Year 6-05: The Untouchables

"C'mon, Boot! That's the third Bludger you've hit at your own teammate today...no wonder my sister dumped your sorry arse!"

"Oh yeah? Maybe if you caught the Snitch faster, Katie Bell wouldn't have ditched you!"

Harry and Terry Boot glared at each other for a moment across the pitch. Then, they simultaneously laughed and zoomed away from each other on their brooms.

Harry had to admit: he'd missed Quidditch dearly. As much as the responsibility of being captain cut into his free time, he couldn't live without it. The sport was excellent stress relief, and the camaraderie of teamwork was unlike anything else he could get in the castle. His teammates knew him well enough that they could joke around and poke fun at Harry without falling over themselves to apologize after. It was far preferable to the reverential treatment Harry received from the rest of the student body on a daily basis.

"Alright, gather round, everyone!" Harry announced. The team concluded their scrimmage and flew over to form a semi-circle around him at midfield. Spirits were high: the Ravenclaw team was meshing together beautifully, and they were the clear favorites to win the Quidditch Cup this year now that Cedric Diggory had graduated.

"We have Slytherin coming up in two weeks," Harry informed the team. "Two of their Chasers and their Keeper have graduated, so they'll be weaker on defense than last year. I propose our Beaters focus on the defenders, and I can handle Malfoy on my own at Seeker."

"Er...Harry?" Cho spoke up. "Didn't you hear? Malfoy's not playing Seeker this year."

"He's not?" Harry frowned. "What position is he playing?"

"He didn't try out for the team at all, mate," said Terry. "It's all anyone's been gossiping about."

That was news to Harry. Granted, he wasn't keyed into the school rumor mill these days, but surely he would have heard about this. Why would Draco Malfoy not want to play Quidditch? Was he not allowed to any more? Or did he have other things on his mind – more pressing matters to attend to?

"Erm...right, then," said Harry. "Whoever their new Seeker is, I'll assess how strong of a flier they are for the first Snitch, then we can re-evaluate our strategy if needed."

But something about this new information bothered Harry more than he cared to admit. It was one thing to learn that Draco had taken the Dark Mark and was still permitted to roam the halls of Hogwarts unattended. It was quite another to learn that he was stepping away from Quidditch, making his schedule more unpredictable and his whereabouts more fluid. What would he be up to during the Ravenclaw v. Slytherin match? Did he have more nefarious plans in mind for that day?

Harry wanted to run straight to Dumbledore to confront him with his concerns, but he knew it would accomplish nothing. The Headmaster would just reassure him that everything was under control and urge Harry to stay away from the boy at all costs. Did he view Harry as a liability? Did he think Harry was incapable of resolving the matter on his own without doing something rash?

He instead busied himself with his own preparations in the meantime. Harry had decided to improve the defenses around his new headquarters in Ashewick, rather than rely on its isolation and creepy aesthetic to keep people away. He'd begun collecting smooth rocks from the shallow waters of the Black Lake to carve into rune stones – they were not as ideal as river stones for runic properties, but they would suffice. He simply needed a few anchors on the property to maintain the basic repelling wards he planned to erect around the house.

The biggest improvement Harry wanted to make was to place a Fidelius Charm on the property. He knew it was the strongest possible protection one could place on a home, though it had one significant drawback: he had to share the secret with someone else and trust them to keep it to themselves. He didn't want his family to know of the house's existence just yet, and he certainly wasn't going to trust Dumbledore with the information. He would have to think carefully about who to make his secret-keeper.

Then there was the question of how to make money. The more Harry thought about his plans to duel competitively, the more excited he became. He knew it would be dangerous, but something about it gave him a thrill of adrenaline all the same. Dumbledore had said himself that Harry's skill surpassed that of most Aurors, so he was confident he could hold his own. Surely there wasn't some hidden cache of brilliant duelists in Britain that weren't already involved in the war, right?

But for good measure, he'd reached out and sought assistance from another source to make sure he was ready. And a few days later at breakfast, help arrived in the form of a massive barn owl, struggling to remain airborne with a large parcel clutched in its talons. The poor bird crash-landed in front of Harry, sending food flying everywhere as the Ravenclaws around him laughed at the plight of the poor bird.

"Blimey, Potter, did you order an encyclopedia of the entire world?" whistled Anthony Goldstein as he relieved the bird of its heavy package.

"Something like that," Harry chuckled as he pushed his goblet of pumpkin juice forward for the grateful owl to gulp down. He recognized the handwriting on the package at once, and stowed it away to open later, away from prying eyes. Once he had retreated to the privacy of the Room of Requirement, he ripped open the parcel and found a note written in Krum's messy scrawl within:

Harry,

Attached is a book of darker hexes and curses that Karkaroff gave me in preparation for the Triwizard Tournament. Luckily I was not required to use any of them, because some of them are rather nasty – I would not recommend getting caught using any of them in public. Even in Bulgaria most of them are dubiously legal and I would not feel comfortable using them against another person without lethal intent.

Based on what you've told me, your Headmaster's interpretation of Dark magic seems somewhat skewed. At Durmstrang, we were taught that Dark magic does not directly damage the soul in individual doses. If one immerses him/herself in the Dark Arts the soul can be corrupted, but it takes repeated, prolonged use to do so. It was common practice at Durmstrang to use the Killing Curse on bears, boars and other wild animals that occasionally strayed too close to the castle. It was considered more humane than other means of dispatching them, and our souls were no more damaged because of it.

The same is also true of blood rituals. Performing too many can addle the mind and put one's soul in danger, but only in the most extreme of cases. Beauty rituals are common among Bulgarian witches, for example, and there was only one notable case in the past decade of a woman going mad from repeated de-aging rituals well past her hundredth birthday. If you select a small handful of rituals from the book I sent you last year, you shouldn't suffer any adverse consequences.

I hope you don't plan on getting yourself into any trouble with these methods. But if you do, I wish you the best of luck and urge safe practices. If you need any advice, feel free to reach out.

-Viktor

Harry grinned to himself as he finished the letter and set it aflame to hide the evidence. He could always count on Krum not to judge him and instead encourage him to do what needed to be done for self-improvement. And as he'd suspected, Dumbledore's cautious approach to Dark magic seemed a bit over-zealous and unnecessarily resistant to its usage in smaller doses.

Harry also followed the news carefully as the term progressed. His father had made many sweeping changes within the Ministry thus far into his term, expanding the Auror Office and tightening the screws on public figures with known past sympathies to Voldemort. There had initially been some uneasiness regarding these policies, particularly from some of the "Darker" wizarding families who had quietly supported the Dark Lord from afar, but the outcry gradually died down as the number of deadly incidents slowed dramatically. James' policies appeared to be working, at least in the short term.

But one bombshell bit of news came in mid-October, as Harry arrived for breakfast to find the entire Hall reading the morning Prophet and gossiping loudly about its contents. Harry could see why when he unfolded his own copy of the paper and took in the headline:

DOZENS ARRESTED IN MASSIVE MINISTRY RAID; MULTIPLE LORDS INDICTED

By Sabrina Vane, The Daily Prophet

'Last night, a strike team of over fifty Aurors and Hit-Wizards conducted a raid on a suspected safe house being utilized by Death Eaters. Nearly thirty witches and wizards were arrested in connection with the sting operation, including two sitting members of the Wizengamot: Lords Quincy Nott and Rowan Avery. Both remain incarcerated in Ministry holding cells, pending charges from the DMLE.

Minister of Magic James Potter spoke to reporters early this morning about the operation. "Last night, the Ministry conducted a successful raid on a home suspected of Death Eater activity," said Potter. "Our intel proved correct, and we dealt a devastating blow to Lord [REDACTED]'s operations and recruiting efforts."

According to Potter, the raid interrupted a recruitment session in which some thirty witches and wizards were being courted to join You-Know-Who's ranks in the war. Many of these attendees were mercenaries illegally traveling from overseas, posing further legal challenges for the Ministry. Potter has drawn scrutiny in recent months for his overly-strict conviction standards, handing out severe punishments for anyone with even remote ties to You-Know-Who.

Potter defended his methods when questioned, saying, "The Ministry remains committed to stopping [REDACTED] at all costs, even if it means harsher punishments for less serious crimes. We do not tolerate any involvement with [REDACTED] in any way, shape, or form, and anyone caught aiding him by any means will face the consequences."

It is unclear what this means for the Wizengamot status of Lords Nott and Avery. Inquiries will also surely be made into the foreign agents being held in Britain, but Minister Potter has indicated that he will not release them to their home nations unless assurances are made that they will face severe repercussions for their actions.

For more on last night's raid and the identities of those involved, see pg. 3. For more on James Potter's impressive track record as Minister thus far, see pg. 8.'

The Great Hall was abuzz with gossip about these arrests, and for good reason. Several of the named arrests were parents of students, mostly in Slytherin. Harry spied Malfoy's group huddled at one end of the Slytherin table, speaking in hushed tones. A few of them shot dirty glares at Harry from afar...most of them now had parents in Azkaban thanks to James' actions. Harry coldly returned each of their glares with one of his own… Gonna do something about it? Harry silently dared them. C'mon then, I'll be happy to reunite you with your daddies in a dirty cell.

Only one member of the group refused to meet Harry's eye: Draco, who looked frazzled by the latest news. He abruptly stood and took off from the Hall, ignoring his friends' questions as he strode away. Where might you be off to, little Draco? Harry wondered. It was a Saturday...he'd planned on making a quick trip to Ashewick to bury his newly-carved rune stones, but figured this was a prime opportunity to do some reconnaissance and see what Malfoy might be up to.

Harry excused himself and casually exited the Hall. Once he was clear of the doors, he retreated into a corner and pulled out the Marauder's Map. He scanned for Draco's name and spotted him making a beeline for the third floor. The one-eyed witch's passageway? Harry wondered. It appeared he was not the only person leaving campus on the weekends when nobody was looking.

He stowed the Map away and took off for the third floor. With luck, he could catch Draco in the act of attempting to leave the grounds and use his newfound prefect powers to punish him for it. But he didn't get far before a voice called out after him:

"Going somewhere, Potter?"

Harry turned and groaned when he saw Snape standing at the base of the stairwell, arms crossed in suspicion.

"Morning, Professor," said Harry casually, suppressing a groan. "Just off to the library to study."

"The library is in the opposite direction," Snape sneered. "Do not lie to me, boy. Why are you following Mr. Malfoy?"

Harry sighed...there was little point in trying to lie. "I think he might be trying to leave the grounds without permission," he said. "As prefect, it is my duty to ensure all students are following school rules, isn't it?"

"Don't play coy with me, Potter," Snape snapped. "The Headmaster explicitly forbade you from interacting with Mr. Malfoy, did he not? You are not to engage with him, particularly when he has made every effort not to engage with you."

"He's up to something sneaky, I know he is," Harry growled in frustration. "I know you and Dumbledore seem to think he's some faultless angel, but I just know—"

"Draco Malfoy is a spineless coward," Snape scoffed, "and a sad imitation of all his father's worst traits. His shortcomings do not excuse your own subversion of the rules."

Harry rolled his eyes at this. "Why d'you care, anyway?" he demanded. "Why so keen to protect him? Looking out for your own, are we?"

Snape's eyes flashed dangerously at the insinuation. "I told you once and I'll tell you again, Potter," he growled. "You are being watched. Every action you take is being reported back to the Dark Lord. I would take great caution not to anger him further."

"I'm not scared of your master," Harry challenged. "I'll be happy to march all of his little Junior Death Eaters to Azkaban myself, and wave to Voldemort on the way."

"Such arrogance!" Snape barked. "You truly must think yourself and your family immune to consequences. Have you learned nothing, Potter? Do you care not for the safety of those you love?"

"I reckon we're at the top of Voldemort's hit list already," Harry shrugged. "So why sit around and wait for him to send spies and assassins my way? I'd rather hit back while we have the advantage."

"Do not mistake the Dark Lord's inaction for weakness," Snape warned. "When he decides to strike back, it will be swift and without mercy. You'd best not be directly in the firing line when he moves out of the shadows once more."

"Know a little something about his plans then, Severus?" Harry taunted. "Trying to stop me from sabotaging his little plans within the castle, so you can give him what he wants?"

"Detention, Potter!" Snape said angrily. "You do not know half of what is truly going on around here, and you'd do best not to interfere and make things worse as you so often do. My office, tonight at six-thirty."

"Tonight?" Harry groaned. "But I had...plans tonight."

"All the better," Snape smirked. "And do not be late. There are third-year essays that need grading, and you'll get to see the utter incompetence I am forced to put up with every day."

And whose fault is that? Harry thought mutinously, but he held his tongue. Snape seemed to have taken a far greater interest in his activities this term, which was just one more set of eyes and ears he had to take care to avoid. And as much as he wanted to keep his campus excursions a secret from his parents and from Dumbledore, perhaps there was no one more dangerous to learn about them than Voldemort's right-hand man himself.

And it turned out Harry would not have been able to escape the castle anyway, as his Quidditch teammates caught up with him soon after. "You shouldn't be wandering off alone, mate," Terry Boot said nervously. "Slytherin looks especially pissed with you...I think two of their Chasers had dads that were caught in that raid, not to mention Mulciber, Crabbe and Goyle."

"I can handle myself, thanks," Harry shrugged.

"I don't doubt it, but we don't want you getting expelled again before the match," Cho said grimly. "Promise you won't go off on your own this week, will you?"

"Alright, fine," Harry groaned. Being flanked by his House mates only compounded the difficulty of getting anything done.

But he couldn't deny that tensions were unusually high in the week leading up to the Quidditch match. Things were always nasty where Slytherin was involved, but the atmosphere felt especially malicious this time around. No physical altercations took place, but the death glares Harry received in the halls felt like more than simple House rivalry fun. For the first time, it felt like his classmates truly wanted him dead.

What did that mean for the upcoming match? Would they use it as an excuse to hurt Harry and have plausible deniability after? It made him reconsider his strategy a little, as he wouldn't mind having a Beater or two watching his back in case the seven enemies were hell-bent on knocking him off his broom. But pride prevented him from asking for help, and a self-destructive part of himself almost invited the abuse so he could take out some of his own frustrations on them in return.

He would also get a chance to take out some frustration of a different kind a few days later, when he met with Dumbledore for their next training session. The last few sessions had all ended in the same predictable fashion: with Harry exhausted and out ideas, while Dumbledore stood calmly across the room from him totally untouched. It was infuriating, and Harry was growing sick of it.

Today he had a few tricks up his sleeve he wanted to try. If the playing field was going to be so imbalanced, Harry would look for any opportunity to level it.

"Again!" Dumbledore said as Harry picked himself up from yet another failed offensive. He had tried for a more patient approach this time, opting for complex and varied spells rather than raw power, but as always the Headmaster had the perfect counter to everything Harry threw at him.

"What's the point?" Harry groaned. "I'm never going to break through at this rate."

"It is as I have repeatedly told you, Harry," said Dumbledore encouragingly. "You have to fail many times before you can learn how to succeed."

How much bloody failure does he expect me to put up with? Harry thought irritably. But he got back into a fighting stance and prepared for one more assault. Dumbledore stood calmly across the room, looking completely unbothered by whatever Harry might throw at him. It only irritated Harry further.

He launched into another furious salvo, throwing as many nonverbal spells at the Headmaster as he could muster. Dumbledore erected another picture-perfect Shield Charm to deflect them, and calmly batted aside the follow-up Blasting Curse designed to shatter the Shield. But Harry hadn't expected the frontal attack to work – it never did. Nothing ever did.

Harry flicked his wand to transfigure a nearby pillar into a series of stone daggers, sending them flying towards Dumbledore from behind. The Headmaster spun around to give the daggers his full attention, twirling his wand to transform them into smoke, wisping away back into nothing. Harry knew it was ill-advised to use Transfiguration against a specialist in the branch, but again, the goal wasn't to break through Dumbledore's defenses. It was to distract them.

Dumbledore spun back around to face Harry, prepared to deflect whatever spell he tried next. But Harry was already preparing his next angle of attack. One the Headmaster would not be expecting. He aimed his wand at Dumbledore and shouted: "Imperio!"

For the briefest of moments, Harry felt his mind connect to the Headmaster's. It was like staring into a blazing furnace of power, burning brighter than the sun; the next moment, Harry was sent sprawling backwards, smashing into the back wall with a dull thud. When Harry sat back up, he saw the Headmaster walking toward him with a look of fury so intense that he wanted to shrivel up into a ball and die.

"I had one rule, Harry," Dumbledore said warningly. "No Unforgivable Curses. Using such a spell in the real world would earn you a one-way ticket to Azkaban."

"Wouldn't be the first time I got away with it, would it?" Harry scoffed. "And what d'you expect me to do, anyway? Just take my beatings like a good boy without trying something to gain the upper hand?"

"This is precisely the thing I was trying to warn you against," said Dumbledore. "You cannot use the Dark Arts as a shortcut to success. It is a cheap imitation of progress that will only burn you in the long run."

"I'm not about to run around casting Unforgivables on everyone!" Harry protested. "But in small doses it can create an advantage of surprise, no? That was the first time I've even come close to overpowering you!"

"Only because I did not expect such an underhanded tactic from you," Dumbledore chided him. "And I would advise you not to try such a stunt again, or there will be dire consequences."

But you've just proven my point! Harry thought angrily. Doing something the enemy didn't expect was exactly the kind of leverage he needed to take advantage of! Would anyone begrudge him using the Imperius Curse if it meant taking down Voldemort with it, or one of his top lieutenants? This was war they were talking about!

"I think we should end things here," said Dumbledore, reaching down to help Harry to his feet with a surprisingly strong grip. "I suggest you apply yourself more to your studies and your preparation rather than resort to such drastic measures."

"Maybe I wouldn't have to, if I had even a shred of progress to cling to," Harry said grumpily.

"I took you on as a personal student because I felt you could handle a challenge," Dumbledore said firmly. "Perhaps it is a good thing that you face some adversity for once in your life."

"Adversity?" Harry snapped, growing angrier by the second. "You think I've never faced adversity, sir? You don't know the first thing about it! I've felt like my back was up against the wall for far longer than you can even fathom, so don't pretend like you know what I've been through!"

"Harry—" Dumbledore sighed, but Harry stormed off, exiting the Room of Requirement with a huff. How dare Dumbledore suggest that he knew what his life had been like? That he'd been born with a silver spoon in his mouth? It couldn't be further from the truth. Harry might appear to an outsider like the spoiled rich kid of a famous father, but in reality he'd faced more adversity in the last ten years than most people face in ten lifetimes.

"Nervous about your match tomorrow, dear?"

"Huh?" Harry said absent-mindedly. He'd been zoning out while watching his mother sort through ingredients delivered from the greenhouses earlier that day. "Maybe a little."

"I'm sure you'll be brilliant as always," Lily smiled kindly. "Give me a hand with these, will you?"

Harry stood to assist his mother with transferring the tiny piles of ground fluxweed saplings into jars for preservation. He'd begun spending Friday nights in her office, making light conversation and helping her with various menial tasks to appease her. The timing was deliberate – he hoped that by starting off his weekend with Lily, she would stay off his back until the following Monday at least. It was a self-imposed detention of sorts, but it kept her happy.

"How have your lessons with the Headmaster been going?" Lily asked. "I hope you appreciate just how big of an honor it is that he's helping you personally."

"Fine, I guess," Harry shrugged. He badly wanted to vent with someone about his frustrations with the man's tutoring style, but Lily was not the right person for it. She would only fret and worry and insist that Harry do whatever the man said, because he knew best. Maybe James would be more understanding of his dilemma, though Harry certainly wasn't going to bother the busy man with such trivial conflicts.

"Severus told me he had to give you a detention last weekend," Lily frowned. "What did you do to upset him this time?"

"He's under the impression that I'm out to get Draco Malfoy hurt again," Harry sighed. "Just because I wanted to see where he was going, and what he thinks is more important than playing Quidditch this term—"

"Oh, Harry, show the poor boy some mercy," Lily groaned. "His family's been through enough already, haven't they?"

"Why are you so sure Draco is innocent in all of this?" Harry demanded. "Dumbledore thinks he got the Dark Mark this summer. That makes him just as guilty as his father if you ask me."

"Don't be so dramatic," Lily tutted. "Draco is sixteen, and doesn't know any better than he was taught. If he did take the Mark, he either didn't know what he was getting into, or he had no other choice."

"But what difference does it make? He's still a threat. If he was given orders to hurt someone I care about, I'll never forgive myself if I just sit back and let it happen."

"You mustn't jump to the worst possible conclusion about people," Lily remanded him. "Look at Severus: he too took the Mark as a teenager, but he saw the error in his ways and turned his life around."

"And yet, Voldemort still trusts him," Harry pointed out. "You've never wondered why that is?"

"Dumbledore trusts him too," Lily said. "And that's good enough for me."

It shouldn't be, Harry thought bitterly, but he held his tongue. Surely his mother could see what everyone else clearly could? Snape was still smitten with Lily, and he would do or say anything to appease her. It didn't make him a good person in Harry's book.

And he couldn't understand why all the adults were so sure that Draco was harmless! Sure, he was an arrogant pest who wasn't half as great as he thought he was, but he was still a clever Slytherin who could find ways to cause havoc if needed. He may be neutered now, but Harry dreaded the day the boy decided it was safe to start antagonizing the Potters again.

But Harry would have to put the boy out of his thoughts for the time being. The day of the Slytherin match had arrived, and Harry had to focus on what was immediately in front of him. The atmosphere was charged when he entered the Great Hall, with all four Houses buzzing excitedly about the opening match of the season. As was tradition, the Hall had temporarily been rearranged to put the opposing Houses on opposite sides of the room from one another, to prevent any nasty physical or verbal altercations from taking place.

"We're going to smoke them today," Terry Boot proclaimed confidently, patting Harry on the back. "Harper's a bit thick, so I don't expect him to be some prodigy Seeker out of the blue."

"Yeah, probably not," Harry agreed. But it wasn't the fifth-year Harper he was worried about. It was the other pure-blood members of the team, particularly those whose fathers had been caught in last weekend's Auror raid. Harry spied them glaring daggers in his direction from across the Hall...did they have retribution planned for today?

And that wasn't his only concern. Harry spied Damian Dursley leaving the castle for the pitch with his friends and hustled to catch up with him. "Wait up, cousin!" he called out. "Got a minute?"

"Looking for some last-minute pointers, Potter?" Damian smirked. "No offense, but we're rooting for Slytherin today to improve our chances at the Cup."

"Never mind that," Harry muttered, pulling Damian aside. "I need you to take this."

"Again?" Damian frowned, taking the Marauder's Map from Harry. "Is there another mass murderer after me or summat?"

"That remains to be seen," Harry said gravely. "Listen, I want you to keep an eye on Draco Malfoy's dot during the match, okay? See what he's up to, where he goes."

"Won't he be at the match?" Damian said, confused.

"Dunno, but just keep an eye on him, will you?" asked Harry.

"You want me to stare at this stupid Map the whole time instead of watching the match?"

"Not the whole time!" Harry groaned. "Just check every couple of minutes to make sure he's not doing anything shady. Please, Damian, it's important."

Damian grumbled discontentedly, but eventually relented. "Alright," he sighed. "That bugger probably is up to no good. I'd love to catch him doing something suspect after last year's incident."

"Just don't confront him on your own, whatever you do," Harry warned. "He's dangerous, Damian, I mean it."

"If you say so," Damian shrugged, pocketing the Map. "Break a leg out there, Potter. Literally – those Slytherin Beaters are right pieces of work."

"Thanks for the show of support, Dursley," Harry smirked, before heading down to the pitch himself. He spied Dahlia chatting excitedly with Astoria and Ginny as they headed to the stands, and knew Lily would be in attendance as well. That was good – all of his family members were accounted for. Whatever Draco had planned, if anything, he would have a difficult time harming any of them.

That peace of mind allowed Harry to take his mind off of Draco and focus on the task at hand. He gave last-minute instructions to his team in the locker room, keeping the strategy more or less the same: focus on the defenders, and let Harry handle the opposing Seeker on his own. Was this a wise decision? Should he show a bit more self-preservation and ask the Beaters to protect him? No, I can handle myself, Harry thought resolutely.

Madam Hooch came to collect the team soon after, and they marched out onto the pitch in a single-file line. The Slytherin team was already waiting for them, lined up shoulder to shoulder at midfield. Madam Hooch instructed the Ravenclaws to do the same, facing the Slytherins; the two teams sized each other up, exchanging no words but plenty of dirty looks.

"Welcome, one and all, to the opening Quidditch match of the season!" exclaimed Dean Thomas over the megaphone. Dean had taken over Lee Jordan's duties as commentator after the latter graduated. "Today's match is between Slytherin, captained by Keeper Ivan Mulciber, and Ravenclaw, captained by Seeker Harry Potter!"

The crowd cheered wildly at this declaration. Harry glanced across the sea of students in the stands; the green and silver Slytherin section was pronounced, but nearly the entire rest of the school was decked out in blue and bronze to show support for Ravenclaw.

"We have a special presentation before today's match," Dean continued. "Here to say a few words and perform the ceremonial Quaffle toss is our Minister of Magic, James Potter!"

The crowd erupted with cheers as James strode across the pitch towards center field, beaming and waving to everyone. It was a far cry from the reception Cornelius Fudge got the year before – James was genuinely beloved at Hogwarts, not only as a former professor but as one of the most popular Ministers in decades. James stood in between the two rival teams and pointed his wand at his throat to address the entire stadium.

"Thank you all," he said once the noise had quieted down. "I just wanted to say that the Ministry is doing all that we can to keep you safe in these uncertain times. I know many of you are afraid of what might happen to your parents and loved ones, but rest assured that we will not rest until the monster known as Lord Voldemort is eliminated, and the wizarding world knows peace once more."

The crowd exploded in applause once more, showing their support for the man. James went down the line shaking hands with each of the Slytherins; they looked somewhat displeased, but nonetheless accepted the gesture without comment. James then moved on to the Ravenclaws, who much more enthusiastically responded to his attention.

"Give 'em hell, son," James whispered in Harry's ear as he gave him a brief hug. Then he took his place beside Madam Hooch as the referee blew her whistle and ordered both teams into the air.

Harry lined up for the face-off, studying the enemy Seeker, Harper, closely. The fifth-year boy averted his gaze, not looking Harry in the eye. Harry knew nothing about the boy's family history or affiliations...was he avoiding Harry out of fear, or knowledge of what was about to happen?

Madam Hooch blew her whistle, and James tossed the Quaffle high into the air to begin the match. "And it's Ravenclaw with possession!" Dean exclaimed excitedly. "Chang passes it to Selwyn, who feigns left and dumps it off to Kim...ooh, a nice Bludger hit from Boot against the Slytherin Keeper...Kim passes back to Chang, who shoots – AND SCORES! Ravenclaw lead, ten-nil!"

The audience cheered appreciatively at the quick offensive display. But something didn't feel right to Harry about it. It had been an easy goal – too easy, as if the Slytherins weren't even trying to stop it. They didn't even argue with one another as they flew back to center field to reset for the next point.

The next few possessions fared little better for the Slytherins. Cho led the Ravenclaw offense with pinpoint precision and power, scoring two more quick goals for the blue and bronze before they reached the five-minute mark. And still, the Slytherins did not seem upset with the outcome; they merely reset each time, stony-faced and betraying no negative emotions about the drubbing they were receiving.

Harry spotted the Snitch on the next possession. He dove after it, fully expecting a pair of Bludgers to come in and attempt to murder him as he honed in on the tiny golden ball. But they never came. Harper was woefully behind and unable to catch up, and seconds later, Harry emerged with the Snitch in his palm as the crowd roared its appreciation once more.

"And the rout continues!" Dean exclaimed. "Make it 80-0 for Ravenclaw!"

Harry intentionally flew close by Crabbe and Goyle, sending them a questioning look as they returned towards midfield. The two hulking boys merely sneered at Harry before turning and flying away. What the hell is going on here? Harry wondered. Are they even trying to win?

A few minutes later, Harry had another opportunity at the Snitch as Ravenclaw extended their lead to 100-0. It was fluttering by the Slytherin goal posts, and Harper was much closer to it. Once he saw Harry streaking towards him, he turned and located the tiny golden ball darting off. He's going to get there first, Harry realized with a sinking feeling.

But then, inexplicably, Harper slowed down, allowing Harry to out-strip him on the much faster broom. Once again Harry braced himself for the inevitable trap, the Bludger attack that would send him to the Hospital Wing. But once again he was surprised to find his path totally clear, and he grabbed the Snitch once again to make it a 150-point contest.

"What are you lot doing?" Harry demanded as he flew up alongside their captain, Mulciber, on the way back to midfield. "Are you letting us win on purpose?"

"Piss off, Potter," Mulciber spat, speeding up to avoid him. Harry could only shake his head and take his own place for the face-off.

Harry's teammates must have caught on to the strange vibes of the match, as they gave him concerned looks before resuming play once more. The Slytherins already looked defeated, barely putting effort into their defenses and quickly giving up the Quaffle whenever they managed to gain possession for themselves. The writing was on the wall, and clearly everyone just wanted it to be over with.

Fortunately, Harry got the opportunity to end it soon after. He saw the final Snitch fluttering feebly around midfield, making no effort to conceal itself, as though sensing the end as well. Harry took off at half-speed, almost inviting Harper to spot the Snitch himself and give chase, but the opposing Seeker seemed just as done with it as the rest of the team. So Harry begrudgingly put on a final burst of speed and caught the Snitch to end the match.

"And that caps off one of the most lopsided victories in Quidditch history!" Dean shouted as the audience cheered. "Ravenclaw defeats Slytherin, 220 to 0...an absolute massacre!"

Harry was still waiting for the other shoe to drop as he landed on the pitch. Mulciber and the other Slytherins were approaching – was this when they would spring their ambush? Did they hope to lull Harry into a false sense of security before attacking him and making an example of him in broad daylight?

But Mulciber merely extended his hand and said, "Good game, Potter." Harry awkwardly shook the hand and watched as Mulciber led his team back into the locker rooms. Was that really it? Was this all a ruse to cover up for something else? Had Draco perhaps plotted some other trap while the entire school was preoccupied with the match?

That idea was squashed, however, when Harry caught up with Damian outside the stadium. "Malfoy was at the match the whole time," Damian shrugged. "Double-checked on the Map in case of Polyjuice and everything. He couldn't have done anything, not with the whole staff and all those Aurors watching."

"Alright," Harry sighed, accepting the Map back. Something still smelled mighty fishy, and he suspected foul play of some kind. If the Slytherin team wasn't planning retribution, why had they chosen not to fight at all? Surely they wouldn't do so of their own accord...they were too competitive, too prideful to accept such a thing. And Harry intended to get to the bottom of it.

He joined his House mates in the Great Hall for a celebratory lunch, before excusing himself and making a beeline for the staff room. When he entered, he found Professor Snape quietly brewing a cup of tea in the corner, and marched straight over to confront him.

"What was all that about?" Harry demanded. "Why did your House roll over and die like that? Did you tell them to?"

"I would never encourage my House to perform with such indignity and lack of self-respect," Snape said calmly without looking up from his teacup.

"Who, then?" Harry asked. "Because they sure as hell wouldn't have done it on their own!"

Snape finally set down his cup and turned fully to face Harry for the first time. "You'd do well to remember what I told you on the first day of class, Potter," he said sternly. "You are being watched very carefully within this castle. The Dark Lord remains intrigued by you, and it would behoove you to avoid doing anything to capture his attention further."

"What are you saying?" Harry asked, confused. "You mean...Voldemort told the sons of his Death Eaters to let us win?"

"How do you think it would look, if the children of disgraced insurrectionists were to harm the son of the Minister himself?" Snape asked. "How might such an act be viewed by those in positions of power? What kind of retribution might someone like Mulciber Sr. face within Azkaban Prison?"

"So that means Voldemort is...protecting me?" Harry concluded.

"I said nothing of the sort," Snape sniffed, turning back to his teacup. "Watch your step, Potter, or such displays of mercy might cease to exist entirely." And Snape walked across the room to a table against the far wall, sitting with his back to Harry – a clear dismissal.

Harry returned to Ravenclaw Tower, mulling over what Snape had said. Was it really as simple as he made it out to be? Was Voldemort having such a difficult time dealing with Minister Potter's tough measures, that he feared inciting further raids and sanctions? Had he labeled Harry and his family as 'untouchable', lest any act of violence towards them be viewed as a proxy attack on the Minister himself?

Or was there more to the story than Snape was letting on? What did he mean by 'displays of mercy'? Did Voldemort want Harry to know that he was deliberately keeping his minions away from the Potter family? But why would he bother? James Potter was a formidable enemy...wouldn't Voldemort want to knock the Minister down a peg by messing with his son? What reason could he have for not only avoiding Harry, but actively clearing a path for him?

Harry couldn't help but think of something Saul had said in his fourth year...a theory he'd concocted as to the reasoning behind Rita Skeeter's motive. What if Voldemort was actively trying to help Harry? He'd already tried to recruit Harry to his side twice before, and the last time they met in the Atrium, he'd witnessed Harry rebuke Dumbledore and reject the notion that he was on the Headmaster's side. Did Voldemort hope to court Harry again in the future – to corrupt Dumbledore's 'golden boy' and turn him against the Light?

It was a ridiculous notion, but one Harry could not shake as he pondered the intended message behind the day's events. Today had been a statement, that much was clear. What it intended to convey remained a mystery, however.