Chapter 266. Prongs
Harry had meant to return the Marauder's Map to the twins, but Fred and George exchanged a knowing look and shook their heads.
Fred, adopting a theatrical tone, told him, "Dear Harry, we've thought it through—true adventurers never need a map! It's an insult to us! We crave pure thrills and unknown surprises. Relying on a map? How's that any different from baking a cake by following a recipe?"
George patted Fred and muttered under his breath, "That's not what you said the other day."
"Hey, sir," Fred immediately elbowed George, "keep it down!"
"In any case, you hang on to the map, Harry," the twins said in unison. "It always proves useful at the crucial moment."
"Thanks, both of you." Harry thanked them sincerely, folded the Marauder's Map with care, and tucked it into the inner pocket of his robes.
More than the map itself, he was fascinated by the technique used to make it. Perhaps, when he had spare time, he could study it properly.
23 April.
Saturday.
Hogwarts' Quidditch pitch was packed; today was the Quidditch final of the school year, Gryffindor versus Hufflepuff,
The match was already in its closing phase.
On the pitch, Harry and Cedric were giving chase to the final Golden Snitch.
Both of them were on Firebolts, and after a long duel neither had managed to win out.
They were almost neck and neck. The wind roared past Harry's ears; he had no room in his head for anything else. Eyes narrowed against the sting of the air, he fixed on that flicker of gold ahead.
"Looks like the two teams' Seekers are about to put on a spectacular showdown!" Lee Jordan's commentary boomed through the stadium via the Sonorus-amplified microphone. "The score is currently 180–170, Gryffindor in the lead, but if Diggory catches the Snitch… oh, that's a sight none of us wants to see."
As a Gryffindor, Lee Jordan's commentary was hardly impartial, coloured by personal feeling.
Of course, no one cared about that now; the match had reached its crucial moment.
Harry could hear the hum of Cedric's broom just behind him. The Hufflepuff Seeker's technique was genuinely superb—several times he almost overtook Harry.
But Harry had lost once already. He would not make the same mistake again.
Suddenly, the Golden Snitch veered and plunged straight down toward the edge of the pitch.
Harry swung his broom without hesitation; he could feel Cedric right on his tail, their brooms nearly brushing.
"Careful!" Cedric shouted.
Only then did Harry register that the Snitch was arrowing straight for the ground. At the last split second he hauled up on the Firebolt; the tail bristles skimmed the grass and flung up a spray of water.
And in that moment, the Golden Snitch was clenched tight in his hand.
In an instant, a thunderous cheer erupted from the Gryffindor stands.
Gryffindor, victorious!
Fresh from the win, Harry was in the best mood he'd been in for ages.
He'd originally thought their final opponents would be Slytherin, but plainly Hufflepuff had made a quantum leap this year, and the two Houses had met in the final.
That afternoon, after a brief celebration, Harry decided to go to Professor Adrian Wesson's office to share the good news—even though Wesson had been there in the stands.
As he was walking the corridor, Cedric came toward him from the opposite direction.
"Hey, Harry," Cedric greeted first, smiling. "Great match."
"Oh. Right. You weren't bad either," Harry said, a little awkward.
He couldn't understand how Cedric could be so composed after losing. If Harry had lost, he'd have been in a foul mood for days and wouldn't have wanted to speak to his opponent at all.
Cedric, somehow, always managed to keep that admirable poise.
After a brief exchange, Cedric took his leave.
Harry continued on to Wesson's office. Just as he reached the door, he could make out voices inside.
"Are you planning to resign, Lupin?"
—That was clearly Wesson.
"Ah, yes. Dumbledore says I haven't much time left…"—that would be Lupin.
A jolt shot through Harry; without thinking, he pushed the door open.
"You ought to knock first, sir…" Wesson looked over, displeased, then paused when he saw it was Harry and smiled. "All right, come in, Harry. What brings you here?"
"Sorry, I didn't mean to eavesdrop," Harry said, hand still on the doorknob, looking uneasily at Lupin. "Professor Lupin, what do you mean by 'not much time left'? Is that…?"
Lupin gave a helpless little laugh. "It's nothing, Harry. No harm telling you plainly. I expect you've heard the talk about the curse on the Defence Against the Dark Arts post at Hogwarts."
Harry nodded. He had, of course—ever since Lord Voldemort had been refused the Defence Against the Dark Arts job, that post had been under a curse.
"The curse is about to take," Lupin said lightly. "Professor Wesson advised me to resign before I lose my neck. Sounds rather sensible, doesn't it?"
Harry had been about to say it was no big deal—then he remembered what had happened to Quirinus Quirrell and Gilderoy Lockhart, and all the other old stories.
…Running for it might be the sensible choice.
Seeing Harry's mixed expression, Lupin patted Wesson on the shoulder. "Don't worry—Professor Wesson will take over my classes and finish out the term. Your learning won't be affected."
Wesson shrugged—this seemed to have become the annual routine by now. He'd lost count of how many Defence Against the Dark Arts lessons he'd covered for other people.
Ah, next time he saw Dumbledore he really was going to bring up a pay rise. No one could be allowed to exploit his labour—that was a basic principle of any working man.
"Oh, by the way, Harry," Lupin changed the subject, "how's your practice with the Patronus Charm going?"
Harry had been studying the advanced spell with Lupin of late.
"Not bad," Harry said, drawing his wand from his inner pocket, then flicked a glance at Wesson.
Wesson returned an encouraging smile.
"Expecto Patronum!"
With Harry's incantation, silvery mist burst from the wand tip and gathered itself into a powerful stag.
The Patronus paced gracefully about the office, silver light reflecting on the faces of those present.
Wesson arched his brows in surprise—the Patronus Charm was no simple magic; it demanded extensive practice and a wealth of positive feeling.
Harry was learning far faster than Wesson had expected.
"Prongs…" Lupin murmured.
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