Round Four - The Quidditch Match, Short Story Challenge Options

[evlpez]

It's the final quidditch game of the season at Hogwarts; Gryffindor versus Slytherin for the Quidditch Cup. The game has just begun and Slytherin are ahead by 40 points, though they are using less-than-legal means to stay ahead. Choose a character or characters located in any one of the locations listed below. Describe their experience of the situation and what ideas or actions (if any) they use to help Slytherin continue their lead or help Gryffindor catch up.

• Gryffindor Spectator Stands
  
  
• Slytherin Spectator Stands
  
  
• Hufflepuff Spectator Stands
  
  
• Ravenclaw Spectator Stands
  
  
• Staff/Public Spectator Stands
  
  
• Commentator's Box

Unlike Round 3 (The Magic Box Challenge), the submissions for this challenge do not make a continuing story. Each submission must stand alone as a short story.

All submissions must have a unique title and be posted in this topic.



Note to ferrets: Remember that you are writing fan fiction as though you are the Floo-Between user you've chosen. This means that if you've chosen Snape, you are writing as though Snape is writing fan fiction, not as though he is a part of the story. Each character may write as many submissions as they wish for this challenge, as long as each submission is significantly different from their others. The deadline for submissions is Wednesday December 1st.

The Voting Booth for Round 4 will open on Sunday, November 21st. Click this text to go there.

Posts which are not prefaced by the Character Form will be deleted.

When you post, you'll see a button (up by the "code" and "list" buttons) that says "blank character form." If you press that button, the form will appear in your post. Just edit in your character's details and put the body of your text in the middle. If you've chosen not to use a signature for your character, delete that part of the form.

Do not edit your submissions for this challenge once they are posted in the Forum.

_________________________

When rating submissions, please use the following score card to guide you:

Score Card

__ Ferret Points for following the mission
__ Ferret Points for technical (grammar, spelling are consistent with the author's character)
__ Ferret Points for overall creativity
__ Ferret Points for characterization
__ Ferret Points for adherence to canon
_________________
Total out of 10 maximum Ferret Points

0 = Poor, 1 = Okay/good, 2 = Great

_________________________

[chad13]

num1chudleyfan

wizard in training
Floo Ferret


CRABBE'S WAND WORK

Crabbe yelled right along with the other Slytherin fans as the scores were announced once again. "Gryffindor 20, Slytherin 60," Lee Jordan commented dully. Crabbe didn't really understand what was going on, not that he usually did, but the yelling around him was enough to get him wild up with the rest of the crowd. Malfoy was grinning stupidly as well from his awkward mount on his Nimbus 2001, Crabbe knew that when Malfoy was happy he should be too! Crabbe grunted dumbly and elbowed Goyle, who chuckled stupidly back at him. Yelling of a different sort suddenly rippled through the glob of green and silver around him. Gryffindor had scored, although Crabbe didn't understand exactly what that meant, but whatever had happened Crabbe thought, it wasn't anything good.

Even for the short time Crabbe had played Quidditch the only thing he’d understood was, “hit people” and that’s what he had done. He’d only been aloud to play beater on the Slytherin team for one season, he’d been banned soon after for to many illegal moves and fouls (whatever those were, he had thought to himself.)

Staring up at the game above Crabbe caught site of Malfoy heading straight for the Gryffindor goal posts with something red in his hands. A whistle sounded but Malfoy didn't stop, he didn't care that a seeker taking the Quaffle was means for what Dean referred to as a Red Card. Ron (although Crabbe had no idea it was Ron) Gryffindor's astoundingly talented keeper, was the only thing left in Malfoy's way. With a grin pasted on his ugly pointed face Malfoy let the Quaffle fly. With an amazingly quick spiral maneuver Ron blocked the shot; and with a throw worthy of a world cup game Ron hit Malfoy square in the chest. As Malfoy fell towards the ground Ron caught the rebounding Quaffle and passed in off to Angelina as a roar of noise mounted from the Gryffindor fans.

Crabbe stared from Malfoy rolling over on the ground to the streak of red and gold heading towards him. He elbowed Goyle with another grunt and pointed at the oncoming blur. He pulled out his wand and Goyle did the same. Poised and ready the two waited until Angelina suddenly sped past, and they let their wands fly. The two dumb oafs threw their wands straight at Angelina, or so they thought, and missed miserably. There was another cheer from the Gryffindor supporters and a groan from the Slytherins. Crabbe groaned too, although his reaction was slightly delayed due to his brains slow processing. Yet any Slytherin (although no many) with any sense already knew the game was lost. With Harry Potter, the greatest seeker the school had seen in years, against no Sytherin seeker at all Gryffindor would once again be victorious.


R.A.T.S Ron against tap dancing spiders

[cherabela]

Got_Your_Konk!



Riddler
Colourful Floo Ferret


Queer-ditch fun at a run!

The match was like a rotting egg on a troll’s green leg. It was too quiet to have any fun. Neville the devil was jumping like a limping frog.

“Oh no! Slytherin are in the lead!” he said sadly.

Granger the muggle ranger was beside him, her bushy hair, like the tail of a mare. “Harry must find the snitch soon! The Slytherins aren’t playing fair at all!”

“Dobby agrees with Miss,” said a squeaky voice like that of a mouse smashed against the wall.

“Dobby! What are you doing here?” ranger-girl asked.

The elf with dingbat ears knew he was naughty and would get caughty. “Dobby came to see Harry Potter, Miss. Dobby came to help.”

He muttered sneaky words and Potter the rotter felt his broom shake. It started shooting around the pitch. Everybody avoided him. Nobody likes the smell of a rotter. Even the bludgers were acting like nutters. They were running away from him and his smell. Run away from the smelly potty!

“Dobby what did you do?” Granger asked angrily, looking like moaping, moaning Myrtle in her loo.

“Dobby is sorry.”

“No! Malfoy! Look!” Longbottom, with his face a sour blossom, shouted.

Malfoy, the lame toy, was racing after the puke-gold snitch.

“Slytherin can’t win this match!” Granger who lives in a manger said.

The lame toy suddenly changed into a ferret boy, which rhymes much better with Malfoy. He fell off his broom and fell down with a swoon…wee! He landed in a bog, where he was growled at, by Hagrid’s hunting dog. Goyle, the pork in turmoil, waved his pixie stix and the evil red quaffle attacked old Ron McDonald, who had a keeper’s farm. The ferret boy laughed at him, not noticing the return of Potter the rotter. The snotty potty, rocketed past him, and the nutty bludgers came zooming after him like two angry Filches, because he stank too much to be allowed. One of them took the ferret boy for a ride and he was squealing like Mrs Norris taking a bath with the sloppy squid. Madam Hooch forgot to mooch and went for a visit to the moon, looking like an ugly baboon on a broom. Neville the Devil was bunny hopping round and round on the spot like a foot rot, shouting at the top of his voice. He missed the step full of pep, and fell on the girl in front of him, who screamed like a banshee or an angry bee.

Peeves, the famous riddler, came swooshing out of the castle shouting like a fiddler-diddler, to join the unexpected fun in the sun. He spat gum at a rude-dent student and threw dungbombs at some students who screamed and teemed even more. He covered the teachers, who are boring preachers, with the Hogwarts flag, so they wouldn’t see their ugly features.

Devil and Ranger cried “Wee-Wee-Wee!” all the way up to the castle; Dobby the elf was nimble, the ugly elf was quick, the pork came to join him, and poked him with his stix.

The Gryffindorks and Slytherinpins stopped playing, and joined the Ravencorks and Hufflepops in a game of dungbomb-throwing.



Name's Poltergeist. Don't-bug-me Poltergeist

[cherabela]

Veritaserum_Boy

Greasy Haired
Floo Ferret


The Worthy Always Win

“We’re winning!” the brilliant Pansy Parkinson shouted excitedly over all the blabbering.

The Slytherin team was in the lead, as it always is.

A jet of silver light shot from the Gryffindor stands, stunning the Slytherin seeker in midair in the process. It seemed they would go to any means to catch up, even by breaking the rules, and interfering in the game. Slytherin were winning purely, with their amazing skills and techniques.

Madam Hooch, who was refereeing the match, justly stopped all play, and the highly intelligent student and seeker, Draco Malfoy, was taken down to the ground, and the spell reversed. Miss Parkinson ran down to him, to see that he was all right, like a real friend and fellow housemate should do.

“All my limbs are in one place. It takes more than a simple stunning spell to stop me, unlike Saint Potter,” he admitted, proving he was harder to beat than some might wrongfully think.

She took his broom, and brought out a small glass phial, containing a poison green concoction.

“It’s a potion Professor Snape helped me brew. He’s the best teacher at Hogwarts!”

She found her handkerchief easily, because she’s a very organised girl, unlike Longbottom who can’t differ between rat spleen and leeches, and dabbed some of the potion on it. Then, she started polishing the broom handle with it.

“There. That should help you fly faster than Potter with his stupid Firebolt,” she said happily, handing it back to him. With that, she turned round, and went to resume her seat in the stands, among the other Slytherins.

The game resumed, and the Gryffindor team could never manage to catch up. Miss Parkinson was cheering with her group of Slytherin girlfriends. The adversaries didn’t even know of a way to react, and they were making what had been promised to be, a highly exciting game, a very boring drone, which a Potions lesson would have outstripped, in the time it takes to catch Potter breaking rules. Miss Parkinson lifted her own wand in the air and muttered, “Serpensortia!” She is a very wise girl and knows how to choose her spells. She wasn’t breaking any rules at all, but merely, trying to heighten the audience’s level of attention. A long snake wound round Weasley’s broom, and he started yelling and nearly fell off his broom in fright, not unlike clumsy Longbottom. It seems Potions class, isn’t the only thing Gryffindor students can’t handle. They are also quite known, for the catastrophic results they obtain.

Miss Parkinson turned to look at Miss Granger, who didn’t seem to be acting in her usual know-it-all manner.

“Hey Granger! Feeling pity for your poor Weasley?” she shouted over to the Gryffindor stands. But it seemed that Miss Granger had turned dumb, because she didn’t answer back. She probably was too scared, showing that Gryffindor students weren't as brave as they were deemed to be.

The excitement grew like a bubbling potion, as Malfoy showed how excellent a seeker he truly was, and spotted the snitch. He zoomed after it, and Potter, who had obviously noted nothing, finally reacted, and was flying behind him, until the referee’s whistled blasted and the cheers erupted from the stands.

So, the Quidditch Cup was won by the worthy house of Slytherin, who had shown yet again, that not only did it consist of the best students, but it also had the skill and wit, to remain in first place, undefeated.



I like to sing "Double Double Boil and Trouble...." while playing with my chemistry set.

[timeturner]

Arithmancy_Girl

Pince's Pal
Floo Ferret


THE VOICE

“PENALTY! THAT SHOULD BE A PENALTY!” Dean Thomas screamed into the magical megaphone.

“Mr. Thomas!” Professor Minerva McGonagall chastised. “If you can not control yourself, I am afraid I can not continue to let you commentate on this game.”

“I can’t help it, Professor,” Dean said. “They’re cheating!”

Professor McGonagall sighed and surveyed the Quidditch Pitch with a stern eye. She could not deny what Dean had said. The match had just begun and already the Slytherin team had resorted to using less than fair means to accomplish their goal of winning the Quidditch Cup. The Gryffindor players were much too honorable to sink to such a level, which meant they were losing the game, Forty to Zero.

The athletic Ronald Weasley was making every effort to defend Gryffindor’s three golden rings. However, he was much too distracted by the sight of his younger sister on the pitch to successfully keep the goals. Ginny Weasley had tried out for and secured the position of Chaser on the Gryffindor team at the beginning of the year. She was unequivocally the best Chaser Gryffindor had. Unfortunately, this made her the main target for the two gorilla-like Slytherin Beaters, Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle.

Crabbe and Goyle were currently swinging at Ginny’s head with their bats. It seemed they had conveniently forgotten the bats were supposed to be used for hitting bludgers, not other players. Poor Ron was so torn between helping Ginny and protecting the goals, he was not doing a very good job of either. The crowd groaned and Dean swore under his breath and into the megaphone as Ron missed the quaffle and Slytherin scored yet again.

“Language, Mr. Thomas!” Professor McGonagall exclaimed.

“Sorry, Professor,” Dean said, not feeling sorry at all. When he had taken over the position of Commentator, he had not realised how hard it would be to remain objective. The look Professor McGonagall was giving him clearly indicated that he had better make more of an attempt if he wanted to keep his job.

“Another goal for Slytherin! That makes the score Fifty to Zero,” Dean called.

The Slytherin spectators began a chorus of “Weasley is Our King”, to the horror of all. Slytherin could be accused of many things, but singing well was not one of them.

Dean continued his commentary. He spoke loudly in hopes of drowning out the atrocious singing, especially the loud and obnoxious voice of Pansy Parkinson. Pansy was not only the worst singer in the spectator stands, but quite possibly the worst singer in the entire world.

“Ginny Weasley with the Quaffle. She passes. Great Teamwork!" Dean shouted. "It is as if they have been playing together for years. But as we all know, the graduation of certain students last year led to a complete revamping of the Gryffindor team. Many fine additions were made though, thanks to Gryffindor’s Co-Captains, Ronald Weasley and Harry Potter. Speaking of Harry, the Gryffindor Seeker is flying higher above the pitch than normal today. No worries, he knows what he's doing. Harry hasn't missed the snitch yet this year. Amazing!”

Cheers erupted in the Gryffindor stands at the mention of Harry’s name. Slytherin halted their singing long enough to boo and hiss in response.

“On the other hand, it looks like Slytherin Seeker Draco Malfoy is keeping with his usual seeking tactic- following Harry. Most Quidditch players stick to riding a broom, rather than another player’s coattails, but not Draco Malfoy! He has no trouble letting someone else do the work in hopes that he gets the glory. Amazing!” Dean said, snickering at his own joke.

“That will do, Mr. Thomas,” Professor McGonagall scolded, the corners of her thin lips trembling involuntarily.

Dean lowered the megaphone and stared at Professor McGonagall.

“You were about to laugh,” Dean said, shocked that the usually serious Professor appreciated his sense of humour.

“I most certainly was not! I was…well, I was….trying not to sneeze,” Professor McGonagall finished lamely, before putting the snap back in her tone. "You just never mind me, call the game!"

"Right," Dean said lifting the megaphone. "Ginny Weasley again with the Quaffle, still well outside the scoring area. What's this? Ginny Weasley sends a long goal towards Slytherin's central hoop. She made it! She scores! The Slytherin Keeper never saw it coming. Fifty to Ten! Slytherin will now have possession of the quaffle. And they waste no time, they're heading straight for Ron Weasley. Weasley is attempting to use the famous Double Eight Loop to protect the goals. Will it work?"

Dean heard the crowd grow even louder. Professor McGonagall seemed to be holding her breath in anticipation. Turning his attention back to the game, he saw Ron was still circling the hoops and Goyle had begun flying right behind him. Just as Ron leaned out to catch the quaffle, Goyle swung his bat, hitting the end of Ron's broom, sending him into a dangerous tailspin. The quaffle sailed through the right hoop as Ron desperately tried to gain control of his Cleansweep Eleven.

The crowd gasped and then sighed with relief when Ron finally came safely to a halt in the air. Madam Hooch blew loudly into her whistle and acknowledged the foul that had nearly unseated Ron.

“Penalty shot awarded to Gryffindor,” Madam Hooch yelled before flying towards Goyle. Though her voice could barely be heard above the din, it was clear to anyone observing that Goyle was on the receiving end of a stern reprimand for blatantly cheating and purposely endangering the other players. Of course, when Madam Hooch turned away from the Slytherin Beater, he immediately began laughing and started taunting Ron.

Dean shook his head in disgust, wondering why the Slytherin team was allowed to play when they repeatedly displayed such poor sportsmanship. If their behaviour continued, one of the Gryffindor players could be seriously injured or worse. Was Quidditch really that important? Was winning?

Dean looked at his megaphone, contemplating the irony of the situation. As Commentator, he had the ability to be heard by every person in the stadium, but was there anything he could say that would make a difference? Probably not. It seemed to Dean that Wizards enjoyed Quidditch even more than Muggles enjoyed football, which was saying something.

Professor McGonagall suddenly nudged Dean with one of her sharp elbows and pointed towards the pitch.

“Do you intend to continue, Mr. Thomas?” Professor McGonagall asked.

“Uh, right,” Dean replied, noticing Ginny had just scored her penalty shot. “Ginny Weasley makes another goal. The new score is Fifty to Twenty in Slytherin’s favor. Gryffindor fans can thank Gregory Goyle for the last ten points. His use of brute force against their keeper awarded that penalty shot. Slytherin Captain, Draco Malfoy, needs to remind his beaters which team they are on. Obviously, there is some confusion.”

Malfoy flew past the Commentator's Box, shaking his fist at Dean. For Gryffindor's sake, Dean was hoping that his last comment would make the violent Slytherin team see that fouling the other players may not help them win. Unfortunately, the underlying implication of the statement must have been a bit above Crabbe and Goyle’s level of intellect, as it did not seem to have any effect on them. They were still swinging their bats like uncouth heathens. Hopefully Harry would catch the snitch soon.

“Slytherin has possession of the quaffle. Their passing abilities are unrivaled here at Hogwarts, but can they score?” Dean paused a moment, watching the action unfold before continuing, “They go for the goal, but Ronald Weasley of Gryffindor says no! Weasley has successfully blocked the attempted goal with a tricky maneuver known as the Starfish and Stick. In six years at Hogwarts, I have never seen that move attempted! Absolutely brilliant!”

The crowd cheered and Slytherin finally ended their horrific rendition of “Weasley is Our King”. A golden blur passed the Commentator's Box at a high rate of speed before returning to hover directly in front of Dean.

Before he knew what he was doing, Dean screamed into the megaphone, "The snitch!"

Every player on the pitch turned their attention to the Commentator's Box. With growing horror, Dean realised his folly. Malfoy was still hovering near him. Harry was halfway across the pitch. Even with the fastest racing broom in the world, Harry would never reach the snitch before Draco.

Malfoy must have also been confident of this. He took a moment to sneer at Dean before reaching for the snitch.

"Thanks, Thomas," Malfoy laughed.

The moment of arrogance cost him. The tiny golden ball seemed to flutter easily away from his grasp. Hearing Professor McGonagall gasp, Dean thought Malfoy had caught the snitch after all, but then he saw Harry. Having crossed the pitch at an unbelievable rate of speed, Harry was rapidly approaching the Commentator's Box. Dean closed his eyes and braced himself, anticipating a collision. Instead of the expected crashing noise, cheers rang through the air. Dean opened his eyes and saw a smiling Harry hovering in front of him, the golden snitch clenched tightly in his fist.

Sighing with relief, Dean issued his final comment, "Gryffindor Wins!"

BIBLIOGRAPHY
Scrimgeour, Brutus. The Beaters' Bible
Umfraville, Quintius. The Noble Sport of Warlocks
Whisp, Kennilworthy. Quidditch Through The Ages
Whisp, Kennilworthy. Which Broomstick

[Amunet]

LoonyRavenclaw

Nargle Believer
Floo Ferret


Freckled Spells

“Another Ten Points to Slytherin! Slytherin is leading 110 to 70.”

The Gryffindor section groaned. This was by far the worst Quidditch game that Gryffindor had had to play all year. On the opposite end of the field, Slytherin was going wild over their sure win, they were going to slaughter Gryffindor.

“Bloody Hell! That was a foul! Call it!” Ronald screamed at the top of his lungs at Madam Hooch.

“Ron, screaming doesn’t help, all we can do is hope that Harry gets his act together,” Hermione lectured not appreciating his dreamy eyes.

Ronald rolled his eyes at the know-it-all twit and proceeded to scream at the ref. Ronald was not the only one shouting! All of Gryffindor was contributing to the noise. Soon, it had gotten so overwhelming that Professor McGonagall had to come over to prevent a few of the Gryffindors from throwing rocks and cups at the Slytherin players, just like the peasants in the village of Gormanac did when the Charging Unicorns over-ran their fields in 1721.

“Ah!” Ronald screamed in frustration, “I can’t just sit here and watch Malfoy cream Harry!”

“Harry is fine, Ron. We can’t do anything, if we could I’d know,” Hermione replied in her typical overconfident way.

He just couldn’t stand it anymore; Ronald whipped out his wand and aimed it at Malfoy.

“Ron, NO!” Hermione pushed Ronald’s wand down, “If you do that, Slytherin could win due to unlawful interference from the stands.”

“Oh, really?” Ronald began to concoct a plan in his head, “Listen to me Hermione, how about we start hexing OUR team members? That way it would look like Slytherin did it, and Gryffindor would win!”

“Oh, come on! That’s cheating. I won’t help.” With that, Hermione stuck up her nose and continued watching the game.

“Ten more points to Slytherin!” Lee Jordan announced.

Ronald scrunched up his cute freckled nose in disgust that Slytherin MIGHT have a chance at beating Gryffindor. He wedged his way out of the throng of screaming red and gold fans, running down the steps until he reached the walkway between the Hufflepuff and Gryffindor stands.

The adorable red-head took out his wand once again and muttered, “Fifoleria Shimrianus.”


A mist blossomed out of his wand which Harry flew right into. The Spell created formed fog that, when stepped upon, or in this case when flown into, reverses directions and throws the unwary individual upside down, making up down and down up. This affect is almost that of a bite from a Blibbering Humdinger, they only bite when they are teased about their bulbus head.

As fast as Ronald’s legs could carry him, he ran up the steps, pushed his way back into the Gryffindor crowd, and resumed his position next to the frizzy haired know-it-all where he'd been before.

Once he'd caught his breath, Ronald looked up to see Harry flying erradically, as though he'd forgotten how to fly a broom!

Hermione turned to Ronald, “What did you do?”

He just grinned and replied, “I had to go to the bathroom.”

Madame Hooch blew her whistle VERY loudly and claimed, “This match has been canceled due to SOMEONE, “ she glared at the Slytherins, “trying to sabotage the game.”

The crowd didn't know how to react to this news. The Slytherins were dumbfounded, as usual, and the Gryffindors didn’t know whether to cheer or shout for joy, or boo the Slytherins for attempting to harm Harry.

McGonagall started to shoo the students out of the stands. After Ronald and Hermione passed her, Ronald whispered, “We were suppose to win, not have the game canceled.”

Hermione just scowled at him (in fact she looked just like McGonagall).

“Well, hey, at least we weren’t smoked!” Ronald rejoiced as everyone headed towards the castle, everyone except Harry. Harry was now flying hazardously around the students who are trying to retreat from the stands.

Draco pointed at Harry and began laughing, “You finally got the lead in The Nutcracker, Potter!”

Suddenly Harry crashed directly into Draco, which sent the arrogant Slytherin sprawling onto his arse on the grass.

Harry did finally get un-jinxed. Everyone nearby swore they heard him laughing as he flew diagonally away after hitting Draco. Harry denies it was on purpose, of course, but he has to admit, " It was really quite amusing.”

Two weeks later the game was re-scheduled, Gryffindor won. The Slytherins weren't happy at all, the final score: Gryffindor 250, Slytherin 40.

Order Unique jewelry at my Scroll: http://www.freewebs.com/narglesjewelry/

[cherabela]

Sockless_Person

Ear Wax Flavour
Floo Ferret


A Feline In The Midst

The game progressed in its competitiveness, among many cheers from the students. It makes the teachers proud to see that their students, which they do so much to provide them with proper education, are enjoying themselves, and growing among such talent and knowledge.

Argus Filch, the dedicated caretaker, had come out to watch the game, and he had also brought the inseparable Mrs Norris with him. Ever since she was petrified a few years ago, Argus barely parts with his cat. He is quite fond of her.

Mrs Norris looked up at the sky, gazing wonderingly at the figures high above, zooming around like birds. She licked her lips. The thought made her grow hungry. Suddenly, a thundering bludger shot past, mere inches from the staff’s stands. She had the impression that it was like one of those dungbombs Peeves loved to throw at her. Then again, those figures with bats, resembled Peeves themselves, because they always seemed to be hitting the dungbomb-balls, or sometimes, even some of those figures soaring in the sky. As the memory came back to her, her fur rose on end. Those balls seemed more like the Ever-Bashing Boomerangs she had been attacked by once, while patrolling the third floor corridor. Undoubtedly, several students must have thought it would be a really good prank to play.

A wand was seen pointing upwards from one of the stands, and soon after, one of the flying figures was heard screaming at the top of her voice. That was a student up there? What was she doing? Why didn’t Filch do something? Wasn’t she breaking the rules? Mrs Norris’s mind was racing as she looked expectantly at Argus; waiting for him to do something, catch the person in the act. When she saw that he wouldn’t move, she started mewing loudly, getting slightly angry looks from the other staff members and spectators, so she remained quiet. That stick-like object she had seen from one of the stands, resembled the one, Argus had had in the year she was petrified. She remembered seeing him wave it foolishly, in her view, not knowing what he was doing. He mumbled something, which she couldn’t understand, and saw him walk around his office, waving it in the air, and seeing no result whatsoever. If she didn’t respect, and love him so much, she would have laughed.

Suddenly, Mrs Norris noticed a gold object flying in front of her. Was it a bird? Looking closer, to her dismay she realised it wasn’t, but she found it very interesting nevertheless. She had never seen anything like it. At that moment, two figures on brooms whizzed past them, and Mrs Norris closed her eyes in fright. When she next opened them, she realised that the golden ball was gone, and that the two figures, which had passed by, were chasing it. It had run so fast she could have sworn it was a mouse-like creature. The students had got to their feet, and were cheering loudly.

The cat strained her neck, trying to see what was going on. Unfortunately, she had too much of a small stature, to compete with people standing up. A whistle suddenly sounded, and a mixture of groans and cheers were heard. The Gryffindor seeker, Harry Potter, had caught the snitch when he thought his team was ten points ahead. While he was chasing the snitch, the Slytherin chaser Adrian Pucey, had scored a goal, and thus, the final result of the match was a DRAW. Some students cheered happily, while others sat sulking moodily; the result might not have been the one they had expected.

A win always has a winner who will celebrate his victory with his friends, and a loser who might feel slightly downhearted after the effort he has shown in the season. But, at Hogwarts, there are no winners or losers. Students and teachers are united as a family, and even though fights might erupt between several students, sometimes from different houses, it is the staff’s as well as the fellow housemates’ responsibility, to see that peace is maintained once again, and that the everyday life of all the students is resumed.

Mrs Norris left the stands hurriedly after Filch, who, she had happily realised, was making his way to some of the celebrating students who were forming fireworks in the air. That wouldn’t be allowed. Her presence there, had not been a waste of time after all, she thought.



And I sing, “Odd socks here, Odd socks there, Odd socks everywhere!”

[McGonagall's Cat]

Crystal_Gazer

Astrolabe
Floo Ferret




As It Was Destined To Be


All good Seers know the futility of sporting events. So much wasted energy, all for an outcome that is foretold by the portents before it even begins. Such was the predictable outcome of the fated final match of the year between Gryffindor and Slytherin.

It began with Saturn aspecting the Gryffindor Team’s Ascendant.

Lavender Brown ws sitting with her best friend in the Red and Gold section of the stands allowing her hopes to rise, only to have them dashed as the Green Team made several early goals. For students so good at Divination, one would have expected both of them to have already seen the tight square between Uranus and Mars. This could only indicate unexpected violent outcomes. The Gryffindor Team was indeed in peril.

Still, the two girls shouted and cheered as though their feeble attempts could counteract the effects of an afflicted Seventh House! The doomed Red Seeker did seem to rally a bit from the supportive noise his stands were emitting. However, the Open Enemies (seventh house) influence was to make this short-lived indeed. A sneaky bludger, intentionally batted at him, sent him spiraling to the ground within three minutes. The groans of those two excellent-though-currently-inattentive students were drowned out by shouts from their rowdy nearby cohorts.

This Match was one of the most intense on record, owing to the adverse Mars influence. Hours of thrashing back and forth over the entire length of the Quidditch Pitch finally brought the power of Jupiter into orb. Parvati Patil squealed loudly as a quaffle sailed past the Green Keeper and Lee Jordan announced ten points for Gryffindor. The dear girl should really have seen this coming!

A flash of lightning, seemingly coming from nowhere (Uranus), struck the centre of the Field. Great chunks (Jupiter) of sod and debris (Saturn) were blasted (Mars) into the air (Gemini), disrupting the flying of both teams. Just as suddenly both Seekers dashed for the momentarily illuminated Snitch. Of course, Gryffindor reached it first, as Neptune was opposed by Pluto.

Lavender and Parvati jumped about screaming with joy, as though this was a surprise to them. The tumult didn’t die down until late that evening when Venus conjuncted the Hogwarts Sun.







This is the Year of the Monkey Beware!

[evlpez]

IncrediblyHandsome

Patient
Floo Ferret



Caught Under Glass

The staff of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry sat together in the stands reserved for them and their guests. On the whole, they were a reserved group, with the exception of Professor McGonagall, who sat in the front beside the commentator's box. It was her duty as head of Gryffindor House to keep the announcer, young Lee Jordan in line.

"Another ten points for Slytherin, according to Madam Hooch who obviously didn't see the Haversacking by the Slytherin Chaser," Lee announced.

"Jordan! It's not your call to make," Professor McGonagall chided, her lips pursed in a most unattractive way. If she continued to make faces like that, she'd do well to use Lockhart's Wrinkle Vanishing Elixir. Games like this were bad for her complexion. Though she very hard to appear unbiased, anyone who knows her could see that this current beating her team was getting from Slytherin was really annoying her. She wouldn't dare question Madam Hooch's officiating on the pitch, but she vowed to speak with her privately later in the staff lounge.

Her eyes followed the Slytherin chasers as they flew past in formation, straight for Ginny Weasley, who this year was chasing for Gryffindor. The lead chaser in green pulled ahead alongside Miss Weasley and elbowed her shoulder hard, forcing her to drop the quaffle into the waiting hands of another Slytherin chaser waiting below.

"Hey! That's cobbing, there, referee!" Lee Jordan shouted. Professor McGonagall seemed not to hear him, or possibly let this comment slide. She turned her head in disgust and found herself noticing Draco Malfoy, the Slytherin seeker. He was resting comfortably on his broom above the action, close to the Slytherin stands. She brought her omnioculars to her eyes for a better look. His mouth was moving, though she couldn't hear what he was saying. She looked behind him to see Pansy Parkinson in the front row, leaning over the rail and nodding. Malfoy flew off to the other side of the pitch and McGonagall watched as Miss Parkinson glanced around her and pulled out her wand.

What are you up to, Miss Parkinson, she thought. She stood up and refocused her omnioculars as Pansy quickly pointed her wand and incanted something, sending a gentle wave of soft light onto the pitch. Professor McGonagall smirked as she followed the hex's movement right into the path of Ron Weasley, the Gryffindor keeper. Weasley was struck full in the face with what was obviously an Entrancing Enchantment. His face softened into a goofy grin and he sat back comfortably on his broom while a Slytherin chaser sent the quaffle sailing past him through the hoop.

Professor McGonagall turned and climbed the stair to where Severus Snape sat watching. He wore a satisfied smirk, and smiled openly when McGonagall sat beside him.

"Enjoying the game, Minerva?" He asked.

"More so now, Severus," she replied smugly. "Shall I inform Madam Hooch of Malfoy and Parkinson's collaboration or will you?"

"I don't know what you're talking about." He sneered.

McGonagall handed him her omnioculars and set them to replay what she'd just witnessed. Severus scowled as he watched. He recovered as he lowered the glasses, and made a nearly sweet face. He'd clearly been making use of the Lockhart's Cherub Cream Facial he'd received from his Secret Santa at Christmas.

"I shall take care of it," he said. He stood and waved his wand, sending sparks into the sky. Madam Hooch blew her whistle to stop play and flew over to the stands.

"Is there a problem, Severus? You have some objection to the calls I'm making?" Hooch's face was unreadable. She was a master of objectivity and neutral appearance when she wore the referee's armband. It wasn't pretty, though.

"Not at all, Madam Hooch. I wish only to make you aware that my seeker and his housemate have broken a rule," he said bitterly as he handed her the omnioculars.

"Only one?" Hooch asked, as she raised the glasses to her eyes. She watched the replay and handed them back, then flew off to inspect Ron, who was still sitting dazedly on his broom, gazing blissfully at the nearest Slytherin chaser. Professor McGonagall watched as Madam Hooch waved her wand at him, bringing him to his senses, then to her own throat.

"Penalty. Slytherin seeker; benched for the remainder of the match for un-sportsmanlike conduct. Quietus."

"Thank you, Professor," Severus hissed to Professor McGonagall as he handed her omnioculars back. Hooch's whistle sounded from the pitch. "But it's not over yet," he added.

"Potter has seen the snitch!" Jordan cried, and cheers erupted from the stands.

"I think it is, Severus. Enjoy the match." McGonagall smiled and returned to her seat in time to watch Harry Potter make the glorious catch at the center of the pitch.



Once again I'd like to thank my assistant, Greta. Although I am an expert in all things related to quidditch, her encouragement and service helped make this story the brilliant piece of work that it is. - G.L.

[Riley]

Catch_The_Snitch

Seeker
Floo Ferret


Neville watched from the Gryffindor stands, his hands over his eyes, barely glimpsing at the action. He was worried slightly that Slytherin may win as they had taken over a lead, an unfair lead as Slytherin were making fouls every few minutes. It had put Gryffindor off their game a bit, but they were about to pull back.

"Gryffindor scores! Slytherin lead 80 to 50!" Neville heard someone yell next to him. He uncovered his eyes, now less scared, he cheered his fellows on. He always wanted Gryffindor to beat Slytherin in anything.

He saw Harry Potter pass by at great speed, Neville wondered whether he had seen the snitch yet. Of course Malfoy was following Harry because Malfoy was such a rubbish seeker his only hope of catching the snitch was tailing Harry closely. But, Neville knew that Harry's famous firebolt was no match for Malfoy's broom.

Again Gryffindor scored, it was a fantastic goal, the Slytherin keeper had missed it by miles. Neville knew, as everyone did, that the Slytherin players didn't really have any skill at all, they just used brute force to try to beat the others. Whereas all of the Gryffindor players were talented and when they started scoring they would win. Especially with Harry as their seeker, he had hardly ever lost a match for Gryffindor.

A great rush of excitement came over the Gryffindor stands, someone yelled, "Harry's spotted the snitch!" All eyes followed him, all you could see was a blur of his red and gold robes amongst his black hair. He was closing in on the speck of gold.

Suddenly Harry was flying around the pitch, holding his hand up in the air, grinning from ear to ear. All around him, Neville could hear cheers, whistles and calls of "We've won!"

He glanced at the Slytherins, all of whom were downtrodden. But quickly, Neville returned his gaze at Harry, who was in a massive hug with his fellow team mates. Neville followed Dean, Hermione and Seamus to the pitch to congratulate Harry and the team for another amazing win. As they walked, all still buzzing with excitement and happiness, Neville had the feeling that he was going to be celebrating tonight.


I don't go looking for trouble, trouble usually finds me.

[zymurgy]

WalksInDarkness

Dark Ferret


As Seen Through a Moldy Turban

Quirrel didn’t have his mind on the game. He was actually looking at his toes and wishing to Merlin he’d listened to his mother when he was young. Of course, he had no idea what his mother had told him, since he hadn’t listened.

Normally, the Dark Lord wouldn’t have cared less whether or not Quirrel was enjoying or paying attention to a Quidditch match. However, normally the Dark Lord wasn’t possessing the fool, stuck underneath a smelly purple turban hearing muffled commentary, and stuck in the fool’s head.

It was really quite grating to be stuck watching the man’s moronic musings as to whether or not he should have written his mum a letter after her last Christmas card had reached him. What would have had said? “Sorry, Mumsy, can’t write right now, am busy acting as host for the man you always dreamt I’d defeat.” Not exactly what one calls family gossip, as it were.

The commentator yelled something about a foul, but Quirrel humming too loudly for Voldemort to hear what had happened. Apparently, even the last Quidditch game of the season, Gryffindor versus Slytherin even, wasn’t enough to get that man’s interest.

The Dark Lord wondered viciously why the man had even bothered to go to the match at all. Perhaps he was hoping to jinx the boys broom and actually manage it this time. For the hundredth time the Dark Lord sifted through Quirrel’s memories trying to find a reason for the slip. ‘Slip’ to be taken literally. Nothing. Just a moment of panic, and then lost eye contact. The idiot hadn’t even set up a ‘watch your back,’ spell.”

“FOUL!” screeched the commentator. “You can’t DO that! Grabbing Harry Potter’s glasses just is NOT cricket!”

A moment of silence, where thank Circe the fool had stopped humming, before the commentator added, “Of course it’s not Cricket- it’s Quidditch! But still FOUL!”

Inwardly, the Dark Lord grinned, joyous that somebody at least had managed to bring that wretched boy down a tad. As soon as he managed to get out of the bloody turban, he would have to find that player that did it and give him a reward. Perhaps the death of some troublesome family member.

Before the announcer could mention whether a penalty had been given, Quirrel began to hum to himself, again drowning all other sound out. At least it spared the Dark Lord the trouble of having to hunt down the Referee if a penalty HAD been awarded for what was clearly a legal move. Glasses grabbing had always been a part of Quidditch. Or would be when Voldemort took over the world.

Whoever it was sitting next to Quirrel said something about, “better not try it again,” but before the Dark Lord could figure out who it had been, Quirrel began to hum even louder, answering, “I’ve told you before, Professor, it was all a tragic accident, quite tragic.”

Even Quirrel’s incessant humming couldn’t drown out a roar from the stands at something or other. However, the humming could, and most definitely DID drown out the announcer explaining what it had been. Hopefully another foul against Harry Potter. Hopefully a bludger to the back of the head.

Voldemort could take it no longer. Quickly taking over the man’s mind, he sent a spark of pain down the man’s spine. “Stop humming,” he snapped, before his strength gave out, and he had to relinquish control.

Quirrel twitched at the pain, and stopped humming. The irritating little fool couldn’t even stand a little pain. Voldemort wondered for the hundredth time why he hadn’t just waited for Lucius or Severus to come along, somebody who already knew his motives and methods and would better help him along. WHY had he succumbed to temptation and spent so much of his precious remaining strength to possess this imbecile?

Desperation, he admitted to himself. Nobody had come. Apparently, they were still too busy, according to Quirrel, trying to find out just what had happened back at Godrick’s Hollow to actually go out and look for him. Voldemort sighed, or rather, inadvertently caused Quirrel to sigh, and contemplated punishing them all later. That would at least be more fun than stiffling to death in a garlic inbued turban in the staff seating, and not even being able to SEE the Quidditch match he was suffering for.

Nevermind making glasses grabbing legal. Voldemort resolves to BAN Quidditch as soon as humanely possible. Nobody, not even a Mud-Blood should have to endure such torment.

Another roar from the stands, but the announcer was impossible to hear since Quirrel wasn’t listening to him, but rather running a list of homework assignments through his head that he had yet to grade.

A lurch that would have turned his stomach if he had still had one of his own, and Voldemort knew that Quirrel had left the stands, and that the game was over. Idly, he wondered who had won, and planned on punishing his irritating host for subjecting him to it in the first place.



Signature: Pure Goals. Pure Hearts. Pure War.

[zymurgy]

Apothecary's~Bane



Master Ferret


Accio- a Practical Application

The game had been going on for over an hour, and in the teacher’s box, things were getting rather heated. As usual, Professors Snape and McGonnagal had a bet of a dozen galleons on the match, Dumbledore had a twenty galleon bet on Gryffindor with Trelawney, Sinistra had bet a signed collection of Lockheart’s books for Gryffindor against Vector, who had a mere four galleons on the line.

Things were getting rather heated on the pitch, as the Slytherin Beaters insisted on batting the Bludgers directly into the stomachs of the opposing Chasers. Professor Snape winced at a third penalty to Gryffindor for a third blatantly obvious foul. He was beginning to regret telling his team to “win or fear to eat your food.”

The trouble wasn’t the cheating in itself, really. The trouble was that the cheating was badly done, so badly as to be ludicrously easy to spot and punish. At least they could have preformed a Confundus charm on the Bludger to make it believe only Gryffindors were to be attacked. Perhaps even a discreet Accio on the Snitch would have come in handy.

But as it was, even with the cheating, Slytherin was up forty points. Without the fouls, they would have had quite a few more than that.
“Don’t know WHAT has got into that team,” grumbled Professor Flitwick. “Dirtiest game I’ve seen in years. It’s a crying shame. Back in my day…”

The rest of the staff didn’t bother to listen to him, since his speech was exactly the same EVERY Quiditch match. “Back in my day, we had a thing call ‘sportsmanship,’ and we knew how to play fair, and loose like gentleman,’ et cetera, et cetera.

Mr. Malfoy was doing his usual idiotic ‘fly in circles around Harry Potter and taunt him about his parents,’ routine. The idea did have a particular merit, as it did distract the other Seeker to a certain extent, but it had the extreme drawback of being far too distracting to allow Malfoy himself to look for the Snitch.

A cry rose up from the stands, as Malfoy deliberately rammed his broomstick into Mr. Potter’s face, or nearly did so as Potter rolled upside down, clinging to his broom for dear life, to avoid being permanently blinded, or even brained.

“FOUL!” shrieked whichever inane child was doing the commentary this time around.

Gryffindor shot another penalty, and fortunately for those betting on the Slytherin side, missed spectacularly. Professor Snape's banishing charm might have had more than a little to do with that, but that is beside the point. Actually, his banishing charms had more than a little to do with half the Gryffindor scores going wrong, at least after it became clear that the Slytherin Beater wasn’t worth a bucket of spit.

“SNITCH!” shrieked the commentator. “The SNITCH has been SIGHTED!”

“Or they think it has,” muttered McGonagall. “Can’t see a thing.”

“That would have something to do with the brim of your hat hanging so low,” supplied Filch. “The thistles may look very nice, but they do no good for visibility.”

Praises be, sometimes even a Squib can find a pearl of wisdom to hand out to a Wizard. Professor McGonagall merely sniffed, and refused to admit that her headgear was inappropriate for a sporting event, or indeed, any event whatsoever.

Harry Potter was hurtling towards the ground t breakneck speed, following closely by Draco Malfoy. Potter was getting closer and closer, and Malfoy was loosing more and more ground.

Professor Snape groaned, and took a look at the scores. Even with their ill gotten points, Slytherin would lose if Potter caught the Snitch. There was only one thing to be done.

“Accio,” whispered Professor Snape, and the small golden snitch whizzed up his sleeve and joined his hidden wand.

Keeping a perfectly straight face, the Professor watched blandly as both Potter and Malfoy pulled up and wildly looked around for it.

“Dash it all,” muttered Minerva, “I thought he’d had it, there.”

The game went on for several hours more, until Slytherin finally had gotten enough points to win despite Potter catching the Snitch, at which point Snape released the fluttering ball once again. Predictably, the boy caught it at once, desperate to end the game and spare his teammates the continuus Bludgers.

As usual, the cup went to Slytherin and the Gryffindors and their supporters were forced to pay up.


Even a broken watch manages to be right twice a day. Why can't you do the same and spare us all the trouble?

[zymurgy]

Tattered Robe



Registered XXXXX
Floo Ferret


Quidditch as Chess

Hermione Granger and Ronald Weasley were sitting in the Gryffindor stands, watching the last game of the season. They were cheering on their best friend, Harry Potter, as he swooped through the skies effortlessly, searching for the illusive Snitch.

“It’s not fair,” complained Hermione, “they’re cheating like nobody’s business!”

“Don’t know what’s gotten into Hooch,” added Ron. “Why doesn’t she call a foul?”

“Because she’s too busy staying on her broom,” said a small voice behind them.

The two whirled round and saw none other than Neville sitting behind them.

“What’s that supposed to mean,” said Ron dangerously. “Did you hear something? Have they done something to her broom?”

“Slipping jinx on the handle,” said Neville glumly. “Overheard them planning it, and I’ve been trying all day to get somebody to listen to me, but all the professors were busy, and kept shooing me off, and…”

“We can take care of it,” said Ron. “All right. Neville, you go down to the Slytherin stands and cause a diversion. Distract them. Make them break eye contact. Whatever you do, don’t let them see you. You, Hermione, find a counter-curse- you can cast it from the library window. I’ll notify the Headmaster.”

Ron’s friends ran off to do as he directed, as Ron made his way through the Gryffindor stands to the Staff box.

Ronald ran through the crowd, and out of the stands. Casting a glance to his left, he saw Hermione hurrying to the castle, and Neville hurrying round the other way towards the Slytherin stands, his wand drawn and his face set in determination.

Ron ran over to the Staff box and climbed up it. “Excuse me,” he said quickly, “but there seems to be a bit of a problem with Hooch’s broom.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” snapped McGonagall immediately. “The brooms were checked before the match. “There’s nothing wrong with it!”

“Yes, there is!” insisted Ron. “The Slytherins have got a slipping jinx on it.”

“It does look like she’s having trouble controlling it,” said Snape. “Perhaps there is something wrong.”

“Hooch knows what she’s doing,” insisted McGonagall. “How many times have I had to tell you not to spread lies about the Slytherins? You carry House rivalry far to far. If I have to speak to you about this once more…”

“Minerva,” chided Dumbledore, “it wouldn’t do any harm to listen to the boy, would it? How do you know there’s been foul play?”

“Neville overheard the Slytherin’s plotting last night,” answered Ronald defiantly. “And he’s been trying to tell you all about it ever since, but you never listen to him! He went off to try and break their eye contact. I’m not sure who’s doing it, or even what jinx they’re using, but you just have to look at her to realize something’s wrong.”

“She does appear to be having trouble,” agreed Dumbledore, watching the referee flying jerkily about the pitch. “Although without knowing the jinx in question, or who’s casting it… Did he say?”

“I didn’t ask,” admitted Ronald, “but Hermione went to look.”

“A good strategy,” said Dumbledore. “My word- whatever has gotten into the Slytherins?”

Neville had followed his instructions to the letter, hitting the guilty parties with a dancing charm so strong that they had all fallen to the floor jerkin uncontrollably. At nearly the same time a blinding white spell hit Hooch’s broom from the library window, and she was able to right herself immediately.

“10 points to Gryffindor,” said Dumbledore. “For a good strategy well carried out, another 10 for an excellent jinx, and 10 of course to extraordinarily quick research.”

As soon as Hooch caught her breath, she immediately shouted “Penalty!” And the game went on.



Judge not, lest ye be judged.

[StarWalker]

Friar's Cap

Nuzzler
Floo Ferret


Greater Love

“…scores! That was some move by Jarvis, and it puts Slytherin up by 40! At the end of the second hour of play, the score is Slytherin 220, Gryffindor 180. Potter has the quaffle – oh my, Halifax takes a bludger to the face, as Potter rolls left, over Black, and passes back to …”

Remus let Norman’s voice fade into the background as he watched the game, letting the sounds and smells wash over him. The elegant scent of Lily Evans’ perfume danced on the late spring breeze; essence of peach, hyacinth, and raspberry rode high on a base of sandalwood, punctuated by the subtle, sensual tang of orchid, jasmine, and narcissus. “First, by Van Cleef,” she had answered, in response to a question three days earlier. “My mum sent me a bottle; it just came out. Like it?” He had mumbled a response, excused himself, and then left, unable to explain his sudden interest, to tell her his change to werewolf was incipient, and his senses accordingly heightened. She now sat two rows behind and above him, talking with several younger Gryffindor girls, all of whom seemed to have a crush on James.

Smiling wryly, Remus winced at the sharp stab of pain in his left side, a reminder of his alter ego, earned during last night’s fading gasp, as James and Sirius herded him back to Hogsmeade in the predawn fog, away from the early rising farmer whose acquaintance he had wanted to make. Got to remember to remind James those antlers are sharp! Lost in his memory of last night’s exploits, he missed the next goal, but was rudely brought back to the game by the collective groan from the Gryffindor stands.

“…most egregious display of cheating ever seen on this pitch! Certainly the ref – wait, Jarvis has the quaffle, and is streaking towards the Gryffindor goal, flanked by Black and Black, two of the three Slytherin cousins. A well-aimed bludger from Watson makes Jarvis slow, a pass to Black, back to Jarvis, to Black, to Black, and back to the younger Black once again! Danforth Lager feints at Regulus, leaving the goal unguarded, pass to Jarvis, to Black, Lager moves back to position – too late! Bellatrix Black scores, her tenth of the game. Well she warned everyone…”

“James’ game is certainly off today.” Accompanied by a gentle touch on his arm, the quiet voice in his ear pulled Remus’ attention back to his surroundings. Little fifth year Io Everard had pushed Sirius to the side; cascading him into Peter. Both of them looked at Remus; Sirius’ smirk and broad wink went unnoticed by Io, as she settled on the bench next to him. “He acts like he didn’t sleep at all last night, but I’m sure he knows how important this game is…”

Her chatter was like a tonic to his system. Looks like he didn’t sleep last night, does he? Well it’s no wonder, since we spent the entire night exploring the Forbidden Forest. Lost in his reverie he almost missed her quiet declaration. “What did you say?” he blurted.

“Not so loud, unless you want me to broadcast it to the entire school. Perhaps I could just tell Norman, and have him make the announcement –“ Panic-stricken, Remus shushed her, uncertainty tugged at his mind, and despair crushed him as she repeated her question. “You’re a werewolf, aren’t you?”

“Wh-why do you say that?” he stammered, “I-I mean –“

“Of course you are,” she continued soothingly. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of, after all, it’s nothing you can control, or stop, or…” Her voice trailed off wistfully, her left hand remained on his forearm, resting there softly. “It’s just so obvious, if you know what to look for.”

“And you j-just happen to know what to l-l-look for, and I, I j-just happen to meet your requirements!” Remus snapped, angry at his reaction to her announcement, and even more furious at his stutter. That hadn’t happened in a very long time.

“My older brother was bitten by a werewolf.” She picked up where she had left off, as if he hadn’t spoken, looking into his eyes searchingly. “He was bitten when he was sixteen. Our father – well our father didn’t understand.”

Her wistful expression had returned, accompanied by a dreamy, far-away gaze that seemed to look right through him. Remus shivered, struck by a deep chill that raced through his body, and pushed out the warmth of the spring sun.

“SLYTHERIN!!!!” The roar from the green and silver decorated stands swelled and crashed against the Gryffindor fans, accompanied by a painful groan from Sirius, as Regulus hurled the quaffle past Gryffindor’s diving keeper. A last minute move by Mortimer Plaget, the larger of Slytherin’s beaters, hid the bludger, smashed by his partner Robert Toms, from Lager, who took the blow full in the face, knocking him off his broom.

“He killed him the first time he changed, six years ago – said the world would be better off with one less freak of nature.”

“Remus! Look at James go!” Peter’s voice, magnified in the still world in which Remus found himself, failed to drown the chilling words with which Io finished her revelation. Around him the Gryffindor fans were standing, screaming at the referee, the Slytherin team, and the Slytherin fans.

“Killed him!” Remus stunned voice was a mere hoarse whisper.

“Penalty to Gryffindor! Potter takes the quaffle for the penalty! Look at that boy fly! He’s not been playing well today, totally uncharacteristic, but he looks like he’s finally got his…” Once again Remus tuned out Norman’s amplified voice.

“Why are you telling me this?”

Io just looked at him for a long minute, and then removed her hand from his arm. “I thought it necessary that you know you are not alone. Oh, I am aware,” she held up her hand as he opened his mouth to protest, “you have your friends, and they would do almost anything for you. I know they already have done things, illegal things, but it is you who will bear the guilt if the four of you make a mistake.” She stopped, and looked at him earnestly.

Remus looked back with apprehension, troubled eyes staring into calm eyes, pitying eyes. “What is it you want?” he asked quietly. “How do you know these things?”

“I see things,” Io hesitated. “I know things.”

“You’re a divination student?” Remus questioned skeptically.

Again, her gentle smile reassured him. “No, I don’t read tea leaves, gaze into crystal balls, or consult the stars.” Her laughter was the brittle tinkle of ice shattering in bitter cold. “I just know things, things I’ve never learned, things I have no way of knowing.”

“For example, I know you and your friends were out last night; that’s why James is so tired, that’s why Peter and Sirius are unable to concentrate on the game.”

Remus hurriedly interrupted. “All right, let’s assume you see things. I’ll give you a chance to prove yourself. Who’ll win this game?” Got her!

“You think it’s that easy, a gift to be used to predict the outcome of a sporting event!” The wistful, elfish look was back, an expression that appealed to his protective instincts. She stared at him another long minute, then sighed deeply. “You don’t know what to do about her, do you?”

He looked at her, bewildered; the sudden subject change caught him off guard, and left him feeling vulnerable.

“Lily, Remus. You don’t know what you feel about her, but you do know that James wants her.”

Io’s statement rocked him back, brought his surroundings into focus. Once again he could sense Lily’s scent, hear her comments. If James wants Lily, he’s got a lot to overcome! But is Io right?

“-now stands at Slytherin 310, Gryffindor 240-“ Norman’s voice was dispirited. Gryffindor only needed to beat Slytherin by 60 points to win the Quidditch Cup, but the inexorable increase in Slytherin’s lead made the potential of that outcome look very bleak. Gryffindor was now relying on Court Percy to find and capture the snitch; he was a good seeker, but evenly matched to Slytherin’s Raynor.

“Let me ask you a question, Remus. What do you feel are my responsibilities to the knowledge I have? Suspend your disbelief for a minute, and assume I do know things. Must I act on what I know?”

She knows about me, and James, and Peter, and Sirius! She’s offering me the opportunity to tell her whether I think she should report them – us! Remus hesitated, gathering his thoughts before he answered. “I guess it would depend-“

“Exactly! So let’s say I know that if Peter dies, Sirius lives; but if Sirius lives, Hogwarts will be destroyed in nineteen years. Do I tell Peter about his impending doom, and enable him to escape it, and in doing so eventually destroy Hogwarts; or do I hold my counsel, and let Peter die, thereby ensuring Hogwarts’ survival?”

Remus stared at her, letting the background noise of the game in; at a subconscious level he heard the commotion as Slytherin scored once again, putting them 80 points ahead of Gryffindor, making it necessary for Percy to end the game immediately in order to win the Cup. Io’s question disturbed him, its implications went deeper than his own philosophical struggle with the actions of his friends.

“Never mind, Remus, it was only a rhetorical question.” Io’s hand was once again on his arm, the soft touch soothing and equally disturbing. “You know, even I am captivated by his charm.” Again, her sudden switch of topic unnerved him. He followed her eyes to James, speeding down the pitch with the quaffle.

She removed her hand, suddenly all business. “In answer to your previous question, Gryffindor will win by 80 points. James is going to score now, and Court will catch the snitch almost immediately afterwards.”

Remus stared at her in unbelief. To answer who would win was one thing, to predict an exact sequence was another.

“- POTTER SCORES! The margin is now 70 points. This has been a long – wait! Percy has gone into a steep dive, but short, and comes up with – THE SNITCH! GRYFFINDOR WINS –“

As the stands erupted into a tumultuous celebration, Sirius pushed Io against Remus as he and Peter tried to jump through her to pound Remus on the back; he watched Court Percy holding the snitch high, as the rest of the team rocketed towards him. Putting his arms around Io, he kept her from falling, as he did so, he felt her lips next to his ear, and heard her soft whisper. “Let her go Remus; she’s for James! I only wish it were otherwise.”


Authors Note: Separated in the crush of the celebration, Remus had no chance to speak to her the rest of the term. The final game was in May, in 1976, and their OWLS occupied the balance of the year. Io Everard did not return to Hogwarts for her sixth year. On September 10, 1976, the collision of British Airways Flight 476 over Zagreb, Yugoslavia killed 176 people. Lily Evans told her friends that she and her family would have been on that flight, but were unable to obtain tickets. Io Everard was listed on the manifest.


I will reveal to you a love potion, without medicine, without herbs, without any witch’s magic; if you want to be loved, then love. - Hecaton of Rhodes

[agrippa]

Comments on the story CRABBE'S WAND WORK

zymurgy commented:
Nice Ronishness!

cherabela commented:
If Crabbe is now a 6th year, how come Lee and Angelina are still there?

timeturner commented:
Very short. Interesting choice for Ron. I liked the Red card reference.

agrippa commented:
Well done! I thought this was very funny.

McGonagall's Cat commented:
There were some minor technical-grammar-spelling-punctuation mistakes a proof-reader could have caught, which at first I thought might be intentional, to add boy-ish flavour, to the piece. Nicely in character thought-wise.

StarWalker commented:
I see you have a high opinion of Crabbe! Minor technical, character, and canonical errors