"So, did it work?"
Once they reached the stands, Hermione looked over at Sherlock and Luna, a little anxious.
Their plan had been simple: have Harry pretend to slip Felix Felicis into Ron's pumpkin juice, and let the confidence do the rest.
If it worked, that would prove there was nothing wrong with Ron's technique—the real problem was his nerves.
And if even that failed, well, there was nothing else for it. Time to find a replacement.
After all, Ron hadn't exactly shone in his first match on the team either, and Harry had basically carried him through it.
Even now, Harry was confident he could catch the Snitch before the score gap widened to a hundred and fifty points.
But Sherlock had pointed out a blind spot in their plan.
He himself couldn't be there when it happened.
The reason went without saying which was why Luna had suddenly appeared and dragged him off.
"The match is about to start. We'll know soon enough."
Sherlock smiled faintly. "If Ron plays well, the most important thing is that he understands he won this through his own strength not because of the potion."
"Right." Hermione nodded. "It's just one more act in the play, that's all."
"Look, look, they're coming out!"
Just then, Luna cried out.
By now Harry and Urquhart, captains of their respective teams, had already led their players to the centre of the pitch.
"Captains, shake hands."
At Madam Hooch's command, Harry felt his hand nearly crushed by the Slytherin captain's grip.
When Harry had first arrived at school, he really had been smaller than most boys his age.
But once he came to Hogwarts and started eating properly, his height had shot up fast.
Now, in his sixth year, he was nothing like the skinny boy he'd once been—he'd grown tall. And yet he'd kept his old agility.
These days, Harry's build was starting to remind people a little of Cedric back in the day.
Tall, well-proportioned, quick on his feet. And after five years of boxing with Sherlock, there was no way he'd lose a contest of raw strength.
So, the instant he felt what Urquhart was up to, Harry didn't hesitate, he squeezed right back.
Urquhart felt the force coming back at him through his palm and couldn't hide his shock.
This Chosen One's got some spine to him, apparently.
"Right, mount your brooms!"
Madam Hooch noticed the handshake was dragging on a bit too long and spoke up quickly.
"On my whistle... three..."
The whistle blew, and everyone kicked hard off the frozen ground. Fifteen broomsticks rose into the air together.
Harry, as always, used the Firebolt's edge to fly higher than anyone else.
At the same time, he circled the pitch, scanning for the Golden Snitch.
Malfoy, Slytherin's Seeker, shot him a dark, unreadable look, then climbed higher too.
Just then, a voice utterly unlike the usual commentator's rang out.
"Right, and they're off!
"I think everyone's going to be surprised by the team Potter's cobbled together this term.
"A lot of people assumed that Ronald Weasley, whose form as Keeper was so up and down last term, wouldn't be kept on the team.
"And then there's Chaser Ginevra Weasley, who last term was never anything more than Potter's substitute—never once got to play.
"Clearly, the Weasleys' close personal ties to the captain didn't hurt their chances any..."
Though the commentary was blatantly aimed at Gryffindor, it still won jeers and cheers from the Slytherins at the far end of the pitch.
"Who is that guy?!"
"Why'd they let a git like that do the commentary?"
"He's nowhere near as good as Lee!"
Over in the Gryffindor stands, the lion cubs were already grumbling in outrage.
Sherlock glanced toward the commentator's box and saw a tall, skinny boy with yellow hair and a flat nose standing there.
He looked at Hermione, a question in his eyes.
"That's Zacharias Smith," Hermione said after a moment's thought. "Hufflepuff."
Sherlock nodded, then turned to Luna instead.
"Interested in giving the commentary a try?"
"Me?"
Luna pointed at herself, looking puzzled.
Just then, Zacharias's voice came through again:
"Excellent, Slytherin's first attack on goal—Urquhart streaks down the pitch, and there's a captain leading by example for you—"
The lion cubs' hearts leapt into their throats.
Lavender Brown especially, who clutched tight at Hermione's arm.
Hermione: ...
This scene felt oddly familiar.
"Oh—Weasley saves it, well, I suppose he gets lucky now and then..."
"Right you are, Smith, well said."
Down on the pitch, Harry muttered under his breath, grinning to himself.
Right now, he knew, his "fake Felix Felicis" plan was doing exactly what it was supposed to.
Up in the stands, the lion cubs cheered as one.
The lion hat on Luna's head began roaring at the top of its lungs.
Half an hour later, Gryffindor led sixty to nil.
With the Snitch still nowhere in sight, the Lions had been outstanding on both offense and defence.
Of the six goals Gryffindor had scored, Ginny alone had put in four.
As for Ron, he'd been in a class of his own—not a single goal let through the whole time.
Some of the saves had been so close he'd had to tip the Quaffle away with the very tip of his glove.
That shut Zacharias up fast—he no longer dared claim out loud that the Weasleys had only made the team because Harry played favourites. Instead, he switched targets and started picking apart the two Beaters, Peakes and Coote.
"Of course, Coote doesn't exactly have the build you'd expect of a Beater," Zacharias said loftily. "Beaters as a rule tend to be more—muscular—"
"Is something wrong with this guy?"
Parvati Patil couldn't take it anymore. "Neville, go ask Hannah later why he's got it in for us."
"Hannah? Me?" Neville pointed at himself, startled.
"Aren't you and Hannah Abbott close?" Parvati said impatiently. "She's the Hufflepuff prefect, and that blathering idiot is Hufflepuff too—"
"If you just want to know the reason, you don't need to ask Hannah." Hearing this, Dean Thomas spoke up.
"It's because Zacharias Smith has been dying to get into the Slug Club."
"Even so, that's no reason to have it in for Gryffindor, is it?" Hermione couldn't quite follow. "There's no connection between those two things at all!"
The others looked just as baffled even Sherlock wore a puzzled expression.
"It's because he thinks Harry's wasting resources.
"For some reason, every time Harry starts Quidditch practice, Professor Slughorn happens to be hosting one of his dinners.
"Which means Harry and Ginny can never go."
Dean sighed and went on.
"Professor Slughorn's actually mentioned it to quite a few people, and Zacharias happened to overhear.
"So, he went and asked Professor Slughorn since there was clearly a spot open, could he take it instead?"
Dean didn't say how that had gone, but everyone could guess.
"And just because of that he's holding a grudge against Harry and Ginny? That's a bit—"
For once, Hermione couldn't find the right word for it.
"His brain's probably been Bezoared by Snape." So, Sherlock declared.
"His head's probably been kicked by a Crumple-Horned Snorkack." So Luna declared.
"I think Slytherin's Harper has spotted the Snitch!"
Just then, Zacharias Smith spoke into the magical microphone again:
"Yes, he's definitely seen something and Potter hasn't!"
"That idiot! Win or lose, the second this match is over, I am going to give that guy the beating of his life!" Hearing Zacharias run his mouth again, Parvati finally lost it and turned to the others.
"Who's with me?"
"Obviously!" Lavender was the first to answer.
"Count me in!" Dean raised a hand next.
"Let's go, let's go, let's go!" Seamus looked absolutely gleeful at the prospect of chaos.
"M-me too, I guess..." Even Neville chimed in, weakly.
Sherlock let out a soft laugh.
"My dear classmates, this time you've actually wronged him."
"What?"
Everyone turned to look at Sherlock, baffled—whose side are you even on?
"Malfoy really has spotted the Golden Snitch. Harry hasn't."
"What?!"
Everyone whipped their heads around to look where Sherlock was pointing, and their hearts all lurched at once.
There was the Golden Snitch, flying even higher than Harry and Malfoy, glinting dazzlingly against the clear blue sky.
"Oh no, we're only up by a hundred points!"
Dean realized the problem at once.
If Malfoy caught the Snitch first, Gryffindor would lose the match by fifty points.
Everyone had played so well today—if they lost anyway, that would be unbearably deflating.
"No need to worry." Sherlock pointed again. "Harry's already caught up."
Just as Sherlock said, though Harry had started out a bit behind Malfoy, he'd closed the gap thanks to the Firebolt's speed and his own superior flying skill.
By the time the two of them were within a few feet of the Snitch, they were locked in fierce physical combat.
If this had been first or second year, Harry might not have been a match for Malfoy.
But this was sixth year now.
As already mentioned, Harry had grown from a scrawny boy into a solidly built young man.
Not only was he taller than Malfoy now, his core strength had the edge on him too.
Dodging Malfoy's shoulder-check, Harry didn't hesitate—he threw an elbow.
Man!
Malfoy never dreamed this Harry Potter had it in him to play this rough.
Taking Harry's elbow full-on, he froze up completely.
Harry surged forward at once toward the small fluttering ball and snatched it out of the air.
"Got it!"
Harry shouted, and manoeuvred around, diving fast toward the ground, the Snitch held high in his hand.
By the time the crowd realized what had happened, they erupted into a deafening roar that drowned out even the whistle marking the end of the match.
The Gryffindor players hugged each other wildly in midair—Harry found himself squeezed right into the middle of the pile but Ginny flew straight past them all. Harry called out in alarm, "Ginny, where are you going?"
There came a loud crash—Ginny had flown straight into the commentator's platform.
Amid the crowd's shrieks and roars of laughter, the Gryffindor players touched down beside the wreckage of cracked planks.
Zacharias Smith lay pinned weakly beneath the boards.
Harry heard Ginny say brightly to a furious Professor McGonagall:
"Forgot to brake, Professor. Sorry about that."
Everyone burst out laughing.
It was obvious—Ginny had done it on purpose.
She'd chosen the most direct way possible to get back at Zacharias Smith for his commentary.
Seeing this, Harry couldn't help but pull Ginny into a warm hug. But when he tried to let go, he found she wouldn't release him.
"Ginny?" Harry was a little taken aback.
"Please, just let me hold on a bit longer," Ginny's voice came softly by his ear. "Just a bit. Just a little bit more."
Harry had no idea what to do with himself in that moment.
Luckily, Ginny still had her wits about her, and let go before it went on too long—long enough that the others noticed, but not so long it crossed any real line.
Everyone simply put it down to her getting swept up in the excitement of the win.
After that, the Gryffindor team put aside their grudges and walked off the pitch arm in arm, pumping their fists in the air and waving to the crowd cheering them on.
"Guess we don't need to beat that annoying git after all, huh?"
Parvati looked toward the commentator's box and couldn't help laughing with relief.
"Who's got time for him now!"
"Right, let's leave the poor guy alone!"
"Let's go celebrate in the common room!"
"Sherlock, Hermione, aren't you two coming?"
Seeing that Sherlock and Hermione showed no sign of leaving right away, Neville asked, curious.
"There's still one act left to finish, my friend."
"There you go again, saying things none of us understand, Sherlock." Neville just shook his head. "Never mind—see you two in the common room!"
Meanwhile, the Gryffindor changing room was full of jubilation.
"There's a party starting in the common room upstairs!"
Katie Bell shouted gleefully.
"Come on, let's go, Ginny, Demelza!"
Harry deliberately dawdled, and once everyone else had finally cleared out, only he and Ron were left in the changing room.
Just then, Sherlock and Hermione burst in.
The moment Harry saw them, he let out a breath of relief.
If those two hadn't shown up when they did, he genuinely had no idea what excuse he could have used to stall any longer.
Ron might be slow on the uptake, but he wasn't stupid.
A little longer, and he'd definitely have started to suspect something.
Harry looked over at Sherlock and Hermione and thought to himself, with quiet admiration:
Now that's some fine acting.
You can read more than 40 chapters on:
patreon.com/MikeyMuse