Order of the Phoenix
Survival of the Fiercest
By Ruskbyte
Chapter Twelve
~ Survival of the Fiercest ~
Winter was beginning to encroach upon Hogwarts, and the air now held a sharp bite in the mornings. And so, when Harry, Ginny, her friend Carmen Ryder and Carmen's pet Kneazle, Quagga, strode out onto
the Quidditch pitch as the sun crested the horizon, they had to carefully watch their footing to avoid slipping on the frost-slicked ground.
Only one reason could bring them out here so early.
Quidditch.
The first match of the season was only a few hours away now, and Harry, being the team captain, was out to inspect and evaluate the pitch conditions. Ginny and Carmen were both on the team and had come out to observe first-hand the inspection, something neither of them had seen before. Well, only Carmen was actually on the team; Ginny was one of the reserve Chasers and had been spending all of her time, outside of classes, with Harry recently.
Since the events of Halloween night there had been something of a strained relationship between Ron and Harry. While Ron's explosion of stupid jealousy had been nipped in the bud almost as soon as it had started, he and Harry had not exchanged more than half a dozen words a day since then.
Hermione had, as was usual in any fights between the two, been caught in the middle and spent a great deal of time acting as an intermediary. Not that this time she was being forced to act as a messenger between the two. In fact, it was exactly the opposite. Ron was barely able to remain in the same room as Harry and was completely unable to bring himself to meet his friend's gaze, not that Harry bothered looking at him.
Truth be told, Harry was pretty much ignoring Ron completely. He would be surrounded by a dozen people and hold a separate conversation with each of them, yet would not even acknowledge that Ron was present. He no longer called on Ron during their nightly Practical Fighting Techniques classes and had even given responsibility for Ron's training as a Chaser over to Katie Bell, rather than supervise him.
Quagga, his black and silver zebra striping blending in surprisingly well with the ground, was chasing after Harry's legs as they walked. Harry glanced down and chuckled, a broad grin on his face, after the Kneazle gave a petulant swipe and hiss of frustration over the fact that his favourite scratching posts would not stand still.
"You're looking rather chipper today," Ginny noticed as they walked to the middle of the pitch.
Harry smiled at her. "I've being taking Dreamless Sleep Potion since Wednesday night. I don't want to doze off while I'm supposed to be looking for the Snitch."
She beamed with delight at the news that he had at least been getting a couple of nights' rest. Everyone now knew Harry had nightmares and trouble sleeping. Malfoy in particular had been making a point of mentioning it every chance he got. Even only three nights of uninterrupted sleep had made a remarkable difference, completely erasing the lines of exhaustion that had been plaguing him.
"That's good to hear," approved Carmen. "Means Fred and George owe me a dozen of those Tweety Twirls they've just started selling."
Ginny looked sharply at her friend. "What have they been saying about Harry?"
Carmen grinned. "They bet me that Harry wouldn't be getting any sleep before the match today. Seems they thought he'd be worrying too much to nod off."
"I'm going to have a long talk with them after the game," growled Ginny, looking up as Harry laughed appreciatively.
"Just as long as you don't break their noses and give them black eyes," he said, draping an arm across her shoulders and pulling her close to him.
Ginny scowled. "He deserved it. I'm only sorry Madam Pomfrey was able to fix him up so quickly."
Harry laughed some more. "I'll admit, seeing Ron the Racoon at breakfast the next morning was almost as much fun as transfiguring Malfoy into a ferret."
"I overheard the twins talking about that last Hogsmeade weekend," admitted Carmen, reaching down to pick up Quagga. "Apparently they're thinking of making a new Wheeze that produces a similar effect."
"What? Racoon Raisins?" asked Ginny impetuously.
The trio were still laughing when they reached the kick-off area, and Harry began his inspection of the pitch, continuing to chuckle every so often. Ginny and Carmen watched as he ran his bare hands over the frigid earth, giving it a few hard smacks here and there. To their amusement he was muttering softly under his breath the whole while.
"Nice and hard," he half whispered, "we'll get a reasonable kick-off..."
"Better be careful, Harry," warned Carmen, grinning. "Trelawney has predicted that, 'The lion shall be bearded in his den amongst the clouds this waxing moooon...'"
Harry looked up from where he was crouching and snorted disdainfully. "That silly old bat's just pissed off with me for dropping Divination. Since she can't predict my death to my face any more, she's got to do it vicariously through the rest of her students."
"Poor souls," agreed Ginny wryly, thankful that she had learnt from her brother's mistake and taken Arithmancy instead.
"So you have two teachers that hate you," Carmen summed up. "Snape and now Trelawney."
Harry cocked an eyebrow and stood upright. "Just Snape," he corrected, "Trelawney loves me. If it weren't for me she wouldn't have anything interesting to predict."
"Harry! Harry!"
They all turned towards the shouting voice, Harry groaning even before he caught sight of who it was. They knew the owner of the voice all too well, and Ginny had a hard time stifling the giggle that threatened to bubble up at the look of resignation that descended over Harry.
"Looks like the Harry Potter Fan Club is up and about," observed Carmen, her voice full of the amusement Ginny was trying to suppress, as they watched Colin Creevey running up to them.
"It's too early for this," moaned Harry as the new arrive screeched to a halt. Colin was flushed from his run and it took several moments before he was able to speak in a coherent, if gasping, fashion.
"Harry - you have to - the Great Hall - the team - bad - you have to - hurry - now!"
Ginny could feel the sudden tension radiating from Harry as he broke into a jog, having started the moment Colin mentioned the rest of the Quidditch team, all of whom Harry had ordered to the Great Hall for an early and uninterrupted breakfast. She tried to run alongside him, Carmen not far behind, but he had gone off like the wind and quickly disappeared into the castle.
"Did he have to grow so much over the summer?" she groaned.
*Of course he did. He's going to be fighting a dark lord soon, after all.*
Don't remind me.
*Sorry, but it's in our job description.*
You know, I bet Harry doesn't have cocky voices like you in his head.
*...*
"I have a bad feeling about this, Gin," huffed Carmen as they entered the last corridor leading to the Great Hall.
"Want to bet the Slytherins have something to do with it?" she replied, slowing to a fast walk just outside the doorway.
"My mum always tells me that you should never bet when you know you're going to lose."
"Pity, I could use some spare change."
"Want to bet it was Malfoy that started it all?"
"Like you just said, never bet when you know you're going to lose."
The two girls hurried inside and over to the Gryffindor table, where Harry was standing by five very lopsided looking figures, loud moans, groans and assorted curses filling the air. The rest of the Gryffindor Quidditch team were all in obvious and varying degrees of pain, clutching at their arms and legs, holding their stomachs or resting their heads on the table.
"What's happened?" she asked, taking in this alarming sight.
Before Harry could answer, he was interrupted by a small blur that was accompanied by a high pitched squeal of dismay, horror and guilt. The figure crashed into Harry with enough force to almost knock him off his feet, revealing the diminutive form of a house-elf.
"Dobby is so sorry, Harry Potter, sir! We prepared the food, only the best for Harry Potter's friends and now they is sicks! It is all Dobby's fault, Harry Potter, sir! All Dobby's fault. Bad Dobby, bad Dobby, bad Dobby!"
By this point, the creature had released Harry and was, with each exclamation, bashing its head against the tabletop while pulling painfully on its ears. Ginny and Carmen exchanged a wide-eyed look as the eclectically dressed house-elf continued to punish itself.
"Dobby, stop!" ordered Harry, reaching out and pulling him away from the table.
"Sorry, Harry Potter, sir," groaned Dobby, shamefully gazing down at his feet, "but it is Dobby's fault Harry Potter's friends is sick, Harry Potter, sir."
Harry shook his head forcefully and directed Dobby's attention to the table, where the rest of the team were still suffering. He pointed at the plates of food that had been specially laid out for the Gryffindor team.
"It's not your fault, Dobby," he asserted. "Somebody hexed the food."
"What?!" exclaimed Carmen, outraged at the idea.
Ginny looked at the table and focused, drawing her concentration together and bringing her perception of magic to the forefront. Slowly the room, and everything in it, began to glow with swirls of magic, the people, their brooms, the enchanted ceiling... the food on the table.
"Misbegotten bastards," she breathed. "You're right."
He looked up from where he was comforting Dobby and nodded. "Nothing too dangerous, just a few simple, first-year curses and hexes. A Cramping Curse on the eggs, Nausea Hex on the sausages, Headache Hex on the bacon, Dizziness on the orange juice, Numbness on the pumpkin juice..."
"How can you tell?" asked Fred, groaning in discomfort as he wrapped his arms tightly around his middle as his right leg quivered uncontrollably.
"I can perceive traces of magic," explained Harry. "Something I learnt over the summer."
Ginny hid a smile. Learnt over the summer. Right. Just like I took a course in Parseltongue.
*Well you don't expect him to tell them the truth, do you?*
Harry stood, keeping one hand on Dobby's shoulder, and looked over the sad-looking forms of his team. It was just after six, Ginny knew, which gave them less than four hours before the match was scheduled to begin.
"It's nothing Madam Pomfrey can't fix right up," he sighed, but shook his head. "But they're in no fit state to play a game."
"Are you going to cancel the match?" asked Carmen, reaching down to pick up Quagga, who had just arrived with a red-faced Colin in tow.
When hell freezes over.
"When hell freezes over," replied Harry. He looked across at Ginny and then down at Dobby, who was sniffling sadly and dabbing at the tears which were dripping down his face.
"So what then?" Ginny asked, reaching out to steady Angelina who was in danger of toppling over where she sat beside Fred.
"Carmen, get back to the common room," Harry ordered. "Tell the reserves to grab their brooms and meet us at the Hospital Wing. Looks like they'll be getting a chance to play against Slytherin after all."
Her friend nodded briskly and, with Quagga clinging to her shoulder, departed the hall at a fast walk. Ginny and Colin straightened up and waited as Harry turned to them after watching Carmen leave on her mission.
"Come on," he urged, helping George to his feet. "Let's get them to Madam Pomfrey."
***
Ron knew that one of two things was going to happen. He was either going to throw up, or he was going to have a nervous breakdown. Whichever came first. The team was sitting the changing room, waiting for the call to begin what, for six out of the seven players, would be their first proper game of Quidditch.
Oh Merlin, I'm going to die.
Harry was pacing before them, expression grim, face set, and looking more like a great general marshalling his troops than a captain giving his team a pep talk. His scarlet and gold Quidditch robes were billowing out behind him as he moved from one end of the change room to the other.
"Okay, listen up," he finally declared. "Malfoy wants dirty? I can do dirty."
The six of them exchanged nervous looks, well, only five actually, since Ginny seemed completely focused on Harry, her eyes not straying from him so much as a degree.
If only I had paid that much attention, he thought sadly. Maybe I would've seen what was really going on and not screwed everything up.
Until that terrible moment on Halloween when Harry had shown him exactly what it meant to be The Boy Who Lived, Ron had had no idea just what his friend was going through. Unfortunately he had learned the hard way and possibly ruined beyond repair the one thing that should have meant more to him than anything else in the world.
Well, almost anything.
Only one good thing had come out of his disastrous confrontation with Harry that night. Giving the reason that she was simply saving him the trouble, Hermione had finally acted where he had not and asked him to accompany her to the Yule Ball.
Funny, considering it was that which got me into this mess. Oh, who am I kidding? I got myself into this mess all by my lonesome.
Ron's attention returned to the present, and the upcoming Quidditch match, as Harry resumed his pre-match speech. With his hands clasped together and resting in the small of his back, Harry stood before them at what looked suspiciously like parade rest. A general indeed.
"Quidditch isn't about survival of the fittest. It's survival of the fiercest!"
A few murmurs sounded as the team glanced between each other, wondering if perhaps Harry was not just a little bit... well. From all accounts the previous team captain, Oliver Wood, had been completely off his rocker and utterly obsessed about Quidditch. Ron could remember Harry telling him, when they were still on speaking terms, some of the maniacal speeches Wood had given before each of their matches. Apparently Oliver's fanaticism had rubbed off.
Harry moved to stand before the two Beaters, who were nervously fingering their clubs as they sat waiting to hear his instructions. "Seamus, Moira, when we get in the air there are only two things I want you to do," he told them. "Cover anyone who scores and put the Slytherin Beaters in the Hospital Wing if they so much as look at our people."
"Y'ken cownt un oos, Harry!" affirmed Moira, seeming very eager to start breaking skulls.
"I don't doubt that for an instant," he grinned, before turning from them to Carmen, who was sitting next to Ginny in the front row. Unlike Moira and Ginny, Carmen had not done her hair up in a tight braid, but had instead drawn it into a loose ponytail. Like Moira, she seemed a bit nervous, but still eager to head out and start flying.
"Carmen, as our Keeper you're the easiest target they have. You won't be able to move about all that much so keep your eyes open."
Carmen nodded and repeated a line Harry had been drilling into everyone attending his PFT class. "The best way to avoid a fight is to see it coming. Gotcha."
Harry nodded and grinned again, before turning to the last three players. He smiled tenderly at Ginny, which caused Ron to fight a sudden feeling of jealousy. Not the brotherly protectiveness everyone expected from the twins and him, but simple jealousy. And not of Harry, but of Ginny. Just about everyone had noticed how the two had obviously been growing closer since the term had begun, but since Halloween the pair were practically inseparable. Just as he and Harry had been before things had fallen apart.
Harry's two best friends; Granger and Weasley, Ron thought sadly. Just not the same Weasley that it used to be.
"How's your shoulder doing?" Harry asked her, a faint frown of concern lining his brow.
Ginny smiled and swung her left arm back and forth a few times in demonstration, "No problems. Madam Pomfrey said I shouldn't do any heavy work with it, but that's okay, I only throw with my right anyway."
Since Hagrid had returned, from his mission as an envoy to the giants, casualty visits to the Hospital Wing had expanded beyond injuries incurred during Practical Fighting Techniques. Ron, and everyone else, had not thought it possible for the grounds keeper to find creatures worse than Skrewts, but somehow the half giant had.
Cimmerian Ice Moths were undoubtedly worse.
Ginny had dislocated her left shoulder that Monday whilst trying to avoid the already infamous strands of ice silk the dinner plate sized beasts tended to shoot at anybody that came too close. Naturally Hagrid insisted that the monsters were "only misunderstood". Unfortunately, so everyone in Gryffindor agreed, the Moths had not yet had a significant misunderstanding with Malfoy.
"Good," acknowledged Harry, his smile returning. It faded a short moment later when his eyes turned towards Ron, a distant coolness falling over his expression. Only a few seconds passed before Ron dropped his gaze to the floor, unable to meet his old friend's eyes. Uncomfortable silence dominated the changing room for a short while before Harry obviously turned away from Ron and to the last remaining Chaser.
"Gareth," he heard Harry say, "I want you to try and run interference for the other two, your Nimbus is faster than either of their brooms and more manoeuvrable. Use that to your advantage."
"Piece 'o cake, mon," responded the Jamaican boy.
Ron looked up from the floor just in time to see Harry grin at the younger boy, who was busy running a hand over his shaved scalp. His friend nodded his satisfaction with their readiness and grabbed his Firebolt from where it was resting, propped against the back wall.
"All right then," he summed up, shouldering the broom. "Time to go hunting."
Hoping that his legs would be able to support him--they felt like jelly--Ron stood and with the rest of the team followed their captain out and onto the pitch. It was unlike anything Ron had ever experienced, hundreds of faces staring down at them from the elevated stands and a roar of noise that filled the air as they made their entrance.
"And here comes the Gryffindor team," boomed Lee Jordan's voice over the roar of most of the crowd and the various 'boos' and hisses from the Slytherin section. "Led on by their new captain, Harry Potter, it's the brand new team of Ryder, Finnigan, MacKay, Harriet, Weasley and Weasley, all of them playing in their first match today."
The Slytherin team was already on the field, standing behind Malfoy, who was smirking like a cat that had just had canary for breakfast. Madam Hooch strode between the two teams, the Quaffle in one hand and a whistle in the other.
"Captains, shake hands!" she ordered.
As they shook hands, with obvious reluctance, Harry leaned in close to Malfoy and growled, only just loud enough for everyone to hear, "I could break every bone in your hand right now, without even trying."
Malfoy went almost as white as chalk, the blood drained from his face that quickly. His smirk vanished and he swallowed nervously as Harry continued, "If you try anything underhanded, I will and in such a way that you'll never be able to hold a broom, or a wand, again."
***
"Three... two... one... GO!"
Harry kicked off with all his might, launching himself high into the air and far above everyone else on their slower brooms. One of the advantages of being the only person flying a Firebolt. All around and below him the other players were blurs of red or green, swooping in and about each other as they battled for dominance.
"And Gryffindor have possession, Harriet passing to Ron Weasley who passes to his sister, Ginny. Interesting how Potter has managed to keep two Weasleys on the team despite the obvious sabotage by Slytherin earlier this morning that incapacitated-"
"Jordan!"
"Sorry, Professor, just providing a little background," continued Lee. "Weasley passes back to Weasley who passes directly to Harriet - Oh, that was close! Harriet, flying a Nimbus 2001 by the way, passes the Quaffle to Weasley, Ginny, who almost unseats Slytherin Chaser Warrington with that close flyby. The Slytherin team had better watch out or she'll be breaking their noses, instead of her brother's-"
"JORDAN!"
"Sorry, Professor. Wait-" Lee suddenly jumped up. "She's taking a shot - SHE SCORES! The first goal of the match and the season - scored by Virginia Weasley! Ten-Zero to Gryffindor!"
Harry was grinning broadly and lifted his hands from the Firebolt's handle to give a short round of applause as Ginny arced back towards the Gryffindor goals. He tensed when he saw Bole, one of the Slytherin Beaters sweep in and smash a Bludger towards her, but relaxed an instant later when Moira seemed to appear out of nowhere. The small girl swung her bat up and hit the Bludger back at Bole so hard and fast all he had time to do was gape before it smashed into his stomach.
"Tae tha' ye bluddie Sassenach!" Moira crowed, waving her bat at the winded Slytherin as she continued to fly alongside an equally delighted Ginny.
I have created a monster, thought Harry turning his attention back to the Snitch.
*It's alive! It's alive!*
Deciding that late night horror movie marathons would not be on the agenda next summer, Harry cast his eyes to where the Snitch was hovering. He frowned as he spotted the glimmer of gold flitting about at the opposite end of the Quidditch pitch. Thanks to the Order's ability to see and feel magic, Harry knew exactly where the Snitch was at all times, simply by keeping track of the magic the Snitch was using to fly around.
Kind of takes the fun out of the game, he observed.
Pulling up on the Firebolt Harry rocketed into the air, high above where the game was continuing. He sat for a moment and then closed his eyes, concentrating on temporarily shutting down the influx of magical information surrounding him.
*That's dangerous, Harry.*
If you want me to enjoy the game and relax, Quetz, you'll help.
*Why not just put a filter over the Snitch? That way you could still keep track of any threats that might show up, but still have fun?*
Harry considered for a moment and then nodded. Sounds good, though I doubt there will be any threats to worry about. Voldemort is not going to attack the school during a game of Quidditch.
At the very last instant, Harry had opened his eyes and spun around, reaching out with his right hand to grab the Bludger. There was a loud crack as the energetic ball smashed into his hand, quivered and shaking in his grip. Gritting his teeth, Harry glanced back to where the Bludger had come from and spotted Millicent Bulstrode, whose look of eager anticipation melted off her face as he grinned and winked at her.
Ugh. I think I just broke every bone in my hand.
*Not every bone, just a couple of the metacarpals. Nothing serious.*
*Do you want us to fix it?*
You have to ask?
*Just checking.*
A soft heat spread throughout his hand, and Harry could literally feel his bones healing. He cast his eyes around the field for a moment, noticing that almost all play had stopped and everyone was watching him in shock. He supposed that having the Seeker catch a Bludger instead of dodging it was something none of them had seen before.
"Oi! Seamus!" he yelled at his fellow fifth-year, who was the Beater closest to him, "Here!"
Harry flung the struggling Bludger toward the sandy-haired boy who promptly smashed it across the field, right into the lap of Warrington. The boy nearly fell off his broom, dropping the Quaffle as he fought to remain airborne. The ball had barely left his grip when a scarlet streak swept underneath, plucking the ball from the air.
"And Gryffindor are back in possession," declared Lee, as Harry returned his focus to the game and resumed listening to the commentary, "after a brilliant piece of work between Potter and Finnigan. Seems like Harry plays Quidditch the same way he teaches PFT - He's bonkers!"
"Jordan!"
"Harriet passes to Weasley, Ron," continued Lee, twitching with excitement. "He passes to his sister who - Merlin's Beard! She bounces the Quaffle off Chaser Montague, picking it up again as she goes by - Aah! Look out! - She ducks under the Bludger sent her way by Bulstrode, passes to Harriet as MacKay deflects the Bludger right back at that bulldog-"
"Jordan!"
"Sorry, Professor." Lee, sounding anything but sorry, continued. "Harriet, son of the Jamaican Ambassador to England, passes back to Ginny Weasley - she throws a long cross - Ron Weasley has the Quaffle - he shoots... another ten points to Gryffindor! Forty-Zero!"
As Harry expected, the Slytherins were unwilling to let any goals go by without retribution. Bole, who had recovered his wind, swooped in close with a shoulder and elbow. Ron slipped as the large Beater brushed against him and fell clear off his broom. For a moment Harry felt his heart stop as he watched Ron topple off his Comet 260, arms and legs flaying about. At the very last instant one of his long arms shot out and his hand snagged a shaky grip on the broom's handle.
"Ron! Hang on!" he clearly heard Hermione shouting from the stands.
Ron, dangling fifty feet in the air by one hand, turned his head to look where she was standing and shouted back, "The thought had occurred to me!"
I just hope they invite me to the wedding, Harry mused already directing his Firebolt towards where Ron was drifting. He was peripherally aware of both Moira and Seamus waving their bats at Bole and cussing up a storm. He was alongside Ron now and reached out with one hand, grabbing hold of his friend's scarlet robes and hauling him upright without any apparent effort.
"You okay?" he asked as Ron settled back onto his broom.
"My entire life flashed before my eyes," replied the breathless redhead, before flashing a grin of relief across the narrow space separating them. "Didn't take as long as I thought it would."
The loud cheers of encouragement from the Gryffindor stand suddenly became groans, causing Harry and Ron to swear as they saw what had just happened.
"Oh no! The Slytherin Chasers take advantage of the distraction," groaned Lee. "It's three against just one as they score. Forty-Ten."
Again Harry and Ron cursed, simultaneously and both saying exactly the same thing, causing the pair to pause and look at each other in mild surprise. Harry gave Ron a half smile for a second before turning serious, looking over the other's shoulders. Hovering not far away was Malfoy, a smug expression on his face as he congratulated his Chasers on finally scoring. Hissing angrily Harry looked back at Ron, who had followed his gaze and was looking equally furious.
"I don't care how you do it," he told Ron through clenched teeth, "but you will make damn sure we're at least a hundred points ahead of that smarmy bastard when I catch the Snitch."
"Aye, aye, skipper," responded Ron, wheeling his broom around. He rocketed towards the Slytherin goals, reaching out to catch the Quaffle as Ginny threw it to him.
Relaxing his white-knuckled grip on the Firebolt, Harry resumed circling the pitch, aware that Malfoy was keeping a close distance behind him. He watched Ron pass to Gareth, who punched the Quaffle down and into Ginny's waiting hands, catching the Slytherin Keeper completely off guard.
"Fifty-Ten to Gryffindor!" exclaimed Lee. "Looks like Malfoy's thugs have only managed to piss the lions off-"
"Jordan!"
The game progressed along a similar vein for sometime, Gryffindor clearly the superior team in every aspect. Twice Harry spotted the Snitch bobbing up and down in the gentle breeze and both times he ignored it, waiting instead for the score to mount. Malfoy flew right by it the second time, completely oblivious to its presence. Only once did the Slytherin Chasers managed to squeeze through the furious defence Seamus and Moira were mounting and past Carmen, who was earning her position.
"One hundred and ten points to Gryffindor!" crowed Lee happily, half an hour later, "Slytherin with only a paltry twenty points to show for their efforts! Potter has clearly put together one hell of a fine team!"
"Jordan!"
For the third time Harry spotted the Snitch, hovering high above the Ravenclaw stands, almost directly over where Cho Chang was standing actually. Deciding that the scorecard could only get better, Harry deliberately stiffened his posture and snapped his head in the opposite direction to where the Snitch was. Out the corner his eye, he could see Malfoy sitting up and watching him closely, thinking that Harry had seen the Snitch.
Time to prove to him that there's more to Quidditch than funds and fancy brooms!
Leaning down low Harry pushed his Firebolt into action, streaking across the field like a bolt of crimson lightning, almost unseating Bulstrode as he zipped past. He could feel Malfoy trailing behind him, his Nimbus 2001 struggling to keep up with Harry's Firebolt. Harry smiled as the wind whipped through his hair, keeping his Firebolt only just within the speed range of the pursuing Nimbus, making certain that he would not unexpectedly lose Malfoy.
He banked to the right and curved down low, the trailing ends of his robes brushing against the ground before he straightened up. It had been a fast move, but not too difficult, and Malfoy had managed to stick with him through it, pushing his broom to the limit to keep up. Glancing over his shoulder, Harry saw that Malfoy, as he had expected, was paying more attention to Harry than to where they were headed.
A split second before impact Harry pulled back with all his strength, jerking the Firebolt up and to a complete stop in less than a second. It was a great pity that Malfoy shot passed him so quickly, because Harry would have loved to see the expression on his opponent's face the moment he realized what was about to happen.
The tip of the Nimbus 2001 smashed into the foot of the stands, catapulting Malfoy head over heels and into the air. The broom shattered under the impact, splintering into a spray of wooden fragments. The dumbstruck Slytherins, whose stand Harry had deliberately aimed at, were literally bowled over as Malfoy slammed into them with the force of a runaway freight train.
"Whoa!" exclaimed Lee over a roar of satisfaction sounded from the non-Slytherin spectators as Harry slowly rose into the air and began circling the pitch. "I used to think the Wronski Feint was dangerous - that was unbelievable! Superb braking by Potter - Malfoy's broom has been reduced to toothpicks!"
Harry was flying casually over the stands, his eyes focused on the glimmer of gold that had not moved much since he had last checked. As he reached the Ravenclaw section he glanced at Cho, who was watching him closely with a broad grin, and winked at her just as he snapped his right arm out. He grinned and turned to where Lee was sitting, still commenting on Malfoy's misfortune, and raised his hand high above him.
"And Potter's caught the Snitch!" roared Lee, spotting him. "The game is over! Gryffindor win, two hundred and sixty points to twenty!"
The spectators, excluding the Slytherins, cheered loudly and the Gryffindors were soon running onto the pitch in celebration. Harry glided to the ground, where he was met by his ecstatic team in a swarm of hugs that threatened to crack his ribs. Seamus and Ron where yelling incoherently and slapping each other's backs, Ginny and Carmen were squealing in delight and jumping up and down and nobody could understand a word of whatever it was Moira was saying.
First to reach them was Hermione, who didn't appear to know whether she should be laughing and congratulating them, or crying distraughtly over Ron's close call. Finally she decided to do both and enveloped the blushing boy in a fierce, tear-streaked hug, loudly informing him that if he ever scared her like that again she would perform an exceptionally painful operation on his lower regions and feed him the result.
Next came the Quidditch team, all of whom had finally managed to escape Madam Pomfrey's tender mercies and attend the game as spectators. Fred and George were delighted and started dancing a complex-looking jig with their protégé Beaters Seamus and Moira. Alicia, Angelina and Katie took it upon themselves to sweep Ginny and Carmen into a group, making it five squealing girls that were bouncing around.
*They're almost as crazy as those knights Arthur used to hang around with.*
Almost? Harry was grinning so broadly that even having Colin, and his ever present camera, try to shake his arm off could not repress his high spirits. I'm sure they're more so.
Ginny broke away from the other celebrating girls and pushed Colin forcibly away from Harry. She then threw herself at him in an ecstatic hug that held more force than even Molly Weasley could manage. Wrapping his arms around her and returning the gesture, Harry decided that this was even better than when they had won the Quidditch Cup in his third year.
Much better.
TBC...