Chapter Ten - The Cursed Broom

Another week passed and the term was now well and truly into October, and with it came a flurry of anticipation for the Quidditch tournament that would begin in only three weeks. Determined to have his team prepared and itching to go for their first big bout, Harry had scheduled more practise sessions to get his new flyers up to an acceptable standard. He found soon enough that the extensive training wasn't so much necessary for them as it was for him. They had all been quite skilled at flying from the start, and funnily enough, Harry was the only one who hadn't had any adequate flying experience in the past year or so.

Despite Harry's moods, Ron and Ginny had still taken advantage of the time during the lull in activity over their extended holidays to play two-a-side in their orchard with whoever they could find – they even had a go at teaching Hermione the basics of ducking and weaving on a broom. The other team members had magical brooms at home, and some had joined flying hobbyist clubs in their spare time. Meanwhile, Harry's last time in the sky before taking up Captaincy once more was something that he didn't feel comfortable sharing with others. Though muffled in his head by time, he could remember the sounds of flames devouring the contents of the Room of Hidden Things, possessions exploding like popcorn and imitating that sound, screams from friends and foes, shouts of his own voice…

Harry willed himself back to reality and called his teammates back to the ground, panting a little from the combination of frigid air and exercise. It felt good to be back in the air after so long and doing what came so naturally to him. He loved how it felt to natural for Harry to be back on a broomstick, especially considering how every other minute task seemed so difficult to bear. The thrill of the ride was so exhilarating that for the first time in a long time he allowed himself to let go. The day was fine, Harry felt pleasantly tired, training went well, and he was pleased with his team. Ron was fast becoming more and more confident in himself. Ginny, Dean, and Demelza were amazing on their brooms, Harry admitted, and he was sure that if they actually cared for straining their eyes to find the tiny gold ball Harry loved, they could easily give him a run for his money.

He grinned, knowing that his position was so well kept. Being a seeker allowed him to fly where he pleased with the air rushing past his ears as the game played around him, almost as if in slow motion. It was like background noise, and he didn't really have to put too much attention towards the game if he pleased, and for the most part nothing at all mattered and he could feel as if he were a million miles away.

Today's match was a little different though, and no matter how hard he tried to simply fly around and get a feel for the pitch, as he usually did, he managed to catch the snitch at least five times. For a two hour training session, this was, admittedly, a record for Harry, but something felt a little off. It was as if he happened to be at the right place at the right time, but it didn't feel like the ball was making things easy. It actually seemed more like the broom he was riding was guiding him to the snitch, time and time again.

He'd never experienced this before, so he wasn't quite sure if that was the case or if he'd just had an extremely lucky go for the day – a-la Felix – but he definitely suspected that something was interfering. Sure, it was good that he kept finding the snitch after only a few minutes of searching once it was released, but the thrill of the chase wasn't there anymore, and by the time he called for the practise to finish he was actually a little bored. It also took away time that he used to watch the team and shout suggestions, and instead they spent more time watching him zip around after the fleck of gold in the sky.

"Good work everyone, just three more weeks and then we can show the school just how great you are." He addressed his team as he always did, huddled together just off of the pitch.

Everyone cheered by raising their fists to the air, and then scattered. They were all headed to the change rooms, but it always seemed as though each person had their own special way of getting there. As usual, Ginny waited up for Harry, sandwiching him between her and Ron as they took their time to stroll across the grounds.

"You alright, mate?" Ron asked as he joined Harry's side.

"Huh?" Harry was still trying to push back old memories, but was having a hard time doing so.

"You were a bit wobbly up there today. I don't think anyone else noticed, but I doubt anyone else really knows how you fly, not like I do." Ron's expression was a bit sour as he spoke.

"Uh, yeah," Harry lifted an arm behind his head and ran a hand through his unruly black hair. "I don't know, really. Seems like the broom had a mind of its own. I fought it for a bit, but when I let it do its own thing, it sort of… flew me straight to the snitch."

Ginny gave a gasp and Ron's sour expression flopped as he thought. "The broom… flew you to the snitch?"

"Yeah, strange isn't it?"

"Sounds like cheating to me."

Harry nodded in agreement and stopped to ponder himself. His companions had already continued for a few paces before realising they had left Harry behind. Ron turned and let Ginny go back to Harry and take his hand.

"It'll be okay, Harry. We'll ask Hermione if she knows anything," she said reassuringly.

"But Hermione doesn't know anything about Quidditch. That's probably the only thing in the world that she doesn't care to learn about."

"Don't tell her you said that!" Ron called from a few paces beyond them.

Harry chuckled smiled back at Ron. Turning back to Ginny, he agreed that even if Hermione didn't know much about Quidditch, she was still the best person they knew to turn to for this sort of thing. He always thought of her as a private detective poring over book after book until at last she exhaustively declared the answer to whatever riddle she was given. Though he would never understand what exactly drove Hermione to such heights of perfection, he certainly couldn't fault her methods.

Harry was right to trust his friends as he did, feeling instantly reassured the moment he handed the broom to Hermione, who stared at it with puzzled anticipation. With a flick of her wrist, Hermione's wand produced a fine white mist that wrapped itself over the broom delicately, and then turned the whole thing a violent shade of green. She stifled a gasp.

"It's been bewitched, all right. I don't know what with, but judging by that awful green, I'd say it's something wretched." Hermione folded her arms as she studied the broom.

"But how can it be a bad thing? The broom was helping me!"

Harry didn't know what to think of the situation. It wasn't even his broom! He was borrowing it from the school, and he was sure that not even that many people knew. Only his team had the opportunity to see him near it, as Harry was still taking precautions and holding Quidditch practise at times when other students wouldn't be likely milling about the grounds and congregating around the pitch like some great Harry Potter fan club. It was hard enough dealing with the younger girls as he walked through the halls between classes.

Hermione's face relaxed from her concentrating stare, but a stern look remained. "Regardless of what it was doing, the fact that you're flying a broom that has been… modified… is not something to take lightly. You have to remember who you are."

"What's that supposed to mean?" He understood what she was getting at, but Harry still wanted to hear Hermione use her own words.

"Harry, you're probably the most keenly watched person in this school, by students, teachers, and even the general public by way of the news! Everyone knows the good that you've done, but there are still some people who would rather you dropped dead." Her voice faltered at the last word.

"Like who?" Harry pointed towards the sky above them, hinting at the way it shimmered in vibrant hues, like a perpetual rainbow. "Didn't Flitwick cast some charm that's keeping tabs on everyone in the school? If someone were out to get me, they'd have to breach the barrier. It's hardly likely a Death Eater can come strolling through the front gate!"

His eyes met three frowns, as Ron and Ginny gawked at him. Hermione shrugged and let out a sigh.

"What?" Harry asked, clearly not getting what there were hinting at.

"There is a Death Eater in Hogwarts." It was Ron who managed to pull his words together first.

Harry's eyes widened. "Malfoy? Surely not…" He furrowed his brows to think for a moment, as the four stood in silence under the shade of a tree, not too far off from the front of the castle.

Harry's mind raced at the thought of Malfoy cursing his broom. Didn't he claim to be a changed person, trying to find some sort of renewed status in the wizarding world? But then again, maybe this was payback for the whole disarming incident last week. Surely, Harry had thought that Malfoy was better than stooping so low for a bit of revenge, but then again, he wasn't a Gryffindor… Malfoy was a conniving Slytherin.

"It makes sense," Hermione said softly. "After all, he's a seeker too. He thinks just like Harry, and he knows what might throw him off guard."

"Really, Hermione? Leading me to the snitch? You'd think he'd do the opposite!"

"It might be some sort of mind game, making you think you're doing the right thing. Then, when you're in the actual match, the broom starts to act strange, but you don't think anything of it!" She seemed pleased at her conclusion.

"I still don't see-"

"He knows where the change rooms are too!" This time Ron joined the musing. "Gryffindor's tent is right on the way to Slytherin's. He'd only need a minute to slip in. Nobody would notice."

"Yes but-"

"He laughed at you about losing your Firebolt! Half of Slytherin thinks he managed to claim it from you as payback for taking his wand. Everyone knows he hates your guts, Harry." Ginny added. "It has to have been him."

Harry was shocked at the last pronouncement. This was exactly why he hadn't told anyone about Malfoy in the first place. He knew exactly what they would say, and he was right in thinking so. But then again, what if Malfoy had anticipated this, and then decided it use it to his advantage? He would have known that Harry wouldn't say anything. At this point, speculation didn't mean anything. He had to ask the man himself.

"It could have been some girl from try-outs leaving me a 'gift'," Harry suggested, trying to change the topic. "Maybe after all of the boxes of chocolates I've been getting one of them thought to stand out and do something different."

"It's possible," said Ginny. "You did show them the change rooms. But I don't think any of them would be capable of higher level magic like this."

"You know guys, to be perfectly fair, the change rooms aren't exactly difficult to find," Harry reminded them. "Especially if you've been to a Quidditch game before. They're just over the hill from the pitch. It could have been anyone."

"That's true Harry," said Hermione, "but wasn't it you who always suspected Draco Malfoy of being a Death Eater when no-one else believed you? Now that we know it's true, we're on your side."

Keen to stop the current conversation, Harry looked down at his feet and shrugged. He friends took it as a begrudged acceptance of what to them was clearly fact. Hermione reached to place a hand on Harry's shoulder.

"I was just trying to explore all options like you would, Hermione."

"I know, Harry. I'll see what I can about the broom," she said. "If I find out anything, you'll be the first to know. Until then, you won't be flying on it."

Harry shrugged again, and was reassured that he would be able to ask to borrow another broom, but it wasn't that easy. Harry didn't want to have to tell Madam Hooch that his broom had been cursed, and ask if he could please have a new one. She would march him straight to McGonagall, who would then be convinced, too, that Malfoy was the culprit. Then what would Harry be able to do? He thought back to their conversations in the train and dungeons. Malfoy had seemed to be having some sort of personal struggle, like he was still trying to figure out who he was supposed to be, and Harry wanted to help him. He still didn't know why, exactly, but after their so-called 'duel' the week before, he knew that there was something really troubling the Slytherin. And now his broom was cursed, and he didn't know what to think anymore.

"Alright everyone, I'm off."

Ginny gathered her books and parchment together from the desk in the common room and placed them in a neat pile, deciding that they were safe enough to be left alone for a couple hours, when she would return to her Potions essay after making her nightly rounds of the school. Being Head Girl was certainly more exhausting than Percy had made it out to be, and she often found herself in some sort of juggling act, struggling to keep up with all of her responsibilities on top of trying to achieve eight N.E.W.T.s, and play as a Gryffindor team Chaser.

Regardless, she kept trying, and felt that all of her hard work was beginning to pay off. Teachers were paying her more respect, her parents were proud, and she knew that this would all do well for her future too. Living in a tiny house filled to the brim with rowdy boys was something that Ginny only put up with grudgingly. She knew that when she got out of Hogwarts she wanted to make her own mark on the world and live a life of quiet comfort. Though she knew that she wanted a family, she didn't want to have little feet running around any time in the too-near future, and she definitely only wanted one or two. Another thing, or rather person, that she knew she wanted was Harry.

Ginny frowned to herself as she remembered her royal blunder back in the car at the start of September. Every time she did, she wanted to scream. How could she have been so stupid! She knew that everything could have been ruined after her fight with Harry, and that she was so lucky that he was even still talking to her, but things had become stale between them now. Oh, what she would give for things to go back to how they were, and she could be resting against Harry's chest now, his arms around her body as they forgot about the world…

It was her fault that everything had gone so awry like it did, so Ginny supposed that it was up to her to fix everything. The only problem was that, knowing their history and remembering how bad that fight had made her feel, it would all be so much more difficult this time. She had only managed to gather up the courage to talk to Harry after Quidditch, when there weren't so many people around. She always thought that part of Harry's affliction with their relationship was his fear of everyone watching them, and that seemed to have rubbed off on her more recently. Despite all of her own worries, she still tried, and the fact that he let her was encouraging.

Ginny focused on something more positive as she stepped out of the portrait of the Fat Lady and began to track her path through her designated part of the castle. Gryffindors usually had free reign of the upper floors with the Ravenclaws while Slytherin and Hufflepuff Prefects looked after the lower ones, but sometimes they mixed it around to accommodate nights when some of the students stayed in to study. That night, however, was not tonight, and Ginny had an hour or so of patrolling the seventh floor, as well as the spires that lead to some classrooms, in front of her. All in all it was uneventful, but she was grateful for the alone time she had to herself and her thoughts.

After Ginny had circled the route four times she wiped her brow and decided that it was late enough to stop. Every evening when her duties were completed she went and freshened up before bed. Another advantage to being Head Girl was the password to the Prefect's bathroom, something that she would not give up willingly after discovering just how much of a privilege it really was. After heading back quickly to her House to gather some nightclothes, she made her way to the bathroom.

Her eyelashes fluttered in their usual manner as she pushed open the heavy door, inhaling the sickly sweet aroma that flooded her senses. She loved how the various different kinds of bubble bath wafted scents of flowers, sweets, and other wonderful things throughout the huge tiled room, and the moving stained glass windows that seemed to radiate with sunlight, even though it was now close to ten o'clock in the evening, made the place all the more dazzling.

She made her way to her usual corner with a large extravagant shower and settled down her things. As much as she loved the smells coming from the bath, she was too nervous about how exposed she would be if she ever bathed in there, and even though this room was open to only Prefects and Quidditch Captains, that was still too high a number for her comfort. Maybe if Harry coaxed her in…

Ginny spun around, her thoughts halted at the sudden awareness that she was not alone. The room was large and boasted many little nooks for showers, giving the feel of real privacy when that luxury didn't exist in dormitory life, but she could always tell right away when there were other people in there with her. She must have really not been paying attention.

Curiosity getting the better of her, Ginny peered around her little alcove to try to find the source of conversation. Though the voices were warped by the acoustics of the bathroom, she was sure that she knew quite well at least one of the pair, going by sound alone. Creeping ever so slowly towards the centre of the room, she finally laid her eyes on the far corner to a large expanse shadowed by a pillar, right next to a door. Her eyes widened when she caught the view of scruffy black hair pacing back and forth. When the head moved out of view, it revealed a blonde face that was standing just beyond. Harry and Malfoy… how could she have missed them? More importantly, how could they have missed her?

Intrigued by her discovery, Ginny dropped her thoughts of a shower and tried to angle her way across the room to get a better spot to eavesdrop without being seen. This was easier said than done, though, because of the large tub that dominated the room. She had almost given in to an urge to jump in and duck behind a large mass of bubbles sitting on the surface, but that meant either getting her clothes very uncomfortably wet, or stripping down, which was equally uncomfortable given the circumstances if she was caught. Eventually she settled for skirting around the edge of the bath, trying to keep the pillar beyond between her and the two arguing gents, finally resting her back on it. However, she soon found that she hadn't needed to scoot much closer to listen in as they began shouting at each other.

"What do you mean, you have no idea what I'm talking about? This whole thing practically screams your name!" Harry was apparently frustrated.

"Flattered as I am for being the person to come to your mind, Potter, your insistence will not change the fact that I have done nothing against you since last week." Malfoy's voice was unnervingly calm, and Ginny hated how he used aristocracy as a weapon against what he would call 'common folk'.

Wait… last week? What happened last week between those two? The fact that Ginny couldn't place her finger on anything important meant that Harry hadn't told her, or at the very least Ron, who always filled her in. Was he covering something up?

"So would you care to explain why my broom is sitting in Hermione's room, green as your house colours?"

"I thought you lost your broom last year. Also, why would the fact that you left your broom in your girlfriend's room have anything to do with me?" Ginny couldn't see them, but she heard a definite sneer in the delivery of those words. She let out a scowl herself.

"She's not my girlfriend, she's Ron's!"

"Once again, not my problem what you do with Granger."

There was a pause, Harry was probably trying to calm himself down to talk coherently, and Ginny wasn't surprised. She too was feeling uncomfortably upset, and she was just a spectator to the scene.

"The point is that she's trying to find out the curses that were placed on the broom! It turned green for some apparent reason, and my thoughts are that this is because of your twisted Slytherin sense of humour."

"Really? Well if it was a Slytherin, there are others in this school than just me. Even though I do appreciate how you feel I'm the most important out of all of them."

"Just what sort of game are you trying to play at, Malfoy?" Harry's voice was quick and low, which reminded Ginny of Professor Snape and the way he used to talk down to students. "Bewitching my broom, right before the Quidditch match!"

"I didn't do it, you stupid, stupid git!" Malfoy's voice flooded the room, coming back in all directions as reverberations flew about in waves. Then, as suddenly as he had shouted, he was walking towards the door, and Ginny was so sure that if Malfoy had looked back even an inch, she would have been found out. Luckily, she wasn't spotted, and she let out a deep breath of air as Malfoy slammed the door shut – Ginny hadn't even realised that she was holding her breath, or for how long.

She began to relax a bit and leaned back into the pillar once more, before realising that Harry was still in the room with her. As happy as that thought should have made her – he always seemed to avoid using the Prefect's bathroom – there was a feeling deep beyond the pit of her stomach that was clawing at her from the inside. If he caught her spying now, that'd be it. She knew he had trust issues, and this would extinguish all hope for rekindling the fire that they once had, she was sure.

She craned her ears and listened hard for the sound of shoes squeaking on the tiles, and she knew Harry was pacing once again. She sat there in silence for as long as she dared, and after what seemed like an eternity, she watched Harry appear beyond the pillar and stomp out of the door. Like Malfoy, he didn't turn back to see the ginger haired girl sitting meekly against the column, barely ten metres away. With another sigh of relief, she closed her eyes and raised her hands to run them through her hair, trying to make sense of what she had just overheard.

Harry flopped onto his bed, his thoughts still running like mad after his argument with Malfoy. He was so confused and exhausted that he could have sworn his scar was starting to hurt. No… it was only a headache. He knew it had been a bad idea to track down the Slytherin, but he just had to know what was going on. Call it some stupid sense of Gryffindor pride, or perhaps it was a family attribute, but Harry always needed to know his place in things, and how everything slotted in around him. Perhaps that was why he was so angry with Dumbledore in his fourth year, and Snape… well, always.

Earlier that evening he had had enough of the chatter amongst his friends about the broom, and decided after dinner to fish out Malfoy's ring from his trouser pocket for the first time. He was awed at how it still glistened in the light as if newly polished, but it was probably some cleaning charm to blame. He had drawn his wand, and in careful strokes wrote out the words "We need to talk. Prefect's Bathroom. 9:30". He remembered how the spell wrote the words in the air at first, and after careful inspection at the legibility, he had pressed his wand to the writing and it floated gracefully to fit on the small band on the inside of the ring. It was amazing, to say the least, and Harry appreciated Hermione and her ability to track down the most useful spells just a little bit more than usual.

Now looking at the ring, he could still see the words scrawled so perfectly that he would never have though it to be his own handwriting. With a wave of his wand the writing disappeared, and he shoved the ring into his pillowcase and out of sight, but not before considering sending the message "Prat" to the only receiver. He had gone to speak with Malfoy with the greatest of intentions, willing to hear out his case, but had ended up shouting the wild accusations his friends harboured instead. There was something about that stuck-up git that made Harry's blood boil, even at the best of times. Though he knew Ron and Hermione wouldn't have accepted Malfoy's claims of innocence, Harry couldn't see how he could refute it. After all, there were more people in the world than Draco Malfoy, and Harry had just started to learn to trust his gut feelings. What better time to start, than now? He just had to show his friends that. Besides, it wouldn't have been the first time he was given something bewitched with misplaced intentions.

"Hey," Ron muttered from his own pillow, noticing the appearance of Harry at last.

"Go back to sleep Ron. I didn't mean to wake you," Harry apologised, but his words were short as a consequence of his recent row.

"Where were you?"

"Bathroom."

Harry noticed a sleepy smile appear on his friend's face, as he tried to continue the conversation despite his incoherence. "Prefect's? I miss that place… smells nice in there..."

Harry smiled as Ron drifted back to sleep mid-sentence. He quickly undressed and hopped into his own bed, hoping that he would get enough sleep to have a clear mind for the day ahead.

"I don't believe it!" Hermione said with a harrumph. "And neither should you, Harry Potter."

"You weren't there, Hermione. He was actually offended at the accusation." Harry reasoned before taking a bite of his porridge.

"But he's Malfoy! He gets offended at snow falling on him! When has he ever done anything good for you?"

Harry stopped himself from mentioning their encounter at Malfoy Manor, knowing that it was a sore spot for his friend. He knew it was a foolish idea to confide Hermione in his thoughts that he truly didn't believe Malfoy was out to get him, but he had to tell someone, and it might as well be the one witch who could do just about anything… and maybe even believe Harry.

"Who says the whole broom thing was meant to be a bad omen?" he blurted, knowing that if he didn't say something soon, he would be assumed to have agreed with Hermione.

"Harry, the broom turned green."

"So?"

Hermione put down her fork and turned to get an eyeful of green that lay beyond his round glasses. She twitched slightly, probably at the idea of her friend having eyes that boasted the 'evil' colour so dazzlingly, which was an ironic twist in the scheme of things. "I had a look at a few books after I finished our Potions essay last night, and I think that there were a few spells concealed underneath a charm that makes the broom act with a mind of its own. I think that it might have been set to go off during your Quidditch match next month."

Harry nodded at the new information, but was sticking to his haunches and his belief that someone else was the culprit.

"So they wanted me to lose against Slytherin?" he asked.

"That's what I think, and how many times has Slytherin won when you've been playing? None. I think they wanted to make a fool out of you."

Harry turned towards the Slytherin table in the Great Hall. It was fairly full at this time of morning, and he had to rake through the mass of bodies to find Malfoy, who was seated with his cronies somewhere near one end of the table. Malfoy was eating, though with much more distinction than Goyle, who had conveniently seemed to have forgotten what cutlery was. Zabini and Nott sat across from him, laughing feverishly at something Malfoy had just said, and Pansy Parkinson was obviously trying to sprawl her arms around his body, and obviously failing. No wonder he was such an airhead, his friends treated him like a spoiled child.

Harry tried to see if anyone was looking guilty or particularly pleased with themselves, but couldn't tell from the distance he was at. As he moved to turn away, he noticed that Pansy's eyes had fallen on his, and nudging Malfoy to get his attention, they both looked at Harry and let out a lazy wave. Pansy had the usual wicked smile plastered on her face, but Malfoy seemed amused rather than snide, or whatever other expressions he usually harboured against Harry.

Harry frowned at them and then returned to his meal, though it didn't taste so good anymore. He expected it was just because his porridge was now soggy, but part of him felt that it was because of his distaste at the scene he was just exposed to.

"Harry?" Hermione cocked her head curiously at her friend.

All he could muster to say through large mouthfuls of the now bland porridge was, "Bloody Slytherins."