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Dawn was just breaking, a morning mist still clinging to the trees. His eyes were half-closed, a wild, triumphant joy surging in his chest. He knew it. Within a day, everything would be ready… He'd been waiting so patiently, and now the day of harvest had finally come… People would realize he was truly invincible…
"Wake up, Harry! Wake up!"
"Huh?" Harry mumbled, forcing his eyes open. He fumbled blindly for his glasses, making out Ron's blurry shape beside his four-poster, holding the hangings open.
"You were laughing," Ron said, sounding unsettled. "What was it?"
"Dunno. A dream." Harry finally got his glasses onto his nose. "What time is it?" He glanced at the window. Still dark outside.
"Three? Four? Dunno."
"Right…" Harry muttered drowsily. He rolled over, glasses still on, and closed his eyes again. When he next woke, he found he'd bent one of the arms of his glasses sideways. He tried to straighten it, but it was no use. He hooked it over his ear at a wonky angle, grabbed his Nimbus 2000, and followed Ron to the common room to meet Hermione before heading down for breakfast. Hermione was going on and on about S.P.E.W. She didn't notice anything was off until they reached the Entrance Hall.
"What happened to your glasses? And why are you rubbing your forehead?"
"Forgot to take them off," Harry explained, pulling his hand away from his scar. "It hurts. Bad sleep, maybe."
Ron said, "He woke me up laughing in the middle of the night. Neville said he was awake too, but he kept quiet."
"What was so funny?" Hermione asked, suspicious.
"No, not a good dream," Harry said, irritable. His scar was still pulsing. "A weird one. Felt wrong."
"Just a dream," Ron encouraged him. "Think of good stuff. Exams are over. There's the Quidditch celebration match today. Best part, no Slytherins in it! Oh, and we won the Quidditch Cup!"
"With the extra points for winning the Cup, Gryffindor might even get the House Cup this year!" Hermione added.
"And in a few days, you're off to stay with Sirius," Ron said. "You can invite me to Grimmauld Place. You promised I could try his motorbike—"
A loud, derisive snort came from behind them. Harry turned. Draco Malfoy. Crabbe and Goyle flanked him, glowering.
"Never seen what a proper wizarding family home looks like, have you, Weasley?" Malfoy sneered. "Right. You live in a stinking rubbish heap. Living off secondhand scraps."
Ron's face flushed bright red.
"Nobody ever taught you how to talk, did they, Malfoy?" Harry said coldly.
"Can't wait for the holidays, Potter? Always the orphan?" Malfoy drawled, his tone loaded. "If I were you, I wouldn't be so eager to celebrate. Makes you look stupid."
Even at the long table, Ron and Hermione couldn't lift Harry's mood. Hermione kept saying Malfoy was just jealous because the Black family seemed to outdo the Malfoys at their own pure-blood game. But Harry only managed a few bites of toast before pushing his plate away. His scar still ached, and part of it was because Malfoy had hit a nerve. He didn't want to celebrate too soon.
…
Harry walked out of the changing rooms, his broom clenched in his hand. Wood had fixed his glasses. The weather was perfect. The goal posts gleamed in the sun. He took a deep breath, let it out slowly, and told himself to focus. He spotted Ron, Hermione, Dean, and Seamus in the stands and waved. Hagrid was there too. Neville sat squeezed beside him, looking pinched.
The Hufflepuff captain stood in the middle of the pitch, a silver whistle around his neck, gesturing for the Gryffindor team to approach. They'd booked the pitch under the guise of training, so this wasn't an official match, and there was no professional referee. The teams had agreed the captain of the team not playing would referee.
"Look over there, Harry," Wood said, slinging an arm around Harry's shoulders and speaking low. "Ravenclaw's Seeker is their reserve. The black-haired girl, Cho Chang, a third year. I hear she's taking over for Cassandra next year. You know Cassandra—she's in her seventh year, got exams and internships. Doesn't seem to want to go pro, which is a shame. Anyway, we don't know this new Seeker's style yet. Your job is to stick to her. She can't outfly you…"
Harry glanced across the pitch, picking out the girl. The sun was too bright. Wood's voice seemed to fade in and out.
Suddenly, Wood slapped his arm. "Right, that's it!" Harry jolted back to the present, realizing he hadn't heard a word of the tactics.
After the captains shook hands, the whistle blew. Harry swung a leg over his broom, kicked off, and rose into the air. The wind on his face cleared his head a little. He circled, one eye scanning for the Snitch, the other on the Ravenclaw Seeker. The girl flew lower than him, also searching the corners of the pitch intently. She was fast and steady, but Harry quickly saw her turns weren't as tight as his. Probably an older broom…
A flash of gold by the stands.
Harry dove. The Ravenclaw Seeker hadn't seen it; she was still flying low. Her captain shouted something. She looked up at Harry, then shot forward. She yanked her broom sideways, blocking his line of sight. Harry pulled up and over her. The Snitch was gone.
Harry looked down. The Ravenclaw Seeker smiled at him, a brilliant smile. Harry's scar throbbed. He blinked hard, searching again.
"What's wrong with you?" Wood flew up beside him, frowning. "You should've rammed her! No time for being a gentleman!" He dove, intercepting a Quaffle aimed at the Gryffindor hoops.
"Right," Harry said, exhaling roughly. He hadn't gotten the chance to tell Wood he was feeling off today.
The sun beat down on his back. He felt hot and cold by turns. When the Ravenclaw Seeker cut him off again, he rolled, hanging upside-down from his broom, and shot forward. Cho Chang hadn't expected that. She missed her block, diving after him. One of the Weasley twins batted a well-aimed Bludger away from Harry, sending it straight at Cho. It knocked her off course but also blocked Harry's view for a few crucial seconds. The Snitch vanished again.
Harry pulled up, circling. His vision darkened at the edges. He was grateful he hadn't eaten much breakfast; he might have thrown up on the pitch.
Time blurred. He didn't see the Snitch again, but his headache grew worse, a vicious pounding behind his eyes. He started hoping the match would just end. Either Seeker catching it was fine. He hovered, squeezed his eyes shut, trying to clear his swimming vision…
He was in a forest, looking down at a man, wand pointed, filled with furious, icy satisfaction… A nearly ruined plan. An enemy who had seen him weak. An incompetent servant… The man twitched under the Cruciatus Curse, looking up with pure hatred…
"Harry! Harry!"
His eyes snapped open. He stared, panicked, at the face before him. Not Sirius's hate-filled face. The Ravenclaw Seeker, Cho Chang, was flying beside him, looking at him with searching concern.
"Is the match over?" Harry asked, steadying his broom. His heart was hammering. "Did you catch it?"
"No," Cho said. "Our tactic was for me to mark you. I saw you'd stopped moving, so I flew up. Are you alright?"
"I'm fine," Harry said brusquely, scanning the pitch for Wood. He needed a time-out. He had to know if Sirius was safe.
"Good." Her tone cooled. She pulled her broom around and flew back down.
The sun glared overhead. The reflection from the goal posts stabbed at his eyes. His head split with pain, and the figures below blurred. Red and blue robes melted together, dissolving into the green of the pitch…
He was in a marsh. Snakes writhed at his feet. Scattered white bone fragments lay around… Sirius leaned against a tree. Anthony stood nearby, doing something… He felt everything was nearly ready…
"Avada Kedavra!" he shouted. A jet of green light shot from his wand tip, straight at the figure by the tree… Everything must end. Everything would begin anew. He would return. And the death of Dumbledore's man would be a fine opening act… He laughed…
He heard a distant scream. Then, nothing.
…
Harry woke up aching all over, but his head was the worst of it. He frowned… Headache… Nightmare…
He jerked upright, gasping. Ron and Hermione stood by his bed, staring, startled. Hermione's eyes were red.
"Sirius," Harry said urgently. "Sirius. He's with Professor Anthony."
"We know," Ron said, confused.
"No, they're in danger," Harry said, scrambling out of bed. He stumbled. Only then did he realize he was in the hospital wing. Madam Pomfrey pushed the door open, a tray of potions in her hands, giving him a stern look.
"You are not going anywhere, Mr. Potter," she said, marching over and bundling him back into bed before shooing Ron and Hermione out. "You were lucky. Angelina Johnson caught your broom. Wood stopped your fall mid-air. Davies cast a Cushioning Charm on the ground. Diggory managed a near-perfect Arresto Momentum. Helped a lot."
She watched him down two or three potions, then cast a barrage of spells on him. But Harry paid no attention. Sirius's grimy face flashed before his eyes, along with that green light. He begged and pleaded with Madam Pomfrey, promising a dozen things he didn't even hear, before she finally agreed to let him rest in his dormitory.
Harry had just reached the staircase to Gryffindor Tower when Ron and Hermione came hurrying down.
"Here," Ron said, thrusting the two-way mirror into Harry's hands.
"Sirius?" Harry called into the glass. "Sirius!"
He stared, willing Sirius's grey eyes to appear. Sirius had never not answered. Whenever Harry pulled out the mirror and said his name, he got a reply.
All he saw were his own frantic eyes.
"Maybe Sirius is just busy right now," Hermione said carefully. "You've never called him at this time, have you?"
"He's in trouble," Harry said with absolute certainty, looking around. "Professor Dumbledore—I need to tell Professor Dumbledore."
He ran back down, Ron and Hermione following.
"Harry? You alright?" Angelina was on her way up and saw him. "Oh, Merlin, Oliver's beside himself. Said he didn't know you were unwell. McGonagall's probably yelling at him right now."
Harry ignored her, charging into the Entrance Hall. He heard Ron and Hermione making hurried explanations to Angelina behind him. As he ran down the corridor, Filch shouted something at him. He didn't care… He slammed straight into someone.
"Sorry, sorry," he muttered, trying to push past.
A cold, smooth voice spoke above him. "Why are you charging through the halls, Potter? Plotting something? I heard you made quite the spectacle."
Harry looked up. Snape stood with his arms crossed, looking down his nose at him.
"It's nothing, Professor," Harry said, mustering all his self-control. "I need to see Professor Dumbledore about—"
"Professor Dumbledore," Snape paused, his voice a soft hiss, "is a very busy man. He has no time for the trivial concerns of a second-year. Not even for the famous Harry Potter." His dark eyes moved from Harry's face down to his hands. "What is that you're holding?"
"A mirror," Harry said impatiently.
"A mirror," Snape repeated slowly. "Let me see it."
"There are plenty of mirrors in the bathrooms," Harry snapped. "Feel free to go look at them all day."
Ron and Hermione, who had just caught up, gasped in unison. Snape's eyes narrowed to slits.
"Give it to me, Potter," he said icily.
Harry reluctantly handed it over. "It's nothing special. Just a normal mirror." In his panic, a desperate part of him prayed Sirius would suddenly appear in the glass and give Snape the fright of his life. Even if Snape smashed it to pieces afterward. Even if Snape took fifty points from Gryffindor. If Sirius just appeared, they'd laugh about this story forever.
Snape examined the mirror.
"A curious object. I'm sure it's enchanted," Snape said. "Possibly Dark. Carrying suspicious magical items into the school. Five points from Gryffindor."
Snape turned the mirror over, studying the back. He looked up at Harry. Harry stared back, jaw tight. Snape seemed to find this amusing. A thin smile touched his lips.
"Confiscated, Potter."
Harry had never hated Snape more.
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