Chapter 1
"Hermione, get up!"
Stars. All around. Expanding in great nebulous bursts, shuddering bands of sour reds, blues, yellows—and soundlessness. Hermione had the distinct feeling that she was floating. The stars and their brilliance danced further, beyond her vision, fading like a forgotten photograph.
Black.
And then a roar.
"Hermione, GET UP! We need to win this game!"
Hundreds, thousands of screams filled her ears as if some dam in Hermione's head had abruptly splintered—and there, a thunderous chanting grew:
"GRANGER'S IN NO DANGER!
"GRANGER IS THE DANGER!"
Hermione felt a strange, distant heat somewhere to her left. It was insistent, and seemed to gather urgency as she delayed her response. And suddenly she felt gravity.
"GRANGER'S IN NO DANGER!"
The heat twisted and spat a blade of sharp pain down her arm. It was her arm, her left one, she knew that. Hermione knew she needed to get up.
"GRANGER IS THE DANGER!"
Her eyes cracked open, and into the black rushed the tumult and color that was the Quidditch Pitch. Almost immediately, Hermione's blurred view was invaded by a mass of white and red. She blinked. Ron was crouched, shaking over her, face white, so white that his flaming hair seemed like blood, dripping down into his scared, scared eyes.
"Hermione, please, get up. You can do this—just get on your broom and catch the Snitch! You're fine. You're fine!"
Hermione shifted her clouded gaze away from Ron, and up, up at the cold stone sky. It was the November sky: dry as a bone, cold as ice. The pain in her arm was dulled. It was probably broken, she mused. Suddenly, Hermione was aware of her position: on the hard-packed freezing earth of the pitch, on her back, in the middle of the Gryffindor-Ravenclaw match. She had to get up.
She shifted her right arm under her body, placing her palm flat against the ground. Bracing with her left leg, Hermione thrust herself into a sitting position, before swiftly biting her hand. Her left arm could have been on fire, the way it felt. She crumpled forward, releasing her hand from her teeth, and took a few hasty inhales. Then she stood up.
Ron rushed to steady her while she found her footing. The crowd was roaring, at least half of it – and she could hear Lee Jordan commentating faintly over the surge of noise that Yes! Hermione Granger is back on her feet after a nasty Bludger to the side! What a fall – about 10 metres I'd wager – it looks like she's taken an injury on her left arm – but she's going for her broom (lovely model it is, a Firebolt)—and Hermione's back in the air! Ladies and gentlemen, the Danger is back in the game!
Hermione barely felt her leg swinging over her broom. She was only faintly aware of her uniform flapping against the rise upward – and as Hermione slotted her shins into the broom's leghooks, she didn't even notice the lancing pain in her arm that had worried her only a moment before. She was cold – but what else could one expect when spinning towards that cold, stony November sky? She spun further upwards, making lazy loops around granite clouds, watching, scanning, for that coy glint of gold. Up here, Hermione knew, it was just her and the solemn sky. The altitude and temperature numbed her right down to the bone and deeper to the psyche—and so with this aching calmness, Hermione watched.
And then she dove.
It was there, by the Slytherin stands about 40 metres down and she knew she had to be quick about it and punch straight down there because Chang was all the way across the pitch above the goalposts and was spatially disadvantaged and with her Cleansweep she couldn't make it in time and Chang had always been too hesitant anyways so Hermione darted down as the wind's shrieks drowned out the crowd and Lee Jordan going dangerous dives for Dangerous Granger and the Snitch was feeling sleepy today so it accepted her icepick fingers when they slipped around it in easy grace.
"AND GRYFFINDOR WINS! HERMIONE GRANGER HAS CAUGHT THE SNITCH!"
Hermione pulled out of the dive with half a metre to spare. She estimated she had around 30 seconds to get off the pitch before it was rushed. As soon as her feet touched the ground she started running towards the locker rooms, broom in her right hand and Snitch in her left. She took care not to swing her left arm, fearing the stabbing pain she tasted earlier. Hermione could hear the crowd tumbling onto the pitch and knew her teammates were probably being thrust up onto the shoulders of their housemates—she always felt a little bad for leaving so quickly, but they knew how it was with her. Crowds are too messy, too feverish, Hermione reminded herself as she stepped into the women's lockers. Her arm was singing with pain despite her carefulness. Reaching for her wand - which was luckily unbroken in spite of her fall – Hermione cast a nonverbal numbing spell on the injured area. It could wait.
Hermione busied herself with her normal after-game routine: gloves come off first, then the mouthguard, then to unlace the Quidditch robe before removing it, the shin-guards, the kneepads, the cleats, the elbow pads –
"Hermione?"
She looked up from undoing the straps on her elbows to find Ginny Weasley, still dressed in full gear, standing in the doorway.
"Hermione, your arm! The Bludger hit it straight on and then you fell. Why aren't you in the Hospital Wing?! I mean for Merlin's sake you've got to—"
"Ginny, calm down, honestly!" Hermione interjected sharply. "Look, I'm fine, it's probably just dislocated and I'm just getting undressed before I let Pomfrey look at it." She sighed and looked down. "Just—calm down. Sorry. I'm fine. You can come with me to Pomfrey's if you want. I'll just be two minutes."
Ginny stared at Hermione, face waxen from the cold and hair strewn in knotty, vivid strands about her face. Her entire face was tense, with her brow furrowed and her steady chewing of her lip. She let out a sigh and then a weak chuckle. "Honestly, Hermione, I don't know how you make everything sound so sensible, but it infuriates me to no end." Ginny flopped down on a bench and leaned forward to unlace her trainers. "This reminds me of that match against Slytherin last year when Malfoy broke your nose and you whipped out your wand and fixed it! In midair! Everyone thought you were going to hex him but seeing as you're Hermione bleedin' Granger it only makes bloody sense that you did the most practical thing—" Ginny huffed, shedding her Quidditch robes and started on her knee pads.
Hermione grinned and jumped to her feet. "Nothing more satisfying than showing Mr. Malfoy how little he matters," she said, eyes glittering. "Can you hurry up now and help me off to Pomfrey, or are you too busy reminiscing about my practicality?" Hermione grinned wider when Ginny rolled her eyes.
"Hold on a tic, let me switch into a clean top and then I'll escort Your Highness to safety," Ginny smirked. She pulled off her sweat-drenched shirt and padded over to her locker, relishing the cool air on her bare skin. Hermione watched her smooth, narrow back curve while she rummaged for a shirt. "Oh, and I forgot to tell you," Ginny added over her shoulder, "that was a bloody brilliant dive."