Well of Shadows
Of Bread and Circuses
By Ruskbyte
Chapter Twelve
~ Of Bread and Circuses ~
The sun shone brightly in the crystal sky of late autumn, bathing the Quidditch pitch in its light if not its warmth. A few scarce and wispy clouds were dotted above, occasionally casting their
shadows over the stands. Spectators were slowly beginning to arrive in anticipation of the first Quidditch match of the season, traditionally between Gryffindor and Slytherin.
"Bri' oot," observed Moira Mackay, when the Gryffindor team were making their way to the changing room to get ready for the match.
"Aye," agreed Seamus, whose Irish accent became more pronounced whenever he was in Moira's presence for too long. Nobody was quite sure why this was so, but the general consensus among the Gryffindors was that the poor boy was hopelessly smitten with the younger girl.
Ginny, who had the special broom Harry had made for her slung over her shoulder as they walked, shared a look with Hermione. Since the rather disturbing news that her parents wanted to withdraw her from Hogwarts, Hermione hardly ever left Ginny and Harry's company. Fortunately, from Ginny's standpoint, she had not shared their bed since that first night, when she received the letter declaring her parents' intentions.
Hermione, grinning slightly, leaned close and whispered in Ginny's ear, "I hear Dean's started a betting pool on when the two of them will be getting married."
"Well that's a coincidence," commented an unexpected voice.
Every one of the students turned to see Professors Gregory and Hilary Proteus approaching them. The pair were a favourite of most of the students and had succeeded in making Defence Against the Dark Arts one of the most popular classes.
*I’m not sure I believe in coincidences,* noted Alexander, *especially where those two are concerned.*
At the moment Gregory was wearing such a completely red outfit that one almost expected him to be trying for a position on the Gryffindor team. Every article of clothing he was wearing was some shade of red, all as vibrant and eye-catching as a Muggle fire hydrant. Hilary, on the other hand, was dressing in more demure tones of midnight blue and a dark tan, but with a red and gold Gryffindor scarf wrapped around her neck.
"I've made a bet of fifty Galleons with Professor Snape concerning the outcome of the match," admitted Gregory, coming up to the team and their friends with a broad, almost smug, grin on his chiselled features.
"D'you think that was wise, sir?" asked Hermione, who Ginny knew had never approved of any form of gambling.
"On reflection... perhaps not," admitted Gregory, but with a mischievous sparking in his sea-green eyes. His grin grew wider and he said, "A hundred Galleons would have been a much better bet."
Standing beside him Hilary smirked knowingly. "Of course when you already know the outcome of the match..."
Gregory looked at her and obviously tried to look innocent. "That would be cheating, love."
"Never stopped you before."
*These two are very... odd,* commented Sun Tzu, as Ginny and the other students watched the byplay between husband and wife. They were still walking and had almost reached the section of the stands where the team would be splitting away to the changing rooms while those who would simply be watching the match would climb up into the stands.
No kidding, Ginny agreed.
~Actually~ Harry mentioned, swinging his Firebolt off his shoulder as they arrived outside the changing room, ~I've thought they were both completely nuts that first night when they arrived after the Sorting.~
"Y'know, if you persist in flirting with me like this," Gregory was telling Hilary, with a glance at the teenagers next to them, "the students are going to think we're... odd."
Hilary waved a hand dismissively. "Greg, they've thought we were completely nuts ever since we arrived after the Sorting."
Ginny looked nervously at Harry, wondering not for the first time if their Defence professors weren't telepathic or something similar. Even the often blasé members of the Order had noticed these almost too coincidental instances, a fact Isis commented on. *There's something about these Proteuses that makes me question if they are perhaps more dangerous than our initial assessment led us to believe.*
*I 'ave ze same feeling myself,* agreed Joan.
*Perhaps they are simply eccentric,* Merlin suggested, but his tone did not carry much conviction.
Harry chuckled and replied, ~Trust me, there's nothing simple about those two.~
No argument from me, Ginny agreed. A sudden tension rising from her team-mates, who were oblivious to the silent conversation she and Harry were part of, alerted Ginny to the presence of two people walking towards their direction from the Slytherin portion of the stands. She glanced at Harry uncertainly and whispered, "D'you think she's Slytherin's new Seeker?"
"Could be, but I doubt it," he whispered back as the two girls approached. "She was okay on a broom during our flying lessons, but not good enough to play in a serious match."
The two girls, both Slytherins, came to a halt just outside the Gryffindor changing room. The assembled Gryffindors and two teachers waited and watched silently as the taller of the two went up to Harry with a air of practised nonchalance.
Harry inclined his head cordially. "Zabini."
"Potter," Blaise replied, running a hand through her short blonde hair, a devilish smile sparkling in her bright blue eyes. She was, surprisingly, not wearing anything in the green and silver of Slytherin.
Ginny tried to restrain the sudden nervous tension she felt in the Slytherin girl's presence. Neither she nor Harry or Hermione had spoken to Blaise in more than a passing manner since Halloween, when the blonde had walked in on their meeting with Remus and Sirius. While Harry seemed perfectly willing to trust her to keep quiet about Sirius' presence at the school, Ginny was on edge about the matter. Still, she had to admit, Blaise yet to confront the trio with any demands for an explanation.
Harry turned his attention to the diminutive young girl that was standing nervously next to Blaise, dressing in her school robes and bearing a Slytherin scarf and rosette. Ginny recognised her as one of the first-years, though she could not place a name to the face. With a wolfish grin Harry asked, "Who do we have here... lunch?"
The girl, who barely reached Harry's chest, swallowed and took a backward step, one tiny hand reaching out to grasp of Blaise. "Eep."
"Her name is Amber Fargo," Blaise told Harry sternly, glaring at him in a severe and disapproving manner that was not unlike something Professor McGonagall might produce. She slid her arm around the eleven-year-old's shoulders and continued, "Her parents and mine are friends. We live in the same town, so we've known each other practically forever. I promised to look after her while she's getting familiar with the school."
"Pleased to meet you, Amber," Harry told her, offering her his hand. When she took it and gave a timid shake, he leaned close and whispered conspiratorially, "I deny everything Blaise has told you about me."
Blaise poked Harry in the ribs and wagged a finger at him. "Be polite, Potter. Otherwise I might be tempted to make up for all those years Jordon put the Slytherin team down during his commentating."
This is a surprise, thought Ginny.
~No kidding~ replied Harry. He looked at Blaise in surprise. "You're the new commentator?"
She nodded, shrugging slightly. "Professor Snape suggested me for the role. McGonagall agreed, providing I don't try to outdo my predecessor. I don't know if I will - I'm not really one to make a scene."
Gregory, who was leaning against the wall with his arms around Hilary's waist, chuckled and said, "That's what I like about you, Ms Zabini; you're very level-headed."
*He's doing it again.*
~Yeah~ agreed Harry thoughtfully, ~I said the exact same thing when Blaise walked in on us during Halloween.~
D'you think they might be illegal Animagi? asked Ginny. Like Rita Skeeter is a beetle?
*Anything is possible,* admitted Merlin, *though with those two I think there's nothing so simple about their secrets.*
***
Hermione was fiddling with the stylish pair of sunglasses Harry had handed to her at breakfast that morning, asking her to "test drive" them for him. This was the first she had heard about it, but apparently he had been working for the past few months of integrating the features found in a pair of wizarding Omnioculars into the much smaller and less clumsy sunglasses. He had explained that he was planning on presenting them (he had another two test models) to the twins, Fred and George, for Christmas.
It was, Hermione thought, an idea that would doubtless bring possibly more income to the young entrepreneurs' business than their jokes, pranks and other novelties. The convenience of these new Omnitacles, as Harry had temporarily dubbed them --until the twins came up with something that sounded better-- was that they left your hands free.
Harry had completely replaced the many switches, knobs and dials that covered a standard pair of Omnioculars with what was basically a modified Heads Up Display. He had borrowed the idea from Muggle jet fighters which Harry had apparently seen when Dudley had once watched an air show on the television. The only control adorning the sunglasses was a single brass button that Harry had tastefully blended into the frames. This was the toggle to activate the Omnitacles, which was done by tapping the button three times in quick succession.
The seemingly holographic display was iconographic in nature and, using cues from the wearer's eyes, operated not unlike the desktop of a Muggle computer. You simply had to look at the icon for half a second or so, while it seemed to hover in the air a couple of feet in front of you, and the function it controlled would be activated.
Now if only he had written a user's manual, she thought, dropping into one of the few remaining empty seats in the Gryffindor section of the crowd.
"Mind if I join you, Hermione?"
Slightly startled by the unexpected voice, Hermione looked up to see Professor Hilary Proteus standing in front of her. "Of course not, Professor," she said.
Hilary sat in the seat next to her. "We're not in class right now, so call me Hilary, okay?
"Um, okay," Hermione agreed nervously, not at all comfortable being on such familiar terms with one of her teachers.
"Have you seen where Gregory has got to?" asked Hilary, looking around in search for her husband.
"Isn't that him?" Hermione asked, pointing him out. "Over there by the house-elves? It's kind of hard to miss all that red."
Hilary looked to where Hermione was indicating and nodded. "Ah, yes. That's him. Don't know what he's talking to Dobby and the others for though. Probably trying to arrange a treat for the Gryffindor team when they win."
Hermione pushed the sunglasses up into her hair and looked at the professor. "You seem awfully sure that Gryffindor are going to win."
"Of course they are," said Hilary smiling. "They have the best Seeker Hogwarts has seen in years playing for them, not to mention a top notch trio of Chasers, a rock solid Keeper and a pair of Beaters that could intimidate a squad of Aurors. How could they possibly lose? Besides, they're Gryffindors."
"Were you and, um, G-Gregory in Gryffindor?" she asked, stumbling over the use of the absent man's give name rather than his title.
Hilary sank back in her seat. "Yes. In fact, it's something of a tradition in both our families to be sorted into Gryffindor."
Hermione nodded, glancing to where Gregory was still discussing something with the three dozen house-elves that had come to the match to support Gryffindor. "Is that why Prof- er, Gregory is dressed all in red?"
"No."
It was impossible to miss the note of sadness that laced the single word Hilary had answered with. Hermione turned back to her and saw that her companion was staring off into space with a forlorn expression. She wondered what it was that brought about such a change to the older woman's normally cheerful demeanour.
Hilary, shaking off her distraction, seemed to notice Hermione's interest and sighed. "It was a long time ago, when we were both still in school."
She didn't really want to pry, but Hermione was unable to resist asking, "What happened?"
"The details are... disturbing to say the least," admitted Hilary. She turned her bright hazel eyes to Hermione and smiled tremulously. "Suffice to say Gregory was badly traumatised by what happened. It took years for him to get over it. Many years."
"And that's why he wearing so much red for this match?" Hermione asked in confusion.
Hilary shook her head sadly. "No. He's wearing the red to remind himself that he managed to overcome what happened. The match is just a convenient excuse. If you look carefully you'll see that he makes a point of wearing at least a little bit of red everyday. Whether it's his shirt or the lining of his cloak or even his socks, he always has on something that's red."
By now Hermione was totally confused and this must have shown on her face as Hilary decided to explain a bit more. "For nearly five years after the... incident, Gregory had an almost mortal terror of the colour red. They had to move him out of Gryffindor tower because of it; he couldn't even bring himself to climb into the common room because of it."
"But he obviously got over it," observed Hermione, glancing to where the house-elves were standing, but Gregory was no longer there.
"It took years, but eventually he did," Hilary confirmed. A contented smile graced her lips as she seemed to be thinking back. "It was the day of our wedding, actually. He damn near gave everyone a heart attack when he turned up wearing a red cloak."
"It must have been very difficult," Hermione mused, unconsciously rubbing her impaired right arm with her left hand.
Hilary nodded and said, "It was, but I got through it."
"How?" asked Hermione.
"I kept telling myself that it could have been worse," admitted Hilary.
Hermione chuckled and half-joked, "Yeah, you could've had red hair, like Ginny."
"Yeah."
For a moment Hermione wondered at the strange tone Hilary had used, but the thought did not fully form as Hilary asked, "And you? Have you heard anything from your parents yet?"
Hermione swallowed. "You know?"
"All the professors do," admitted Hilary.
"I got a letter from them this morning," Hermione told her. She bowed her head and wrung her hands in her lap before continuing, "They say they've already made arrangements for a tutor to help me catch up the things I need to go to a Muggle school. They're talking about enrolling me in the Midsomer Causton Academy for Girls."
"Don't worry," Hilary assured her, patting her on the shoulder. "Everything will work out in the end, you'll see. It's just a matter of time."
Hermione looked up, tears brimming in her eyes. "Oh Merlin, I hope so. I don't want to leave here. Hogwarts, magic, it's my life now. I can't give it up, especially now."
Hilary reached out and, cupping Hermione's chin, turned her head to one side. "We're not going to give up on you, Hermione. Look."
"What? Oh!"
There, a short way around the stands in the section reserved for non-students, was a grouping of one particular red-haired family. Mrs Weasley was in the middle, bracketed on either side by the twins, with Charlie Weasley bringing up the rear. They had obviously come to the match, both to watch Ginny play for the first time (not as a reserve) and then doubtless would visit Ron in the Hospital Wing.
Fred and George, it seemed, had brought some of their wares to sell during the match in an attempt at promoting their joke shop that they planned on opening next year. Molly, naturally, had found out and was dragging them along by their ears while berating them in that sabre-toothed tiger manner she was famous for. Charlie was grinning broadly at their discomfort and protesting wails that Hermione could just make out over the noise of the crowd.
"Go on," Hilary told her, giving her a nudge, "I'm sure I can survive here without you. Besides, I have to find that wayward husband of mine."
Hermione smiled her thanks and jumped up from her seat. She pulled the sunglasses down and slid them back onto her nose as she hurriedly started to make her way towards the Weasleys. She hoped she would get to them before the match started.
"Oh, and don't let Fred and George find out about the Omnitacles!" she heard Hilary call after.
It took a moment to sink in. How the devil could the Defence professor know about Harry's experiment with the sunglasses? He had only told Hermione that morning and the only other person who knew was Ginny. Hermione stopped and turned back to stare at Hilary, but found that the older witch had vanished from sight, no doubt gone looking for Gregory.
"And first onto the field-" Blaise Zabini's magically amplified voice announced, "-is the Gryffindor team, comprising of Ryder, Finnigan, MacKay, Harriet and Ginny Weasley, all of which played their first match last year as a reserve team against Slytherin. New to the squad is Jefferson Hope, who is filling in for injured Chaser Ron Weasley. They are led onto the field by their captain and star Seeker, Harry Potter!"
***
"Oh, bluddie Hades!"
Harry looked at Moira, who had a hand over her eyes and was shaking her head. He glanced across the field at the approaching Slytherin team. He recognised most of the players, with the exception of the new Seeker, who looked to be in only his second year. He looked to Seamus, who was standing next to Moira, but the other Beater seemed just as puzzled by the young girl's outburst.
"What is it? D'you recognise him?" he asked.
"Aye, he's m' cousin Angus," Moira sighed in resignation.
Ginny, who was eyeing the short and skinny boy, asked, "Is he any good?"
Moira shook her head, "Tha's li' askin' iffin a stuin anvil cin fly."
*Er...*
*I think she was being sarcastic.*
*With that accent it's sometimes hard to tell.*
"Captains, shake hands," ordered Madam Hooch, who was refereeing the match. Harry, not really wanting to, stepped forward to unenthusiastically shake hands. After the abrupt disappearance of Draco Malfoy, the Slytherins had been forced to elect a new captain to replace him. Their choice of the rather bulldoggish Millicent Bulstrode was not unexpected, as she was the only player left on the team, since Malfoy was gone and the other five had finished school the previous year.
Madam Hooch nodded and, with a deft kick to its side, opened the trunk holding the Quidditch balls. Quickly she released the Snitch, followed by the two Bludgers, before taking the Quaffle in her hands and saying, "Players, mount your brooms. On my whistle. Three, two, one!"
Harry, as was his custom, launched himself into the air. Within moments he was soaring high above the pitch and the other players. Nudging lightly on his Firebolt's handle he began to circle the stadium, already searching for the Snitch. As he passed by the Gryffindor section, he could hear the piercing cries of the house-elves, who had emerged from the kitchens for the morning in support of his team.
"Harry Potter! Harry Potter! Harry Potter! Harry Potter!!"
Grinning and waving to Dobby and his compatriots as he glided past, Harry turned his attention back to the game. Since none of the Slytherins aside from Bulstrode had any experience, it was not much of a surprise to see that Gryffindor had possession of the Quaffle and seemed to be in optimum position to score the first goal of the game and season.
Watching as his Chasers swooped towards the Slytherin goals, Harry tuned his ears to listen to Blaise's commentary of events.
"And Weasley passes to Harriet, who manages to duck under Isaacs by blinding him with the glare off his bald head-"
"Miss Zabini!"
Harry looked to the announcer's box where Blaise was sitting between Amber and Professor McGonagall, who was looking somewhat martyred. Apparently the Deputy Headmistress' hopes that Blaise would prove less biased than Lee Jordan had just been dashed.
"Sorry, Professor," Blaise continued, sounding completely unapologetic. She looked up and saw Harry watching her and cheekily stuck out her tongue before returning to the game. "Harriet swerves past Stephenides and makes an underhand pass to Weasley, riding the broomstick Potter presented her with last Christmas. One has to wonder if perhaps she hasn't ridden any of her captain's other broomsticks-"
"MISS ZABINI!!"
Unable to decide whether to blush or laugh at Blaise's commenting, Harry resumed his search for the Snitch. So much for not being one to make a scene, he thought wryly, noticing that Moira's cousin Angus was trailing close on his heels, not unlike Malfoy used to.
*And you thought she was level-headed.*
She was!
"Weasley drops the Quaffle to Hope, the newcomer to the team, he shoots - wonderful save by Slytherin Keeper Farrow. The Quaffle is deflected straight to - NO! Weasley has intercepted the ball before it reaches Chaser Isaacs. She swings past Farrow, feints to the right and scores the first goal of the match through the left hoop. Farrow - you're as blind as that bat Trelawney!"
"Zabini," McGonagall all but growled, making a grab for the microphone.
Blaise, resisting the professor's attempts, continued, "Sorry, Professor. Ten points to Gryffindor, scored by Ginny Weasley!"
"Gingy Wheezy! Gingy Wheezy! Gingy Wheezy! Gingy Wheezy!!"
Apparently Dobby was leading the house-elves in their cheering. For a moment, hearing their words, Harry thought back to the second task of the Triwizard Tournament. He clearly remembered every detail, especially being woken up by Dobby, who had so frantically and determinedly sent Harry down to the lake to save his Wheezy, Ron.
Harry found himself looking over the stadium, towards the castle and the Hospital Wing, where Ron lay in his coma. He blinked in surprise when suddenly Moira bobbed up in front of him, swinging her Beater's club with relish. The Bludger, which had been aimed straight for Harry, made a loud crunch as it smashed into the opposing Slytherin Beater's face, breaking his nose.
"Tae tha' yeh bluddie Sassenach!!" Moira crowed, grinning wickedly. She spun round on her broom and smiled at Harry. "Careful Skipper, we cannae hae ye gettin' hurt noo, can we?"
"Thanks, Moira," Harry acknowledged, shaking himself out of his thoughts and back to the game. As Moira dived back down into the midst of the other players, club raised over her head, Harry began searching for the elusive Snitch.
He passed by the Gryffindor goalposts and exchanged a few words with their Keeper, Carmen, when Gareth slipped past the Farrow to score again.
"Twenty - zero to Gryffindor," declared Blaise, glaring angrily at the Slytherin Keeper, who was not looking pleased with himself. "Get your bloody head out of the clouds, you dope!"
The match continued in a similar manner for the next half an hour. Despite the fact that six of their players were playing for the first time, the Slytherins were able to put up a reasonable display. Even so, they were clearly not in the same class as the Gryffindor team.
Of the Chasers Gareth Harriet, son of the Jamaican Ministry's Ambassador, was a very adroit flyer on his Nimbus 2000. Ginny, who was flying the cherry wood broom Harry had crafted for her last year, was little more than a red and gold blur as she streaked to and fro across the pitch. Only Jefferson Hope, one of the fifth-year Prefects, was unsure of himself. Understandable considering he was stepping in for Ron, but the past few months of practise had made certain that he was up to scratch.
Between the three of them they had possession of the Quaffle more than three-quarters of the time, aided and abetted by the lunatic pair of Moira and Seamus. The two Beaters were a perfect team that rivalled their mentors, the Weasley twins. Moira in particular seemed especially bloodthirsty and often seemed on the verge of physically tackling her opponents.
*If she ever decides to paint her face blue, start running for the hills.*
I'm more worried about what she's going to do when Practical Fighting Techniques reopens after the Christmas holidays.
*Oh, that's a delightful idea.*
*We're doomed.*
Harry noticed too that as the game progressed Blaise's comments about the Gryffindor team became less insulting and more professional, while her observations of the Slytherin's were becoming as scathing as anything Snape ever managed to produce during Potions.
"Weasley passes to Hope in a perfect example of the Ansorg Assault. Hope shoots at the goals and scores his first points of the match. That makes the score seventy - thirty to Gryffindor," Blaise intoned, gazing up and imploring the heavens as she did. With a disappointed sounding sigh she angrily waved a fist at one of the Slytherin Beaters and yelled, "That was pathetic!"
*I like that girl,* decided Beowulf. *She's almost as entertaining as the previous commentator.*
At least she's on our side, Harry agreed. I think.
Professor McGonagall had apparently given up trying to censor Blaise and appeared to have decided to simply sit back and enjoy the game. Harry found it amazing that Blaise had managed to succeed in a single game what Lee Jordan had failed to accomplish in several years. Of course, McGonagall had probably been greatly worn down by Lee's efforts.
Then he saw it.
It was quite by accident really. The Snitch was hovering only a scant few metres above the ground, almost directly below Harry. The only reason he had spotted it was because he had hung his head down to shake it over Blaise's antics. He glanced up and saw that Angus, the other Seeker, had apparently seen the tiny golden ball as well and was already diving towards it at breakneck speed.
"Seamus!" Harry called, catching the attention of his nearest Beater. "Their Seeker! Now!"
Seamus twisted on his broom and managed to get a shot in as a Bludger flew past him. His aim was a true as it always was, and the black ball careened directly at Angus. The diminutive second-year looked up from his dive just in time to see the Bludger coming toward him. He swerved to one side just before impact, aborting his pursuit, but was too late to pull out of his dive properly and crashed into the ground with a horrible crack.
Harry, in the meanwhile, had tilted his Firebolt vertically and was dropping to the ground in what looked like a passable Wronski Feint. He was descending almost straight down and was barely able to twist out of his fall at the last instant. His back brushed against the short grass of the pitch as he flew upside-down for a few seconds before righting himself, the Snitch held high above his head in victory!
"And Potter gets the Snitch! Gryffindor win! Two hundred and twenty to thirty!" announced Blaise. Harry saw her shaking her head dispiritedly as she handed the microphone over to McGonagall.
Slowing to a halt, Harry quickly dismounted as four scarlet streaks bore down on him. His feet had barely touched the ground when Ginny crashed into him, hugging him fiercely before pulling him into a kiss. Gareth, Jefferson and Carmen waited for them to come up for air before sweeping them both into a crushing embrace.
Looking over Carmen's shoulder Harry saw that Moira had descended, with Seamus, to where the unhappy-looking Slytherin team were gathered around her cousin. One of the Chasers was pulling on the poor boy's leg and apparently he was not enjoying the attention. From the direction of the changing rooms Harry could see Madam Pomfrey hurrying towards them.
"OWWW! Watch it, ye nitwit! Tha' hurts!" Angus yelled, swinging at the Chaser responsible.
"I think we better get Madam Pomfrey," observed the Chaser, "this looks serious."
Angus glared at the other boy and bellowed, "O' course tis serious!"
Moira stood over him, Seamus at her sides, and asked, "D'ye think tis bruiken?"
"O' course tis bruiken ye dozy Welshgirl!"
Moira, who was the personification of Scotland, naturally took that badly. It was fortunate for Angus that Madam Pomfrey arrived at that moment, a conjured stretcher trailing behind her. As the crowds of Gryffindors and other spectators ran onto the pitch, Harry could hear Angus' continued rebukes towards his teammates.
"Ah never shouldae let ye maniacs talk m' intae this!"
"Harry!" squealed Hermione, running up to him and hugging him. She almost succeeded in spinning him around before kissing him on the cheek and turning to crush Ginny in her grasp. "You won!"
"Ah knew somethin' was goin' tae happen, Ah knew it!"
A pair of hands clapped Harry firmly on the back and he quickly found himself having his arms nearly shaken off by Fred and George. Each of the twins had grabbed a hand and were making a grand display of congratulating him on Gryffindor's first win without them, though they did take full credit for anything and everything Moira and Seamus had accomplished.
"Ah cannae believe Ah let ye buffoons talk m' intae thi'!"
Charlie, who was more sedate, came up and managed to pry his younger brothers off Harry. The dragon tamer grinned at Harry and shook his hand. "Congratulations," he said, "I'd heard you were a damn fine Seeker, but this is the first time I've really had a chance to watch you play.
"Ah'm never makin' tha' mistake again, nae siree!"
"Charlie! Watch your language!" chided Molly Weasley, pushing her way through the celebrating Gryffindors and looking a little out of breath.
"From now awn, Ah'm Hogsmeade-bound durin' matches!"
Everyone turned as Angus' voice reached them far more clearly than before. Madam Pomfrey had managed to lift him onto the stretcher and was taking him to the Hospital Wing. Moira and Seamus were following them as everyone turned to watch.
"Prob'ly wheelchair bound as wuil!" Angus was saying, waving his arms about in exaggerated movements as they passed. He spotted the assembled crowd looking at him, especially the conspicuous red-haired Weasleys, and immediately snarled, "Wha' are ye gawkin' at ye bloody carrot-heads?"
Harry had to stifle his laughter at Molly's put-off expression. The Weasley matriarch stared after the young boy as he was carried off, still ranting at what sounded very much like the top of his lungs. "Haven't ye ever seen a Scotsman wi' a broken leg befuir?"
Moira, who had joined the rest of the team, bemoaned, "Tha's why I dinnae care fuir his coompany."
"We must make allowances, I suppose," Molly said eventually as the spectacle receded and the victory celebrations continued. "It's obvious he's suffering."
"Bollocks!" exclaimed Fred indignantly. He almost quailed under the fierce glare of his mother, but persisted in saying, "It's true! He's enjoying every minute of it! Like Percy does when he's sick."
Harry wrapped one arm around Ginny's waist and the other around Hermione's and proceeded to lead his friends and family off the pitch, a broad smile on his face.
TBC...