(I'm sorry to say – Ron is, without a doubt, dead. He's not coming back to life anytime soon. Also, I'm a little bit upset about the previous chapter. I planned it all along – ever since I wrote the warning of character deaths in the first chapter – but during the last chapter I actually got rather attached to the red-head. :'( Anyway, don't forget the parody I'm going to be doing. I'd like people's input on that. And we've reached the half-way mark on this story. Also, has anyone noticed a sudden RISE in the works that have Harry sorted into Slytherin… or is that just me?)
CHAPTER SEVEN: QUIDDITCH
Guilt.
It was the only taste in Harry's mouth; the strangely metallic flavour heavily laden on his tongue – like lead which leeched the life out of everything that came into contact with his tastebuds. When Harry talked it weighed on every single one his words, autonomous monotone noises rolling out of his mouth, lacking any and every single emotion. It was the only sound in Harry's ears; a whirring, buzzing, hash – voices barely fighting through sounded like imagined whispers in the wind. It was the only colour Harry could see; gray, black – a colourless landscape. Every touch felt like it; dead-cold, clammy – the warmth of a sunrise long forgotten, the breeze of a gentle wind was now nothing more than a force to impound him. It encapsulated his existence.
Harry Potter was guilt incarnate.
As Harry walked mindlessly around Hogwarts, Draco never far from his side, thoughts rushed through his head. Damning, self-loathing thoughts. I let Ron die. He died because I didn't stay on the ground floor. If I had stayed… Ron would be alive. Hermione hates me and she has every right too. I killed Ron through my actions… It's my entire fault. I should've died in Ron's place. I can't be the Boy Who Lived. My life is a lie. Everyone is right. I am the Next Dark Lord. No emotion played on the usually readable face of the young wizard. He was dead to the world.
Draco could only watch as Harry condemned himself, as the brunette wouldn't listen to a thing he said. Hermione hadn't been much help either. She was, if it were possible, in a worse state - one of shock and denial. Oft times she turned her head to comment to someone who was no longer there. She still smiled at the invisible person and waited on a non-existent reply before continuing to talk. To Draco, who'd begun to actually respect her intelligence, it was like slap to the face. He'd been right in his initial thoughts of mudbloods – they couldn't even handle minor trauma.
The blonde hadn't been so affected by the meaning of Weasley's death. It didn't matter to him; it was just one less red-head in the world. However, actually literally seeing the boy die in front of him made him feel… different. Sure, he known about death – the same way any child knew about it. But to witness death at work was something else entirely. Draco found himself afraid of his own feelings; not that he'd admit it. Death... made his mind race with questions he couldn't answer – not out of lack of trying, but because he found he just wasn't old enough to. And that infuriated him. So, instead of thinking of something that would only come with time he focused all his efforts and attention onto Harry. I'm not running from my own problems, reasoned the pale boy, I'm incubating on them.
Harry had become, for no other words would fit, a mind-dead zombie. Snape had actually gone so far as to ban him from attending Potions, simply because he had failed at such a large number of brews that he would've been a hazard risk if he'd stayed. Snape was oddly snappish and he limped around, putting his pressure on one leg. Draco assumed he'd hurt it when moving the unconscious troll's body.
Harry was not, as perhaps a kind observer would note, graceful on the ground. In this barely-there state, he was horrifyingly less so. At any moment, Draco could turn back and find Harry sprawled on the floor. It didn't help that many Gryffindors, all idiotically naïve, blamed Harry for Ron's death and wanted to see him suffer for it – taking advantage of the way he was and aiding him in tripping with a precariously placed foot. Draco, fuming, usually hexed them with as many hexes he knew and then helped Harry up. It happened every day. Harry was beginning to get an assortment of bruises on the appendages he usually landed upon. What made Draco even angrier was that Harry didn't defend himself. Even if he hadn't been like he was he wouldn't have done much either.
A memory of the train ride echoed in his mind, "Why do you take such a defensive position all the time, Malfoy?" It grated on his nerves that thought. Always, Harry had such a twisted perspective of things. And as always, nothing Draco could do, would ever prepare him for the way the brunette reacted to things. Well, nothing short of reading his mind. Hmmm, the thought playing in the blonde's mind, I could try that, but I don't think I'd manage to make much sense of anything in there…
Harry's movements were flaccid, lifeless and the light that always shone in Harry's eyes was dead. Draco found himself talking to an empty shell most of the time. Even during flying classes the old Harry didn't stir. Madam Hooch had put a height and speed restriction on their brooms and going at such a slow pace would hardly wake Harry from his stupor. Draco had been watching Harry and during each of their theory classes he'd find Harry's book empty of words – Draco usually had to copy his own in. The blonde felt like he'd become a care taker of a particularly handicapped child. Harry wouldn't even eat without Draco literally shoving food down his throat.
He was beginning to get angry and impatient. It had been a week. A whole week and the old Harry wasn't back yet. The blonde thought he could be understanding, he thought he could be… Merlin forbid, supportive of Harry's plight, but the original shock effect was beginning to wear thin. And Draco wasn't going to continue to play this parenting game any longer. He'd held back his own selfish desire to see the old Harry, to scream at him and then make up afterwards, to mock him and have him actually react with something just as cunning. He, personally, wanted the old Harry back. All the things he wanted were beginning to build against the damn wall he had placed there to stop them. It was starting to get to a point where if one more little thing happened, and added to the raging torrents pounding against the wall, it would burst and Draco would explode with everything he'd been suppressing. One more thing.
And Harry, without knowing it, supplied the last tally.
The last count happened one night. Almost at random. Draco had gone to sleep after ensuring that Harry had gotten into bed without somehow hurting himself. After sleeping for an undeterminable amount of time, Draco stirred from his slumber, hearing a strange noise. He'd woken up slowly, moaning about the sound and eventually sat up to rub at his weary eyes. With a stretched out yawn, he squinted into the room to see what the origin of the disturbance was. Draco was not a very happy person when woken up later than midnight.
As soon as the blonde realised the sounds were coming from Harry's bed, he'd bolted over. The quilt had been covering Harry's sleeping form, draped from his toes to the top of his head. Draco snaked out an arm and whipped the blanket off, his heart racing. What he saw was both shocking and depressing and it broke Draco's desire-wall like it was nothing more than a twig.
Harry was crying in his sleep.
It was one of the worst things the pale boy had ever seen in his life. Even worse than Ron's death. Even worse than what caused his deep-sleeps. Because Draco was attached to Harry. Draco found himself shocked to find he cared. Sure, he'd been friends with someone before, but he'd never usually cared about them. If they got hurt, Draco was only worried if they'd ever be back to listen to him talk. As Draco stared at the tear drops which slid down Harry's face, which was also etched with a morose, sickened expression, the blonde snapped. It wasn't the horrid sort of snapping he was used to – in fact, it was actually a healthier break down.
Something inside Draco's mind finally figured out what was wrong. He'd been acting like a Gryffindor. Being supportive and understanding? What sort of Slytherin or Malfoy did that? None. He realised why Harry hadn't been returning to normal – Draco had been pandering him! He'd been practically giving him his mark of approval by going along with Harry's mind-loss like this.
"I'm going to set this straight tomorrow, Harry, you'll see."
Draco, in a moment of pure affection, tucked his best friend back into bed and then a smirk crawled up onto his face. He'd missed this feeling of plotting, of planning – of actually doing something. A sentence Harry had said popped into his head as the details of a plan formed in his head, "Pretty easy, wasn't it?"
"Yes. Yes, it was," Draco muttered to himself; the smirk not disappearing off his face until he was all plotted out.
That night Draco had a simple dream. So simple, in fact, he'd not even realised he'd dreamt it. When we woke up in the morning it was just a memory. In fact, it was so uncomplicated Draco remembered it with ease, but subconsciously tossed it aside – it could've very well have been an old childhood memory.
The dream was thus: he'd won.
...
As soon as the sun clawed up over the horizon with its fiery talons of warmth, Draco was already putting his plan into action. He'd crept into the senior rooms and was silently stalking his way to one boy in particular. When he arrived there he stretched a hand out to hover over the sleeping boy's mouth. Inside his hand was his wand.
"Umbrae obscura," whispered the blonde.
He wondered if the older boy would stir, but was relieved when he found that he did not. Draco looked down at his handiwork. A black mask had slinked over the boy's face, making his features undeterminable. The boy would, of course, find that the mask was immovable, unless Draco wished otherwise – and seeing as Draco's victim wasn't even aware that the blonde was the culprit – he wouldn't be getting if off anytime soon. (Draco would never ever tell where he had learnt this particular spell from.)
Draco gave a simpering grin and walked, rather satisfied, to his bed. He glanced once at Harry, scowled, and then went to sleep.
...
That morning, when their school day officially began, there was an uproar in the Slytherin dormitory. Apparently, someone had snuck in and bewitched a rather popular boy in the third year cohort. Harry was still lost in his thoughts - which were beginning to get worse. Just a glimpse into his mind would reveal – I hate myself. I killed Ron. I should've saved him. I couldn't because I'm weak. Too weak to be the Boy Who Lived. I'm weak and useless. I deserve everything everyone has done to me. That and more.
Harry was starting to look weak and frail. Every though Drao had been forcing Harry to eat, unbeknowst to him, the brunette hadn't been able to keep it down and it usually ended up in the sewers via a flush.
It was a long day. A very long day. Well, at least to Draco Lucius Malfoy it was. He'd stopped just focusing on Potter and had instead begun to initialise his plan. He was starting to feel the tingling sensation of self-accomplishment under his skin. And it felt good.
Today, there was a Quidditch match. Of course, Harry had little knowledge of how Quidditch worked. The blonde was in no mood to humour him, either.
Maybe, Draco hoped, this game would awake the old Harry. If it didn't Draco would probably give up. If what he had planned didn't break through to Harry there would be nothing else to try. Except, perhaps, making him witness another death. However, that thought brought back too many questions that Draco couldn't answer until the moment was right. The blonde was sure that time wouldn't come for a while. But still, it caused Draco to think about it, almost concernedly.
"Harry, let's go wish the Slytherins luck before they go to play," Draco suggested, perhaps a bit too sweetly, but how was Harry to know? Harry was still… gone.
The brunette nodded, a vague acceptance of Draco's questioning statement. Draco resisted the urge to sneer at Harry's submissive blank state; hating what Harry had become.
What if I wasn't so weak? What if I'd known a spell to save him? I'm weak and useless now, but… If I become stronger… No, that's impossible. I deserve to die.
Draco didn't even want to know what his companion was thinking. The hollow expression on his face could be hiding something so dark and forbidding that Draco didn't even want a hint of. He wondered for a second if Harry would ever be the same. Then the blonde shook his head clear of thought as he guided Harry to the Change Rooms. They arrived at exactly the right time, just as Draco had planned the night before. Everything was going just as he had designed.
The blonde gave Harry a quick glance. The brunette was wearing standard uniform, and, for reasons unknown to Malfoy, a scarf that he wrapped about his neck. Draco wondered absently why Harry seemed to wear it everyday (even in this zombie like state), but then he sharpened his mind back on track.
"Terrence, could we talk to you for a second?" Draco asked the last person in the room, a boy in third year.
He turned to face them and Draco smirked, his wand already out and the delicious taste of a spell on the tip of his tongue, "Stupefy!"
Terrence fell to the floor, his body rigid stiff. Harry did nothing. Draco cast him a disgusted look. If the old Harry had been awake, Draco would've, deservingly, gotten a severe verbal lashing and a promise that Harry wouldn't talk for him for a week, which he'd eventually break, because – that was the way they were.
Terrence Higgs was the Seeker of Slytherin. And he'd not found a way to remove the black mask Draco had hexed him with this morning. The blonde turned to Harry and with a large smile, not smirk, on his face, obviously taking a great amount of satisfaction and pleasure from what he was about to do.
"I'm sor… actually, you know what? I'm not really sorry at all. Believe it or not, but this is for you own good," Draco said and with a precise movement of his wand he pointed it directly at Harry's face, "Umbrae obscura."
A black goo-like substance formed on Harry's chin and slowly it slid up over the rest of his face. The young brunette boy didn't do anything to defend himself. It always managed to surprise Draco how Harry reacted to things. And lately, it had begun to infuriate Draco how passive he was. Had nothing Snape or himself said gotten through to Harry at all? The blonde let out an exasperated sigh.
"Now, to swap your robes."
Draco did said action and looked at the near culmination of his plotting; dressed like this Harry could've been the Seeker's mirror image. After all, without faces who could ever really tell? Sounds echoed down the hall way and, acting as quick as his eleven year old mind could, he threw a bunch of clothes onto the prone, unconscious form of Terrence Higgs. The rest of the Slytherin team had returned with scowls, "Oi, Terrence! What's taking you so long?" (They were addressing Harry.)
Draco realised he'd have to face the problem in his plan sooner or later; the fact that Harry wasn't going to be talking any time soon.
"I thought I'd found a way to get rid of his hex and he agreed to let me try it. It backfired and I think it's made him mute… and a little bit confused," Draco provided, as a way of explanation.
Some of the team smirked and one spoke up, "Serves you right, Ter. Were you so worried that people wouldn't see your face that you'd let a first year try at it?"
There were a few snickers all around and some mutterings of "vain" in the team. A teenager, probably fifth year, butted in and snarled, "You better hope the "fixing" didn't damage our Seeker, or you'll pay, first year."
Draco hated himself for it, but he played along with his innocent act and cowered, performing the Coward very well.
"It's not like Ter had the brightest lumos to begin with, Marcus," one of the team commented, grateful for a dig at the usual glory-hog.
Good natured chuckles followed and Marcus smirked, "First year, I'll clear it up for you, just in case you somehow damaged our Seeker's mind. If he doesn't catch the… you know, the tiny golden ball with the wings that… darts everywhere, sort of like a dragonfly… stitch… flitch…"
"Snitch?" Draco supplied, almost innocently.
"Don't back-chat, first year! If our Seeker doesn't catch the snitch we're going to be having some… words with you," Marcus dug a finger into Draco's chest, "And don't let me catch you in here again, this place is private!"
Draco nodded, his eyes purposely made wide in fake terror, "Of course… you might want to guide him there… I think he'll be a little bit… blank for a while. Just get him on a broom, push him up and everything should be fine."
He couldn't help but worry. Harry could very well die. But it was a minor branch off to the conclusions that Draco had envisioned. In the majority of endings, Draco had imagined, Harry had ended up fine, if a little hurt. In only one of them he'd ended up dead, but that was only in Draco's scenario. Out in the real world, there'd be a million and one variables that he'd need to add in and his brain capacity could only hold so much.
He let out a breath and after the Slytherin team disappeared onto their balcony; he receded to his own seat. It would be all or nothing in the next few minutes.
"All or nothing," repeated the blonde, suddenly realising what he'd just done. It hit him like a brick wall. He took a deep breath and leant as forward as far as he could to the edge of the seatings. Many of the other Slytherin audience watched in anticipation, binoculars raised to their eyes to get a better look. As Draco gazed around at the rest of the stadium, he realised the place was practically packed. Each part of the stands was littered with a jostling crowd, each person vying for a better seat.
He didn't think there'd be such a large turn out, but then again this was a Slytherin versus Gryffindor game. Everyone knew of the bitter rivalry and bad atmosphere between the two houses. They were probably wondering if all the tension, that'd been building since Harry had entered Slytherin, would manifest into numerous fouls and injuries. Quidditch wasn't considered a blood-sport, but if the players were aggressive enough, it could very well evolve into one – even worse, possibly it could become a death-match. After all, the only way this game would end was if the snitch was caught – or if the team captains agreed on something.
Draco glanced between the captains (both of which he knew – after all, Quidditch was Draco's favourite sport), Marcus Flint and Oliver Wood, both stubborn teenagers, with strong personalities. Neither would agree to anything the other proposed. Therefore, it all came down to the Seekers. Draco swallowed nervously. Had he just screwed up the match? Assured Slytherin would lose? Then instantly he calmed himself, It doesn't matter; if it wakes Harry – it'll be worth it.
The blonde's shark-skin coloured eyes narrowed in as the referee, Madam Hooch, walked on into the middle of the field. He knew what she was saying – he'd listened in before, now the only thing he could watch was Harry, who no one knew was Harry. They thought it was Terrence; after all, he still had the black mask on. Draco's smirk widened. The only thing which could go wrong was the things he hadn't accounted for. He tried to reassure himself, uttering in his mind that there couldn't be much he hadn't thought of – after all, his plan was perfect…
Wasn't it?
As the professor looked to be finishing, Draco focused more onto Harry and then it hit him – the single most obvious flaw. The most important thing, as well. Draco couldn't tell what Harry was feeling. He wouldn't know if it had woken him, or if he wasn't reacting. Since he couldn't see Harry's face, he wouldn't know if it was working. Draco's stomach coiled in on itself and he felt instantly nauseous. His plan was falling apart in front of him… if he hadn't thought of that, what else hadn't he thought of?
He watched, feeling rather like the colour of his house team, as the teams mounted their brooms and how the Slytherins practically threw Harry onto his. Draco's mouth felt suddenly dry. Very dry, indeed. What if my plan fails?
And then a whistle, clear, sharp, piercing and loud enough to echo into the very depths of Draco's being, sounded off from Madam Hooch. Twelve brooms shot up into the air, seven from Gryffindor and five from Slytherin. Draco felt a little bit of relief – they'd listened to him. Marcus snaked an arm out, grabbed roughly onto Harry's robe and basically flung him into the air. Mildly alerted, Draco watched closely as Harry was thrown sharply off the side of his broom – still rising in the air. Harry's thighs, used to clinging to the broom, were the only muscles holding him up. Draco took a sharp intake of breath as Harry subconsciously righted himself and continued to float higher and higher.
The running commentary sounded somewhat like gibberish to Draco. He was too caught up in Harry's ascent, swiftly rising. Harry didn't appear to be paying any attention. And then suddenly, Harry's broom tipped and it began to dive its descent. Hurtling towards the ground at break neck speeds. Harry watched blankly as the ground grew closer and closer.
I deserve this. Death. Like my parents… My parents? They died… and left me all alone. No one loved me. I was left alone wishing for somewhere to… to love. To be free. To have friends… And I let one of them die. I'm so worthless. The world would be better without me.
The ground was flying towards him and Draco could only watch in terror as Harry dived to his certain death.
I'm so weak. I could've saved him if I was stronger. If… if I weren't so stupid. If I weren't so weak.
Draco was already panicking, and that was before Harry's broom began acting up. The broom under the brunette lurched, suddenly, causing his descent to take on an angle to the floor. One foot away, speeding downwards – death almost certain and then it staggered right, spinning Harry away from the ground, his feet dragging across the field, taking out strands of grass.
Draco finally couldn't contain his worry any longer and screamed out, "YOU GIT!" and was almost lost in the uproar of the whole audience. At that exact moment, as the words ripped from Draco's mouth, a streak of gold flashed past Harry's face, nearly taking off his nose. His glasses fell askew and for a second he snapped out of his thoughts. And Harry heard Draco. The brunette glanced over, confused, at the stand where Draco stood, almost leaning off the balcony – trying to see if Harry was alright.
Friends… I still have friends. If I die… they'll be alone. Like I was. I can't… I can't let anyone suffer like that. But… I'm so weak. Suddenly, the bravest strongest part of Harry spoke up, fighting through the depression that had consumed him, Remember what Draco said! REMEMBER- "Life isn't something which has limit. The animal did not have to die; it died because it was weak." Things seemed to suddenly clack together in the brunette's mind as his emerald eyes widened in realisation, If I become stronger… I can stop anything like that from happening ever again. I can make it so no one who's close to me will ever get hurt. Life will have no limit, because I'll be strong! I just have to become… stronger and better. Then I'll have my place and my friends. I just need to be stronger!
The inner strength, his better self, of Harry almost snickered at the simplicity at how Harry thought.
Harry was suddenly aware of his surroundings. He saw everything. Felt the broom changing direction rapidly, his body nearly flinging off. His heart thundered with excitement. Harry was going so fast, so high, swapping directions so suddenly. The wind rushing through his hair, he tasted the flavours of anticipation and joy mingling in the air. The coolness of the afternoon lingered on his skin and he could feel the warmth of the sunset on his back, riding his shadow. It was all so thrilling that he felt a surge of happiness rage through him. It felt like it had been forever since this feeling had rushed through him. He was having fun!
The broom bucked underneath him and abruptly his hands were on it, trying to guide it. It didn't want to do anything he wanted; like it had a mind of its own. A large ball rushed past Harry's head and, Draco watched, as he ducked. Draco, for a moment, saw the boy in Madam Malkin's Robes, dodging the folded material. A smile crept up onto his face. The old Harry was back. Such a great sense of relief and happiness assaulted him that he was surprised. Harry was going to get a mouthful when he got back.
Both teams were taking the distraction that Harry was supplying as an advantage for fouls and broken rules. Draco wondered for a second why Harry, even though he was awake now, still was having trouble guiding his broom. He watched silently as Harry darted to and fro about in the air, his body following only a few moments after, almost falling. Harry's grip was wearing thin. Soon, he wouldn't be able to hold on. What was he meant to do? How could he get down? And more importantly, a question popped into his mind; What am I doing here?
The blonde had deduced that there was definitely something wrong with Harry's broom. It was acting… odd. Like something were affecting it. Harry had much more control and speed and, well, everything than what he was currently portraying. Something was wrong. Some one else had to be interfering. Who? Who could want Harry to fail? Draco cast a suspicious glance at Dumbledore. No, nothing, Draco sighed and wondered who else would know any spells which could affect Harry's broom like that. He gazed across the other professors. And then he stopped, upon one who was muttering under his breath – eyes locked on Harry. Draco found his couldn't even look at the other teachers.
Snape?
Draco was aghast. How… why… what could Snape gain from making Harry fail? Draco thought the professor had formed a… not attachment, but sense of interest in Harry during their countless detentions together. Surely… surely, it wasn't all an act? Especially since Snape was meant to be helping Draco turn Harry into the Next Dark Lord. It didn't make any sense. Until – Dumbledore shifted and looked warmly at him. Then all the puzzle pieces fell neatly into place. Draco felt like screaming – A Death-eater in cahoots with that madman? What has the world come to?
Draco locked his gaze back onto Harry who was now dangling from his broom, holding on by one single determined hand. He was at such a height, that any fall would be lethal. The brunette wasn't going to let the cleaning instrument win. This was clearly the first test he'd have to face in his new quest to be stronger – better. He'd need to live through this. Needed to. As Harry's hand began to slip, he tried to think of something he needed to hang on for, something to steel his determination.
"IF YOU FALL, I'M GOING TO KILL YOU!" shouted a voice from one of the stands and Harry didn't even need to think about whom it belonged to.
A smirk slivered over his face, through his worries and through the sweat which was trickling down his face from effort. The muscles in his arm burned. They screamed to be released from their torturous use. Harry was in no mind to pay attention. Someone was worried about him. Someone cared. And as long as there was someone who did, Harry was going to live and become stronger - so he'd never see them get hurt.
The broom lurched, but Harry's grip didn't weaken – it clamped on tighter, harder – his knuckles white with the force of it. Draco tried to go through the crowd, but the people were so thickly crammed in that he wasn't making enough distance. Harry was going to fall to his death if he didn't do something! Once again, one of the feelings that Draco now commonly associated with Harry, curled in his stomach. Guilt. Once again, Harry was possibly going to face death because of him. The blonde stopped thinking about it and focused on trying to get through the audience.
He wasn't going to get there in time. He knew it with a certainty. Think, Draco, think! Draco felt a growl of frustration vibrate in his throat. A drop of sweat fell into his eyes, causing him to blink. As he cursed he wiped at his eye and then tried focusing his sight on Snape again, but his gaze fell one level lower. Draco's mouth fell open.
Hermione. She was sitting directly under Snape. A plan lit in his mind and he took a deep breath. If this didn't work…
...
Harry could feel his hand shaking with effort as the broom bucked this way and that. He could only hold on for a little longer. Something whizzed past his face; golden, shiny – small. Its flight was quick and it zigzagged. It reminded Harry fleetingly of a dragonfly. A half remembered memory slipped into his mind, "First year, I'll clear it up for you, just in case you somehow damaged our Seeker's mind. If he doesn't catch the… you know the tiny ball with the wings that… darts everywhere sort of like a dragonfly… stitch… flitch…"
"Snitch?"
"Don't back-chat, first year! If our Seeker doesn't catch the snitch we're going to be having some… words with you!"
The thing flying past Harry had to be the "snitch". The brunette suddenly realised the reason why he was where he was. He had an answer to the previous question. Draco had set it all up. He'd put Harry into the air in the hope that'd it… Make me normal? Supplied a rather sadistic part of his mind. He snorted. And it had worked. But if Harry didn't catch the snitch… Draco would be in trouble with the Slytherin Quidditch Team. Maybe… maybe they'd even hurt him!
Harry watched as the snitch sailed past him again, glinting almost gloatingly. Death and Snitch or Life and a Hurt-Draco. He didn't even hesitate. He grinned wickedly, thinking how stupid he was. He didn't need to get stronger for this – he could make sure one of the people he cared about wouldn't be hurt – RIGHT NOW. Keeping his eyes on the snitch, he dove for it.
...
Hermione,
Harry is being cursed by Snape. Get Ron to distract him. I know. How could I not? You've been blatantly obvious.
Malfoy.
And then with a deep breath he folded his written letter up and – with a swish and flick – screamed, "WINGARDIUM LEVIOSA!" It took a lot of effort to get the letter up into the air. Draco was never good at precision. Getting the note to Hermione would take almost all of Draco's energy. Focusing, he dragged his wand in the direction of Hermione. The wind had other thoughts, battering the paper in a different course. The rush of magic flowed through him and he could literally feel it leeching his strength away. Draco was beginning to feel faint and he hoped he had guessed right.
The note was all the way across the field, after being nearly knocked down by a bludger. And then it landed, neatly into Hermione's lap. Draco collapsed, his eyes rolling in his head and falling onto the people standing next to him. He was drained. The power used to cross the entire pitch, fight against wind, and concentration for the direction and dodging had completely worn him out.
As Draco lost consciousness his previous jinxes failed.
...
Somewhere in the Slytherin Change Rooms Terrence's mask slipped off onto the ground, before hissing off into nothingness.
...
Harry was flying through the air. The wind was rushing past him, almost clawing at his robes, trying to keep him aloft. The snitch was going down, down, down. Flitting right and then left. Harry's eyes never left it. A silence filled the stadium. No one could believe what Harry was doing. It was crazy.
And then the snitch was still, falling at exactly the same rate as Harry.
The brunette snaked a hand out, felt the wings of the snitch brush against his palm and then it was gone. Harry's eyes grew wide as the ground inched closer and closer. Well, this plan wasn't very well thought out, Harry could almost hear Draco saying. As Harry fell to his death, he smirked back, "I never had a plan."
...
Hermione read the letter and swept a hand up to her mouth. How did Draco know? She watched in horror as the black mask faded from the Seeker's face and Harry dived for the snitch. Then she turned and whispered, "I know you hate Harry, but you can't let him die! Do something!"
There was a silence.
Hermione snapped, "Merlin's beard, Ron! I don't care if that's what he deserved! You've made me act out this ridiculous charade to make him feel awful, but you are going to help him, or I swear to Godric Gryffindor himself that this will be the last time we talk."
Silence was her only reply.
"What do you mean you can't do anything! That's ridiculous. I'm not going to be losing both of you. Now, go annoy the professors while I save Harry's life."
The bushy haired girl pulled her wand from her robe and aimed it at the now rampant broom. She took a deep long breath and then whispered, "Wingardium leviosa." ...
Snape felt a chill on his neck, like something breathing on it and it caused him to start – knocking straight into Quirrell, who looked quite shocked as well.
...
The broom stopped quaking and Hermione arched her wand down and watched as the broom imitated the effect, swooping down, down, down.
...
This isn't a bad death, Harry thought idly as the plummeted down. There was only one foot between him and the ground now. It's not a good death either. And then as he came into contact with the force he found himself thinking of all the fun times he'd had at Hogwarts. It had been his true place.
The brunette closed his eyes and waited for the pain and then nothing.
Oh, the pain came. It shuddered through his body, hitting him like a freight train, almost breaking his back bone. But the nothingness didn't come after, at all.
...
The Gryffindor let out a shriek of joy, her spell had been successful, "Yes!"
And then she looked softly at the air beside her, "Thank you, Ron."
...
Harry's eyes flicked open along with his mouth as he screamed in pain. The broom had intercepted his fall, taking the brunt of it all. It snapped in half and at the corner of Harry's eye he saw the snitch darting near him, toying with him. I could very well be dead, but I'm not going to let Draco get hurt! He stretched out a, most likely broken, hand – his fingers quivering, the tips dotted with splinters.
And then he hit the ground tripping him into a tumble, spinning, falling, and creating a trail of upturned dirt and grass. Finally, he rolled to a stop – a cloud of dust storming around him. The whole entire stadium went silent, wondering if the boy was okay. Madam Hooch rushed forward as the dust died down.
Her face edged with worry, she kneeled next to his body and checked his vitals. First his neck, but she wasn't getting a strong pulse from there – so she picked his wrist up and her mouth fell open. With a moment hesitation she flicked the whistle up to her lips, blew into it and shouted, "The Seeker has caught the snitch. SLYTHERIN wins!"
A medic team rushed onto field as the segment that was the green-adorned audience broke out into the loudest cheering since the day that Harry had been sorted into their house.
...
Draco gazed curiously at the brunette who was bandaged from about head to toe. He couldn't believe it had worked. This was the best outcome, which he hadn't even thought of. Harry was back. But… there was something different, more relaxed about him.
"You actually jumped off your broom?" Draco asked from the hospital wing bed next to him.
Harry gave him a sheepish grin, "It was more of majestic dive."
"What were you thinking, you idiot?"
"Well, I was thinking, that I didn't want you to get hurt."
Draco was silent as he mulled the comment over. And then he retorted, "You're such a git!"
Harry laughed and then instantly regretted it as pains shot through his body. Even though Madam Pomfrey had assured him that he would heal quickly, he was still hurting a lot. The brown haired boy felt a smirk creep up onto his face, "I fell, you know. Are you still going to kill me?"
Draco scowled and then sniggered back, "One day when you're dying, I'll be there and I'll claim the credit. Because that's what a real Slytherin would do," he paused and then propped his head up on his arm, laying down on his side, staring at Harry, "Did they really make you the Slytherin team Seeker?"
"That's what Marcus said. I can't believe it myself. We completely broke the rules, I nearly died. And yet… I get the best reward in the world," Harry spoke softly, warmly.
The seedling in Draco's mind shot up, suddenly – its single leaf had been wilting – dying from the lack of light. But now it was alive again. Silence ruled supreme for a second and they both sat in companionable quietness. Harry let out a content sigh and then rolled over to smile, ever so brightly, at Draco.
"Thank you."
"You're welcome," Draco snorted back, sarcastically, hiding the dazzled expression from the smile he'd almost forgotten.
"I'm not joking," Harry sniffed, acting hurt.
"I know… I…" Draco's shark-skin eyes met Harry's emerald green ones, "I bloody missed you, you git. If you ever become like that again, I'm going to push you off your broom myself. You hear?"
Harry smirked, "As if you could ever catch me on a broom."
Draco scowled at him, "I'm serious."
"I know."
And then there was silence. Warm, soft, fluffy silence – as the two boys sat there, without a word, yet with smiles on their faces, as if everything were right with the world. As if Harry was not the Boy Who Lived. As if Draco was not the son of a Death-eater. As if… nothing mattered.
Because the old Harry was back.
... Dear father,
Severus Snape is a liar and a traitor. Harry has finally snapped out of his… weird mood. He's actually showing interest in learning some… strange spells. Some of them are Dark. Should I attempt to teach them to him or give him the means of learning them? He's acting a little differently, but I think the shock tactic worked. The Weasley's death has been forgotten.
Yours joyfully,
Draco Malfoy.
... Dear son,
I agree. Snape has been working under Dumbledore for years. He's a turncoat and I don't trust him. I have sent him a message which I hope he will answer. By all means teach the boy the Dark Spells, but make sure they can't harm He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. After all, Potter's only purpose is to bring Him to attention.
Yours sceptically,
Lucius Malfoy.
... Snape,
You have proved yourself reliable. I expect you to continue on with our agreement. My son will be watching you closely to make sure you do not deviate from my plan. Do as you will. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named will be attracted by the competition that the Potter Boy creates.
Lucius Malfoy. ...
(Inats92 – Yes, he is dead. However… NAH, I can't tell you. Hehe. Madriddler – DAMNIT. So close. Did I get there yet? :D Cyera – I want to tell you that… BUT I CAN'T! Isabelledward – Aww, thank you. LoireLoa – Hmmm, thanks for mentioning that. I actually changed a little bit in this because you said that. Artemis – Sorry it took so long! D: Moon's the limit – I hope I answered all your questions and… I hope you like the rest of the story. By the way, I really love it when you guys review.)
