Anyway, thanks for all the reviews, fokes. They are appreciated and I hope that many more shall come. :)
Also, next chapter should be longer, cause it ll deal with the er you ll see and of course, Halloween.
Chapter four
"But I thought Slytherin already had a seeker?" Daphne said, puzzled by this.
"Yeah they do, but that's why Higs and I are going to have a stand-off," Harry replied, still feeling that twinge as he thought of that prospect. The bloke had been flying for years and Harry, mere weeks. He'd have to be the quidditch version of Merlin himself to pull something like that off.
"Think you'll win?" Daphne asked.
"Of course he'll win!" Tracy shouted indignantly.
"Hope so," Lily Moon muttered, her sleepy blue eyes focused on Harry.
"Well," said Harry, "I'll certainly try."
Harry turned and spotted Draco walking with a few of his other first-year mates. He nodded to him, turned around and continued his casual stroll toward the great hall.
His Nimbus 2000 flew like a breeze, skirting through hoops and over-hauling birds. He streaked like a bullet, shooting down the length of the pitch and ricocheting back to where he first started. They watched him practice as keenly as they would watch another famous Quidditch star. But he was preparing for the stand-off which was in two days. He'd finish his flying and bury himself in a book for the rest of the day, throw some magic around maybe.
"Catch!" Draco hollered as he hurled an apple up to Harry. Harry did a tripple front flip, not only to increase the rate of his descent, but to also show off his aviatic maneuverability.
His arm streaked through the air, his glove painting its trail green and gold as he swiped the fruit out of the air and took a bite.
When he alighted on the pitch half an hour later, they cheered and Harry noticed Higs' face, a storm cloud that vanished the happy, giddy feeling in his belly and replace it with a pincer of worry that clamped down slightly around his insides.
And he was right.
Curfew had been n hour ago, but Harry had gotten too stuck into his books to notice the time. He hoped to all hell that he'd be able to evade Filch or Snape or any other teacher looking for wondering students.
"So you think you can beet me, Potter?" A hoarse voice whispered from a near-by alcove.
"I will try, Higs," said Harry calmly.
"O know you won't, Potter," Higs disagreed. "In fact, you won't even be there for the try-out."
And a spell was heading his way so quickly that Harry nearly didn't see it coming. He dodged and it zinged passed his left ear, severing a few strands of his hair. Harry drew his wand, sent a stunner Higs' way. Higs laughed and cast another curse that crackled the air. Harry dived under it and came up firing a banisher and a difindo.
The banisher hit Higs in the face, breaking his nose and the difindo cut deeply into his chest. Blood welled up from the wound, staining the shirt a deep crimson.
"Do you give in?" Harry asked.
"Fuck you, Potter," Higs ground out through gritted teeth.
Harry shrugged and stunned him. He used another difindo to slice off Higs' shirt and bound the wound with strips of the cloth. Even as he watched, blood seeped through it and more blood poured out of his nose. Harry wasn't about to take Higs to the hospital wing, though.
Harry descended the stairs to the first floor and looked up through the banister at Higs. Harry used a levitation charm to lift a statue off its plinth and to the height of the third floor, before releasing it. The bronze statue picked up speed as it neared the second floor again and before it struck the ground with a crash that would probably wake the whole castle, Harry got out of there.
Due to Higs being in the hospital wing, the try-out was rescheduled for the next week. Harry doubted , though, if Higs would ambush him in the hallway again. He wasn't that stupid.
So Harry spent more time with his friends and also began developing a passion for learning, which was odd, considering that Flamel had always accused Harry of being lazy.
"Takes me three hours to get you out of bed," he'd grumble good-naturedly.
"Yeah, sure," Harry would say. "And the first two hours and fifty minutes are hauling your own old carcass from your coffin."
"You wound me, Harry," Nicolas would smirk. He'd retaliate with, "At least I have a bird to sleep next to."
Harry would counter by saying, "When I'm thirteen, I'm gonna invite Fleur over for my birthday, then we'll see who's getting feathers... if you catch my meaning."
Then Nicolas would wink and nudge ten-year old Harry in the ribs as his wife came into the kitchen from the pantry levitating an armload of food.
The kids would smother giggles behind their hands and the elder of the kids, Nicolas, would say, "Morning, honey."
Perinell would glare at him, then smile fondly. She, if she was in a good mood, would hurl an egg at him or an apple or tomato, depending on whatever she had at hand and Nicolas would hurl it at Harry.
There was never a dull moment in the Flamel house and, Harry admitted to himself, he was beginning to feel slightly homesick.
Nicolas appearated near the graveyard of Godric's Hollow and paused, listening to the twittering birds and the gate creaking in the wind. "Oh the things we take for granted," Nicolas murmured under his breath.
"I'd have to agree," a voice said. Nicolas looked at Dumbledore who had appeared beside him as silently as a ghost.
Nicolas continued, "How many people stop to listen to the wind's lament, stop to look at the dying moments of the sun and the dark, foreboding clouds that creep ever closer?"
"So you sense it, too?" Albus Dumbledore asked.
"Like a dementor would sense happiness," Nicolas agreed.
Dumbledore changed topic. "What brings you to this place, old friend?"
"I have come to envelope myself in nostalgia, come to meditate along side that which had once been good in this world and has now been snuffed out like a candle in a hurricane."
"You grieve still?" asked Dumbledore and Nicolas caught the sympathetic tone in his once pupil's voice.
"Always," agreed Nicolas. "Shall we go in?" he added, staring at the gate that opened toward the graveyard.
"After you," Dumbledore said grandly.
Nicolas reached out a gloved hand and pulled open the gate. He held it open for Dumbledore, then stepped around tombstones, crushing wilted flowers under foot.
He crouched at the grave of Lily Potter and rested his chin on the tips of his clasped hands. "Harry is safe," he began, "I did what you asked me and more.
He has made it into Slytherin, but I'm certain that doesn't bother you as much as it would James. He has become a seeker, the youngest in a century. I am hoping that he makes the team."
A tear leaked out of the old man's eye as he began to remember the star that was Lily Potter. Such people were rare these days and even those days. "Please be with him as he goes through his years, as he faces challenges that no child should have to face. We have gone too far to lose Harry now, we have sacrificed much."
Nicolas left the graveyard at sunset, disapperating with a soft pop, with Dumbledore nowhere to be found.
Harry sat in an abandoned classroom, parchment on a desk and an ink-filled quill in his hand. He had discovered a new concept and he was about to try it out.
First, he drew a vertical line down the parchment and toward the middle of the desk. He then split the sections of paper with a horizontal line that bisected the vertical line. He wrote one on the top left, Two on the top right, Three on the bottom left and finally, four on the bottom right.
He used his wand to cut along the lines he had created with his quill, splitting the parchment into four, then placing each piece on all four corners of the desk. Carefully, he toutched his wand to the ink dot at the center of the desk and leapt back as the desk split neatly into four sections with a huge bang.
Wicked, he muttered.
He repaired the desk and drew out another sheet of parchment. He began to draw a graph on it, blew on it to hasten the drying process. He folded it into a square and tucked it into a pocket of his robes, rose and left the classroom.
Harry walked cautiously into the forbidden forest, stopping about fifty feet in. Stopping before one of the trees, he took out his ink bottle and hurled a dot of ink at the tree. It stayed there and Harry unfolded the piece of parchment at it. The parchment struck the trunk and the tree was neatly carved into plank-like sections and he turn and ran as the tree toppled.
Harry conjured a box of matches and struck one. He touched it to the corner of his latest parchment and nothing happened at first but he stepped back anyway. The desk simply combusted, vaporising into ash.
Holy shit, Harry whispered in awe, before packing his things away and leaving the classroom.
He met up with Lily on her way back from the great hall and she grinned at him, blonde hair pulled into a bun and her blue eyes gleaming. You missed dinner, said Lily. Luckily I brought you some.
You re a sweetheart, Harry said, taking the plate from her.
In the depths of Slytherin dungeon, Harry ate, his eyes fixed on the dancing wisps of Daphne s hair as she chatted animatedly to Tracy. Beside him, Lily s quill scratched as she finished her transfiguration essay.
Potter, said a voice from behind his armchair. A word?
Harry turned to see Flint, his possible future Quidditch captain. Well if he bested Higs who was current captain.
Sure, said Harry.
He got up, leaving his plate on his vacated seat. He followed Flint to his dorm and Flint gestured him to take a seat.
Look, Potter, Flint said. I want you to kick Higs arse so I can be the captain, I m not denying that. But also, Slytherin needs a good seeker. Higs is good, but you re better trust me on that one.
Harry nodded, Thanks?
But that thing that Higs pulled is bullshit. He could have sabotaged our chances of booting him from the team. I would help you get even, but your try-out is a week before the Slytherin Gryffindor match and can t be postponed any longer. So you ve gotta watch your back, Potter. Any fuck ups and you lose your chance to be on the team and I lose the chance to be over-all captain. Got it?
Yeah, sure, Harry nodded.
So Potter, don t take shit, but don t give it, either. If Higs starts anything, do not wound the bastard, alright?
Sure, Flint, Harry said again.
Good, then we understand each other. Then Flint held out his hand, to Harry s surprise. Will be great to have you on the team, runt.
That week and weekend passed in a blur, with homework and Harry s new-found hobby for learning. He hadn t gotten much chance to hang around with Draco or Neville, but he promised himself that after the try-out he d do it. Either way, he was sure he d need their company. Whether to celebrate his victory over Higs or for his friends to try and make him feel good. Because, damnit, Harry had dared to hope and he always felt like hell after his hopes were dashed.
Harry rose the morning of the try-out and felt a flutter of nerves. Your big day, eh Harry? Draco said, but his smile was feeble.
Yeah, it is or I hope it ll be.
Harry yawned, got out of bed and began to get changed into his school robes. The try-out was after classes, but he doubted he d be able to pay attention to most of what would be said in his classes. Glancing at his timetable, he discovered he had defense against the dark arts, then charms, then transfiguration, then potions, with lunch falling somewhere in between.
Best get going, then and eat like a Ron Weasley, Harry. You re going to need all your strength, said Draco.
Yes, Dad, Harry smirked. Draco through his pillow at him.
Well-wishers were many, even those from other houses. Hermione, Neville and surprisingly, even Ron hoped that he d kick Higs out of the team. Harry just hoped that he wouldn t disappoint.
He never paid attention in DADA anyway, so he was safe on that front. Charms, however, was a little harder. They were perfecting the levitation charm, which Harry had learnt last year already, so he was lucky enough to slip professor Flitwick s assigning of extra homework to those who failed at getting the charm right entirely.
Transfiguration was slightly harder. He had not done much in the way of transfiguration, so trying to turn his beetle into a button was pretty hard, but it took his mind off the up-coming try-out, if only briefly.
Potions was a breeze, though. Harry s cauldron simmered over a flame and he stared into the hypnotic swirls as he tried to blank his mind as much as possible Ring!
The Slytherins charged for the door and they, bookbags still slung over their shoulder, charged for the pitch to try and snag as many front-row seats in the stands as they could.
Good luck, Harry. Good luck, Potter! Higs is gonna kick your arse, Potter.
I doubt that! Harry shouted back in the direction of the last voice as he sprinted toward the Quidditch locker rooms. He through off his robes, grabbed his broom and ran outside.
He saw banners emblazoned with his name, saw crude drawings of himself chewing on Higs, then spitting him out, which made him giggle hysterically.
Shut up! a voice bellowed suddenly. Higs, the present captain had his wand to his own throat and was addressing the crowd. I hope you re ready, Potter, because this try-out has no rules beyond the obvious. If I fight dirty, there s nothing you can do about it
And if I fight dirty, Harry interrupted with his wand pressed to his throat, then you better put your head between your knees and kiss your captained arse goodbye!
The crowd roared with laughter and Harry rose on the tide of excitement. Higs flushed red and Harry gave him the finger. The teachers would leave them for now, but they d be shat on for their language and fowl behaviour afterward.
Lee Jordon stepped forward and said, Potter and Higs, mount your brooms! The objective is to catch as many snitches as you can and to be conscious enough to hand them over to Madam Hooch!
Madam Hooch lifted the whistle to her lips and Jordon said, On three, kick off!
The crowd was as silent as the grave, tension thick in the air as Jordon began his count down.
One! he said, his eyes locked onto the boys, watching intently as Harry and Terence readied themselves for kick-off.
Two! he said and tension rose up a notch. Harry bent low to the ground, the broom nearly brushing the grass as he angled the nose upward.
Three! and they were off.