Chapter 10
Broken Brooms
I don't feel at all ready for this," Ron moaned as they stood in line. It was a surprisingly long line; Harry wouldn't have guessed the number of people willing to try out for the Cannons. But as one wizard told him: "Yuh gotta start somewhere."
It didn't take long for them to reach the desk. Without looking up, the grubby wizard grunted, "Name?"
"Er—Ronald Weasley," Ron answered. He shot Harry a strange look, then looked back at the wizard, who was saying, "Continue to the locker room, just down the hall on my right, sixth door down on left."
Ron walked off as instructed, and Harry made to follow, but the grubby wizard said, "Hey, who're you?"
"Er, Har—" Harry started, but was interrupted as the wizard snapped, "Get back here! No one goes in there without registering!"
"He's with me," said Ron, and the wizard squinted at him, then glared at Harry and growled, "Get going, then." Harry quickly joined Ron as he made his way to the hall. They walked in silence for a moment.
"Blimey, that bloke was rude," commented Ron, and Harry shrugged. Rudeness was nothing new to him.
"I mean, he had to have gotten a good look at your face." Harry realized Ron's confusion, and wondered himself; many wizards and witches had wept with joy after Voldemort's downfall, and nearly everyone was eternally grateful to him. Still, there was the occasional oddball…
They spotted a small desk ahead of them, behind which a tall redheaded witch with a creamy complexion and a bored expression sat. To her left was the door that Ron had been directed to. Ron reached for the door handle, but the witch said, "Wait. I have to check the brooms of all potential players before they go in."
Ron frowned and glanced at Harry, before wordlessly handing over his broom bag. It reminded Harry of a guitar case, except the bag was shaped more like a broom than a guitar. She briskly unzipped it, before pulling out a strange object like a tuning fork. As she began poking it around inside the bag, Harry asked, "What is that?"
A Spell-Searcher," Ron murmured. They're used in lots of places, although you have to take a small course in how to use them. They detect all the spells that are on whatever object they Search. It's for the safety of the competitors and the moral of the competition."
Harry continued to stare at the witch as she worked, then asked, "How long does it take to check a broom?"
"Well, there's several brooms in that bag…" said Ron, and the witch, without looking up, said as casually as if she'd always been part of the conversation, "Which puzzles me. Surely you don't need that many brooms to try out?"
"I'm sharing the bag with a few other people," explained Ron nervously, as he shot Harry a quick glance.
What? Who?" asked Harry in confusion.
"George, for one…and here he comes," Ron answered, turning around.
Speak of the devil, and he shall appear," George stated. He peered around them at the witch, and inquired, "Has she finished checking the brooms?" Ron shrugged, so George walked over and asked, "Are you done with mine yet?"
"Which one is it?" she asked in reply, and he went around the table to stand next to her. He gazed into the bag, then quickly reached in and pulled out a broom. When Ron saw it, he demanded, "Is that a Gleam 3?"
George ignored him as the witch tried to withhold the broom. "I haven't scanned it yet!"
She said. She waved the Searcher around the broom, then frowned. After making a second pass, she shook her head slightly. "There's something there, but I can't tell what it is."
"No worries," replied George, pulling the broom from her grasp. She kept looking at it, and he added, "My neck, not yours." Her expression lingered for a moment, then cleared a little, as she nodded.
But just as George tried to escape, Ron asked, "A Gleam 3?"
George threw him a look that clearly told Ron to drop the issue, but Ron went ahead anyway. "Where'd you get it? And what happened to your SwiftStrike 500?"
George said irritably, "I sold it. And the Gleam came from a supportive customer." His eyes alternated between Ron and Harry, and Harry thought he saw George's gaze linger on him just an instant longer than it should have, as though trying to tell him something. He felt his own brow furrow, as he had no idea what George was on about. George's eyebrow rose the tiniest bit, then he turned to Ron and said breezily, "Well, I'd better be going—"
"Wait," said Harry. "What position are you trying for?"
"Beater," answered George. "What else?"
Oh, duh, thought Harry
"Beater?" the witch echoed. You might want to prepare, you're up in—" she picked up a piece of parchment and scanned it. "Fifteen minutes."
"Right," said George. "Seeya later." And he walked off.
"Okay," announced the witch, zipping up the broom bag and holding it out to Ron. "It all checks out."
"Brilliant," Ron said, reclaiming it, before turning to enter the locker room. But before Harry could follow, she said, "I'm afraid you can't go in there, as you aren't trying out."
"Oh," said Harry, disappointed.
Ron, who had been holding the door open for Harry, stepped back out and looked at the witch.
"Seriously?" he asked.
"I'm afraid so," answered the witch.
Ron looked at the locker room door, then at Harry. "Ah, I can do this later," he said finally, then walked past the witch. "C'mon, Harry."
When they reached the end of the hall, it stopped and continued left and right. Ron looked down both ends before turning to the left. "The door down here looks like it leads outside," he muttered. Harry agreed; he could see sky and grass through the windows of the double-doors.
They exited the building. Ron looked around, before turning to Harry. "Why don't you have a look around?" he offered. "I have to find Flebble, I want to talk to him about something."
"Flebble?" asked Harry.
"Abe Flebble. He's captain of the team," explained Ron.
"Oh," said Harry, understanding. He walked off, leaving Ron to his business.
He wandered around, before coming to a stop at a vendor selling some very poor brooms.
He was mournfully examining a rickety broomstick whose name was too faded to read, when he heard a familiar voice from behind him saying, "Harry, you aren't really thinking of buying that, are you?"
He whirled to see Ginny approaching him. "No," he said quickly. "I was just looking."
"Good. I'd hate to think that your taste was really that bad." The vendor, a stocky wizard with messy red hair and a blunt nose, glared at her, with no effect.
"I wanted you to meet someone. I think you'll be interested," Ginny said, and Harry immediately dropped the broom onto the table. He followed Ginny as she wove her way to the crowd. Catching up to her, he asked, "Why are you here?"
Ginny flushed. "I'm actually trying out for Seeker." She gave him a glance that Harry suspected was supposed to go unnoticed.
Why does everyone keep looking at me like that?" Harry complained. Ginny smirked.
"I'm sure you'll know all about it by the end of today." She paused, then said absently, "I guess it depends on whether or not Ron makes the team."
"That really doesn't help, you know," grumbled Harry, and Ginny simply shrugged. Harry's eyes drifted across the crowd, and fell upon a large cluster of people bearing broomsticks. What had attracted his attention was almost immediately clear. He would have recognized that shiny black hair anywhere…
What is Cho doing here? he wondered. He was still staring at her when a series of snaps and cracks filled the air. A second later, the group began yelling and wailing. One girl burst into tears, and a couple wizards threw to the ground some pieces of wood. Harry was bewildered; then he realized that the wood splinters were the remains of their broomsticks.
Ginny glanced back, before continuing away from them. Moments later, they arrived at another small group of witches and wizards.
"Harry, I'd like you to meet Tony Rombic. Tony, I think you know who this is." Harry shook hands with a man of middle height, curly black hair and dark brown eyes. Harry noticed that one of his legs seemed to be crooked.
"Ah, Harry Potter," said Tony, his eye keen. "I've heard that you have quite the skills."
"Tony played as Seeker for the Falcons," Ginny informed Harry. "Over twenty years."
"Those were the best twenty years of their career," Tony stated. "The Seeker they have now is an embarrassment."
"When did you stop playing?" asked Harry curiously.
"Oh, about ten years ago," answered Tony, his eyes staring off into the past.
"Thanks to my bloody leg."
"No, your leg had nothing to do with it!" Ginny contradicted him, before addressing Harry. "His Leg was hit by a Bludger, and it broke his bone. He was so eager to get back in the air, he rushed the mediwizard. The healing spell was faulty, so it healed improperly. But," and she turned back to Tony, "that happened when you were 27. It didn't stop you playing for fifteen more years. You could still be playing."
"BEATERS, PLEASE ASSEMBLE BY THE RED POST NEAR THE QUIDDITCH PITCH! BEATERS, PLEASE ASSEMBLE BY THE RED POST NEAR THE QUIDDITCH PITCH!" blared a voice.
"Let's go watch," suggested Ginny.
"Good idea," answered Harry, and they began to walk. Suddenly, Ginny looked over her shoulder. "You coming, Tony?" she asked. "Yep," he answered, and followed them.
Looking around, Harry noticed a bunch of people wearing ugly orange robes gathering together. He spotted George among them, and waited for him to turn his head, intending to give him some sort of encouragement. But his plans faded as George, upon seeing him, made a beeline towards him.
"Harry, can I have a word with you?" he asked when he reached Harry. Confused, Harry said, "Er—Sure," and followed George a few feet away. George spun on the spot and grabbed Harry by one arm.
"Harry," he began, "y'know this broom?" he held up a broom that Harry immediately recognized as a Gleam. "Yeah. Isn't that the one you got from a customer?" Harry replied, earning a strange look from George.
Funny you should say that," he said. "When I got this broom, a letter came along with. Wishing me a good try today." He paused, and Harry asked, "Why are you telling—?" but was stopped by George's upheld hand. "But the part that gets me now, is the signature."
Harry waited, then asked, "What about the signature?"
George looked him straight in the eyes and said, "Harry, it was signed with your name."
Impossible, thought Harry, but he asked, "My name?"
" 'Harry Potter', it said," George clarified.
Harry stared at him, then felt a rock-hard blob of apprehension fall through his stomach. "George, I don't think you should use that broom. It could be…" his voice trailed off in his reluctance to enumerate all the grisly accidents that might be in store for George. George, however, had no such problem.
Cursed?" he finished for him. "Hexed? Maybe, but I'm not switching brooms, not now. First of all, I doubt anything truly horrible is wrong with the broom. Second, I'm not going to compromise my chance at the team with a shoddy old spare broom." He turned away, saying, I just wanted to clear that up." Harry watched him walking away. Just as he started to go after Ginny and Rombic, George called over his shoulder, "And thanks for your concern!"
That, Harry thought, was the icing on the bloody cake. He felt truly afraid, for the first time since Voldemort's death. Nothing he had gone through compared to the dread that now threatened to permeate his body as he searched for his friends. When he found them, something must have showed on his face, because Ginny asked quietly if he was okay. He reassured them, then focused on the Beater tryouts, trying to suppress the icy butterflies in his stomach.
All too soon, he saw George take off. George did remarkably well at the first test: hitting the Bludger toward targets. His aim was excellent. But then came the hard part; he had to defend a dummy against the Bludger. George Made a mistake, ending up on the wrong side of the dummy. In a desperate attempt to defend his charge, George leaned over it in a dangerous pose. If he didn't hit the Bludger, he would get a bloody nose at the very least.
He drew back the bat, ready to swing with all his might—the Bludger came at a mad speed—George started to swing his arm…and fell, dangling beneath a rocking broom. Above him, the Bludger smashed into the dummy's head and ricocheted, zigzagging away, but no one was paying attention to it. Every eye was on George, who somehow managed to pull himself back onto his broom. Turning, he glimpsed the Bludger, which had come around for another shot. Unfortunately, it seemed to have chosen George as a target, instead of the dummy. George tried to turn out of the way, but only succeeded in rolling over, and the Bludger zoomed by just over him. George, completing the roll, came upright. Evidently deciding he'd had enough, he directed his wobbling broom toward the ground. Everyone could see the strain in his face, as he forced a reluctant broom handle downwards.
Only Harry saw the crucial factor. Even as George approached the ground, the middle of the broom was bending, and the broom began to tremble. Harry, preparing for emergency action, drew his wand, before pointing out the bend to Ron beside him. With a jerk, and an audible groan, the curve became more pronounced, and people all around began murmuring. Harry suddenly felt many eyes land on him, and his peripheral vision showed several heads turning toward him. Then he realized that they were looking at his arm. Focusing on it, he saw nothing wrong; then it registered. His hand, holding his wand, pointing into the air…
Directly at George.
Oh no, he thought. No, not this, not now, not more…he didn't need anymore enmity between him and the general public. Especially as it concerned a close friend…Abruptly, Harry looked back up at George. Just a few more seconds and he'd be on the ground. But even as the thought crossed his mind, the broom gave one more heave, straining upward
even as George pushed down; then, with a frighteningly loud crack! The broom broke in half. George sat, stunned, looking at the half that was in his hand. What happened next, occurred s fast that Harry, fighting the need to blink, almost missed it. A dark blur came from the side, and George, distracted by the splintered broom, didn't see it coming. There was no time; ith a sickening thud, the Bludger collided with George's head. He was sent flying, and landed roughly on the ground, coming to a halt face-up. Harry was one of the first onto the field. When he reached George, he looked up with a bloodied face and choked out, "Harry—that broom—you?" before passing out cold.
Harry looked around, and the expression of the mediwizard next to him told him clearly that he had heard George's last question. Then Ron was beside him, asking, Harry, what was he talking about?"
Harry turned just in time to see understanding dawn on his face. "You gave him that broom?"
"No, I didn't," Harry said brusquely, then lowered his voice and said, "Not now, later."
Ron glared at him, but kept his mouth shut. "Next up, Keepers!" Someone shouted. "Keepers, get ready!"
Harry turned to leave, but stopped when Ron grabbed his shoulder. Hey, wait. Aren't you staying to watch?"
"No," answered Harry, his tone and expression sorrowful. "I can't. It's too hostile here."
"Harry," started Ron, but Harry snapped, "Just let me go, alright? I don't want to deal with this!"
Ron stepped back from him, his face the image of severe disappointment. Not wanting to see that look any longer than necessary, Harry walked away quickly. Hermione passed him, heading toward Ron. Harry looked around and saw her kiss Ron's cheek and say, "Good luck Ron."
Harry immediately reached out with his mind and sent a large question mark to her. I boosted his ego, she responded. He'll need it, especially after what you just did. That last remark stung, but she soothed the bite with a sense of understanding.
Harry wandered around for several minutes, lost in his thoughts. He was distracted from his brooding by a voice calling, "Harry!" He looked up to see none other than Ludo Bagman approaching.
Harry!" he said again as he reached him. How good to see you again. Still hanging in there?"
Caught by surprise, Harry could do no more than nod.
"That's good, that's good," Ludo said cheerfully. "Look, I wanted to make you an offer."
Harry blinked. How many more surprises could he take today?
"I'd like you to join the Wimbourne Wasps. You know, my old team," Ludo said. "They're kind of slowing down, and you're just the guy they need." He examined Harry's face. "How about it?"
Harry cleared his throat, trying to stay calm. "Er—I don't know," he answered.
"Ah, come on Harry. Just try it out for a couple of weeks, and if you don't like it, then you can return to the Cannons."
"Excuse me?" Harry said, not sure he'd heard correctly. "The Cannons?"
"Yeah. I heard from old Flebble that you're supposed to be trying out for Seeker." Ludo was now eyeing him nervously, all cheer gone.
"And who told him that?" asked Harry coldly. Ludo raised his eyebrows at Harry's tone.
"Ron, I believe."
As though on cue, Ron popped up. "Harry, I—Oh, hi," he said to Ludo. "Were you talking to Harry?"
He caught sight of Harry's expression, grimaced, then asked, "You heard, then?" He shot a venomous look at Ludo. "Thanks a lot, Bagman!"
"Hey, it's not his fault," Harry said sharply. "I don't think it was him who set me up for tryouts."
"If my memory serves me right," Ron said slowly, "you actually promised me you would do this. That's partly why I agreed to try out myself."
Harry's anger faded, to be replaced by dread. "I don't know, Ron…Becoming a professional Quidditch player was never my course of action."
"But you'd be brilliant!" Ron protested. "You'd probably break records and make World Finals!"
"I wasn't planning on this," Harry said firmly, "so I don't think—"
"I'll quit, Harry," Ron snapped. "I'll go straight to Flebble and tell him it's off!"
"Oh don't do that!" a voice said from behind them, and Harry wheeled to see a man with a gray buzz cut and goatee striding toward them. "Don't back out now! I think you were the best one out there!" He looked Harry over. "I believe you would be Harry potter?"
"Yes," said Harry curtly.
The wizard offered his hand, and Harry reluctantly shook it. "I'm Abraham Flebble. You can call me Abe." Harry felt his heart drop. This was one man he had no desire to speak to.
Abe was studying him. "I've heard quite a bit about you, Harry—may I call you Harry?"
Harry nodded, and he said, "Yes, You've come to my attention many times. Plenty of stories."
"Good ones?" Harry asked nervously. As much as he wanted to avoid the captain, it wouldn't hurt to make a good impression.
Abe roared with laughter. "Harry, we're talking about Quidditch here! How could you be anything but good?"
Harry sighed in relief, then became annoyed at himself; he had the impression that he was standing in quicksand, and was about to get sucked into the Quidditch business along with Ron.
"After all," Abe continued, "I do believe that your father—James, I think?—was asked to join the Falcons. I think Rombic was ready to step aside for him. But he turned it down. No idea why." He shook his head sadly, then squinted at Harry. "I'd consider it a shame if you didn't at least try out for Seeker for my team. And a promise is a promise. You gotta be a man of your word."
Too much, thought Harry. It was all too much. "My father was asked by the Falcons?"
he asked, trying to buy time. Abe nodded, but kept silent, watching him expectantly.
A promise is a promise…"Fine," said Harry. "Fine, I'll try."
"Good man. I'll see you at the pitch." And Abe walked away.
"Oh, Ron. What have you gotten me into?" moaned Harry.
"A bloody good investment," answered Ron. "After all, Hermione's the bookworm, not you. You need something worthwhile to do, so…"
"Yeah, okay," Harry said wearily.
He heard someone yelling, "Chasers are finished! Seekers, you're next!"
"That's you, Harry," Ron said softly, and Harry turned and set off toward the pitch. He had the bizarre and absurd hope that he would be far too late by the time he reached the field. Ron seemed to sense Harry's mood, because he grabbed Harry's arm and pulled him so he was forced to speed up. Abruptly, he stopped.
"Oh shit!" he swore, then changed direction.
"Er—Where are you taking me?" asked Harry, worried. "The pitch is that way."
"One," barked Ron, "you need a set of robes. Cannon robes," he clarified, seeing harry's clueless expression. "Also, you need a broom. Your broom."
"What? But I lost the Firebolt—!"
Ron grinned broadly. "Just you wait and see."
He lead Harry to the locker room. The witch outside it saw Harry and said, "Sorry, you can't—"
"Yes, he can," Ron corrected her. "He's trying for Seeker."
She looked at Harry in surprise, then said, "Oh, that's right! You were Seeker at Hogwarts, weren't you? And your father too!"
Ron took Harry into the locker room, and snatched up a set of stained, ugly orange robes. "Here," he said. "Put these on." As Harry removed his black robes and redressed, Ron strode over to a locker. He turned a knob on the combination lock and said, "Chocolate frog." A latch appeared, and he opened the locker. He noticed Harry's look, and said, "They got the idea from Muggle combination locks. These require you to turn the knob to the right symbol, then you have to give the password." He reached into the locker, and pulled out his broom bag. Unzipping it, he dug around inside before emerging with a broom. "This," Ron said, smiling, "is yours."
Harry stared at the broom. It was scarlet, with a gold stripe on the top and bottom, running its length. The twigs in the broom tail looked like they were made of pure gold. Looking closer at the handle, Harry saw that Firebolt III was written in an elegant script similar to cursive handwriting. The name was in white.
"Firebolt Three?" Harry said. "Just decided to skip the Firebolt Two?"
"Don't ask me," said Ron. "Ask George, he's the one who bought it for you. And anyway, the Firebolt Two came out in fall of last year, while this came out about a week ago."
"Huh," was all Harry said. Ron stood there for a moment, then said quickly, "Are you ready then? Come on!"
He left the locker room through another door, leaving Harry standing there. He was still studyling the magnificent-looking broom he held. Suddenly, he saw something out of the corner of his eye. Turning, he spotted the 'something': himself. Ruling out the possibility of a mirror, he knew what this was: an impostor!
He immediately sprang for the impostor, but it fled through the same door Ron had used. Just as Harry reached it, the door was slammed in his face, breaking his glasses. He drew his wand and repaired them, while at the same time opening the door and bursting through. Staring wildly around, he glimpsed himself walking quickly away. He ran to catch up—and found himself at the edge of the Quidditch pitch. Barely registering the two flyers soaring above him, he saw the impostor, raised his wand…and stopped in disbelief, as the flyers were flung from there brooms in an unnatural fashion. Again, spectators seemed to focus on his raised wand.
A mediwizard rushed forward to examine the two Seekers. After a moment, he looked up and made a gesture, and the announcer shouted, "Both Seekers are incapacitated! Next!"
Harry felt someone nudge him. He looked, to see Tony Rombic standing beside him. "Go on!" he whispered to Harry. "You gotta be assertive. They'll like that."
Harry sighed, then mounted his broom and kicked off. Ah, he thought, in the air again. He missed flying, hadn't flown in a long time. He did a quick lap around the field, made it in record time, then turned his broom to face the referee. He noticed someone flying toward him, and he looked at them. Ginny?! He felt ready to panic. He wasn't ready to compete against her, his former girlfriend…
She gave him a thumbs-up as she passed, then she looped around and cme to a stop a few yards to his left. He stared at her. "What?" she asked. "I told you I was trying out."
"I forgot," Harry said honestly.
"Pay attention now," she commanded, and he immediately turned to focus on the referee.
The referee was standing next to a box. He reached down and said, "Ready, set, go!" On the word 'go' he swung the lid up and a tiny glint of gold rose, then vanished. Harry wheeled his broom around, and he sensed Ginny doing the same. He did a couple of quick laps, his gaze scanning the field. This shouldn't take too long, he told himself. The Snitch was probably old; nobody used a really good Snitch for tryouts. He took his broom higher, and was flying through one goal hoop for fun when he spotted the little speck of gold high above. Banking on the belief that Ginny's broom was much slower than his, Harry turned and dove in the other direction. He managed to angle the dive in such a way that he could still see the snitch out of the corner of his eye. Just as he had hoped, Ginny came pelting after him. He waited until she drew close, pushing her to her fastest. Then he turned, almost on the dime, and with only a slight drop in speed he tore across the field. It only took him a couple of seconds to get close. As though sensing his ferocious approach, the Snitch soared upward. Following after it, Harry was strongly reminded of something…Not wanting to detract attention from the Snitch, Harry concentrated, and o was able to react almost instantly when the Snitch reversed direction without warning. It plummeted, and he dropped with it. Ginny appeared out of nowhere. Neck and neck, they hurtled straight at the ground. Glancing over, Harry watched as her eyes went curiously blank. Inexplicably, she veered to the left, past Harry, and off into nowhere. He would have pulled up just then, but instinct caused him to reach down toward the Snitch. And on impulse, his fingers closed around it, feeling that familiar brush of feathers against his fingers as it sought freedom. He became aware that the ground was coming up at him at a frightening speed, and knew that he couldn't stop in time. To save himself, he pulled a crazy and potentially deadly stunt. Fifteen feet off the ground, he sprang from his broom, flying sideways. Upon hitting the ground, he continued to roll, expending his inertia. He used the remainder to swing upright, staggering before regaining his balance. There was absolute silence. Then, he was almost deafened by cheers; apparently, the spectators loved his feat. He raised his fist, so they could see the wings (the body was obscured by his hand).
After a long moment, he put his hand down and walked to the referee. "Here," he said, and shoved the Snitch at him. The referee took it from him, and Harry walked past, merging with the crowd. He found Ron there, and Ron gave him a huge and excited smile.
"That was bloody brilliant!" he exclaimed, and was about to say more, but he paused and looked over his shoulder. Harry looked as well, and saw a man in dirty orange robes jabbing his finger in Harry's direction. The referee beside him appeared uncertain.
"He wants to face potter!" someone called, and the announcer yelled, "This Seeker is making a request…" he quieted for a couple seconds, then continued, "He wants to compete against Harry Potter!"
Someone pushed harry forward, and he twisted to look at Ron, who simply shrugged. Harry was pushed further, until he was in front of the crowd, no longer a part of it. Harry, watching the referee, noticed a strange, blank expression cross his face. The referee then nodded absently, and the wizard walked away. The man came toward Harry, and when he was close, he said, "We'll see who trumps this time!"
" 'Trumps'?" echoed Harry, and the man seemed to overhear, and grin. Harry thought for a moment, then realized that this wizard had meant 'win'.
Let's get going!" shouted the referee, and Harry immediately mounted and kicked off. For the second time, he hovered facing the referee, his opponent beside him. Again the referee released the Snitch, and Harry took off. He scanned the field, while keeping an eye on the other guy, who was circling high above like a hawk. Harry was making a pass over the center of the field, when he turned his head and glimpsed the Snitch far behind him. At that moment, his adversary came zooming down from out of the blue, and Harry spun and threw himself forward. The other wizard had leveled off, and they were soaring towards each other at a mad speed. If I don't react fast, thought Harry, we're going to mash together. He strained forward against the screaming wind, and reached out with a hand that stung in the rapid-moving air. They were almost there…he met the Snitch an instant before the other man, and the other just barely managed to swerve out of Harry's way. Harry slowed, and was just heading for the ground when he felt a searing-hot blaze of energy, and saw a bolt of white light passing by his face. He reacted instinctively: turning, he looked at his adversary, who was facing him. He saw the tip of a wand up his sleeve, and the energy roiling within Harry burst out. His broom gave one massive jerk, then stilled, much to Harry's relief. The other guy, however, wasn't so lucky. When the wave of blue energy surging from Harry hit him, his broom shattered, and he was thrown from it, whirling and twirling through the air. The sight was funny…until he landed on Ginny. Harry immediately dove down, jumping off his bromm once it was close enough to the ground, and ran to Ginny. The semi-conscious man was being pulled off of her, and she was being very careful not to move her arm. No tears were shed, but her face was very pale. Someone examined her arm, then said, "Broken." That same person directed their wand at her arm, and with a gentle glow of pink light, her arm healed. She twitched her arm to test for pain, the slowly stood, with a couple of people assisting her. Swaying slightly, she focused on Harry and said weakly, "Harry, you can have the position."
Harry stared, then turned and walked away, his mind numbed. People parted for him like a ship prow at sea. He headed straight for the locker room, Ron joining him quickly. About halfway there, they were intercepted by Flebble, who said, "Well, I'm sure you'll be pleased to know that you both made it. Although you," he looked at Harry, "made it partly because everyone backed out after seeing what you did up there. You're the only one willing…" He shook his head and departed. They made it to the locker room without further mishap. Ron silently put their brooms back in the broom bag. Finally, he spoke.
"Well," said Ron as they changed into their regular black robes, "at least we made the team!"
"Yeah," replied Harry dully, "but at what price?"