This isn't the first HP fanfic I've ever written, but it is the first one I've been brave enough to try to type up and publish… that and it's been a long time since I've uploaded any fics… I got a boyfriend and lost him all in that nice span of lack-of-updating time.
Anyhow… I don't own Harry Potter, Quidditch, or anything else mentioned in this fic… so don't sue me, please. I still don't have a job, anyway.
~~~~~~~~~
And What if I Did?
"Please be careful…" Hermione mumbled, straightening Harry's Quidditch robes even though she knew they'd be rumpled and stained again when the game was finished.
Harry smiled lopsidedly. "As careful as I can be playing against Slytherin. You'll be watching, right?"
Hermione nodded. "Naturally, Harry! Why wouldn't I be?"
"You wouldn't be if, say, you wanted to study or something." Harry grinned fully this time, backing up a step as Hermione swatted playfully at him.
"You should get going, Harry." Hermione stepped forward, hugging Harry tightly. "The team will be waiting for you."
Harry nodded quickly as he hugged her back, and she turned to leave with a small wave. He walked swiftly in to the Gryffindor locker room, where Ron and the rest of the Gryffindor Quidditch players were waiting.
"There you are!" Ron cried in exasperation. "I was waiting for you practically forever! Hurry, we've got to outline the game plan before the game."
Harry and Ron were co-captains of the Gryffindor Quidditch team. Even though this was only Ron's second year on the team (even though he was a sixth-year student), he knew the Quidditch rules inside and out, making him an ideal captain. Harry was captain because after being on the team for five previous years, he was extremely talented, brought a lot of unity to the team, and was a natural-born leader. They outlined the plays quickly, and as they were leaving, Ron smirked at Harry.
"Talking to your girlfriend, then?"
Harry rolled his eyes. "Hermione and I are not going out, Ron, and you know it."
"… Yet. You aren't going out yet." Ron grinned as he mounted his broomstick and waited for Madam Hooch's whistle.
The Slytherins glared at the Gryffindors, Malfoy's eyes easily reflecting the most hate. Also a sixth-year, he wasn't captain – yet, anyway. His father would probably see to that for his seventh year.
"Are you ready to choke, Potter?" He spat.
"Hardly, Malfoy. I think that's best asked of you." Harry calmly stated, kicking forcefully off the ground as Madam Hooch's whistle cut sharply through the air. His eyes scanned the skies quickly, searching for any sign of that lone golden ball while still trying to keep out of the way of any Bludgers.
Malfoy shot past him as if he was on fire, causing a burst of panic in his chest. In all of his experience, he had not gone through a game without catching the Golden Snitch – it just wasn't something he did. He scanned the sky in front of Malfoy, tailing close behind. His Firebolt was easily faster than Malfoy's Nimbus 2001, but he wanted to make sure that Malfoy wasn't leading him on. A flash of gold to his left caught his eye and he veered off, trying to ignore the cheers coming from the Slytherin side. They were leading, ten to zero.
Faster, faster Harry pushed the Firebolt, chasing the Snitch as if his life depended on it. "Come on, please, just a little faster…" Harry pleaded with it, gripping the pole so tightly he could feel his fingers going numb. As if it heard his plea, the broom sped up a little. Harry reached his left arm out…
Slytherin's side burst into cheers again. Now the score was twenty to zero, Slytherin. Harry grew pale with determination as he reached ever further. He felt his fingers close onto the ball and he clenched his hand into a fist quickly, keeping the Snitch in his grip. Suddenly, though, the wind was knocked out of him. He saw his broom still hovering in the air before Malfoy's enraged face came into his vision. It seemed that Malfoy had leapt off of his broom and tackled Harry off of his.
"Damn it, Potter!" He screamed. "You stole the glory again! You always steal the glory!" With quite a bit of difficulty, Malfoy closed his hands around Harry's throat.
Harry strained to get Malfoy off of him, pulling furiously at Malfoy's hands with his own right hand. "G…. Get off… Malfoy…!" His left hand had dropped below him with his lack of concentration. He hit the ground, Malfoy hit him, and his left arm snapped with a sickening 'crunch' as it buckled beneath him.
Malfoy himself paled with the disgusting sound of the injury, and he rolled off of Harry. He stood up, brushing off his robes, completely unscathed. He really hadn't intended to hurt Harry…
"Get out of my way, get out of my way!" Madam Hooch cried, shoving through the crowd to Harry, who was quite white from the pain, staring blankly into the sky with his left arm bent beneath him at an extremely unnatural angle. His left fist was sticking from under his right side, still clenched onto the Snitch. "Oh, dear…" She gasped, turned and ran again to fetch Madam Pomfrey.
Harry was drifting in and out of consciousness, and nobody really cared anymore about how Gryffindor had come back to win the game. The crowd had left the stands, with the Slytherins going back to the castle, and everyone else trying to get a view of Harry.
"Look at his arm!"
"Is he going to be all right?"
"Keep away, give him air!" Madam Pomfrey cried, running as quickly as she could down to the Quidditch pitch. She herself blanched with the severity of Harry's injury, and everyone's own faces grew grim with the realization that if Madam Pomfrey could look disturbed at an injury, it had to be an extremely horrific injury.
"… Will he be all right, Madam Pomfrey?" Colin Creevey, a fifth-year, quietly asked, trying to ignore the fact that Harry was quietly moaning with the pain and seemed to be fighting hard to keep conscious. Colin, thankfully, had abandoned the practice of continually photographing Harry; it was doubtful that anyone would have allowed him to do so this time.
Madam Pomfrey looked at him, Ron, and two of the other male Gryffindor Quidditch players. "Please lift him gently – watch out for that left arm!" She snapped at Ron, who had caused Harry to give a short scream before finally passing out completely. "Take him to the infirmary. I'll be right behind you." She glanced at his fist, which was still holding the Snitch, and decided it would probably be best to pry that out up in the infirmary after his arm had been set and repaired.
The four boys gingerly lifted Harry's limp body and carried it carefully up to the castle. The crowd continued to mill about, preventing Hermione from following the small group until they were already up and inside.
"Please be all right, Harry... please." Hermione whispered, trying not to cry in front of the entire crowd.
Anyhow… I don't own Harry Potter, Quidditch, or anything else mentioned in this fic… so don't sue me, please. I still don't have a job, anyway.
~~~~~~~~~
And What if I Did?
"Please be careful…" Hermione mumbled, straightening Harry's Quidditch robes even though she knew they'd be rumpled and stained again when the game was finished.
Harry smiled lopsidedly. "As careful as I can be playing against Slytherin. You'll be watching, right?"
Hermione nodded. "Naturally, Harry! Why wouldn't I be?"
"You wouldn't be if, say, you wanted to study or something." Harry grinned fully this time, backing up a step as Hermione swatted playfully at him.
"You should get going, Harry." Hermione stepped forward, hugging Harry tightly. "The team will be waiting for you."
Harry nodded quickly as he hugged her back, and she turned to leave with a small wave. He walked swiftly in to the Gryffindor locker room, where Ron and the rest of the Gryffindor Quidditch players were waiting.
"There you are!" Ron cried in exasperation. "I was waiting for you practically forever! Hurry, we've got to outline the game plan before the game."
Harry and Ron were co-captains of the Gryffindor Quidditch team. Even though this was only Ron's second year on the team (even though he was a sixth-year student), he knew the Quidditch rules inside and out, making him an ideal captain. Harry was captain because after being on the team for five previous years, he was extremely talented, brought a lot of unity to the team, and was a natural-born leader. They outlined the plays quickly, and as they were leaving, Ron smirked at Harry.
"Talking to your girlfriend, then?"
Harry rolled his eyes. "Hermione and I are not going out, Ron, and you know it."
"… Yet. You aren't going out yet." Ron grinned as he mounted his broomstick and waited for Madam Hooch's whistle.
The Slytherins glared at the Gryffindors, Malfoy's eyes easily reflecting the most hate. Also a sixth-year, he wasn't captain – yet, anyway. His father would probably see to that for his seventh year.
"Are you ready to choke, Potter?" He spat.
"Hardly, Malfoy. I think that's best asked of you." Harry calmly stated, kicking forcefully off the ground as Madam Hooch's whistle cut sharply through the air. His eyes scanned the skies quickly, searching for any sign of that lone golden ball while still trying to keep out of the way of any Bludgers.
Malfoy shot past him as if he was on fire, causing a burst of panic in his chest. In all of his experience, he had not gone through a game without catching the Golden Snitch – it just wasn't something he did. He scanned the sky in front of Malfoy, tailing close behind. His Firebolt was easily faster than Malfoy's Nimbus 2001, but he wanted to make sure that Malfoy wasn't leading him on. A flash of gold to his left caught his eye and he veered off, trying to ignore the cheers coming from the Slytherin side. They were leading, ten to zero.
Faster, faster Harry pushed the Firebolt, chasing the Snitch as if his life depended on it. "Come on, please, just a little faster…" Harry pleaded with it, gripping the pole so tightly he could feel his fingers going numb. As if it heard his plea, the broom sped up a little. Harry reached his left arm out…
Slytherin's side burst into cheers again. Now the score was twenty to zero, Slytherin. Harry grew pale with determination as he reached ever further. He felt his fingers close onto the ball and he clenched his hand into a fist quickly, keeping the Snitch in his grip. Suddenly, though, the wind was knocked out of him. He saw his broom still hovering in the air before Malfoy's enraged face came into his vision. It seemed that Malfoy had leapt off of his broom and tackled Harry off of his.
"Damn it, Potter!" He screamed. "You stole the glory again! You always steal the glory!" With quite a bit of difficulty, Malfoy closed his hands around Harry's throat.
Harry strained to get Malfoy off of him, pulling furiously at Malfoy's hands with his own right hand. "G…. Get off… Malfoy…!" His left hand had dropped below him with his lack of concentration. He hit the ground, Malfoy hit him, and his left arm snapped with a sickening 'crunch' as it buckled beneath him.
Malfoy himself paled with the disgusting sound of the injury, and he rolled off of Harry. He stood up, brushing off his robes, completely unscathed. He really hadn't intended to hurt Harry…
"Get out of my way, get out of my way!" Madam Hooch cried, shoving through the crowd to Harry, who was quite white from the pain, staring blankly into the sky with his left arm bent beneath him at an extremely unnatural angle. His left fist was sticking from under his right side, still clenched onto the Snitch. "Oh, dear…" She gasped, turned and ran again to fetch Madam Pomfrey.
Harry was drifting in and out of consciousness, and nobody really cared anymore about how Gryffindor had come back to win the game. The crowd had left the stands, with the Slytherins going back to the castle, and everyone else trying to get a view of Harry.
"Look at his arm!"
"Is he going to be all right?"
"Keep away, give him air!" Madam Pomfrey cried, running as quickly as she could down to the Quidditch pitch. She herself blanched with the severity of Harry's injury, and everyone's own faces grew grim with the realization that if Madam Pomfrey could look disturbed at an injury, it had to be an extremely horrific injury.
"… Will he be all right, Madam Pomfrey?" Colin Creevey, a fifth-year, quietly asked, trying to ignore the fact that Harry was quietly moaning with the pain and seemed to be fighting hard to keep conscious. Colin, thankfully, had abandoned the practice of continually photographing Harry; it was doubtful that anyone would have allowed him to do so this time.
Madam Pomfrey looked at him, Ron, and two of the other male Gryffindor Quidditch players. "Please lift him gently – watch out for that left arm!" She snapped at Ron, who had caused Harry to give a short scream before finally passing out completely. "Take him to the infirmary. I'll be right behind you." She glanced at his fist, which was still holding the Snitch, and decided it would probably be best to pry that out up in the infirmary after his arm had been set and repaired.
The four boys gingerly lifted Harry's limp body and carried it carefully up to the castle. The crowd continued to mill about, preventing Hermione from following the small group until they were already up and inside.
"Please be all right, Harry... please." Hermione whispered, trying not to cry in front of the entire crowd.