A Fall to Death
Charles
Professor Dumbledore sent all the Gryffindors back to the Great Hall, where they were joined ten minutes later by the students from Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin, who all looked extremely confused.
"The teachers and I need to conduct a thorough search of the castle," Dumbledore told them as McGonagall and Flitwick closed all doors into the hall. "I'm afraid that, for your own safety, you will have to spend the night here. I want the prefects to stand guard over the entrances to the hall and I am leaving the Head Boy and Girl in charge. Any disturbance should be reported to me immediately," he added to Percy, who was looking immensely proud and important. "Send word with one of the ghosts."
Professor Dumbledore paused, about to leave the hall, and said, "Oh, yes, you'll be needing..."
One casual wave of his wand and the long tables flew to the edges of the hall and stood themselves against the walls; another wave, and the floor was covered with hundreds of squashy purple sleeping bags.
"Sleep well," said Professor Dumbledore, closing the door behind him.
The hall immediately began to buzz excitedly; the Gryffindors were telling the rest of the school what had just happened.
"Everyone into their sleeping bags!" shouted Percy. "Come on, now, no more talking! Lights out in ten minutes!"
"C'mon," Ron said to Charles and Hermione; they seized three sleeping bags and dragged them into a corner.
"Do you think Black's still in the castle?" Hermione whispered anxiously.
"Dumbledore obviously thinks he might be," said Ron.
"It's very lucky he picked tonight, you know," Hermione commented as they climbed fully dressed into their sleeping bags and propped themselves on their elbows to talk. "The one night we weren't in the tower..."
"I reckon he's lost track of time, being on the run," Ron hummed. "Didn't realize it was Halloween. Otherwise, he'd have come bursting in here." Hermione shuddered.
All around them, people were asking one another the same question: "How did he get in?"
"Maybe he knows how to Apparate," said a Ravenclaw a few feet away, "Just appear out of thin air, you know."
"Disguised himself, probably," said a Hufflepuff fifth-year.
"He could've flown in," suggested Dean Thomas.
"Honestly, am I the only person who's ever bothered to read Hogwarts, A History?" said Hermione crossly to Charles and Ron.
"Probably," said Ron. "Why?"
"Because the castle's protected by more than walls," Hermione explained. "There are all sorts of enchantments on it, to stop people entering by stealth. You can't just Apparate in here. And I'd like to see the disguise that could fool those dementors. They're guarding every single entrance to the grounds. They'd have seen him fly in too. And Fitch knows all the secret passages, they'll have them covered..."
"The lights are going out now!" Percy shouted. "I want everyone in their sleeping bags and no more talking!"
The candles all went out at once. The only light now came from the silvery ghosts, who were drifting about talking seriously to the prefects, and the enchanted ceiling, which, like the sky outside, was scattered with stars. What with that, and the whispering that still filled the hall, Charles felt as though he were sleeping outdoors in a light wind.
Once every hour, a teacher would reappear in the hall to check that everything was quiet. Around three in the morning, when many students had finally fallen asleep, Professor Dumbledore came in. Charles watched him looking around for Percy, who had been prowling between the sleeping bags, telling people off for talking. Percy was only a short way away from Charles, Ron, and Hermione, who quickly pretended to be asleep as Dumbledore's footsteps drew nearer.
"Any sign of him, Professor?" asked Percy in a whisper.
"No. All well here?"
"Everything under control, sir," Harry reported, appearing beside them. Percy seemed a bit disgruntled by the prefect's appearance, seemingly annoyed by him speaking on Percy's behalf. Charles smothered a grin.
"Good. There's no point moving them all now. I've found a temporary guardian for the Gryffindor portrait hole. You'll be able to move them back in tomorrow."
"And the Fat Lady, sir?"
"Hiding in a map of Argyllshire on the second floor. Apparently, she refused to let Black in without the password, so he attacked her. She's still very distressed, but once she's calmed down, I'll have Mr. Filch restore her."
Charles heard the door of the hall creak open again, and more footsteps.
"Headmaster?" It was Snape. Charles kept quite still, listening hard. "The whole of the third floor has been searched. He's not there. And Filch has done the dungeons; nothing there either."
"What about the Astronomy tower? Professor Trelawney's room? The Owlery?"
"All searched."
"Very well, Severus. I didn't really expect Black to linger."
"Have you any theory as to how he got in, Professor?" asked Snape. Charles raised his head very slightly off his arms to free his other ear, "Many, Severus, each of them as unlikely as the next."
Charles opened his eyes a fraction and squinted up to where they stood; Dumbledore's back was to him, but he could see Percy's and Harry's faces, rapt with attention, and Snape's profile, which looked angry.
"You remember the conversation we had, Headmaster, just before - ah - the start of term?" Snape asked, who was barely opening his lips, as though trying to block Percy and Harry out of the conversation.
"I do, Severus," said Dumbledore, and there was something like warning in his voice.
"It seems - almost impossible - that Regulus Black could have entered the school without inside help. I did express my concerns when you appointed -"
"I do not believe a single person inside this castle would have helped Black enter it," Dumbledore said, and his tone made it so clear that the subject was closed that Snape didn't reply. "And you must consider that you were almost also accused of the same thing you're talking about. Now, I must go down to the dementors. I said I would inform them when our search was complete."
"Didn't they want to help, sir?" Percy asked.
"Oh yes," said Dumbledore coldly. "But I'm afraid no dementor will cross the threshold of this castle while I am the headmaster."
Percy looked slightly abashed. A smirk was playing on Harry's lips, but his eyes were tight with anger. Dumbledore left the hall, walking quickly and quietly. Snape stood for a moment, watching the headmaster with an expression of deep resentment on his face; then he too left.
Charles glanced sideways at Ron and Hermione. Both of them had their eyes open too, reflecting the starry ceiling.
Ron mouthed, "What was all that about?"
Harry
The school talked of nothing but Regulus Black for the next few days. The theories about how he had entered the castle became wilder and wilder; Hannah Abbott, from Hufflepuff, spent much of their next Herbology class telling anyone who'd listen that Black could turn into a flowering shrub.
Harry could see Sirius tenser by the minute, and the man's temper had increased due to his agitation. His lessons nowadays were a bit subdued, and slight jabs about his family and brother from a few idiotic students made him take far too many points. He and Snape also had a regular glaring match these days, as if checking who could burn the other with their stares first. James and Remus were also on guard all the time.
The Fat Lady's ripped canvas had been taken off the wall and replaced with the portrait of Sir Cadogan and his fat gray pony. Nobody was very happy about this. Sir Cadogan spent half his time challenging people to duels, and the rest thinking up ridiculously complicated passwords, which he changed at least twice a day.
"He's a complete lunatic," Harry said angrily to Percy. "Can't we get anyone else?"
"None of the other pictures wanted the job," Percy replied. "Frightened of what happened to the Fat Lady. Sir Cadogan was the only one brave enough to volunteer."
Sir Cadogan, however, was the least of Harry's worries. He could tell that he was now being closely watched, along with Charles. Teachers found excuses to walk along corridors with him, and Percy (acting, Harry suspected, on his mother's orders, who had likely decided to help) was tailing him everywhere like an extremely pompous guard dog.
To cap it all, Professor McGonagall summoned Harry and Charles into her office, with such a somber expression on her face Harry thought someone must have died.
"Are you both aware of the relation between Regulus and Sirius Black?"
"Yeah, they're brothers. And I know it's thought that he's after either me or Charles," Harry said wearily.
Professor McGonagall nodded, as if she expected them to know the answer. "In that case, you'll understand why I don't think it's a good idea for you, Charles, to be practicing Quidditch in the evenings. Out on the field with only your team members, it's very exposed-"
"We've got our first match on Saturday!" said Harry, outraged. "Charles has got to train, Professor! Besides, if you're forgetting, I'm a possible target as well, and I'm a prefect. You're not banning me from anything. Why does that have to change for Charles?"
Professor McGonagall raised an eyebrow at the last question and considered him intently. Harry sighed; he knew why. Charles was younger and less than competent in a deadly duel. While everyone knew Harry could hold his own, the same could not be said for Charles. But it was true that McGonagall was deeply interested in the Gryffindor team's prospects, so he waited, holding his breath.
"Hmm..." Professor McGonagall stood up and stared out of the window at the Quidditch field, just visible through the rain. "Well... goodness knows, I'd like to see us win the Cup at last... but all the same... I'd be happier if a teacher were present. I'll ask Madam Hooch to oversee your training sessions."
The weather worsened steadily as the first Quidditch match drew nearer. Undaunted, the Gryffindor team was training harder than ever under the eye of Madam Hooch. Then, at their final training session before Saturday's match, Oliver Wood gave his team some unwelcome news.
"We're not playing Slytherin!" he told them, looking very angry. "Flint's just been to see me. We're playing Hufflepuff instead."
"Why?" chorused the rest of the team.
"Flint's excuse is that their reserve Seeker's arm's still injured," said Wood, grinding his teeth furiously. "And that Lyra Black, their leading seeker, has come down with a bout of cold and is unwell. But it's obvious why they're doing it. Don't want to play in this weather. Think it'll damage their chances..."
There had been strong winds and heavy rain all day, and as Wood spoke, they heard a distant rumble of thunder.
"There's nothing wrong with Malfoy's arm!" Charles added furiously. "He's faking it!"
"I know that, but we can't prove it," said Wood bitterly, "I wonder why Black's going along with it; I thought she was alright. Then again, who can tell with those snakes? We've been practicing all those moves assuming we're playing Slytherin, and instead it's Hufflepuff, and their style's quite different..."
Charles
The day before the match, the winds reached a howling point and the rain fell harder than ever. It was so dark inside the corridors and classrooms that extra torches and lanterns were lit. The Slytherin team was looking very smug indeed, and none more so than Malfoy.
"Ah, if only my arm was feeling a bit better!" he sighed as the gale outside pounded the windows.
Charles had no room in his head to worry about anything except the match tomorrow. Oliver Wood kept hurrying up to him between classes and giving him tips. The third time this happened, Wood talked for so long that Charles suddenly realized he was ten minutes late for Defense Against the Dark Arts, and set off at a run with Wood shouting after him, "Diggory's got a very fast swerve, Charles, so you might want to try looping him -"
Charles skidded to a halt outside the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, pulled the door open, and dashed inside.
"Sorry I'm late, Professor Lupin. I-"
But it wasn't Remus who looked up at him from the teacher's desk; it was Snape. "This lesson began ten minutes ago, Potter, so I think we'll make it ten points from Gryffindor. Sit down."
But Charles didn't move. "Where's Professor Lupin?"
"He says he is feeling too ill to teach today," said Snape with a twisted smile. "I believe I told you to sit down?"
Of course, the full moon, Charles realized. "What about Sirius?"
Snape's black eyes glittered. "He, as well, has taken a leave of absence today. Fifteen points from Gryffindor for not addressing a teacher properly, even if it is one that doesn't deserve respect. And If I have to ask you to sit down again, it will be fifty."
Charles walked slowly to his seat and sat down. Snape looked around at the class. "As I was saying before Potter interrupted, Professor Lupin has not left any record of the topics you have covered so far -"
"Please, sir, we've done boggarts, Red Caps, Kappas, and Grindylows," Hermione said quickly, "and we're just about to start -"
"Be quiet," said Snape coldly. "I did not ask for information. I was merely commenting on Professor Lupin's lack of organization."
"He's the best Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher we've ever had," Dean intoned boldly, and there was a murmur of agreement from the rest of the class. Snape looked more menacing than ever.
"You are easily satisfied. Lupin is hardly overtaxing you - I would expect first years to be able to deal with Red Caps and Grindylows. Today we shall discuss-"
Charles watched him flick through the textbook, to the very back chapter, which he must know they hadn't covered.
"Werewolves," said Snape.
"But, sir," Hermione said, seemingly unable to restrain herself, "we're not supposed to do werewolves yet, we're due to start hinkypunks-"
"Miss Granger," said Snape in a voice of deadly calm, "I was under the impression that I am teaching this lesson, not you. And I am telling you all to turn to page 394." He glanced around again. "All of you! Now!"
With many bitter sidelong looks and some sullen muttering, the class opened their books.
"Which of you can tell me how we distinguish between the werewolf and the true wolf?" said Snape.
Everyone sat in motionless silence; everyone except Hermione, whose hand, as it so often did, had shot straight into the air. Charles also knew the answer, of course, but he didn't even try, knowing it wouldn't end well.
"Anyone?" Snape said, ignoring Hermione. His twisted smile was back. "Are you telling me that Professor Lupin hasn't even taught you the basic distinction between-"
"We told you," said Parvati suddenly, "we haven't got as far as werewolves yet, we're still on -"
"Silence!" snarled Snape. "Well, well, well, I never thought I'd meet a third-year class who wouldn't even recognize a werewolf when they saw one. I shall make a point of informing Professor Dumbledore how very behind you all are..."
"Please, sir," said Hermione, whose hand was still in the air, "the werewolf differs from the true wolf in several small ways. The snout of the werewolf -"
"That is the second time you have spoken out of turn, Miss Granger," said Snape coolly. "Five points from Gryffindor for being an insufferable know-it-all."
Hermione went very red, put down her hand, and stared at the floor with her eyes full of tears. It was a mark of how much the class loathed Snape that they were all glaring at him, because every one of them had called Hermione a know-it-all at least once, and Ron, who told Hermione she was a know-it-all at least twice a week, said loudly, "You asked us a question and she knows the answer! Why ask if you don't want to be told?"
The class knew instantly he'd gone too far. Snape advanced on Ron slowly, and the room held its breath.
"Detention, Weasley," Snape said silkily, his face very close to Ron's. "And if I ever hear you criticize the way I teach a class again, you will be very sorry indeed."
No one made a sound throughout the rest of the lesson. They sat and made notes on werewolves from the textbook, while Snape prowled up and down the rows of desks, examining the work they had been doing with Remus.
"Very poorly explained... That is incorrect, the Kappa is more commonly found in Mongolia... Professor Lupin gave this eight out of ten? I wouldn't have given it a three...."
When the bell finally rang, Snape held them back. "You will each write an essay, to be handed to me, on the ways you recognize and kill werewolves. I want two rolls of parchment on the subject, and I want them by Monday morning. It is time somebody took this class in hand. Weasley, stay behind, we need to arrange your detention."
Charles bitterly realized why Snape was making them do this. Obviously, he hoped someone would catch onto Remus' secret. Why Sirius had to take a leave of absence was a mystery to Charles, though, and he resolved to ask Harry or James later.
He and Hermione left the room with the rest of the class, who waited until they were well out of earshot, then burst into a furious tirade about Snape.
Meanwhile, Hermione bit her lip pensively. "I really hope Professor Lupin gets better soon... What d'you think happened to him? And where's Sirius?"
Ron caught up with them five minutes later, in a towering rage. "D'you know what that -" (he called Snape something that made Hermione say "Ron!") "- is making me do? I've got to scrub out the bedpans in the hospital wing. Without magic!" He was breathing deeply, his fists clenched. "Why couldn't Black have hidden in Snape's office, eh? He could have finished him off for us!"
When Charles caught James at dinner that night and asked about Sirius' wereabouts, James was also clueless. He said that they had gone to check on Remus together, and then Sirius had suddenly left, claiming he'd be back in a bit. He hadn't been seen since. Charles was very puzzled and worried.
He woke extremely early the next morning; so early that it was till dark. For a moment he thought the roaring of the wind had woken him. Then he felt a cold breeze on the back of his neck and sat bolt upright - Peeves the Poltergeist had been floating next to him, blowing hard in his ear.
"What did you do that for?" he scowled furiously. Peeves puffed out his cheeks, blew hard, and zoomed backward out of the room, cackling.
Charles fumbled for his alarm clock and looked at it. It was half past four. Cursing Peeves, he rolled over and tried to get back to sleep, but it was very difficult, now that he was awake, to ignore the sounds of the thunder rumbling overhead, the pounding of the wind against the castle walls, and the distant creaking of the trees in the Forbidden Forest. In a few hours, he would be out on the Quidditch field, battling through that gale. Finally, he gave up any thought of more sleep, got up, dressed, picked up his broom, and walked quietly out of the dormitory.
As Charles opened the door, something brushed against his leg. He bent down just in time to grab Crookshanks by the end of his bushy tail and drag him outside.
"You know, I reckon Ron was right about you," he told Crookshanks suspiciously. "There are plenty of mice around this place - go and chase them. Go on," he added, nudging Crookshanks down the spiral staircase with his foot. "Leave Scabbers alone."
The noise of the storm was even louder in the common room. Charles knew better than to think the match would be canceled; Quidditch matches weren't called off for trifles like thunderstorms. Nevertheless, he was starting to feel very apprehensive. Cedric Diggory was one of Harry's best friends and a fifth-year prefect, a lot bigger than Charles. Seekers were usually light and speedy, but Diggory's weight would be an advantage in this weather because he was less likely to be blown off course.
Charles whiled away the hours until dawn in front of the fire, getting up every now and then to stop Crookshanks from sneaking up the boys' staircase again. At long last Charles thought it must be time for breakfast, so he headed through the portrait hole alone.
"Stand and fight, you mangy cur!" yelled Sir Cadogan.
Charles yawned. "Oh, shut up."
He revived a bit over a large bowl of porridge, and by the time he'd started on toast, the rest of the team had turned up.
"It's going to be a tough one," said Wood, who wasn't eating anything.
"Stop worrying, Oliver," said Alicia soothingly, "we don't mind a bit of rain."
But it was considerably more than a bit of rain. Such was the popularity of Quidditch that the whole school turned out to watch the match as usual, but they ran down the lawns toward the Quidditch field, heads bowed against the ferocious wind, umbrellas being whipped out of their hands as they went. Just before he entered the locker room, Charles saw Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle, laughing and pointing at him from under an enormous umbrella on their way to the stadium.
The team changed into their scarlet robes and waited for Wood's usual pre-match pep talk, but it didn't come. He tried to speak several times, made an odd gulping noise, then shook his head hopelessly and beckoned them to follow him.
In his stead, Harry said, "Just don't die."
"We're all bloody inspired, mate," Fred said sarcastically.
George scoffed. "Yeah, great pep-talk."
The wind was so strong that they staggered sideways as they walked out onto the field. If the crowd was cheering, they couldn't hear it over the fresh rolls of thunder. Rain was splattering over Charles' glasses, and once again he bemoaned over the fact that he hadn't escaped the Potter curses while two of his other siblings had. Now how on earth was he going to see the Snitch in this? He really didn't want to swap positions with Harry like they mostly did in a storm; he was the seeker, and he didn't like it when Harry took over.
The Hufflepuffs were approaching from the opposite side of the field, wearing canary-yellow robes. The Captains walked up to each other and shook hands; Diggory smiled at Wood but Wood looked as though he had lockjaw and merely nodded. Harry and Cedric exchanged a friendly grin.
Charles saw Madam Hooch's mouth form the words, "Mount Your brooms." He pulled his right foot out of the mud with a squelch and swung it over his Nimbus Two Thousand. Madam Hooch put her whistle to her lips and gave it a blast that sounded shrill and distant. They were off.
Charles rose fast, but his Nimbus was swerving slightly with the wind. He held it as steady as he could and turned, squinting into the rain.
Within five minutes Charles was soaked to his skin and frozen, hardly able to see his teammates, let alone the tiny Snitch. He flew backward and forward across the field past blurred red and yellow shapes, with no idea of what was happening in the rest of the game. He couldn't hear the commentary over the wind. The crowd was hidden beneath a sea of cloaks and battered umbrellas. Twice he came very close to being unseated by a Bludger; his vision was so clouded by the rain on his glasses he hadn't seen them coming.
He lost track of time. It was getting harder and harder to hold his broom straight. The sky was getting darker, as though night had decided to come early. Thrice Charles nearly hit another player, without knowing whether it was a teammate or opponent; everyone was now so wet, and the rain so thick, he could hardly tell them apart...
With the first flash of lightning came the sound of Madam Hooch's whistle; Charles could just see the outline of Wood through the thick rain, gesturing him to the ground. The whole team splashed down into the mud.
"I called for time-out!" Wood roared at his team. "Come on, under here -"
They huddled at the edge of the field under a large umbrella; Charles took off his glasses and wiped them hurriedly on his robes.
"What's the score?"
"We're fifty points up," said Wood, "but unless we get the Snitch soon, we'll be playing into the night."
"I've got no chance with these on," Charles said exasperatedly, waving his glasses.
Harry's eyes suddenly lit up and he beamed. "I've had an idea, Charles! Give me your glasses, quick!"
He handed them over, and as the team watched in amazement, Harry tapped them with his wand and said, "Impervius!"
"There!" Harry said, handing them back to Charles. "They'll repel water!" Wood looked as though he could have kissed him, but Alicia had no restraints as she snogged him full on the mouth. Fred and George faked gagging and Angelia cooed. Charles just grimaced and averted his eyes.
"Brilliant!" Wood clapped Harry's shoulder. "Okay, team, let's go for it!"
Harry's spell had done the trick. Charles was still numb with cold, still wetter than he'd ever been in his life, but he could see. Full of fresh determination, he urged his broom through the turbulent air, staring in every direction for the Snitch, avoiding a Bludger, ducking beneath Cedric, who was streaking in the opposite direction...
There was another clap of thunder, followed immediately by forked lightning. This was getting more and more dangerous. Charles needed to get the Snitch quickly -
He turned, intending to head back toward the middle of the field, but at that moment, another flash of lightning illuminated the stands, and Charles saw something that distracted him completely, the silhouette of an enormous shaggy black dog, clearly imprinted against the sky, motionless in the topmost, empty row of seats.
Charles' numb hands slipped on the broom handle and his Nimbus dropped a few feet. Sirius?! Shaking his sodden bangs out of his eyes, he squinted back into the stands. The dog had vanished.
"Charles!" came Wood's anguished yell from the Gryffindor goalposts. "Charles, behind you!"
Charles looked wildly around. Cedric Diggory was pelting up the field, and a tiny speck of gold was shimmering in the rain-filled air between them. With a jolt of panic, Charles threw himself flat to the broom handle and zoomed toward the Snitch.
"Come on!" he growled at his Nimbus as the rain whipped his face. "Faster!"
But something odd was happening. An eerie silence was falling across the stadium. The wind, though as strong as ever, was forgetting to roar. It was as though someone had turned off the sound, as though Charles had gone suddenly deaf - what was going on?
And then a horribly familiar wave of cold swept over him, inside him, just as he became aware of something moving on the field below... Before he'd had time to think, Charles had taken his eyes off the Snitch and looked down.
At least a hundred dementors, their hidden faces pointing up at him, were standing beneath him. It was as though freezing water were rising in his chest, cutting at his insides. And then he heard it again... Someone was screaming, screaming inside his head... a woman...
"Never!"
Numbing, swirling white mist was filling Charles' brain... What was he doing? Why was he flying? He needed to help her... She was going to die... She was going to be murdered...
He was falling, falling through the icy mist.
He knew no more.
Lyra
Lyra's heart almost stopped as she saw Charles' silhouette fall from an impossible height. She heard Harry's and James' anguished yells clearly above all other sounds, and watched as Dumbledore slowed Charles' fall and Harry flew over to his brother to catch him.
Still, she knew that while Charles had not hit the ground, he would still be injured. Hufflepuff's victory was all but forgotten. Lyra rushed to the field after James and Remus, followed closely by Ron and Hermione. As Charles was taken away on a stretcher, they went along.
Lyra's feelings towards Charles were conflicting, to say the least. While on one side she was still mad at him for breaking their friendship due to a petty bias, she also loved him on the other. He had been her best friend since they were in nappies, and while they may not be as close now, they were still cousins.
She had been cold and indifferent towards him for almost a year now, going as far as making crude and hurtful suggestions sometimes which she had always thought - but never said - before. Such as her honest opinions on Hagrid's competency.
But wasn't it a good thing too, in a way? She was now speaking up more boldly, keeping up her points freely, without the fear of 'what would Charles think?'.
She was very confused.
Charles
"Lucky Harry caught him."
"I thought he was dead for sure."
"But he didn't even break his glasses."
Charles could hear the voices whispering, but they made no sense whatsoever. He didn't have a clue where he was, how he'd got there, or what he'd been doing before he got there. All he knew was that every inch of him was aching as though it had been beaten.
"That was the scariest thing I've ever seen in my life."
Scariest... the scariest thing... hooded black figures... cold... screaming...
Charles' eyes snapped open. He was lying in the hospital wing. The Gryffindor Quidditch team, spattered with mud from head to foot, was gathered around his bed. So were James and Remus, and Jéricho and Lyra. Ron and Hermione were also there, looking as though they'd just climbed out of a swimming pool.
"Charles!" Harry exclaimed, who looked extremely white underneath the mud. "How're you feeling?"
It was as though Charles' memory was on fast forward. The lightning - Sirius - the Snitch - and the dementors...
"What happened?" he said, sitting up so suddenly they all gasped.
"You fell off," Fred stated. "Must've been - what - fifty feet?"
"We thought you'd died," said Alicia, who was shaking and clutching onto Harry's arm like a lifeline. Charles noticed that Harry was also trembling very much, looking weak, and chewing on a piece of chocolate.
Hermione made a small, squeaky noise. Her eyes were extremely bloodshot.
"But the match," Charles frowned. "What happened? Are we doing a replay?"
No one said anything. The horrible truth sank into Charles like a stone. "We didn't - lose?"
"Cedric got the Snitch," George revealed. "Just after you fell. He didn't realize what had happened. When he looked back and saw you on the ground, he tried to call it off. Wanted a rematch. But they won fair and square... even Wood admits it."
"Where is Wood?" Charles asked, suddenly realizing he wasn't there.
"Still in the showers," Harry sighed. "We think he's trying to drown himself."
Charles put his face to his knees, his hands gripping his hair. Fred grabbed his shoulder and shook it roughly. "C'mon, mate, you've never missed the Snitch before."
"It's not over yet," Harry agreed. "We lost by a hundred points"
"Right?" Fred said, "So if Hufflepuff loses to Ravenclaw and we beat Ravenclaw and Slytherin -"
"Hufflepuff'll have to lose by at least two hundred points," George said.
"But if they beat Ravenclaw..."
"No way, Ravenclaw is too good. But if Slytherin loses against Hufflepuff..."
"It all depends on the points - a margin of a hundred either way."
Charles lay there, not saying a word. They had lost... for the first time ever, he hadn't caught a snitch.
After ten minutes or so, Madam Pomfrey came over to tell the team to leave him in peace.
"We'll come and see you later," Fred told him. "Don't beat yourself up, Charles, you're still the best Seeker we've ever had."
The team trooped out, trailing mud behind them. Madam Pomfrey shut the door behind them, looking disapproving. Harry stayed behind as he needed some rest, and James, too, still looking extremely pale and scared. Lyra walked out after Jéricho, and Charles frowned after her; she'd probably just come to avoid suspicion. Ron and Hermione moved nearer to Charles' bed.
"Dumbledore was really angry," Hermione said in a quaking voice. "I've never seen him like that before. He ran onto the field as you fell, waved his wand, and you sort of slowed down before Harry swooped in and caught you." Harry winked at him. "Then he whirled his wand at the dementors." Hermione continued. "Shot silver stuff at them. They left the stadium right away... He was furious they'd come onto the grounds. We heard him -"
"Then he magicked you onto a stretcher," said Ron. "And walked up to school with you floating on it. Everyone thought you were -"
His voice faded, but Charles hardly noticed. He was thinking... He looked up to his father.
"Dad, where's Sirius?"
James looked surprised at the question. "In his quarters, I'd assume... I mean, he told us he was feeling a bit under the weather and wouldn't come to the match today."
Charles narrowed his eyes. "You sure he didn't come?"
"Pretty sure, yeah."
"I saw him at the top of the stands," Charles stated flatly and raised his eyebrows at James and Harry, who understood at once what he meant.
James jerked in shock. "But why would he lie to us about being ill?!" he cried. "That doesn't make any sense."
Charles shrugged helplessly, having no clue why. James set his jaw and stood up, possibly to confront Sirius, but Harry stopped him quickly. "Don't tell him we know. He'll know we're onto him."
James looked like he wanted to protest, but just nodded resignedly. After he and Harry had left, Charles looked over at his two best friends and asked, "Did someone get my Nimbus?"
Ron and Hermione looked quickly at each other.
"Er -"
"What?" Charles looked from one to the other.
"Well... when you fell off, it got blown away," said Hermione hesitantly.
"And?"
"And it hit - it hit - oh, Charles - it hit the Whomping Willow."
Charles' insides lurched. The Whomping Willow was a very violent tree that stood alone in the middle of the grounds.
"And?" he said, dreading the answer.
"Well, you know the Whomping Willow," said Ron. "It - it doesn't like being hit."
"Professor Flitwick brought it back just before you came around," said Hermione in a very small voice.
Slowly, she reached down for a bag at her feet, turned it upside down, and tipped a dozen bits of splintered wood and twig onto the bed, the only remains of Charles' faithful, finally beaten broomstick.