Disclaimer: Refer to my previous ones if you have some odd desire to see one.
Author's Note: I know it has been a long time, so if you don't remember what has been happening, feel free to browse the earlier chapters.

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Reveal not every secret you have to a friend, for how can you tell but that friend may hereafter become an enemy. And bring not all mischief you are able to upon an enemy, for he may one day become your friend.
~ Saadi

Nothing makes us as lonely as our secrets.
~ Paul Tournier

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Chapter Eighteen
Battle for the Quidditch House Cup

The morning of February 25th dawned, cold and clear. There was a hush in the air, a tingling electrical feeling that made the very wind buzz with warning. Hogwarts looked picturesque; almost like a swirling, glass snow globe. Only the atmosphere of dread that hung about the castle like a determined spectre marred its beauty.

Inside the castle was very different from the outside serenity. Excited whispers and fleeting glances interrupted most of the lessons. The House Championship was being held tonight, and there was nothing like Quidditch to completely disrupt a normal school day. Professor McGonagall finally erupted at her sixth year Transfigurations class.

"For good heavens! Now, I am just as excited as you all are about tonight's match against Slytherin, but you don't see me acting as an uncontrollable as a first year!"

This outburst was enough to properly silence her class. Harry stopped describing defensive plays to Ron and went back to researching the roots of Mulruptus Transformations. This was a very difficult method of transfiguring a previously transfigured object into something else. First he turned a glass marble into a glass goblet, but then he was supposed to transfigure it into a glass bowl. The only thing that had happened when he attempted this was for the goblet to give a violent shudder, before shattering over his desk. McGonagall had been very displeased.

After the lesson had ended, Harry quickly started talking about the championship match again.

"Okay, Ron, I want you to tell anyone you see from the team that I want to meet for a warm-up right before dinner. We'll just do some drills and reviews our plays for tonight. Where's Che? We can tell him now......." Harry craned his neck to see across the classroom. His eyes quickly clouded over and his brow crinkled.

Ron looked towards the desk Cesare usually shared with Hermione and saw only Hermione hastily copying down some last notes. The chair beside her was empty.

Now Ron looked equally confused. "Huh, that's odd. You think he wouldn't want to jeopardize this game by snarking off classes today. If he gets caught not attending a lesson, he won't be able to play. Nice to know he's worried about the rest of the team," Ron said very sarcastically. "Oy, Hermione! Where's the fella?" he asked very obnoxiously.

Harry didn't even have to look at Hermione to know she rolled her eyes. He gave her credit for simply taking a deep breath, then raising her eyes to look at Ron and replying—in a very controlled voice—"Are you trying to ask me something?"

"Yeah, where's Cesare?" Ron sniped back.
"I don't know. I haven't seen him all morning," Hermione replied quickly and stood up, clutching her books to her chest. "If I see him, I'll tell him that you're looking for him." Then, without another word, she hurried from the classroom.

Ron snorted at her swift departure. "Some of his oddness is starting to rub off on her. Alright, I'll see if I can scrounge up the rest up the team who actually cares about—"

"Not to interrupt your obviously important conversation, but I need a word with you, Mr. Potter," Professor McGonagall called out to them from across the classroom.

Harry tried to suppress a groan. Whenever McGonagall spoke like that it could never be good. Ron gave him a sympathetic smile, clapped him on the back, and left.

McGonagall eyed him sternly from over the top of her dark, square-rimmed glasses. "I was speaking to Professor Dumbledore earlier, Harry, and your name came up. He requested that I ask you to go to his office directly after this lesson.

His curiosity was piqued, but at the same time a small knot of dread tied up his stomach. What could Dumbledore want to talk to him about? Had Voldemort attacked somewhere? Did something happen in the Order? "Did he saw what he wanted to talk to me about?" Harry ventured carefully.

"No, he didn't say. Just that he wanted to speak to you directly after class." McGonagall seemed a bit frazzled, so Harry didn't bother her again and simply slipped quietly out of the classroom.

No sooner had he arrived in front of the stone gargoyles that guarded Dumbledore's office, than did he notice the door opening and that someone else was leaving. It was Professor Almari, walking very quickly with a worried expression on her normally calm visage.

"Alright, Professor?" Harry asked respectively.

She jumped slightly when he spoke and met his eyes anxiously. "You startled me! Yes, I'm alright. And you, Harry?"

"I'm okay. Are you coming to the Quidditch game tonight?"

She laughed her tinkling laugh which always reminded him of a waterfall. He wondered if it was a jinn thing. "Yes, if I can make it, I would be delighted to go. Hopefully I will have a close view of Professor Snape's face when Gryffindor wins." A devilish smile lit up her face, but she added hastily, "Not that I'm taking sides, of course. A professor would never do such a thing." She winked one of her dark eyes. "Good luck tonight, Harry."

"Thanks," he replied as she walked away. He shook his head in puzzlement. What was between those two teachers?

Harry tentatively knocked on the heavy wooden door. He heard Dumbledore's muffled voice tell him to enter.

"Hullo, Harry," The Headmaster's twinkling blue eyes greeted him from over his spectacles. "Please sit." He waved a hand over the chair in front of his desk and then put down his quill. Dumbledore swiftly slid the piece of parchment out of view. Harry tried not to notice, but couldn't help wondering what Dumbledore had been writing.

"My boy, you look apprehensive," Dumbledore said with a chuckle after Harry had been seated.

Harry allowed himself an embarrassed smile. "Well, sir, to be honest, I am a bit on edge. It seems odd that Voldemort has been so quiet since last spring. I worried that you brought me here to tell me there had been an attack."

Some of the twinkle left the Headmaster's sparkling eyes. "Yes, that concerns me also. Most of the Order believes that Voldemort may be planning something very big—and important enough that he wouldn't want to risk his plans being found out. I have difficulty understanding why else he would choose to remain relatively quiet."

A trouble expression clouded Harry's face. "What do you think he's planning, sir?" he couldn't keep from asking.

Dumbledore sighed. "I can be certain of nothing. The Order's operatives have yet to recover anything substantial." The Headmaster hesitated and seemed like he had more to say, but remained silent. After another moment, he continued. "But this was not the reason I wished to meet with you. Professor Almari has met with me on several occasions to speak about your progress in Occlumency and Legilimency. I am most impressed with your talent in the latter."

Harry was dumbfounded. Dumbledore must not have heard Almari correctly. "But....I haven't got any talent! In fact, I messed up! All these visions started crowding my head. I had no control and nearly blacked out."

"What to you seemed a failure was indeed of sign of the deepest success. You may not have control now.....but Harry, what you were able to do was extraordinary."

Extraordinary? "Sir?"

Dumbledore smiled gently at his visible confusion, but his eyes remained very serious. "The visions a Legilimins receives are very similar to those seen in a Pensieve. When one views those images, you remain an observer–a distinct entity outside of those you view. Unless, you are practicing an advanced form of Legilimency, you cannot comprehend the emotions of those whose memories you access.

Harry narrowed his eyes. "But I did feel emotions," he said softly. "That's what was so powerful about it. I felt whatever Ron had felt at those moments in his life. Pain, relief, happiness."

"But what did Ron originally think of?" Dumbledore prodded.

"He.... he remembered a Quidditch game. From third year. There was a terrible storm and it was pouring rain. He and Hermione had come down to the pitch to help me. Hermione bewitched my glasses to make them repel raindrops."

"And then?"

Harry closed his eyes, trying to remember exactly what had happened next. "It felt like I was hovering over the three of us, getting closer and closer. And the closer I got, the stronger I could feel our emotions from that night." He opened his eyes and Dumbledore nodded for him to continue.

"Then it almost felt like I could see our emotions. I know this must sound bizarre, but I saw our friendship. It became a visible, tangible thing." Harry felt slightly foolish, telling all this to Dumbledore, but perhaps the Headmaster could help him. Dumbledore had never steered him wrong before.

Indeed the Headmaster looked very concerned and leaned in closer to Harry to better hear him. "And after you saw such a thing, what happened?" There was an undeniable urgency in his voice.

Harry was looking at Dumbledore, but his green eyes were far-off, gazing into an unknown distance. He hesitated for a moment and the room's silence seemed deafening, like the calm before a great storm. Fawkes stirred from his golden perch and the silence was shattered.

"I....I felt powerful.......invincible even," Harry said slowly, with a trace of awe in his voice. He hadn't realized this until now. "All my fears and anxieties were gone, and I was confident and calm. I felt like I could take on anything." He looked up in alarm. "Am I going mad?" he asked, only half-joking, and slunk back against his chair.

Dumbledore's kind, blue eyes reassured him. "No, Harry, you are most certainly not going mad. If you have learned anything from your experiences in the magical world, it should be to always be prepared for the strange and unexpected. But... what is happening to you is extraordinary. And if I'm not mistaken, quite unique. Do you remember the prophecy from last year?"

"Yes, but what does that have to do with this?" Harry asked, not wanting to get on the subject of the prophecy. He hated thinking about it, yet it was always haunting the corners of his mind, whispering his dire–and unavoidable–fate.

"I believe it has everything to do with this," Dumbledore said heavily.

"What....I already know that I have to kill Voldemort or be killed? I don't understand how...."
The Headmaster cut him off with wave of his hand. Harry's words appeared to have hurt him, which made Harry feel slightly ashamed. Hadn't Dumbledore only been trying to look out for Harry's happiness? The Headmaster couldn't help if his pupil was destined to be either a murderer or murdered. "I do not speak of that, Harry. I speak of another part of the prophecy which foretells of your powers–powers that the Dark Lord has not."

"So, are you saying this is that power? Am I supposed to defeat Voldemort by getting in touch with his emotional memories?" Harry said in disbelief, trying to keep the sarcasm from his voice.

"No, Harry. What you did in your Legilimency lesson was a small demonstration of your power. I am not even sure what this special ability of yours is. All I know is that it is the direct opposite of what gives Voldemort power, and therefore the most effective weapon against him. Think on it. Voldemort could not harm you when you were younger because of the protection your mother gave you. Her love and willingness to die for you saved your life. Yet even after that protection was gone, Voldemort could still not stand to possess your body when we fought him in the spring. You are full of something he hates and fears, Harry."

"But what? I don't understand."

Dumbledore spread his arms out, with his palms facing outward, in motions which took in most of the room. "Simply put, you are his antithesis, Harry. His mirror opposite. You gain your strength by what is good and loved and cherished in this world. Voldemort seeks to tear down those values in his quest for domination and you are what he cannot defeat. It's the most elemental war of all time, Harry, and it's never won. Good versus evil. You and Voldemort are the ones playing out this particular battle. Your best defense against him is here, Harry," His hand hovered against his chest, directly above his heart.

Harry was at a complete loss for words and his mouth opened and closed a few times as speech failed him. Could Dumbledore really mean what he said? That Harry would gain his strength from.....from what was good in this world? What the heck did that mean? He wondered if Dumbledore was intentionally being cryptic.

"So....who usually wins in these battles?" Harry asked lightly.

"Nothing is that simple. Some say good, some say bad, and some say both. It depends how you look on things. One could say Voldemort has better odds because he is evil and will do any despicable thing he must to beat you, while you hold yourself to certain ideals and morals. On the other hand, one could say that you will win because you fight not only for yourself, but for others, and this responsibility will drive you to success. As you see, I cannot answer your question." Dumbledore smiled sadly.

Dumbledore's words were actually making Harry more confused; his philosophy was enough to make anyone dizzy. Just thinking about the prophecy and this epic battle he was supposedly locked into with Voldemort made his stomach churn. Not very "hero-like he chided himself bitterly. But wouldn't it be madness if he looked forward to battling with Voldemort? Harry had already lost so much at the cruel hands of the evil lord: his parents, Sirius. And many had lost even more. Could he possibly beat such a fiend? He knew he had no choice; Voldemort had to be stopped or everything good in this world truly would be lost. Dumbledore was right in saying it was a great responsibility and one that troubled Harry greatly.

"Harry?"

Harry broke away from his thoughts a bit startled. Dumbledore was watching him with some concern and Harry realized he must have been silent for several minutes, while Dumbledore waited for a response. Deciding not the further the discussion of his future duel with Voldemort, he asked instead, "Does anyone else know what the prophecy is about? I've been wondering for some time. I mean, like others in the Order."

"It is not my prophecy and fate to tell others of, Harry. Your parents knew, yet I do not think they told even Sirius. The others in the Order do not know....but to be truthful, I believe a great many of them have suspicions that are very close to the message of the prophecy. You've accomplished outstanding feats, none more so amazing than eluding Voldemort several times. These are difficult to conceal and convincing enough to turn many into believers."

Harry desperately wished for this conversation to end and to be out strolling the snow-covered ground with his friends, without a care in the world. Actually, he'd even rather be in Potions with Professor Snape's rancid breath down his neck as he critiqued Harry's schoolwork. But Dumbledore's words echoed through his head, especially the part about his parents not telling Sirius. They had concealed the secret from their friends. Should Harry continue to do the same?

"I...I should really be getting back to class," he said lamely, for lack of a better excuse. "Was there anything else?"

Dumbledore accepted his excuse. "No, continue learning Legilimency with Almari for now. As your abilities develop, I may take over your lessons. Come to me if anything strange happens."

"I will," Harry promised. "And, Professor....does Alma–Professor Almari know of any of this?"

"No, I believed it should be kept between you and I for now. But she is a jinni, as you are well aware, and her kind has ways of knowing things, although without hearing the prophecy she could not divine for what reasons you hold such powers."

Harry nodded. "I understand."

"Learn well from her and you will be greatly benefited." Dumbledore stood to see him out. "And good luck in your game tonight. Indeed the entire school is looking forward to it."

"Thanks," Harry said weakly. He'd almost forgotten about the game during his conversation with the Headmaster. His stomach churned at the thought.

He left Dumbledore's office with a heavy heart and dark thoughts troubling his mind. As he swept past the stone gargoyle guarding the entrance to the office, the strap on his schoolbag caught on the gargoyle's unyielding arm, roughly jerking him back. His bag was wrenched from his shoulder and crashed to the ground. Swearing while he crouched to pick up his bag, he noticed a dark stain spreading from the corner of the bag. His hands were covered in the same sticky liquid. Damn, the inkwell must have smashed, he realized. It would be a pain to clean without magic, but he didn't want to get any of the black ink on his wand.

Harry carefully picked up the bag and carried it down the corridor and into the nearest boy's lavatory. He balanced it on one of the porcelain sinks and turned on the tap to wash up; leaving sticky handprints everywhere he touched. As he furiously scrubbed his hands, he felt a curious chill up the back of his spine, a tingling sense that alerted him to the presence of another. He glanced up into the oval mirror that hung over the sink and jumped.

"Hum....is my reflection really that terrible?" a mournful voice lamented.

Taking a deep breath to ease his quickened heart rate, Harry shook his head with some embarrassment. "No, you startled me, that's all...........Myrtle, what are you doing in the boy's lavatory?"

Moaning Myrtle's somber, dark eyes stared at him over the tops of her horn-rimmed glasses with a pitiful gaze. "Well, what would you do if no one ever came to your loo. If you were completely alone because......because everyone avoided your loo like the pl-plague!" her cry became high-pitched and Harry could see silver tears misting at the corners of her eyes. "Not even you come! No one comes to see Moaning Myrtle! No one cares!"

Oh for Merlin's sake, Harry thought, feeling his annoyance rise. Don't let the waterworks start. "Myrtle, I'm sure that's not true. People probably just avoid your loo because.........er.......the pipes don't work well," he said convincingly. After all it was true, especially considering many of the pipes led down to Slytherin's infamous Chamber of Secrets.

The ghost didn't look convinced and Harry turned back to his cleaning. "Myrtle, y'know, I'm sorry, but this isn't really a great time." He tried to keep his tone polite, but wasn't sure he hid all his irritation. His emotions were already in check after his conversation with Dumbledore.

"Fine," she said scathingly. "No one ever has time for Myrtle; they're too busy being alive! I just won't talk to any of you!" With an indignant cry, she flew up and into the sink, splashing Harry with the water.

He carefully removed his glasses and rolled his eyes when he examined the ink-tinted water spots. He only hoped this day would get better by tonight's game against Slytherin.

By the time he finished cleaning up, lunch had almost started. He left the bathroom with determination in his eyes. It was time to go finding his missing teammate before he skipped another class and jeopardized Gryffindor's chances for the Quidditch Cup.

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He was going to kill Cesare al-Jalil. That was the only thought driving through Harry's brain; it had even replaced any fears or anxieties he had about the game. Why even worry about catching the Snitch when his best Beater had simply disappeared and was absolutely nowhere to be found only two hours before the game?!

Harry sat with the remainder of the Gryffindor Quidditch team, eating a quick supper after warming up for the game. The championship game, yet no one had been able to find Cesare. Several students had seen him early last night in the Gryffindor common room, yet none of the sixth year boys had thought to check his bed this morning.

Ginny stared up at the enchanted ceiling with concerned eyes. It had been an unusually warm day, a sign of an early spring no doubt, but since late afternoon, dark, foreboding clouds swollen with precipitation had snuck their way into the cheery blue skies. It appeared that a storm was fast approaching and no one knew if the Quidditch game would be caught in it.

"I don't like the sight of those clouds," the youngest Weasley admitted in a worried voice. "I think we're gonna get stuck in whatever nasty weather is coming."

"But there is a sight I'm glad to see," Katie Bell said suddenly and jerked her head in the direction of the doors. "Although he better have a damn good explanation," she muttered under her breath.

Cesare shut the door behind him and cast his eyes over the Great Hall. He noticed where the team was watching him with disapproving glares and headed in their direction.

Harry narrowed his eyes as Cesare approached them, a new worry springing to his mind. Dark circles rimmed Che's eyes and his olive skin had a sallow tint to it. He was walking as if it was a difficult effort just to be awake. But that didn't detract from Harry's disapproving tone of voice. "Che, nice of you to show up. Hope it wasn't too much of an effort on your part because we've only been searching for you all day."

Cesare held up a hand to interrupt Harry, but his movement was slow and he still looked very drained. "Before you go pazzo, relax. I have already cleared things with Professor McGonagall. There is no problem."

"There's no problem! Che, the team's been frantic for hours! We don't have a reserve Beater and thought we might have to forfeit. To forfeit the Championship! Can you tell us WHY you disappeared and missed warm-ups?" Harry was trying to keep his temper and not explode before the game, but he was finding it increasingly difficult. Che's insolent stare and attitude weren't helping much.

"No," Cesare said simply.

Harry was incredulous. "No?" he echoed. "You mean you won't even tell us why you missed a mandatory practice? That's not how we do things on his team if we want to win. We have to work together." Che's behavior was shocking him.

"Well, like you said, you don't have a reserve Beater so I guess you're stuck with me," Cesare shot back nastily and sat down. He propped his elbows on the table and hung his head in his hands.

Harry's mouth had fallen open and the rest of the Gryffindor Quidditch team was staring at Cesare like he had suddenly sprouted hippogriff wings and started babbling in Troll.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Harry demanded loudly. A few students at the surrounding table turned around with glee at the suspicion of a fight. Cesare didn't answer or even acknowledge that he had heard Harry.

Harry was having difficulty fighting the urge to hit Cesare and he clenched his fists inside his robe. He felt a hand press down on his shoulder and turned with surprise to see Ron standing next to him with a very concerned face. "Not now," Ron hissed under his breath. To the others, he said, "Okay guys, we still have a House Cup to win, so let's focus on that instead of tearing each other apart right now. Alright? Let's go change into our robes and meet out on the pitch."

The other players looked relieved to have an excuse to escape to thickening tension between Cesare and Harry, and quickly left. Ron pressed down harder on Harry's shoulder, playing the surprising role of a peacemaker. "C'mon, Harry. We have to get ready."

Harry's furious green eyes had not left Cesare's back. "We were ready," he said bitterly and stalked towards the doors, Ron following closely behind.

Cesare felt a sense of guilty relief when Harry and Ron left. He still felt the burning eyes of a few curious students staring at him. He massaged his temples while his conscience scolded him. Harry had asked a good question: what the hell was wrong with him? Why had he said such a terrible thing to Harry? The words weren't even his own, he felt like someone else had used his voice to speak them. Il mio Dio, a sick fear suddenly gripped his stomach. Was he losing his mind?

He closed his eyes as anxiety washed over him. This was torturing him. He had no idea what was happening to him or if it would stop. He was beginning to genuinely fear his new abilities; such power could not come without a grave price. What would his be? Was he to be turned into some sort of monster? Sometimes he thought he could sense a nasty presence in his mind. It was a strange feeling, like someone was listening to his thoughts and influencing his actions. Actions, such as being rude to Harry or destroying the paintings in the Gryffindor common room.

Doubt gnawed on Cesare's mind, forcing him to question his decision to keep what was happening a secret. What if he got to the point where he could no longer control his actions and hurt someone? He would never be able to forgive himself. This cannot go on, he realized, I need help and to get that I must tell someone what is happening.

Yet who could he tell? The only person he trusted with such a secret was Hermione, but he risked losing her if he confessed. After all, Professor Almari had been adamant that wandless magic was a Dark Art and Hermione had always placed her trust in knowledge and academics. The thought that she might think he was a practicing Dark wizard terrified him.

Cesare had never wished for parents more than he did at this very moment. How was it possible to feel so utterly alone amongst so many laughing, excited voices? But a parent was exactly what he needed right now; someone who would not judge him at all, only care about doing whatever they could to help him. He understood now why many of his teachers at Anksenum had felt pity for him, even though he was a constant source of trouble and irritation to them. The complete loss of one's parents was truly a terrible absence, one of the worst imaginable. It was a loss that would haunt him for his entire life, with whispered echoes of what might have been and the sharp ache he felt when he was at his most miserable.

He took a deep breath of air and then slowly released it and tried to focus his thoughts. If not Hermione, who could he tell? He needed someone who was older and could provide some guidance. None of the teachers would do......or would they? The image of Professor Dumbledore's ancient face with his kind blue eyes suddenly appeared in Cesare's mind? He almost immediately cast aside the idea, but something made him consider it. Dumbledore was a good and honest wizard: the entire magical world knew his name as one to be admired and emulated. Dumbledore had an innate sense of justice and goodwill that made him trusted by many wizards and witches much older and wiser than Cesare. Perhaps Che could trust Dumbledore with his secret as well. Did he have a choice not to? Dumbledore was by far the best candidate Che could think of.

His decision made, Cesare considered when to speak with Dumbledore. He wanted to do so as soon as possible before he changed his mind, but tonight was out of the question. He didn't know how Dumbledore was going to respond and needed to be available for tonight's Quidditch championship. He had already been extremely rude to his teammates and the least he could do to make up for his actions was to play his best tonight. The House Cup was at stake and like Harry said, they all had to work together.

He supposed he could wait to see Dumbledore until tomorrow. He would have to go after his classes; he doubted he would be able to skip his lessons two days in a row. He'd been lucky not to get in trouble today. McGonagall had been convinced he was telling the truth about feeling ill; his physical appearance left no doubt about that.

Cesare actually felt some of the weight slid off his shoulders with his plan to speak to the Headmaster. Dumbledore would know what to do and be able to take care of this problem. He pressed his palms down against the table and lifted himself up. Fighting dizziness, he tried not to stagger to visibly when he walked away. He still felt incredibly fatigued and light-headed, sensations that had plagued him since this morning. The loud and rambunctious atmosphere of the Great Hall was aggravating his already pounding head, and he left to change into his game robes.

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By the time the teeming mass of eager Hogwart's students had clambered into the tall, groaning stands, the temperature had dropped dramatically and the sky had been darkened by the approaching evening and swift grey-black clouds. Many of the teachers and older students remarked that they could not remember the Quidditch Cup being fought for in such unfavorable weather. A mixture of snow and sleet had begun to lightly fall, muddying the already messy Quidditch pitch.

A sudden fervor swept the crowd and many leapt to their feet, cheering madly as the two teams made their way to the center of the pitch. Most students had opted to don Gryffindors colors of scarlet and gold, but a small number sat stubbornly in knots of Slytherin supporters, their emerald and silver scarves waving in the faces of the Gryffindor supporters. The rivalry between the two Houses was legendary and very heated tonight. Curious incidents of Slytherin and Gryffindor students pulling pranks on one another had been mounting all day even as the harassed staff struggled to contain them.

Madam Hooch was already waiting in the center of the pitch, the Quaffle firmly under her arm, and one foot pressed against the old trunk containing the other balls. She eyed them sternly as the teams approached and shot poisonous glares at each other. Harry and Malfoy, each the captains of their teams, stepped up.

"How's the team, Potter?" Draco said snottily. "I heard you were having some problems earlier." His cold grey eyes glanced over to where Cesare was determinately keeping his gaze towards the ground.

"Just fine," Harry said, gritting his teeth.

Malfoy nodded with a fake expression of concern. "That's good. I understand if you Gryffindors squabble out of your inherent stupidity, but y'know, a good Quidditch team has to have some unity." A nasty smile curved across his pale face.

Harry clenched and unclenched his gloved fists. "Thanks, Malfoy. Maybe next you could give me advice on bribing my way to being Captain by getting Daddy to terrify your teammates into compliancy."

Draco flushed angrily and was about to respond, but Madam Hooch quickly barked at them to be quiet. "Players, mount your brooms!" she yelled and then hissed under her breath, "I want a FAIR game! I'll be watching and don't you forget that!"

Without another word, she heaved the Quaffle up into the air and the players quickly pushed off from the ground. The game had begun. Gryffindor quickly gained possession, as Ginny snatched up the Quaffle and sped towards the distant Slytherin goal posts.

Will Jordan urged her on, quickly abandoning any pretenses of unbiased broadcasting. "Knock 'em dead, Ginny! You're getting close!" he yelled as she neared the posts. Then, "Ooo, watch out!" A collective groan went through most of the crowd as one of the Slytherin beaters sent a Bludger plummeting Ginny's way, causing her to drop the Quaffle.

Harry resisted the temptation to swear and instead pointed his Firebolt up, quickly gaining altitude and momentum. His skilled eyes swept the air over the pitch for any signs of the fluttering wings of the Golden Snitch. There were none.

The sleet had grown more severe, pelting his body with slivers of slushy ice. It was become much more difficult to see. He had no idea why the school had decided to have this match at night. An early crescent moon was struggling to provide some light through the thick storm clouds and huge water-proof torches cast flames from the top of lofty poles, but they did not do much to penetrate the worsening blackness.

Harry watched as a fierce war waged below him between the Chasers of each team. What Malfoy lacked in his abilities as a Seeker, was clearly made up by the three highly-skilled Slytherin Chasers. They were evenly matched with the Gryffindor Chasers, and perhaps–although Harry was loath to admit it–even a bit better. He did not like what he was witnessing.

"And........Slytherin scores again," Will said glumly. "C'mon, Gryffindor, get it together!" He begged as Ron futilely dived for the Quaffle as it sailed through the center Gryffindor goal post. Harry felt his heart sink.

The fierce game continued that way and Harry grew very alarmed when the score reached 30:90, with Slytherin leading by sixty points. It was a bitter game; none of the players could see well and all were violently shivering as the sleet enveloped their bodies like an unwelcome cloak of pure ice. But with an overwhelmed Ron letting goals in, Gryffindor was taking a sound beating.

Harry flew faster, desperately searching for the Snitch. At this rate, the only chance Gryffindor had for victory depended on Harry catching the Snitch before Slytherin scored again. As he raced through the air, Cesare swooped down alongside him.

Cesare avoided Harry's eyes, obviously still uncomfortable from their earlier fight. "I'm going to be tailing you," he said quietly. "I think Malfoy told his Beaters to take you out of the game before you had the opportunity to get the Snitch."

"Damn him," Harry muttered. It would be hard enough to find the Snitch, let alone with Malfoy's goons getting in his way. "Do you think you can handle the both of them?" Harry quickly asked.

"Yes, I...." Cesare abruptly stopped speaking and shook his head slightly as if something was bothering him. Then he glanced towards Harry, but there was an odd shadow behind his amber eyes.

"Cesare, did you hear me?" Harry prompted, still waiting for the Beater to speak.

"I can handle them," he said in a very flat, monotone voice. Before Harry could speak again, Cesare had abruptly flown off.

Feeling somewhat unnerved, Harry glanced behind him and noticed the two Slytherin Beaters unsuccessfully attempting to be discreet as they followed him. Cesare had been right. Harry needed to find the Snitch now. But how could he do so when he was practically flying blind with two Beaters trying to take him out? He sighed and realized he would have to trust Cesare to deal with the Beaters.

Wait.....something had stuck in his mind about those Beaters. He whirled around on his Firebolt and tried not to let his shock show on his face as he noticed the Snitch flitting merrily about in the dark sky just behind the heads of the two Slytherin Beaters.

Harry didn't waste any time. Malfoy was across the pitch, too far to get to it in time. The only problem was the Beaters. "Cesare!" he screamed.

The other Gryffindor turned abruptly at his call and his eyes flickered towards the Snitch. He nodded at Harry, quickly understanding what the Seeker was planning to do.

"Now!"

Both Gryffindors rushed towards the two Beaters as fast as their brooms would take them. The Beaters scattered as the half-crazed Gryffindor players charged them with looks of pure madness on their faces. Harry quickly closed in on the swift Snitch, stretching his arm out so he could grab it as he sped by.

Just as his finger grazed the struggling wings of the Snitch, sudden movement in front of him involuntarily jerked his attention from victory. His eyes narrowed in puzzlement. Not twenty meters away, a small break in the clouds allowed the weak moon to illuminate a solitary figure on broomstick. Harry saw a Beater's club raised and then swiftly brought down. As a Bludger came pelting directly towards him, Harry recognized the figure as Cesare, a malicious look lighting up his face.

Harry reflexively rolled just in time to avoid being beheaded by the Bludger. He spun back up, completely dazed. The action had happened so fast that he couldn't be sure what he had seen. He cast his eyes wildly around. Both the Bludger and Cesare had vanished, but the Snitch had not. With a disoriented lurch, Harry snatched up the Snitch.

As he slowly sunk to the ground, he heard the crowds explode in cheers, drowning out the overenthusiastic reporting of Will Jordan. Harry's teammates raced towards him, madly screaming and hugging each other. Ginny and Katie were singing, "We won, we won, we won!" Ron beamed, while Asad Ademi, the Nigerian Chaser waved his oddly-shaped broom in the air and Dean did some sort of complicated-looking victory dance.

The rest of the Gryffindor House flooded onto the muddy pitch, yelling and clapping each other on the back. No one cared to notice as the scowling Slytherins quickly made their way off the field. McGonagall was crying as she passed the huge trophy cup to the players. Harry pumped one fist into the air while the other grasped the Cup. All his thoughts about what had just happened with Cesare vanished as elation swept over him. They had done it again! Gryffindor was still the champion.

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The Gryffindors continued their raucous celebrations when they all crowded into the Common Room. A warm fire melted the chill from their icy clothes and an even better surprise waited in three large boxes on the floor. There was a note addressed to Harry on the center one.

Harry read out loud:

Hey gang! Sorry we can't be there to celebrate, but we knew you'd beat the slime out of those Slytherin snakes! Business is booming and we thought we'd offer this stuff to you to liven up the party a bit. Cheers!
The Association for the Benediction of Tricksters
Weasley's Wizard Wheezes

The boxes were torn open to reveal cases of bottled butterbeer and stacks of sweets. The last box contained new jokes and tricks–some dangerous enough to alarm the most laid-back professor. A couple of third year students started digging into the boxes as the treats were passed around.

Harry was looking at the curious way Fred and George had signed their note. "Hey, Ron," he called the redhead over.

"What's the Association for the Benediction of Tricksters?" Harry asked and pointed at the bottom of the note.

"Mpff?" Ron made as noise as his mouth was full of pumpkin pasty. He bent to look at the note and ended up spraying pumpkin pasty on it as he attempted to speak again. After he swallowed, he shrugged his shoulders.

"Beats me, probably something they made up to be funny."

Harry was about to question him further, but Ron's eyes strayed to where a group of younger students was eagerly chugging butterbeer from a quickly-emptying barrel.

"Gotta go over there. Y'know as a prefect, I gotta make sure they.....er..... don't drink all that alone."

Harry resisted the urge to roll his eyes and as he was about to join the group of celebrating sixth years, a sleepy voice from behind him made him stop and turn around.

"It's a code-name for a secret group that gives the Order magical objects." Luna Lovegood spoke to him with a dreamy expression in her wide, pale eyes.

"Huh? Oh, hi, Luna, haven't spoken to you in awhile," Harry said awkwardly. Her mention of the Order had startled him.

She appeared not to notice his greeting. "It's all true. They even made a quill that makes its user invisible to enemies when they hold it."

"Er, right....." Harry said, for lack of any other response. "Listen, Luna, it's been really nice talking to you, but......."

"And that's nothing compared to their gargoyles who can talk and breath fire."

Something struck Harry besides her bizarre statement about talking gargoyles. "Wait....Luna....how did you get into the Gryffindor common room? I thought students from other houses weren't really supposed to be....."

She cut him off with a wave of her hand. "It's really all the same, Harry," she said with a vague smile and then walked away.

Harry gave her retreating back an incredulous stare. Luna just got odder and odder.

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Meanwhile, Cesare had left the pitch as quickly as possible after the game. He raced up to the Gryffindor tower to the room he shared with the other sixth year boys, hoping the others would be too preoccupied with the celebrations to leave the common room.

His mind screamed at him as he anxiously paced. What the hell had happened during the game? He'd completely lost control and without thinking of it had hit that Bludger at Harry. He sank to the floor, holding his head in his hands. It felt like he was being wrenched apart at the seams. Che had been filled with such uncharacteristic malice and loathing; part of him had really desired to see Harry knocked off his broom and even.........it sickened Che to admit it.......even killed.

Dear Merlin, there was really something wrong with him. He was a terrible threat to his friends like this. He made up his mind to stay as far away as possible from the others until he spoke to Dumbledore. And there could be no waiting until after his lessons; he had to see Dumbledore first thing in the morning.

Cesare shivered, whether from his icy robes or sick fear he did not know. He was wide-awake and felt trapped in this tower. Deciding he'd rather risk getting caught pacing the quiet, empty halls of the castle after curfew, than wait here until the others came up, he changed into dry clothing and a warm brown robe, stuffed his wand in his pocket, and left the room.

He hoped to quietly and swiftly exit through the Gryffindor common room without being noticed, but his hopes were to no avail. As soon as he entered the room, Hermione looked up from where she had been chatting with Neville and excused herself. She jumped up and headed towards Cesare.

"Che! Where have you been all day? I was so worried that there was something wrong with you, and when I didn't see you after the game......."

"I'm fine," he lied. His guilt tore at him when he saw her worried brown eyes. She hugged him and then silently regarded him.

"Cesare, what's going on with you?" she asked softly.

Her fingers held his forearms gently, but for some odd reason her gentle touch felt very different to him and he found himself wishing she were not so close.

"Herm, I'm sorry, I just really need to get some air. I'm not feeling very well; I might stop by Madam Pomfrey's." He took a small step back towards the portrait hole.

None of the concern left her face and she actually seemed a bit hurt. "You're lying to me, Cesare," she said, trying to keep her voice as unemotional as possible.

The betrayed look on her face cut through him like a sharp knife. "I–I can't talk about this right now, please just trust me on it," he pleaded.

"You just lied and then ask me to trust you? Fine, Che, do whatever you want. You always do." She turned away and he could have sworn a tear glistened at the corner of her left eye.

"Hermione....please......" He reached out to take her arm, but as his fingers brushed her wrist, a sudden feeling of complete disgust flooded his entire body and he jerked his hand away like he'd touched boiling water. In a dark corner of his mind, something primal and horrific boiled over. 'MUDBLOOD!' his mind screamed in a cold voice overflowing with more malevolence and hate than he had ever thought he was capable of having.

He nearly stumbled back he was so shocked. The feeling faded, and his mind screamed something else at him, but it was to get out as quickly as possible. The thought of harming Hermione as he had wanted to harm Harry terrified him.

"I have to leave," he stammered. Hermione just looked confused and angry, and he forced himself to tear his eyes away from her face and leave.

When he got outside of the portrait hole, he swung back the enormous picture of the Fat Lady, and then collapsed against the wall, breathing heavily. His encounter with Hermione had just convinced him that his problems were serious enough to wake the Headmaster tonight and speak with him immediately, instead of waiting any longer.

He took a deep breath and set out across the school, vaguely remembering where Dumbledore's office was. Cesare was so lost in his thoughts, that he barely noticed the odd, open feeling he had in the back of his mind. It was a strange feeling, almost like he was being overcome by sleep.

His feet took him in what he assumed to be the direction of the office. As he mulled over what exactly he was going to tell Dumbledore, a sudden realization hit him so hard he stopped dead in his tracks. He almost couldn't believe this epiphany had taken so long!

When had he started feeling strangely? After Christmas. When had his odd new powers shown up? After Christmas. When had those murderous instruction started haunting his dream? After Christmas. More specifically, after he had returned from Italy.

His mind felt clearer than it had in months, and his discovery delighted him. His uncle must have done something to him, who knew what, but at least he had something more definitive he could tell Dumbledore. And Dumbledore would be able to figure out what was wrong and help him. He would finally be free of this curse that had plagued him for almost two months....

Then as quickly as his realization came, the odd feeling in the back of his mind crashed down upon him like being hit with his Beater's club. Black spots clouded his vision, and when they faded, he was left feeling perfectly calm and at peace. His mind forgot his sudden realization as a dense fog enveloped his thoughts. But this didn't worry Cesare; rather he felt blissfully content and somewhat sleepy, as if he'd been stung by a Billywig.

He....he was supposed to go somewhere, right? He felt very confused and followed a direction he felt was correct. This must be the way to Dumbledore's office, he thought merrily.

But after descending another few floors, and walking down a dark hallway, the small arched doorway he stopped in front of was not Dumbledore's office. He pushed open the wooden door and stepped in. His shoes slapped against a thin sheen of water that coated the marble floor, but he wasn't in any state to notice.

The clouds had cleared from the black midnight sky, and the delicate slice of silver moon was visible from a small window high upon one wall. It allowed a wide band of moonlight to illuminate the dusty air and stark white sinks.

He was in a bathroom. This boggled even his clouded mind. Dumbledore's office wasn't in bathroom, so why was he? But something compelled him farther into the room towards the narrow row of sinks. Cesare thought he heard a small splash behind him, but he completely ignored it.

His hands grasped the cold white marble of the sides of one of the sinks. He studied it carefully, like one would study a renowned piece of art. He noticed something odd about the spout. Someone had carved a crude rendition of a snake into the copper tap. He reached out and brushed it with his fingertips. An icy shiver raced up his spine.

The etched lines of the snake seemed to be staring at him as if it were guarding a sacred treasure. His addled mind thought this amusing and he whispered, "Open up." But his words came out differently, in a sort of slithering hiss.

The sink suddenly sunk as a dark gaping hole swallowed it. The sides of the hole—the pipe rather—were slick with shiny grime. His fingers had involuntarily tightened around the sink edges, and the quick movement of the sink pulled him down as well. The rubber soles of his sneakers slipped back on the wet floor and he was pitched headfirst into the pipe.

The pipe was like a long, twisted slide; he quickly gained speed but kept thudding into the many curves. It suddenly opened up and he shot out like a cannon ball. Cesare smashed into the grimy stone wall and violently struck his head against the hard, cold floor. In the very dim light, he was vaguely aware of the blurry lines of bones, rocks, and other rubble, but the darkness quickly claimed his throbbing head. He blacked out and saw no more. He couldn't feel the icy floor his face pressed into, smell the dank, earthy odor of the tunnel, nor hear the grinding noises in the pipes above as the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets sealed itself once again, enclosing his still body in its cavernous depths.

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-_~ Author's Note ~_-
I'm very sorry this update took so long. I was very busy, and simply unable to find time to write. I thank my unbelievably patient reviewers and hope you will accept my apology for making you wait almost three months for a new chapter. I edited this rather quickly, so I hope there are no mistakes.

Do not worry, I have no intention of giving up my story. I estimate it is about two-thirds completed. I will start on my next chapter as quickly as possible. I recommend you check out HarryPotterFanFiction.com because that is where I primarily post my story and the next chapter often is posted there first. Also, I have a Yahoo list for readers who wish to be informed as too when my story is updated. Just e-mail me at [email protected] if you wish to be added.