Albus, Rose, James, Fred and Dominique shared a compartment on the Hogwarts Express as it wound its way through the snowy hills and moors, giving Albus—who was sitting at the window— a view of frozen rivers and lakes as they sped by.
“I reckon it was the Death Eaters,” said Fred. “There’s plenty of them still out there—like the Malfoys.”
James shook his head. “Nah. It was probably just a few nutters looking to make a stir.”
“It couldn’t have been,” said Albus, for what seemed like the fiftieth time. “Uncle Bill reckons it was someone pretty powerful and well organized behind that attack. It wasn’t just a bunch of crazies.”
“If it was, the Ministry would have tracked them down,” said Dominique. “The Aurors are all working as hard as they can to find whoever sent the Inferi. They’ve hidden themselves well.”
“How’d they come by all those dead bodies anyway?” said Fred. “There were a couple hundred Inferi—that’s a lot of bodies.”
“Probably dug up a Muggle graveyard or something,” said James. “Dad says it’s one of the things they’re looking for. Clues, you know.”
Everyone fell silent. Rose, who was currently hidden behind a large book, was the only one who had refused to engage in Inferi-related speculation. Albus got the impression that she was rather traumatized by what had happened at the Ministry.
It was then that the trolley witch stopped by. Albus bought a couple of Cauldron Cakes. James was partial to Licorice Wands and Pumpkin Pasties. Rose and Dominique shared a large bag of Bertie Bott’s Every Flavor Beans.
Conversation stalled as everyone fell to eating. Albus stared at the money as he ate his Cake and wondered vaguely who had sent those Inferi.
He was sorry to be leaving his family again, but excited to return to Hogwarts. He had two homes now, he knew.
The door to the compartment opened and three first-year Slytherins, two boys and a girl, entered. Albus knew all three of them by name, but had never had any interaction with them before.
“Get out of here,” said Fred. “The compartment’s taken.”
“We just wanted to wish Potter good luck for the next match,” said a slim, dark-haired boy that Albus seemed to remember being called Frank.
The fat, boulder-like boy on his right snickered. Alexander Goyle, the son of Gregory the Death Eater.
“Take care not to faint, Potty,” said the girl. She had dark hair and strikingly blue eyes and her name was (Albus vaguely recalled) Medusa. “That’s what your dad always used to do, right?”
James tried to jump up, but Fred and Dominique grabbed his arms.
“Get out,” said Albus. “Now.” He reached slowly for his wand, which was underneath Rose’s jacket. He wished that he knew the Curse of the Bogies.
Goyle grinned stupidly and pointed his wand at an unwrapped Chocolate Frog that Fred had bought.
“Wingardium Leviosa.”
The Frog wobbled and then rose in the air, traveling the few feet into Goyle’s outstretched hand. He stuffed the sweet into his wide mouth.
“I paid six Knuts for that!” said Fred, drawing his wand and pointing it at Goyle. “Cough up.”
“Don’t, Fred, you’ll get in so much trouble,” said Rose, lowering his arm. “Just go,” she snapped at the assembled Slytherins.
The boy named Frank smirked. “Alright then. Good luck on the match, Potter. Try to catch that little gold ball. If you can.”
Goyle and Medusa chuckled as they left the compartment, closing the door behind them.
“Bloody gits,” said James, shaking his arm out of Dominique’s grip. “We should have jinxed them or something—”
“That Goyle ate my Frog,” said Fred, staring angrily at the door to the compartment. “Cost me six bloody Knuts.”
“Well, we’ll show them up when we beat them in the Quidditch match,” said Dominique.
This led to an elongated conversation on Gryffindor’s chances in the match, the finer points of the game and the thuggish team that Slytherin had assembled that year. This subject lasted them to Hogsmeade station.
Albus got a rush of pleasure when he saw the turrets and towers of Hogwarts looming above the station. It was still here. It was home.
The upcoming Gryffindor-Slytherin Quidditch match was all everyone could talk about for the next few weeks. Gryffindor had lost the cup twice in the last two years—once to Ravenclaw and once to Slytherin. James was determined to make this year Gryffindor’s year.
Between the excitement over the match and the steadily increasing workload, Albus had no time to think about the DA. Rose brought the subject up once or twice and Albus sensed a new determination in her. The Inferi attack had shown them just how helpless they still were. They needed more training.
Dawlish’s classes continued to be a school-wide joke, providing almost nothing by way of helpful instruction. Even Rose, usually patient with teachers, rolled her eyes whenever the subject of Dawlish came up in the common room or the Great Hall.
“Honestly, we’ve learned so much more ourselves then we ever do with Dawlish,” she said. “We really have to get it going again, Al, and we need to bring more people into it.”
Albus nodded, but he still wasn’t really sure about recruiting new DA members. He had a feeling that with too many participants, the meetings would devolve into chaos.
The post-holiday classes were growing steadily more challenging. Albus devoted himself to homework in his spare time and still there seemed to be an unending amount of it.
“McGonagall’s the worst,” moaned Dominique over a particularly nasty Transfiguration chart. “I think she gets genuine pleasure out of making us work.”
The day of the match was typical of January – cold and windy – but the half-day of classes brightened the atmosphere at Hogwarts immensely.
“Double Charms, lunch and Potions,” said Fred that morning over breakfast. “Then the match. It’s like a holiday!”
James looked a lot less enthusiastic as he forced down toast and orange juice. Albus had never seen him so nervous before a game.
Of course, there was a lot of pressure. James was very young for a Seeker and he was the subject of many bets that day. Albus himself had two Sickles on a Gryffindor win.
Charms was quite possibly the easiest class. Professor Artemis was not overly strict and Albus had a natural proclivity for charms.
Today, they were learning how to create magical gusts of wind. The charm was very tricky and it took Albus most of both periods to master it.
“The Wind-Creating Charm can be used for many things,” said Professor Artemis. “Closing a door, shooing away an animal, even drying wet clothes. You can control the strength of your wind, but for now we want it to be gentle. Now try again, everyone.”
“Ventus Minima!” said Albus.
They were supposed to cause a cloth hanging on a frame to flutter. Albus’s did, though only slightly.
The class concluded with most everyone having a solid grasp of the charm, though there had been one notable accident when Veronica Bentley created a gust so strong that Professor Artemis was blown off her feet and a classroom window shattered.
Potions was both dull and difficult, a dangerous combination. Almost no one in the classroom was paying attention to the Stultifying Solution they were supposed to be making and everyone stampeded out when they were finally dismissed.
Albus wished James (who looked a little green) good luck and headed out to the Gryffindor bleachers with Rose, Fred, Dominique and Bryan Carlisle, a boy from Albus’s year.
The day was bitterly cold, but the wind had died down somewhat since breakfast, which made the playing conditions tolerable. Everyone in the stands was bundled up tightly against the cold.
Albus sat down next to Scorpius, who was shivering despite the bulky coat he was wearing.
“Hi Scorpius,” he said.
“Hi,” said Scorpius.
Albus had not had much contact with Scorpius since the holidays. He still kept to himself in the common room, rarely joining in a conversation or a game of Exploding Snap, but Albus still thought he seemed happier than he had at the beginning of the year.
The players walked out onto the field to general applause. James was, by far, the smallest player on either team. Gretchen Giles, the Slytherin Seeker, was at least a head taller then he was.
Bert Diggory, the referee, gave instructions and the two team Captains shook his hands before the teams took off, darting through the air to their respective positions.
“And the hotly contested match of Gryffindor versus Slytherin will begin in just a moment,” said the magically amplified voice of Kendra Weatherby. She was a Hufflepuff student judged impartial enough to commentate.
Diggory’s whistle blew and the match began.
“Roberts of Slytherin already in possession of the Quaffle,” said Kendra as a burly figure in green robes sped across the pitch, heading for the Gryffindor goalposts. Roberts dodged a Gryffindor Chaser, but a Bludger soared over his head and he dropped the Quaffle.
“Nice Beating by Osborne of Gryffindor,” said Kendra. “Wood in possession, heading towards the goal—ooh, nice play by Slytherin Captain Mitchell; Slytherin now in possession.”
Mitchell threw the Quaffle to Roberts, who ducked past James and scored.
There was wild applause from the Slytherin supporters and a general groan from the Gryffindors.
“First goal of the game, Slytherin in the lead,” said Kendra. “Gryffindor in possession now.”
Wood had the Quaffle, Gryffindor Chaser Jellyby flying underneath her to catch the ball should she drop it.
They were halfway across the pitch when a Bludger nearly unseated Wood, who did indeed drop the Quaffle. Jellyby caught it neatly and then scored, Slytherin Keeper Parkinson just missing the save.
The match raged on, neither team giving much leeway to the other. Two penalties were awarded: one to Slytherin and one to Gryffindor. Roberts easily made his penalty, but Jellyby fumbled hers, to a great deal of laughter from the Slytherins.
“Damn it,” said Fred. “James better catch that Snitch; we’re down twenty points.”
But James had not shown any sign of seeing the Snitch. He and Gretchen Giles hovered above the pitch, occasionally flying lower. Still no sign of the Snitch.
It got colder and colder as the match wore on. Albus’s stomach rumbled and he checked his watch. It was almost dinnertime and the game was tied at one hundred and ten points each.
As the players got hungrier, colder and more exhausted, the game grew fiercer and fiercer. Deirdre Wood was knocked off her broom by the Slytherin Captain mid-game and a Bludger nearly rendered Parkinson unconscious. Penalties were awarded for both offenses.
Rose, who was not much of a Quidditch fan, whispered: “Will Diggory call a break if this keeps up?”
“Nah,” said Dominique. “It won’t last too much longer anyway.”
The instant the words left her mouth, James went into a dive, Giles only feet behind him.
“He’s seen the Snitch!” yelled Fred, pointing.
Both Seekers picked up speed, hurtling toward the ground like missiles. Albus hoped that James knew what he was doing; if he hit the ground at this speed—
They were neck and neck now, both with their arms outstretched towards the little golden ball that none of the spectators could see.
James leveled three or four yards from the ground and zoomed off across the pitch; the Snitch having changed course. Giles was slower and for the next instant it looked like she would crash, but she took control of her broom and sped off after James, her Firebolt 180 proving its capabilities for speed.
The two Seekers weaved through a maze of Chasers and hostile Bludgers, both moving so fast that they were just two blurs of red and green to Albus.
“I hope he doesn’t hurt himself,” said Dominique.
“He’s an excellent flyer,” said Bryan Carlisle, reassuringly.
The Seekers turned around at the Gryffindor goalposts, and headed up again. Albus saw the slightest glint of gold, now only a few feet from James’s outstretched hand.
James zigzagged and put a little distance between himself and Giles, but her broom was faster. They were almost even again, both hands groping for the Snitch.
It descended again and both Seekers went into another dive, this one even more furiously paced than the first.
Even the other players were hovering in midair, watching. The entire stadium collectively held its breath. Kendra had even ceased commentating.
It happened so fast that Albus didn’t really see what occurred. One instant the two Seekers were mere yards from the ground, still diving and the next a great tangle of red robes and green robes collided with the ground, struggling.
Diggory blew his whistle and hurried over. Albus could now see that James held one wing in his hand and Giles held the other, the little golden ball suspended between their fists. They were both shouting at each other.
“Disputed capture,” said Fred, in awe. “Blimey, that’s only happened a few times in the history of the game.”
“Who wins?” asked Rose.
“Whoever touched the Snitch first,” said Albus.
Diggory took the Snitch and tapped it with his wand. He examined the little gold ball, placed his wand to his voice box, magically amplifying his voice:
“GRYFFINDOR WINS!”
An enormous cheer rose up from the Gryffindor bleachers. Most of Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff were cheering too. Slytherin was unpopular.
To counter the cheers, there was a great cry of protest from the Slytherins. Giles was still yelling at the referee and she was joined a moment later by Mitchell, who poked in Diggory in the chest, his voice almost audible.
“Wow, that was some game,” said Dominique.
“James is going to be insufferable,” said Albus.
They began to file down to the pitch, where the Gryffindor players were hugging and high-fiving. James had an ear-to-ear grin on his face, which was strangely incongruous with the rather large bruise above his left eye.
“We won!” he yelled, thumping Albus on the back and giving Dominique a high-five. “We won!”
“That was some serious flying,” said Fred.
On the other side of the pitch, the Slytherins were having a mass argument with the referee, several hundred students shouting at once. Several other teachers came down to help Diggory keep order. Gretchen Giles was apparently trying to run across the pitch and bodily attack James; she was forcibly held back by several of her teammates.
James laughed and held up the Snitch. “They’re pretty steamed about it.”
The Gryffindors entered the Great Hall as victors, the team carried in like heroes. There were several different songs being sung at once and dinner soon became a giant party, with the Slytherins sulking at their table.
“It’s a madhouse in here!” said Rose. “I know they won the match, but still—”
No one else had any objections, although Albus noticed that several of the teachers were a little tight-lipped, perhaps feeling that the Great Hall was not the place for Gryffindor to celebrate its victory.
Nigel Tweak (who had been a Ravenclaw) was as enthusiastic as anyone, excitedly discussing the match with a grim-faced Dawlish.
Albus started to get tired after a couple of hours and as soon as the dessert had disappeared, he tugged on James’s robes and said: “Why don’t we head back to the common room? You look about ready to drop.”
It was true. James’s face, ruddy with the heat of the hall, was streaked with sweat and his robes were muddy from his pile-up with Gretchen Giles. “Alright,” he said. “Let’s slip out. I could use a cold Gillywater.”
Albus, Rose, Dominique and James left the Hall as inconspicuously as possible, although James still got a rush of applause as he left. Gretchen Giles looked as though she was contemplating his murder.
“It was a good catch, wasn’t it?” said James as they head through the corridors.
“Yes, it was,” said Rose, sounding torn between amusement and annoyance. “You just had most of the school give you a standing ovation; I’d say you did pretty well.”
The four of them turned a corner. There was no one returning to the dormitories yet; even most of the Slytherins were still in the Great Hall. The corridors were unusually empty. It felt like they were sneaking around after hours.
“I’d steer clear of Giles for a few weeks,” said Dominique. “Honestly, it looked like she was going to—”
There was a small bang and a flash of silver smoke. A jinx of some kind whizzed over Albus’s head and hit the stone wall of the corridor.
For a moment, Albus was back in the Ministry. He half-expected to see a group of Inferi appear, wands raised, dead faces impassive as they aimed their wands, ready to kill—
Without even thinking, Albus pushed Dominique behind the closest suit of armor, barely dodging another silvery jinx.
Rose and James ran to the other side of the corridor, backs flat against the wall, slightly protected by a large, decorative pillar.
Four small figures rounded the next corridor, wands raised. Albus saw—to his relief—that it was the three Slytherins and a fourth boy, lean and bug-eyed, that he did not recognize.
“Come out, Potter!” yelled Medusa Zabini. “You bloody little cheat!”
Albus carefully drew his wand, ducked out from behind the suit of armor and yelled: “Capio!”
He heard a loud buzz and a cry from Alex Goyle, who, if Albus had performed the curse properly, should have experienced a painful sting.
Rose and James both shouted jinxes and the four Slytherins scattered in an attempt to avoid them.
“Come out and get what you deserve, Potter!” shouted the tall boy named Frank.
“Inflatus!” yelled Medusa.
The pillar that James and Rose were sheltered behind cracked; dust rising in the air. James and Rose would have been crushed if the curse had knocked over the pillar.
“Infligo!” yelled Dominique.
The bug-eyed boy was thrown off his feet; he sat up groggily, large eyes rolling in their sockets.
Albus racked his brains for a good spell, but nothing came to him. He heard James shout “Capio!” but the spell missed and rebounded off the suit of armor.
Alex Goyle began battering at the pillar and his fellows joined him. It was covered with deep cracks, possibly about to collapse. Albus couldn’t believe that no one had heard them yet.
Then he thought of it. He screwed his eyes tight and concentrated. He had to get the spell right.
Albus jumped out from behind the suit of armor, aimed his wand at the three standing Slytherins and yelled, “Ventus Maxima!”
All four Slytherins were blown across the corridor by the gust of magical wind. All four of them hit the opposite wall with four loud crashes.
James and Rose ran over to the prone Slytherins and snatched their wands out of their hands. All of them seemed dazed, but not especially hurt. Alex Goyle had a large red dot in the middle of his forehead.
“That was brilliant, Al,” said Dominique. “I wish I’d thought of it.”
“Idiots,” said James, nudging Medusa with his foot. “I caught the damned Snitch fair and—”
Footsteps echoed in the corridor. Someone was coming. James and Rose hastily dropped the Slytherins’ wands on the floor.
Professor McGonagall rounded the corner, her mouth a thin line, her eyes flashing. “What is going on here? Have any students been hurt?”
Frank groaned a little and struggled to his feet. “M’all right,” he said blearily.
McGonagall turned to James. “What is going on here, Mr. Potter?”
“These four jumped us while we were walking back to the common room,” said James. “We had to fight back.”
“Is this true, Mr. Abaddon?” McGonagall asked Frank.
“No,” he said. “They-they jumped us, Professor.”
Medusa, Goyle and the bug-eyed boy nodded together, as if in on cue.
“I can tell you right now, dueling between first-years is incredibly dangerous and there will be serious consequences,” said Professor McGonagall. “The Headmaster will have to sort out this mess. Come, all of you,” she said.
“But Professor,” said Rose. “They really did try to—”
“You can explain it to the Headmaster, Miss Weasley,” said Professor McGonagall. She turned around and led the students down the corridor, towards the office of the Headmaster.