Harry's face warmed. "Come on guys, quit it."
Millie looked about to take the mickie some more, but after taking in his expression, she let it go. "Why's that bother you, that maybe you can't be everywhere at once?"
Harry shrugged. His friends let him get away with the non-answer far more often than Snape did. But this time, shrugging made him feel stupid. "I'm sorry I'm not a good friend," he said quietly.
Both of them stared.
Teddy spoke first: "That's dumb."
"What?"
"You are a good friend. So shut up," Millie said, and then stuck out her tongue.
Harry couldn't help but laugh.
--HPSSHPSSHPSS--
On the day of the next Quidditch Match, the Slytherin team had a pleasant surprise.
Flint made the announcement as they were suiting up for the game. "Our Head of House will be acting as referee for this match."
"Excellent," said Terry Higgs. "There's no way we can lose now."
"As if we would against the Puffies anyway," said Draco. He was Chaser in today's match as Rufford was in the Hospital Wing, afflicted with an unidentifiable curse of some kind.
"Don't be so cocky, Malfoy," Flint growled. "It's attitudes like that what'll lose us the game. You do your best on the field no matter who we play, or I'll have Wilkes come in instead. Got it?"
"Yeah," Draco said, rolling his eyes.
"What's that?" Flint barked.
"I said, Yes, Captain! Heard you loud and clear!"
Harry turned his face into the sleeve of his robes to hide his snicker. Malfoy gave him a cheeky grin while twirling a finger near his ear, and Harry nearly lost it. Thankfully, after giving Draco a scowl, Flint had turned to lambasting the beaters now, and didn't see them.
"I can't believe I get to be in the game today," Draco murmured to Harry as both of them began lacing up their boots. "My Father's come to see me play."
"Yeah?" Harry said, interested despite himself. Lucius Malfoy was something of a legend in Slytherin, and the upper years were always vying for his favor in getting placements after graduating, especially in the Ministry. And Harry knew, from the long-ago dress down with Snape, that Draco's father could be rather hard on him. He hoped Draco did well today, for both their sakes. "How about your Mum?"
"Mother couldn't make it. She has some charity event she's running," Draco added with a wrinkled nose. "She's always doing stuff like that."
Harry finished with his boots and started on the elbow pads, the last to be applied before he put on his gloves. "My aunt was like that, always some society thing or another."
"Was?" Draco asked with a lifted eyebrow. "She's dead?"
I wish, thought Harry. "No . . . well, except to me, I guess."
Draco snickered. He started putting on his gloves, the green leather ones Harry had gotten him for Christmas. "Thanks for these. They fit very well."
"You're welcome." Harry hadn't received anything in return, but that didn't matter to him. He was glad Draco liked the gift.
"One more thing," Flint growled loudly over everyone's conversations. "Listen up. The Puffies beat Ravenclaw last fall, and lost to Gryffindor last month, so we don't want them getting a bunch of points they can use to get close to us in Final scoring. You Beaters keep on their Chasers; I'll take any points they score out of your hides. And Potter, I want you to catch that bloody snitch as soon as possible. Got it?"
Harry nodded. "Yes, Captain."
"Good. All right, you lot. Time to mount up!"
Just like last time, Harry's stomach did a tumble and flip as he neared the door of the locker room. He could do this. He could. And with Snape as referee, he wouldn't have to worry so much about Quirrell trying to hex his broom.
Probably.
As one, the team got on their brooms and flew out of the dressing room, Flint first, then their Chasers, then the other Beater, the Keeper, and then Harry, the Seeker at the end.
Three-quarters of the stands were silent or booing as they emerged, but the Slytherin quarter was standing and cheering, waving flags and shooting out sparks of silver and green, and they made up for the hostility and apathy of the other Houses. Professor Snape, looking dour, sat his broom casual as you please near the announcer's booth and watched all his players. Harry, in particular, could feel the weight of the man's gaze. The team took a lap around the pitch, then settled in the air near the Slytherin goal posts and waited for the Puffies' to join them.
A moment later, the other team flew out of their locker room in a swath of yellow. The crowd went wild.
Harry shook his head, watching the Gryffindors trying to out do each other to make sure everyone knew they supported the Hufflepuffs, everything from shooting yellow sparks into the air, to sending up holo-images of badgers going after bright green snakes to stomp and/or choke them to death.
Nice.
Immediately after the Puffies took their lap around the pitch, Madam Hooch called them all in, so the Captains could shake hands before she gave the signal for the game to begin. Flint looked disgusted as he slapped Cedric Diggory's hand away, but Madam Hooch didn't say anything against him.
Snape merely sneered.
"Up you go!" called Madam Hooch, and the game was on.
Seconds after he had risen into the air, Harry caught sight of a long silver beard in the stands. He looked over his shoulder and, sure enough, it was Dumbledore, settled in the faculty box, looking mildly amused. Though he wanted to, Harry did not peer too closely at the others in the box to try and find Quirrell. He just concentrated on finding the . . .
The Snitch! Just behind Snape's billowing black cloak. Harry flew a little distance away from it, to try and lure Diggory into following him. Then he turned abruptly, angled his broom into a steep dive, and flew as fast as he could toward the fluttering golden ball. Between one breath and another, he streaked past Snape in a blur of green and grabbed the Snitch faster than you can say, "Slytherins Win!"
Those were the next words Harry heard as he came out of his dive, holding the Snitch aloft. His fellow Slytherins darted in to fly around him and congratulate him on a great catch.
"They didn't even score once!" Flint said.
"Neither did we," pointed out Draco, but Flint scowled at him.
"That's not his fault. You did great, Potter!" said Bletchley. "I don't think anyone's ever caught the Snitch so fast."
"Thanks," was all Harry had time to say before the Slytherins took their obligatory victory lap around the stadium while three quarters of the audience booed them again. It was kind of annoying, actually. But Slytherins never let that sort of thing get to them, at least not in front of anyone else. In private, now . . .
Once they all hit the ground, the rest of the House and some other fans, such as Lucius Malfoy, swarmed the field to congratulate the team. A hand rested on Harry's shoulder briefly, and before he could shake it away, he heard Dumbledore murmur, softly enough no one else could hear, "Well done. I'm glad to see you haven't been brooding about that mirror . . . been keeping busy . . . excellent."
A bit confused, Harry watched as Dumbledore slipped away through the press of people, but was then caught up in accepting pats on the back and congratulations from other Slytherins. Lucius Malfoy shook his hand. Even Snape looked a bit less dour and gave him a terse nod. Harry grinned back at him.
An hour or so later, Harry left the locker room alone, to take his Nimbus Two Thousand back to the broomshed. He couldn't ever remember feeling happier. He'd really done something to be proud of now -- no one could say he was just a famous name anymore. The evening air had never smelled so sweet. He walked over the damp grass, reliving the last hour in his head, which was a happy blur: Slytherins running to lift him onto their shoulders; Millie jumping up and down and laughing through a heavy nosebleed, Teddy cheering and pumping his fist into the air.