Title:
Storm
Rating:
G
Length/Word
Count: 500
Prompt
Storm
Warnings/Kinks:
none
Disclaimer:
At
last check, J.K. Rowling still owned them. I still sneak them out so
they can play.
Summary:
The
end of a Quidditch match.
Notes:
Thanks to the quick beta by my loving husband.
The lightning crashed around them as they stared at the snitch momentarily hovering between them before disappearing into the dark. One raven-haired boy and one blond boy shot after the snitch, trying to locate its direction. They were hurled through the high, torrential downpour losing sight of the snitch. For once, neither cared who won, as long as the match would end.
They circled the pitch, barely noticing the other players. As soon as one would begin a dive towards something, the other would follow. The game continued on as the storm raged harder. It was only through the flashing light that Harry was able to glimpse the glimmer of gold. He chased after the snitch, Malfoy right behind him. He held his hand out towards the tiny ball as he felt the shock.
It wasn't the blinding light, it was the electrifying volt that went through his body that sent him plummeting towards the field below. His body didn't hit the ground, though he didn't know it. His downward spiral sent him into the broomstick of Malfoy who lowered him gently to the ground.
Medi-Wizards rushed to the field as the players gathered around. They rushed him to St. Mungos for the treatment of shock. The crowds gathered at the hospital, hoping for word on Harry Potter. He survived the Killing Curse, could he survive being struck by lightning?
Through the haze and fuzz, in the whiteness that surrounded him, he continually heard someone damning him. That voice helped him find a way; a way back to his body; a way back to reality. He did not know what the day was, or the time, he just kept hearing that voice. That voice had haunted him throughout his Wizarding years.
Harry groaned softly. It was almost too soft for the other to hear, but he had been waiting impatiently for this moment. Waiting for the moment in which the tides would turn and Harry would move from limbo to living again.
Harry opened his eyes slowly and gazed into the grey eyes that were hovering over his face. Grey eyes that had saved him, pulled him back from the brink of death. Grey eyes that looked at him with worry, concern and relief. Grey eyes that filled with tears and fell down the pale face of his rival.
He tried to talk, but his throat was dry. He moved his hand onto Draco's and tried to pay attention to what he was mumbling. "Damn, you Harry. You can't die, not without me beating you at Quidditch."
He would always have one constant, one constant that would always treat him the same, even when lying in a hospital bed. One constant, who had not let go of his hand. One constant, who laid his head on the bed beside Harry and moved the hair out of his eyes.
Storms could be good sometimes, if you can land in the arms of the one who will always be there for you.