilstrap looked irritated, and Harry persisted. 'It wasn't just when I joined the Cannons, you know. I was the youngest Hogwarts Seeker in a century—I got the job literally my first time on a broom.'
'So you didn't work for that either?' said Gilstrap. 'Handed to you just like everything else? Was your father the good flyer? Or did that come from your mother as well?'
Harry knew where Gilstrap was heading, so he immediately dove into a feint towards the goalposts, where he interrupted the Magpies Chasers. Gilstrap didn't bother following him but simply found him once he'd finished.
'It's impressive how your slut of a mother lined up two fortunes for you. The Potters and the Blacks ... I assume she rejected Severus Snape because he wasn't rich enough?'
'No, she rejected Snape because he was a greasy git,' said Harry. 'At least Sirius was good-looking.'
'Oh, so she was grasping and shallow! Got it. But I didn't know Sirius Black had been handsome—he looked ghastly in those Azkaban photos. And it turned out he wasn't nearly as rich as your mother had hoped.'
'Nothing to sneeze at, really, particularly with the townhouse and the elf,' he said breezily, in an attempt to hide his sadness over how much Sirius had suffered.
'But what a shame he wasn't there for you all those years. Instead he was framed for betraying your parents, when it turned out it was another friend who'd done it. Peter Pettigrew?'
Harry had to grudgingly admire how thoroughly Gilstrap had researched him. He was irritated and tempted to feint again but he knew his rival wouldn't fall for it.
'And then you went and got your godfather killed ... such a tragedy.'
Harry felt his heart rate rise and said nothing. He attempted to steady his breathing and watch for the Snitch.
'That was at the Department of Mysteries, wasn't it? How awful. You thought you'd found another parent, but then he died on you like the others. And it was all your fault, just like with your real parents.'
'No, it was Voldemort's fault, and the Death Eaters,' snapped Harry.
'Yes, but weren't you the only one who could stop them? That's what the prophecy said, right?'
Harry didn't reply.
'I hate to say it, but for the Saviour of the Wizarding World, you did a sloppy job of it. You really took your time ... if only you'd stopped him much sooner. I'm certain you had earlier opportunities.'
'It was a bloody miracle we stopped him at all. Show some appreciation.'
'I'm afraid that's hard for me. I understand you couldn't have stopped him when you were fourteen—that's a lot to ask. But did you need to take an entire month to plot the Gringotts break-in? Couldn't you have done it a week earlier?'
Harry felt his chest tighten. 'I think you're splitting hairs. We did the best we could.'
'Yes, but that doesn't help my father. He was tortured just five days before the final battle.'
'Lots of us were tortured,' said Harry, hoping that was all Gilstrap meant.
'Tortured to insanity?' asked Gilstrap, his eyes vicious. 'I didn't think so.' He circled Harry once before returning to his side. 'You probably wondered why I was so hostile at Seekers' night out. Now you know. Because you took your bloody time and now I don't have a father either.'
Harry felt shaky. Owen hadn't prepared him for this—how could he have?
'And meanwhile you're the envy of the wizarding world! Two of your dead fathers were rich, so you've no end of gold, as you so eloquently put it. Though you really should have accepted Silver Arrow's offer, since you'll eventually be burdened with maintenance payments for all the witches who divorce you, not to mention all the sprogs they trap you into fathering. Take my advice, by the way, and cast your own Contraception Charms.'
Harry was feeling fury rise within him, and he shot towards the ground, not even attempting to make it look like a feint.
Gilstrap followed him. 'I don't know how you do it, Potter. You've had everything handed to you, but you make it look like you worked for it.'
'You're damn right I worked for it.'
'You mean you worked to take the credit. Is that why you've edited your Muggle relations from the story? Reading between the lines, a person might think they mistreated you. But I think it's the opposite ... I think they spoilt you.'
Harry couldn't even reply. It was bad enough Gilstrap suspected the Dursleys had abused him, but to imply they'd spoilt him was beyond the pale. He knew he should be searching for the Snitch but he stayed close to the ground instead.
Gilstrap flew alongside him and said, 'They were Muggles and you were a wizard. And I'm certain you showed accidental magic early on ... a powerful wizard like yourself. I bet they worshipped you. And that's why you're so bloody full of yourself now.'
Harry snapped—he forcefully grabbed Gilstrap and punched him, knocking him from his broom. 'They didn't worship me, you fucking arsehole—they treated me like shit!' Infuriated, Harry knelt over his prone rival and screamed, 'They worked me like a bloody house-elf! They forced me to sleep in a bloody cupboard—for years! Dudley treated me like a fucking punching bag!'
Strong hands pulled Harry away from the struggling Gilstrap, whose nose was bleeding. A referee blew a whistle and yelled, 'Potter, you're ejected! Five minute penalty!'
Harry's hand throbbed from punching Gilstrap but he was still furious. A Healer rushed to Gilstrap's side and quickly repaired the damage Harry had caused.
'Harry, calm down, you're all right,' said Ryan, who was holding him back. 'One of the reserves will come get you.'
Titus arrived, and Ryan mounted his broom and flew off. 'Harry, come sit with us. Just leave your broom, we'll fly on mine.'
'I can't leave my broom,' said Harry uncomprehendingly.
'Yes you can. Look, Tuttle has it, you're fine.' The reserve Beater slid his broomstick under Harry's legs, and Harry automatically took hold of him as they flew to the skybenches.
When Harry dismounted he found himself facing Owen, who was fastening his safety gear. 'It's all right, Harry. I've got it. Just four and a half minutes before I can enter.'
It finally dawned on Harry what had happened. I've been ejected from the match! Gilstrap has five minutes to look for the Snitch on his own!
Only when he was seated next to Owen did the next realisation hit him. I just told everyone within earshot about the Dursleys. I told them about Dudley. I told them about the cupboard.
He stared numbly at the Quidditch match in front of him. These really are good seats, came the thought. The score was 120-90, with the Cannons leading. How long had they even been playing?
'Are you all right, Harry?' asked Owen. 'You were in a long time, more than two hours. I'll finish it up.'
He replied in a monotone. 'He broke me. I've wrecked everything. It's all coming out. Rita Skeeter knows the whole story.' She'd exhaustively researched the Dursleys a year earlier, and now there was nothing to stop her from publishing it.
'That was last weekend, she doesn't have anything new on you,' said Owen reassuringly.
'Yes she does, she knows all about my relations.'
'Three minutes,' said Lyle. Three more minutes for Gilstrap to search for the Snitch.
The sun was starting to come out. It was cold, and Harry could feel where his tears had dried. He didn't even remember crying—he only remembered blind fury.
'We'll handle it,' said Owen. 'You're not alone. You have all of us.'
Harry didn't reply. His heart was still beating loudly and his throat hurt.
'Two minutes,' said Lyle.
A hint of gold near the pitch—Harry grasped Owen's arm. 'Yes, I see it too,' said the older Seeker. 'But Gilstrap's nowhere near it.'
Owen rose and walked towards the launch platform. 'Good luck, Owen,' called the other players. 'You're a brilliant Seeker, you've got this.'
Harry nodded automatically. Owen's a brilliant Seeker. Oh god, don't let Gilstrap see the Snitch.
'One minute.'
The Dursleys aren't safe, Harry realised. Someone's going to come for them. I have to go protect them. They need wards. Gringotts. Hermione.
He looked for her in the stands but she was nowhere in sight. Could he send his Patronus? Not during the match, surely.
'Five seconds,' said Lyle, and a loud whistle blew. Owen shot from the platform and flew erratically. Harry dimly understood why—Gilstrap was closer to the Snitch, and Owen had to lead him in the wrong direction. But how to keep him from tracking Owen just as he'd tracked Harry?
Suresh slammed a Bludger towards Gilstrap, and Gary did the same. The Seeker was forced to change direction, and Owen turned sharply towards the Snitch, which was fluttering near Janet's goalposts.
'Barrowmaker has the Snitch!' cried the announcer. 'Cannons win, 270-90!'
Loud cheers and wails from the crowd, but they were drowned out by the jubilant screams of Harry's teammates. He knew he should be relieved, but he could only think about finding Hermione. Hermione will know what to do.
'Expecto Patronum!' he bellowed, using a deep feeling rather than a memory. Prongs sprang into being and Harry said, 'Hermione, help me, I need to protect them. My relations.' He didn't want to say their name in case someone was listening.
Spectators shouted in alarm before someone cried, 'It's Prongs!' Half the crowd was watching Harry and the other half followed the stag's progress. Prongs stopped on the other side of the stands to deliver his message.
Hermione's otter arrived moments later. With a discretion Harry didn't normally associate with Patronuses, the otter whispered, 'Meet me on the pitch, at Janet's goalposts.'
Harry prepared to mount his broom when he realised he didn't have it. He looked mutely at Titus, who said, 'Come with me.'
They flew down together and joined the rest of the Cannons. Harry was still numb but noted with faint satisfaction that Owen was the centre of attention. He approached him and said, 'Owen, you did it, thank you.'
Owen put a steadying hand on Harry's upper arm and asked, 'What do you need?'
'Hermione. She's meeting me at the goalposts. I should go there.'
'I'll come with you,' said Owen.
'No, stay here. Congratulations, you were brilliant.'
'No, I wasn't. I was lucky and Gilstrap was inept. But I'll take it.'
Ryan found Harry and asked, 'How can I help?'
'Wards? I don't know. We need to find Hermione. She'll be at the goalposts.'
They walked together, and Hermione hugged Harry when she saw him. 'Are you all right? What happened?'
'He broke me. I snapped and told him about the Dursleys. It's all going to come out—Rita Skeeter knows the whole story. But it's probably out already.'
Ryan nodded, 'I'm afraid I heard the whole thing, or at least I think I did. There were probably dozens of people within earshot.'
'Hermione, they're not safe. We have to do something.'
'Right,' she said with a crisp nod. 'First, change into regular clothes. You can't show up in bright orange robes. You too, Ryan.'
'Do we have time to shower or should I just perform a Freshening Charm?' asked Ryan as they walked to the locker room.
Harry, lost, looked at Hermione. 'I think a shower will help settle your mind,' she said, and he nodded obediently. 'Do you have any Muggle clothes or just robes?'
'I have the tracksuit I was wearing before the match.'
'Perfect. Do you have your Invisibility Cloak with you?' she asked.
'Yes, it's in my pouch, in my locker.'
They reached the main room between the two changing areas. Harry noticed the fireplace was newly visible. I wonder if the Dursleys are still on the Floo network? Merlin, I hope not!
Harry entered the locker room and carelessly removed his robes before heading to the shower. At least Gilstrap didn't sabotage the water pressure. He felt a good deal calmer as the water pounded him, but eventually he realised he was wasting precious time.
He emerged from the locker room to find Hermione and Ryan waiting. 'How do we get there without attracting attention?' asked Harry.
'You and I can Apparate together under the Cloak. Either to the front door or inside the house. And then I'll come back for Ryan.'
He nodded and pulled the Cloak from his pouch. 'And what should I tell them?'
'That we need to add protective wards to the house, and to wherever their jobs are,' replied Hermione.
'Only my uncle has a job. But surely someone could attack them when they're not at home or work.'
'Of course,' she said. 'Once you talk to your uncle and aunt, you'll go to Gringotts and ask for protective amulets. They can look like a wristwatch or a pendant—something your relations would be comfortable wearing. It won't protect them forever, but it'll be enough to get them to safety.'
He nodded. 'Do we need goblin wards as well?'
'Not unless you want them,' said Ryan. 'I'm very experienced warding Muggle houses, from when I had to protect my relations during the war.'
'All right,' said Harry, handing the Cloak to Hermione, who pulled it over both of them. He turned on his heel, and in a moment they stood in front of the house he hadn't seen since the week before his seventeenth birthday.
The weather was much pleasanter than it was in Montrose, and several of the neighbours were outside tending their gardens. Harry sighed heavily as he and Hermione walked to the front door.
'Are you ready to do this?' she whispered. 'I can do all the talking if you want.'
'No, I should talk, at least to start.' Harry knocked on the door, and he heard light, sharp footsteps approaching. Aunt Petunia, he thought, with a hint of relief.
He opened the hood of the Cloak and positioned his face in front of the peephole, so that only she could see him. He heard her unfasten the door chain, or possibly fasten it.
The door opened several inches with the chain closed. 'What do you want?' she asked.
'I need to come in,' he said.
'No, you can't.'
He sighed in frustration. 'Do you really think the chain could stop me? The only reason I didn't Apparate straight into the house was because that would be impolite. Would you just let me in?'
She closed the door and he heard her slide the chain again. The door opened, and she looked around to see whether any of the neighbours were watching. Harry and Hermione slipped inside and Aunt Petunia closed the door behind them. She jumped when they removed the Cloak.
'Why are you here? And who is she?' she asked, indicating Hermione.
'This is my friend, Hermione Granger,' he said. 'Hermione, this is my aunt, Petunia Dursley.' No hands were extended. 'Is Uncle Vernon here?'
'No, he's picking up Dudley from the railway station. They'll be back soon. Why are you here?'
Harry sighed. 'I'm here because you're in danger, and we need to ward the house, to protect you.'
Aunt Petunia blanched. 'Is it Dark wizards again? Is there another war? We don't have to leave again, do we?'
'No,' said Harry, shaking his head. 'It's nothing like that, there's no war.' He looked at Hermione, unsure what to say.
'Harry was provoked,' said Hermione. 'It's a long story, but the short version is that he was provoked in a very public setting, and he revealed that you and your husband ... mistreated him. And Dudley too.'
Aunt Petunia looked blankly at her, and Hermione continued. 'Harry's extremely popular in the wizarding world now. Not only did he defeat Voldemort, but he's also a star Quidditch player—that's the sport played on broomsticks. We're afraid people will try to punish you and your family on Harry's behalf.'
'And you want to protect us?' asked Aunt Petunia.
'Yes,' said Harry. 'But we need to act quickly. I'm going to send Hermione to fetch our friend Ryan, and he'll set up protection wards on the house. He can also ward Uncle Vernon's office, and wherever Dudley lives.'
'He's here for the summer but he's returning to university in September.'
'We can protect him there too, but I'm hoping it'll blow over by then. I'll make a statement, asking people to leave you alone.' He turned to Hermione and said, 'You should get Ryan ... just bring him straight inside.'
Hermione nodded and turned on her heel to Disapparate, which caused Aunt Petunia to flinch.
'But these people—your kind—how much do they know about us?'
Harry sighed. 'They're going to know everything tomorrow morning. Last year a witch journalist named Rita Skeeter interviewed you, and just about everyone else who used to know me. She used Compulsion Charms to get all the dirt and then erased your memories. She blackmailed me to keep it out of the papers last year, but there's nothing to stop her now.'
'Not that blond woman!' exclaimed Aunt Petunia.
'You remember her?'
Her eyes unfocused slightly, as if she were recalling something. 'Yes, there was a woman who came round the house and said she was writing an article about Dudley and his amateur boxing. She asked all sorts of questions about his training, and she wanted to see his primary school and all the rest. She said she'd mail us the completed article, but she never sent us anything.'
Harry sighed. 'That had to have been her, and I'm certain she erased most of your memories of the conversation. She's an absolute menace but there seems to be no way to stop her. And I'm her favourite subject.'
Aunt Petunia jumped again when Hermione and Ryan returned. 'Ryan,' said Harry, 'this is my aunt, Petunia Dursley. Aunt Petunia, this is Ryan Bellamy. Both Ryan and Hermione have close Muggle relations, so they know how to act normal. You can trust them to set up wards without calling attention to themselves.'
Ryan had his wand out and started doing diagnostic charms, and Aunt Petunia didn't protest. 'It looks like there are some basic wards already,' he said. 'Mrs Dursley, do you know if the wizards who brought you home after the war added any protections?'
'I don't know,' she said. 'They might have done. I was too busy looking around to make sure nothing had been stolen.'
Harry heard a car pull into the drive. 'That'll be Uncle Vernon and Dudley,' he said, mostly to himself. He took a deep breath and waited for them to enter.
'Petunia, do you have any more of that cobbler? I could fancy a snack before dinner,' announced Uncle Vernon as he walked in. But his face fell when he saw Harry, and he held his arm protectively in front of Dudley. 'Good lord, what is he doing here?'
'Nice to see you too, Uncle Vernon,' said Harry, not hiding his irritation. 'I'm here because there's a threat and we want to provide full protection.'
'Another threat!? Damn you freaks and your bloody violence!'
'Hi Harry!' said Dudley. 'What do you mean? There's not another wizard coming to kill you, is there?'
'No, nothing like that,' replied Harry, 'but we've reason to believe you three might be targeted.'
'Why?' barked Uncle Vernon. 'What have you done now, boy!'
A scowling Hermione said, 'He was provoked into revealing just how dreadfully you mistreated him, and he's afraid his admirers might retaliate. Harry's here to protect you, and if you've any sense you'll cooperate.'
'His admirers? Are you joking? More freaks, no doubt,' scoffed Uncle Vernon.
'Sir, I don't think you realise how popular Harry is in the wizarding world,' said Ryan. 'He's considered a hero.'
Uncle Vernon glared at Ryan and Hermione. 'And who in blazes are you?'
'These are my friends, Hermione Granger and Ryan Bellamy,' said Harry. 'They've come to help you, and you're wasting valuable time.'
'He's right,' said Aunt Petunia. 'We need to let them work. He said it should blow over soon, once he's able to issue a statement telling people to leave us alone.'
'Then what you doing here? Shouldn't you be on the telly if you're that important?'
Hermione sighed in frustration. 'There is no wizarding telly. There's only printed media and the radio, and we wanted to come protect you first.'
'That's right,' said Harry. "Hermione, you and Ryan should just get started—he can't stop you. Aunt Petunia, I'm going to leave for a short while to get protection amulets for you to wear. They'll keep you safe if someone finds you.'
'Amulets? Would they be visible?' asked Aunt Petunia, alarmed.
'No,' said Hermione. 'They'll look like ordinary jewellery . All that's important is that you keep wearing it. In fact, if the three of you have items you already wear, like a pendant or a wristwatch, Harry can take them to be charmed with protection spells.'
Aunt Petunia began to unclasp the necklace she was wearing and Dudley removed his wristwatch, but Uncle Vernon covered his own watch with his hand. 'You're not taking my wristwatch, boy! This is just a trick, to steal it from me.'
Hermione's jaw dropped. 'Do you know how daft you sound right now? First off, Harry could clean out your house with a wave of his wand any time he wanted. Secondly, he's the heir to two wealthy families and has a vault full of gold, not to mention a London townhouse. He certainly doesn't need your wristwatch.'
All three Dursleys stared at Harry in shock. 'Is that true?' asked Dudley.
'Of course it's true,' snapped Hermione. 'He's a lord, in fact.'
'Hermione!' scolded Harry, before turning towards the Dursleys. 'Ignore that last bit—wizarding lordships are a pile of rubbish. But she's right ... I don't want your wristwatch and I'll bring it back within the hour, if not sooner.'
'Fine,' grumbled Uncle Vernon, handing over his watch. 'But I'll ring the police if you're not back by five.'
Hermione rolled her eyes and joined Ryan, who was murmuring incantations over the fireplace. Harry performed a Notice-Me-Not Charm on himself and Apparated to a safe spot near Gringotts.
He lifted the charm before entering the bank, and he was dismayed to hear even more than the usual amount of whispers around him. Oh god, everyone knows.
A goblin rushed to greet him. 'How can we help you, Mr Potter.'
'I have several items of Muggle jewellery that need protective charms, as soon as possible.'
'Yes, come this way,' replied the goblin.
Harry was relieved to be led to the office belonging to Tarnog, the goblin who'd helped him with the party. 'Tarnog, I'm glad to see you,' he said.
'Mr Potter, welcome. Have a seat.'
Harry sat down and spoke without preamble. 'I desperately need to protect three Muggles from malicious attacks. Their house is being warded as we speak, but can you turn these items into protective amulets?' He placed the necklace and two wristwatches on Tarnog's desk.
'Yes, easily. What kind of attacks do you anticipate?'
'I have no idea, honestly. It could be anything from mischief to Unforgivables. How soon can you have them ready?'
Tarnog pulled a tray from his desk and placed the three items onto it. 'We can take care of it straight away, but I have a few more questions.' He explained the different levels of protection available, and Harry selected a very strong option that would also be appropriate for Muggles wishing to avoid notice.
'Excellent,' said Tarnog. 'It will be done presently.' He pulled a heavy-looking seal from his waistcoat and touched it to a corner of the tray, and then said something in Goblin. The tray and the three items vanished.
'Thank you, Tarnog. I can't tell you how much I appreciate Gringotts' no-nonsense approach.'
'Compared to wizards, you mean?' asked Tarnog dryly.
'Yes, and Muggles too.'
Tarnog nodded. 'Director Ragnok has a high opinion of you, Mr Potter.'
'That's a bloody miracle,' said Harry, 'not that I'm complaining.'
The tray reappeared with the three items and a rolled parchment. 'Your items are now charmed. Please sign here to authorise payment, and specify which vault it should come from.'
Harry filled in the number for the Potter vault and signed the parchment. He looked at Uncle Vernon's wristwatch and saw that scarcely ten minutes had passed since he'd left Privet Drive.
'Will you need anything else, Mr Potter?'
'No, and thanks again. I hope I see you under better circumstances next time.'
'Indeed,' said Tarnog. 'Would you like to Disapparate from here?'
'Could I really? That would be tremendous.'
Tarnog nodded and pressed his seal to the desk. 'You have thirty seconds. Good day.'
Harry stood and turned on his heel, and moments later he was back in the Dursleys' sitting room. 'Here you are,' he said, returning the three items to their owners. 'These will protect you from malicious attacks for the next year. I can return early next August to renew them.'
'Yes, you could celebrate Harry's birthday together,' muttered Hermione. 'Or didn't you know he had one?'
'What's that?' growled Uncle Vernon.
'I knew you weren't a loving family to Harry,' she continued. 'And I knew Dudley used to beat up on him. But until this afternoon I didn't realise just how horrid you were.' She looked down the corridor. 'Where's the cupboard?'
'Hermione, no,' said Harry. 'That's not important.'
'Yes it is,' she snapped. 'Show me the cupboard.'
Harry looked for Ryan and was relieved to see he wasn't there. Hopefully he's setting up wards outside, he thought dully.
He led her towards the staircase and pointed out his old cupboard, which looked even smaller than he remembered. Hermione opened it, revealing some boxes and a pair of suitcases. She peered inside, and the musty air made her cough.
'How long?' she asked, and Harry looked at her blankly. 'I know you had a bedroom by our second year.' She turned to Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon and said, 'When did you finally give him a proper bedroom?'
They didn't reply. 'When I received my Hogwarts letter,' admitted Harry. 'The first one was addressed to the cupboard under the stairs.'
Hermione closed the cupboard door—none too gently—and turned towards the Dursleys with a stormy expression. 'He was an orphan. You were his only relations and you put him in a cupboard.'
'He was a freak!' cried Uncle Vernon. 'We needed to keep Dudley safe.'
'From a little boy?' exclaimed Hermione. 'I met Harry when he was eleven—he'd never hurt anyone!'
Except for Professor Quirrell, thought Harry, but he didn't say anything.
'Maybe not you!' said Uncle Vernon. 'But he scared the daylights out of us. Don't you see it? Look at him!'
Aunt Petunia leaned towards Harry. 'Actually, I don't see it any longer.' Her expression softened and she said, 'You have Lily's eyes.'
Harry was unable to speak, and Hermione blurted, 'Of course he has Lily's eyes! Everyone tells him that. How could you not have noticed?'
'No, he looks different now,' said Aunt Petunia.
Hermione may have been trying to be patient, but she wasn't succeeding. 'I suppose his eyes looked smaller behind his eyeglasses, but he certainly didn't have them as an infant!'
An uncomfortable thought arose in Harry. 'What do you mean, I look different now? Is it just my eyes, or has something else changed?'
'Your hair is still a fright,' said Aunt Petunia. 'You've filled out a bit, though not like Dudley. But your eyes used to be uncanny. They were green but ... wrong.'
Harry's heart sank. 'Hermione, it was the Horcrux. It must have affected them.'
'How is that possible? It didn't affect any of us.'
'They're not magical,' said Harry. 'Dudley, did I used to look different?'
Dudley cocked his head slightly and examined him. 'Yeah, your eyes were weird, come to think of it. But they're normal now. Dad, do you see it?'
'I still see a freak,' insisted Uncle Vernon.
'What do you mean, a Horcrux?' asked Aunt Petunia.
Harry shook his head quickly. 'Forget I mentioned it.'
Hermione looked at him with concern. 'Harry, do I need to ...' She mouthed the words 'Obliviate them.'
'Don't bother. They never talk about freak stuff,' he said bitterly.
The back door opened, and nobody entered. But then Ryan gradually appeared as he lifted his Disillusionment Charm. 'The house is warded,' he said. 'We're the only wizards who can enter. And it's safe from remote attacks as well.'
'Thanks,' said Harry. 'Uncle Vernon, is Grunnings still at the same location?'
Uncle Vernon scowled, but Aunt Petunia said, 'Yes. But what about Dudley's residence hall?'
'Do you have your room assignment yet?' asked Ryan.
'Er, yeah ... I have it on a card upstairs.' Dudley went to fetch it.
'Harry, thank you for the ... amulets,' said Aunt Petunia. 'And for coming to protect us. But I think you should leave now.'
'Don't you want to apologise?' demanded Hermione.
Aunt Petunia froze, and Harry said, 'It's water under the bridge.'
Dudley came back downstairs and handed Ryan a scrap of paper. Ryan jotted the address on a Muggle notepad, and Dudley said, 'Thanks, mate. And Hermione, it's good to see you. Looking fit, as always.'
Ryan's eyes widened but he didn't say anything. 'I'll get Mr Dursley's work address from Harry and take care of things by nightfall.'
Aunt Petunia began steering them towards the front door, but Harry said, 'We should probably just Disapparate from inside, so nobody sees us.
'You're right,' said his aunt. But before they left, she said, 'Harry?'
He turned to face her, and she looked at him for a long moment, her eyes fixed on his. 'Goodbye,' she said. 'You can ring us next August.'
He nodded. 'Hermione, you and Ryan should Apparate to the back garden of Grimmauld Place and I'll let you in. Goodbye, Dudley ... maybe I'll see you around. I guess I know where you'll be living next year.'
'Cool,' said Dudley. 'Bring your broomstick.'
'Dudley!' cried Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon simultaneously, and Harry turned on his heel and vanished.