The snitch was there, and then it was gone. It was the tenth time Harry had caught sight of it, and he glanced around wildly for the flitting golden ball. This had been the longest Quidditch game of his career. They'd 'kicked off', so to speak, in the morning, and the sun was already sinking towards the opposite horizon. Hours on his broom, snow falling around him ceaselessly, his entire body was numb and shivering. He was no longer even sure he could close his fingers around the snitch, they'd been clasped so long on his broom.
Spotting the dancing glint of light as it dove for the snowy pitch, Harry gigged his broom into his own dive. The Ravenclaw Seeker, a Sixth Year with some mild talent for the position, followed closely. It was apparently a tradition of the Seekers now to simply follow Harry around and just try to get there first when the snitch was spotted. Harry had grown bored with feigning chase to screw with the younger boy about two hours ago. It had stopped being funny when he pulled a Wronsky Feint that had almost buried the kid head first in the snow.
This was no Wronsky Feint, though, and Harry forced his stiff arm off his broom, reaching for the snitch. The closer he got, the closer he got to the ground, but he couldn't let himself worry about that now, nor whether or not the kid on his tail was talented enough to pull up in time. So intent was he on his prize, Harry never saw the Ravenclaw Beater miss-swing with his bat, knocking the Bludger too low. He pulled up just short of the ground, his fingers clasped around the thrice-damned snitch that had been so annoyingly evasive during the game. He pulled further out of the dive, rising back towards where the players had yet to notice his catch. A monstrous roar surged from the crowd, and it took a moment for him to realize that it was not congratulatory.
"Potter's going to get hit!" The announcer screamed over the crowd.
Harry looked around and saw the bludger coming straight for his head. There wasn't time to move, he knew that, but he could at least soften the blow. He turned his head as the hard ball connected with his skull and glanced off the back of his head, knocking him askew of his broom. His vision swam before going black, and he felt his tenuous grip on the only thing keeping him in the air slip. He fell unconscious even before he hit the ground with a sickening crunch that broke his arm, still grasping that stupid winged ball in his loosely curled fist.
When Harry came to, he was in the Hospital Wing, surrounded by a lot of people shouting their own versions of what had happened at the furious Infirmary matron. Someone had apparently noticed that he'd caught the snitch, because his entire team was there, as well as Neville, Hermione, and half the teachers, as well as the Headmaster. His vision cleared as he looked around the room, everyone jumping out of the way as Pomfrey moved back and forth, collecting what she needed.
Black eyes stared out of the crowd and Harry latched onto them groggily. The face was a mask of indifference, but Harry could see the concern in the onyx gaze and the hard set to the aristocratic features. Harry wanted to reassure the man somehow, but his brain was fuzzy, and he could already feel himself slipping back into the dark. He barely noticed Neville trying to get close enough to latch onto his uninjured arm. His eyelids fluttered shut just as Pomfrey decided she'd had enough and shouted for everyone to leave. He knew no more until the following morning.