A/N: The title of this story was borrowed from the title of John Williams' score for the corresponding scene in the film.

'Hermione, will you hurry up? The match's about to start!' Ron called up the stairs to the girls' dormitory.

'I'm coming, Ron!' A second later, Hermione appeared at the top of the stairs, a warm black cloak around her shoulders, adjusting a scarlet-and-gold Gryffindor scarf around her neck. Ron was bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet impatiently.

'Come on!' He glanced at his watch; it was five minutes to eleven.

They hurried out of the common room, through the empty Great Hall and out towards the Quidditch pitch. Even though it was pouring with rain, the whole school had turned out as usual to watch the first match of the season, Gryffindor versus Hufflepuff. Ron and Hermione, the latter holding her cloak up over her head, squeezed past crowds of seated spectators to find two empty seats in the Gryffindor part of the stands. Barely had they settled in as comfortably as they could in the bucketing rain and had Hermione raised a pair of binoculars to her eyes than Cedric Diggory, the Hufflepuff captain, shook hands with Wood and Madam Hooch called, 'Mount your brooms!' A second later, the fourteen Quidditch players had kicked off from the ground as the whistle sounded.

'Where's Harry?' Ron asked, squinting through the heavy rain.

Hermione shook her head. She wasn't having much better luck, even through her binoculars, as they were already covered in large drops of rain. Suddenly remembering a spell she had read about the other day, she pulled her wand out from under her cloak, tapped the sodden binoculars, and said confidently, 'Impervius!'

Peering around the Quidditch pitch through her now waterproof binoculars, Hermione was able to locate Harry, who seemed to be having a real job just looking for the Snitch through his rain-spattered glasses. Gryffindor scored twice, but Hermione could barely hear Lee Jordan''s commentary over the roaring winds, cheering crowds and distant rumbles of thunder, which were growing more and more frequent.

Ron and Hermione watched as a Bludger hit by one of the Hufflepuff Beaters soared towards Harry, nearly unseating him. He didn't swerve out of the way until the last minute, giving a possible indication that he hadn't even seen it coming until it almost broke his nose. Gryffindor scored twice more, bringing the score up to forty-zero, but neither Diggory, who also happened to be the Hufflepuff Seeker, or Harry had even come close to catching the Snitch and ending the game.

The sky grew darker and darker. Hermione turned her attention to the other players, and reflected that she herself, though cold and getting wetter by the minute, was not nearly as rain-soaked as the players flying in the face of an oncoming storm.

Hufflepuff scored once, causing the red-and-gold-clad supporters in the stands to groan and boo the Hufflepuffs. However, when Alicia Spinnet scraped a goal and Katie Bell another, they cheered, almost beside themselves with glee. Gryffindor was fifty points ahead; if Harry caught the Snitch now, they would secure a two-hundred-point win.

Through her binoculars, Hermione saw Wood signal to Madam Hooch for time out just after a flash of lightning lit up the whole pitch. The Gryffindor players flew over to Wood, who was crouched under a large umbrella at the edge of the stands. Hermione could see Harry straining to see through his glasses to where he was heading as he touched down, splattering his robes with mud.

At that point, Hermione stood up suddenly and began to edge away from her seat, still clutching the binoculars.

'Where're you going?' Ron asked apprehensively.

'You'll see,' Hermione said. Evidently this was meant to be taken literally, for she dropped her binoculars into his lap. Ron grabbed them and watched her make her way towards the mud-covered Gryffindor team.

'I've got no chance with these on,' Harry was saying, waving his smeared glasses, which he had apparently just dried.

'I've had an idea,' Hermione said excitedly, holding her cloak over her head as she beamed at Harry. 'Harry, give me your glasses, quick!'

As he handed them to her, she pulled out her wand again. Then she tapped the glasses and said, 'Impervius!'

'There!' She passed them back, saying brightly, 'They'll repel water!' She hurried back into the stands, Wood calling after her, 'Brilliant!'

Madam Hooch's whistle sounded again, giving the signal to commence the game before Hermione, still holding her cloak over her head to shield it from the tearing wind and pouring rain, had made her way back to her seat in the stands.

'What did you do to his glasses?' Ron asked, returning her binoculars to her as she regained her seat. 'I couldn't see –'

'The Impervius charm,' Hermione replied, raising them to her eyes and scanning the rain-drenched, muddy pitch. When Ron still looked blank, she lowered them just enough to add impatiently, 'I waterproofed them, Ron!'

'Oh,' said Ron, no longer listening. He was squinting up at Harry, who had stopped, motionless, in mid-air, staring at something at the top of the stands. 'What's he looking at? You'd think if it were the Snitch, he'd –'

'Where?' Hermione located Harry, but before she could follow his eyes to identify what he was looking at, his hands slipped and his broom plunged several feet. Next moment, the air, impossible though it seemed, grew even colder, caused by –

'Look!' Hermione cried, pointing across the stands. 'Dementors …'

She wasn't the only one who had noticed. All over the stands, people were pointing to about a hundred Dementors, who had left their posts at the entrances to the castle grounds and were now swarming onto the pitch.

'Hope Harry catches the Snitch soon,' grumbled Ron, who barely took his eyes off the game to glance down at the Dementors. 'I'm freezing …' He watched Harry, flat against his broomstick, speed towards a tiny, shimmering ball –

'Oh, my –' gasped Hermione. Harry had looked down. As Ron and Hermione watched, transfixed, Harry froze, staring downwards at the Dementors. Next moment, he seemed to be going into a sort of fit: his body was shaking so uncontrollably that the whole broom was vibrating. Then his hands slipped – he toppled off the side, plummeted down – down – down …

Hermione's scream pierced the air, along with several others; Dumbledore had left his seat and was hurrying onto the pitch; he pointed his wand at Harry, slowing his descent … Then he waved his wand at the Dementors, livid with rage, bellowing Hermione knew not what … an enormous silver phoenix burst out from the end, chasing the Dementors away, flapping its shimmering wings in the rain …

There were cheers from the Hufflepuffs' side of the stands and Ron clenched his fists in anger and indignation: how dare they cheer when Harry was – was surely … But a second later, Madam Hooch's whistle had blown, and the reason for the cheers became obvious; Cedric Diggory had caught the Snitch. The match was over – Hufflepuff had won.

But Diggory, curiously enough, didn't seem in any mood to celebrate. He looked down, the Snitch clutched in his hand, and paled as he saw Harry lying on the ground, unconscious, his Nimbus Two Thousand blowing ominously away in the direction of the Whomping Willow. They heard Diggory as he landed in front of Madam Hooch, trying to coax a re-match …

'C'mon,' said Ron, who was paper-white. He stood up.

Hermione had already abandoned her seat; not bothering to shield her face from the rain, she dashed past rows and rows of occupied seats, Ron coming close behind her. They reached the pitch just as Dumbledore, who was paler and yet angrier than Hermione had ever seen him, conjured a stretcher out of mid-air and levitated Harry onto it and back to the castle, Ron, Hermione, and the rest of the Gryffindor Quidditch team hurrying along in his wake.

It was a silent and sombre party, led by Dumbledore, who levitated the stretcher in front of him, that trooped up the passageways to the hospital wing. Hermione, gazing down at Harry's battered and still face, found to her horror that she couldn't believe that he was still alive, for who could survive a fall like that? She avoided Ron's eyes as she breathed deeply to calm herself, tears forming in her eyes in her anxiety.

Ron, meanwhile, had been unable to keep his eyes off Harry the whole time. There was something different about him … not just the fact that he had fallen fifty feet off a broomstick. Something else … Harry looked defeated. Ron had never seen Harry defeated before – he had always been the irrepressible hero of their trio – the only one, out of the three of them, who had gone on to protect the Philosopher's Stone; the one who had defeated Tom Riddle in the Chamber of Secrets. Even when he had gotten his arm broken by a rogue Bludger and fainted (nobody'd blamed him), he'd come up again, as undaunted as always. Now … however …

Madam Pomfrey opened the door when Dumbledore knocked. At first she simply seemed bewildered at the sight of Dumbledore, from whose long beard little droplets of water were falling in little puddles on the floor, the Gryffindor team – Angelina Johnson, Alicia Spinnet and Katie Bell, all of whom were exceedingly pale (Alicia was shaking) and Fred and George Weasley, who both looked uncharacteristically white and serious (Wood was still at the pitch) – and Ron and Hermione, the latter of whom was sniffling. Then she saw Harry, lying motionless on the stretcher, and uttered a small shriek.

'Headmaster! What – what happened?' she gasped, turning paler by the second as she took in every inch of Harry, from his muddy and filthy Quidditch robes to his glasses, which were fortunately not broken, but hung askew. She also took in the fact that he was bruised and sore all over, and her lips parted slightly.

'Dementors,' Dumbledore said heavily, with more than a little anger in the tone of his voice. 'He fell off his broom –'

'Dementors!' said Madam Pomfrey. 'What next?' Then she adopted her usual brisk manner. 'I'll take him from here, Headmaster …' She frowned disapprovingly at the Gryffindor team, which were covered in mud, and Ron and Hermione, but Dumbledore said, 'Please let them, in, Poppy – they are all very anxious and I would not like to disappoint them …' Smiling slightly, he turned and left, leaving Harry floating in mid-air.

'Well!' said Madam Pomfrey, peering at the silent group. Then she sighed, pointed her wand at Harry, and lifted him into a bed. The others followed her.

'Is he – will he be OK?' Hermione asked, half-wishing she never heard the answer.

Madam Pomfrey bent over Harry, checking for a pulse and, after what seemed like an eternity, straightened and said brusquely, 'He'll live. Mind you aren't too noisy, now,' she warned hastily, as Hermione burst into tears.

'Hermione, it's all right – he's OK,' Ron said, relieved, patting her awkwardly on the shoulder. She blinked several times, and then dried her eyes on the hem of her cloak. When Madam Pomfrey left, they broke into hushed whispers.

Before too long, Professor Flitwick came in, carrying a knobbly bag. He stopped at Harry's bed.

'What's in the bag, Professor?' asked Fred.

'His broomstick,' Flitwick said squeakily, showing them the bits of splintered wood and twigs. 'It crashed into the Whomping Willow.' He left them, after a glance at Harry.

There was a silence as the bag was passed around. Then George said in a low voice, 'Blimey, I wouldn't like to be around when he sees that.' The others nodded. Then the whispers broke out again …