Disclaimer: Is Quidditch honestly a well-designed game. No? Then I am not JK Rowling and do not own Harry Potter. (But it's fun to write anyway.)

Chapter 25

The Quidditch rivalry continued to heat up around Harry. A lot of it came from the older Slytherins, who weren't intimidated by the Boy-Who-Lived because of the age difference. (Ironically, those Slytherins were more sensible about that than most of the rest of the school.) Many of them would make rude comments as he passed in the hall or joke about him getting knocked off his broom. They all knew how good a flier he was supposed to be, but not all of them believed it or cared.

Illicit bets on the match were changing hands all over the school, allegedly involving some of the teachers, which wouldn't have surprised anyone, considering that it was possibly the worst-kept rule in Hogwarts after "no magic in the corridors". Normally, the Weasley Twins had a corner on that market, but since they were on the Gryffindor team, they deferred to some of the older Ravenclaws to make the books. Flying even faster than the bets themselves were the rumours about just what McGonagall and Snape had wagered each other over the match, but fewer people believed those, since Snape would never do anything that carried any real risk of public humiliation.

Oliver Wood was really going over the edge, giving Harry flying tips anytime they met in the halls and insisting he be escorted everywhere so that the Slytherins couldn't knock him out of the match. Admittedly, this last bit was probably sensible, since there were so many skirmishes going on. Only a couple of people actually wound up in the Hospital Wing, but the last thing Harry needed was to get on Madam Pomfrey's bad side right before the match.

It was on Friday, the day before the match, as Harry was huddling in the frosty courtyard with Hermione, Neville, Ron, and Angelina Johnson as his escort, that they heard a certain blond boy bragging to a large gaggle of Slytherins with Marcus Flint standing over his shoulder in addition to his usual bodyguards. "I'm not worried," said Draco Malfoy in what was probably a blatant lie. "Potter may be fast on a broom, but that's no substitute for growing up with the game. Besides, you know why Gryffindor always loses—they're too honourable to do what it takes. They're almost as bad as Hufflepuff."

The other Slytherins laughed loudly at this, and Angelina decided to take matters into her own hands. Striding up to the group, she called out, "Yeah, wait till you're facing the Weasley Twins tomorrow and then try saying that, Malfoy!"

"Right, like we're gonna be scared of a team of a bunch of little third years," Marcus Flint growled out, sending Angelina a leering grin with his big snaggleteeth.

Angelina grimaced and shot back, "Yeah, well, we're not scared of a team of spoilt rich kids."

Malfoy and Theodore Nott glowered at Angelina, but Malfoy had a comeback ready: "You're just jealous because we've all got decent brooms…Say, Weasley, what are your brothers flying? Cleansweep Fives? You'd be better off selling them to a museum to make a few galleons. Merlin knows you could use it." The other Slytherins laughed again.

Ron turned very red at this. "Why you little—!" He started to run at Malfoy, but Harry and Angelina held him back while the Slytherins closed ranks around their Seeker.

"If the shoe fits, Weasley," Draco said, "although with you, maybe it doesn't."

"Shut up, Malfoy!" Neville said, to his own surprise.

"Ooo, the squib standing up for the blood traitor. Now I'm really scared."

"Neville's no squib, Malfoy," Harry said, stepping out in front. "And he's not alone, either."

Malfoy glared at him, but Harry had already proved himself as a serious opponent in this game, so he shut his mouth.

Unfortunately, Nott was ready to take up the slack: "Right, he's just an idiot who hangs around with a half-blood who was raised by muggles."

The other Slytherins sniggered derisively. Harry stood very stiff. "Do we have a problem, Nott?" he said threateningly.

"Oh, it's nothing personal," Nott said in a tone that made it clear that it was. "It's a tragedy, really," Nott continued. "The last member of a Noble pureblood family is a half-blood who didn't even get a proper magical education. It's all these silly modern ideas that breeding doesn't matter that do it." He was obviously quoting his father's talking points, now. "Spread by Dumbledore and all those other mixed families who keep trying to bring down the best and brightest of the purebloods. You can see the damage it's down to your own family, Potter—it only takes a few bad decisions to end a great pureblood line."

Hermione grabbed Harry by the arm at that. With the glares he was shooting out, the other Slytherins sensed a fight brewing and edged away. Malfoy looked at the whole situation with disapproval. Nott may have been from a Noble House, but they were perfectly willing to make him the sacrificial lamb if it could get Potter in trouble before the match, especially if he was foolish enough to say that to his face. Angelina was just too shocked to intervene.

Harry was well aware of the danger of upsetting the match, though. He would handle this verbally. He shook off Hermione's hand and suppressed the crackle of magic around him. The, he drew himself up and stepped forward until he was just out of arm's reach of Nott. He remembered these facts well. He remembered because Cousin Andi had strongly advised him to memorise the arguments. True, she had not advised him to use them in such a confrontational manner, but he was really getting tired of all the bigotry.

"Theodore Nott," he said harshly. "In 1932, your great-grandfather, Cantankerus, said that there were only twenty-eight families—out of over a thousand in Magical Britain—that were still 'pureblood' enough for his standards. The Potters weren't even on that list, although we were still pureblooded enough for the Blacks. Do you know what's happened to them? Many of the bloodlines are failing on their own. Look at your own family, Mr. Nott: a single heir born late in your parents' life. Or my father's pureblood family: also a single heir born late in his parents' life. And that's just the start. It's no secret that Adrian and Hyacinth Greengrass have been trying for a son for years without success. A generation ago, Mr. Nott, there were ten Malfoys. Now, there are only three. A generation ago, there were over a dozen Blacks. Now, the last of the Blacks is deservedly rotting in Azkaban. And then there's the war. Because of the war, the last of the Crouches is an ageing widower. All of the remaining Lestranges are in Azkaban. The Longbottoms are as good as down to a single heir—sorry, Neville. The Rosiers are extinct in the male line, and the Prewetts are extinct in the male line. In your grandfather's time, Mr. Nott, the Fawleys were major power players. Now, they're a small family without a political role thanks to Grindelwald's war. The Gaunts vanished entirely during Grindelwald's War. So much violence, most of it pureblood against pureblood, and yet during all this time, not a single one of those twenty-eight families lost their pureblood status to intermarriage. So tell me, Mr. Nott, who is the real enemy of the purebloods here?"

Everyone present, even Hermione, was staring at him wide-eyed. Harry began to get very nervous. He was suddenly aware that what he had just said could possibly have either Malfoy or Nott challenging him to a duel for the dig at their bloodlines, even though he had included his own family in his pronouncement. True, supervised duels were allowed under the school rules, and, true, he could play his "no wands" trump card and win it, but the press it would generate would not be good. Worse, he could see a number of people already had their hands on their wands.

Harry could tell just by looking that Malfoy had already come to the same conclusions. But Malfoy was also smart enough not to get into a fight the day before the match. Nott, on the other hand…but Malfoy had precedence over Nott in demanding satisfaction, being from a Most Ancient House, and everyone knew it. Even Nott openly looked to Malfoy for a cue.

Malfoy, of course, didn't want to see his fellow aristocrat get humiliated in a muggle duel any more than himself. Baiting for duels was a dangerous game at the best of times. You weren't actually supposed to get yourself into one. Potter and Nott may have both gone too far unintentionally, from their faces, but Potter had managed to gain the advantage. Nott might be clever enough to see how it would end, but Malfoy didn't feel like taking the chance. He'd deal with Nott's indiscretion himself later.

"You'd better watch what you say, Potter," Malfoy said with even more venom than Harry. "It might come back to bite you. Father says your parents didn't know what was good for them, either." That was a classic evading tactic: using hearsay to deflect responsibility.

"I didn't hear an answer to my question," Harry said carefully.

"That's enough! We'll settle this on the Pitch, Potter!" Malfoy spat.

"Fine by me." Harry stalked away, with his fellow Gryffindors quickly closed ranks around him.

"Wicked!" Ron said.

"Harry, that was…" Neville started.

"Awesome!" Ron offered.

"It was reckless!" Angelina chided him.

"Yeah, sorry, I got carried away there," Harry replied. "What he said about my family…"

"You really need to work on your temper, Harry," Hermione said. "Picking fights won't solve anything, no matter what they say."

"Yeah, I know," he sighed.

"You need to convince them in civil discourse…the ones you can, anyway."

"Still, I wish I could say something like that," Neville said nervously, still in awe of Harry's rant. "My Gran might be able to get away with it, but I sure couldn't." Hermione and Harry gave him a sympathetic look.

"I can't believe you told them off like that, mate," Ron said.

"Uh, thanks. Probably wasn't the best idea, though," he admitted.

"I should think not," Angelina said. "Come on, I'm going inside. It's too cold out here." She poked a finger at Harry. "And make sure you stay out of trouble until after the match."

"Yes, ma'am."

The next day was the big day. Harry woke early that morning, feeling very nervous about the impending match. It was his first time flying in public, and all eyes were sure to be on the Boy-Who-Lived. He went down to the Common Room to find that Hermione was also already up. They both read uneasily for a while until the rest of their house-mates were up and moving.

"Morning, guys," said Ron Weasley as he descended the staircase with the other first years.

"Morning," a few people said.

He sat at one of the tables with a book, which raised some eyebrows. Ron wasn't exactly the type to crack a book that early in the morning. Hermione and Harry watched in confusion until he set a squirming Scabbers on the table and tapped the rat with his wand.

"Colovaria bestia rufus. Colovaria bestia rufus," he chanted.

Hermione and Harry laughed. "Still trying to turn Scabbers different colours?" Harry asked.

Ron blushed a little and explained, "I wanted to make him Gryffindor red for the match. I don't get it. It's not like this is one of Fred and George's fake spells. It's supposed to be a spell to change the colours of animals. You know, Fred and George actually did turn him green once when Percy was ten…course they mighta used dye or something."

"Hmm…let me take a look," Hermione said, budging in to get a clear view of Ron's book. She looked over the page on animal colour changes. "I don't know. It seems like kind of an advanced spell," she said. She drew her wand to try it herself, and Ron opened his mouth in protest, considering her frequent overpowered mishaps in Charms class, but before he could speak, Scabbers noticed Harry coming too close for comfort. The rat squirmed away and ran under a chair.

"Oh, sorry," Harry said.

"I don't get why he's afraid of you," Ron said. "He's normally fine with people."

Harry was starting to wonder himself why he always felt a little uneasy around Scabbers, but his dismissed the thought for the time being. He was far too worried about the match.

The chatter had reached a fever pitch by the time they made it to the Great Hall. Everyone was excited to see the two youngest Seekers in a century in action. Spirits were so high that Harry and Hermione could feel the change in the magic in the air. As soon as Harry entered Hall, he was whisked away to sit with the team, where Wood was making sure everyone got a good breakfast and was ready for the game. Harry was too tense to eat much, but he did help himself to some sausages.

As the clock approached eleven, the Gryffindor and Slytherin teams headed out to the locker rooms to suit up, and the rest of the school heading for the Pitch. It was quite possibly the largest turnout in years. The castle would be all but empty. Even Dumbledore would be attending. In the chaos, Hermione just barely caught Harry on his way into the locker room.

"Hey! Hey, Harry!" She called. He paused on the threshold. "I just wanted to say good luck out there."

"Thanks," he said. Then he stared off into space wistfully for a moment.

"Harry?"

"Mione, do you realise it was six years ago today that I first showed up on our porch?"

Hermione chuckled and pulled him into a hug. "How could I forget? That was the weirdest day of my life."

"Well, it was the best day of mine—or really the day after was…Thanks for everything, sis."

"Anything for you, little brother," she said, too quietly for the others to hear. She pulled back and made a show of ruffling his hair and whispered, "Go get 'em, furball."

Harry followed the team into the locker room, his fears banished for now. Soon, after the inevitable awww's had subsided and Wood gave his pep talk—with the Weasley Twins mocking the whole thing behind his back—they made their way out to the Pitch.

"You scared, Potter?" Angelina said as they stepped into the sunlight.

He shook his head. "Nope. Are you? Their Chasers are on Nimbus Two Thousands."

"Don't worry about us," she assured him. "Bletchley's on a Nimbus, too, and that is not a Keeper's broom. Plus not much gets past Wood. We'll be fine. You just focus on showing up that little blond ponce."

A wicked grin crossed Harry's face. "With pleasure."

The crowd was roaring. Almost everyone was dressed in red or green. The Hufflepuffs and most of Ravenclaw had sided with Gryffindor. Harry saw cameras dotting the crowd. Apparently, several seventh-years had been recruited as press representatives. The weather was good, though not perfect—cold and very sunny, but not too windy. It looked like it was going to be a good match.

"Potter."

Despite that.

"Malfoy."

The Slytherin boy smirked at Harry and said, "May the best Seeker win."

Harry did his best to smirk back: "Don't worry, I will." Both of them hid their true apprehension well. No matter what either of them said, they were close to evenly matched. This was going to be a tough competition.

As the two teams faced off along a line, Madam Hooch stepped in between them. She released the Bludgers, followed by the Golden Snitch, which buzzed around Harry's and Malfoy's heads before zooming off into the sky. She held up the Quaffle in one hand and called out, "I want a nice fair game—from all of you. Mount your brooms, please."

Harry straddled his Nimbus Two Thousand, not taking his eyes off Malfoy. His cat-like stare usually got to most people after a while, but Malfoy seemed to be resistant to it.

Madam Hooch blew a long blast on her whistle, and Harry kicked off the ground—hard.

Between his Nimbus Two Thousand's power and his natural magical affinity, it was easy for Harry to coast high into the air, above the unfolding action, hopefully above the Snitch, which would be more visible against the green of the grass than the bright blue of the sky. Malfoy had to push it to catch Harry, but he was soon on the same level. They began slowly circling the pitch opposite each other, mostly looking down, but each taking frequent glances at their opposite numbers.

"And the Quaffle is taken by the lovely Angelina Johnson of Gryffindor." The Weasley Twins' friend, Lee Jordan, was providing commentary, with Professor McGonagall acting as his foil. "And passes to Alicia Spinnet—good find of Wood's, moved up from reserve. They make quite a pair, don't they?"

"Jordan!" McGonagall cut in.

"Sorry, Professor. Spinnet passes to Katie Bell—no, intercepted by Marcus Flint of Slytherin. Flint races down the pitch—damn, those Nimbus Two Thousand's are fast—sorry, Professor—he's leaving the Chasers behind—it's all up to Wood—YES! He saves it!"

Harry did a loop on his broom as he continued circling the pitch. Malfoy rolled his eyes at him.

"Katie Bell takes the Quaffle—coming up the middle, Johnson and Spinnet guarding close—whoa, just dodges a Bludger—and there's the other one—watch out! No! That was deliberate!" One of the Slytherin Beaters had ploughed straight into the Gryffindors' formation, nearly knocking them out of the air. Katie dropped the Quaffle, and one of the opposing Chasers snatched it out of the air.

"Pucey takes the Quaffle—the Weasley Twins are on him—he ducks the Bludgers—lines up his shot and…Slytherin scores," Lee groaned. Cheers erupted from one quarter of the stands, and boos from the other three quarters.

"Johnson takes the Quaffle, passes to Spinnet, back again, over to Bell," Lee reported breathlessly. The Gryffindor Chasers were flying in a tight weave to try to dodge the faster Slytherins.

Harry decided to get in on the action and see just how good Malfoy was on a Nimbus. He sped up, tightened his circle, and then, with a deliberate swoop, flew under Malfoy toward a random point on the far side of the pitch. Malfoy swung around and started following, but not marking him that close just yet. Malfoy had seen him fly at that first lesson and had some inkling that Harry was playing with him.

"Looks like Potter's spotted something, maybe," Lee said. "I don't know, looks like Malfoy's calling it a feint. Hang on…"

Harry spotted an opportunity and went for it. He turned his swerve into one of his trademark straight-line sprints, and Malfoy noted the change and followed him at top speed. But Harry wasn't going for the Snitch; he was dashing in front of one of the Slytherin Beaters, who was lining up a bludger shot on Alicia. Between him and Malfoy getting in the way, the shot went wide, leaving Malfoy and the Beater shouting at each other.

"Nice one, Harry!" George yelled as he flew past.

"And Potter saves Spinnet! Excellent!" Lee said. "Wait, where's he going?"

Harry pulled back and suddenly realised that his broom wasn't slowing down. He was hurtling straight toward the stands at top speed and couldn't stop. He pulled harder and harder, to no avail. But finally, at the last second, the broom swung into a gut-wrenching left turn that left his head spinning, and he started circling around the pitch again.

That was odd, he thought. It's never done that before.

"Gryffindor scores! Ten-ten!" Harry was just in time to hear. There was a far louder roar from the crowd, as just about everyone wanted to see the snakes put down.

But the rest of the match didn't go as well. As good as the Gryffindors were, they were just no match for a whole team with Nimbus Two Thousands. The scores climbed: twenty-ten, thirty-ten, forty-ten, forty-twenty.

But Harry had a far more pressing problem. That glitch with his broom was no fluke. He had pushed his broom for all it was worth in practice, but now, every time he took it into a fast sprint, the control would seize up, and he couldn't stop or turn. With Bludgers and other players zooming everywhere, that could turn bad very fast, not to mention making it harder to catch the Snitch. To add insult to injury, Malfoy had noticed.

"What's the matter, Potter? Can't handle a real broom?"

Harry didn't dignify that with a response, instead, angling his broom just so, and he buzzed Malfoy's slicked-back hair with his feet. The Slytherin Seeker ducked out of the way, cursing, which, luckily for him, Madam Hooch didn't hear. He swung around and started following as Harry did another fast lap around the field.

"Looks like we've got a Seeker battle brewing—hang on, Potter's gone wide again."

The Slytherins in the stands jeered at Harry's poor flying. Something was really going wrong. What he wouldn't have given to be able to use his wandless magic right now to keep steady. But it was against the rules, and he'd never be able to cast a wandless Levitation Charm strong enough to stabilise something as large as a broom anyway. Whatever was happening, he'd have to fight it with flying skills alone.

Down in the stands, Hermione, Ron, and Neville were all standing with Hagrid in the middle of the Gryffindor section. Hermione had monopolised Hagrid's binoculars and was worriedly following he brother's flight around the field.

"I don't understand," she said. "He never flies like that in practice. Could something have happened to his broom?"

"Can't have," Hagrid insisted. "It's brand new. Only thing'll interfere with a top model broom is powerful dark magic."

Immediately, Hermione whipped the binoculars around to the teachers' box, watching the teachers intently while taking frequent glances back to Harry's flying.

"What're you doing?" Ron asked.

"If it's powerful dark magic, it has to be one of the teachers doing it," she said. "None of the students would be powerful enough."

"No way," Hagrid jumped in. "None o' the teachers would try an' hurt Harry."

"But Hagrid, something is wrong with Harry's broom. What else could it be?"

"Johnson takes the Quaffle around the edge," Lee announced. "Oh, foul! Flint grabs the Beater's club! Get him, Fred!"

"Jordan!" McGonagal scolded, though only half-heartedly.

"Sorry, Professor. Johnson passes to Spinnet. Weasley and Flint are fighting over the Bludger—oh, come on, Professor, that's a major foul!"

Harry looked over and saw Madam Hooch trying to break up Fred and Flint and get Flint to give back the Beater's club he'd grabbed. But before she could call it, Alicia took the opportunity to go for the goal. She faced down Miles Bletchley, swerved left, then right, took the shot, and…

Alicia made the goal! But Gryffindor was still down thirty to sixty. This was as good a chance as any, though. "Time out!" Harry yelled. Wood waved his agreement to Madam Hooch, and she blew her whistle.

"Time out!" she shouted. "And penalty shot to Gryffindor!" The players descended to the pitch.

"What's the matter, Potter?" Wood said. "Why do you keep flying like that?"

"My broom's acting up," he said. "The braking charm keeps cutting out, and it's not turning well, either."

"The braking charm? It shouldn't be doing that. Are you sure?"

"Well, it's sure not handling like it does in practice."

"Huh…we can't back out now, though," Wood said firmly. "Try putting it down and picking it up again. Maybe that'll reset something."

"Like rebooting a computer?"

"Like what?"

"Never mind." Harry dismounted his broom and held it where it wanted to hover. "Down," he said, and the broom slipped out of his hand and fell lifeless on the grass. After another moment, he said, "Up," and it leapt back into his hand. He hopped on and flew a few circles around Wood. He shrugged his shoulders. "It's doing alright, now."

"Good, let's hope it stays that way. Let's go. Angelina, take the penalty shot."

The problem with the Nimbus Two Thousand—and with racing-type brooms in general—was that what it gained in speed, it lost in manoeuvrability. From Quidditch Through the Ages, Harry had learnt that there was a big debate between Quidditch teams that always bought seven top-of-the-line brooms for their players and teams that bought different models optimised for each position. Harry thought Angelina was proving the second point when she out-flew Bletchley's Nimbus and easily made her penalty shot with what was supposed to be an inferior model.

But Harry didn't have time to dwell on that, because Malfoy had finally taken the initiative and was diving for something. Harry couldn't tell if it was the Snitch or not, but he wheeled around to follow. He picked a place a little ahead of Malfoy and dove straight at it, hoping to get in front, but then it happened. His steering failed again.

A short scream was the only warning Malfoy got. Harry zoomed inches in front of him, breaking off his pursuit. Harry got a brief glimpse of something gold and fluttering to his left, but it was gone in a flash. At least he'd kept Malfoy off it.

"Watch where you're going, Potter!" the boy yelled.

"Whoa, and Potter charges Malfoy!" Lee said. "To bad he missed—I'm kidding, Professor."

Malfoy was angry now. He took the lead, leading Harry all over the pitch. Harry tried to keep up as best he could and managed to cut him off a couple more times, but he just wasn't a match for the Slytherin with his faulty control. He couldn't understand what was making it glitch like that, but the calls kept getting closer and closer. It seemed like the braking charm always failed at the worst possible time, whenever he was about to hit something. He needed to catch the Snitch soon so he could get back on the ground before he crashed.

"That's it! I knew it!" Hermione shouted.

"What?"

"What is it?"

"It's Snape! He's jinxing Harry's broom!"

"What!"

Hermione had been watching the teachers' box and Professor Snape in particular very carefully, looking for any patterns, and she found one: every time Harry's broom went out of control, Snape was staring intently at him and muttering something.

"Can't be," Hagrid said. "Snape'd never do that."

"He is! I know a jinx when I see one," she insisted.

"What do we do?" Ron said.

"I don't know…I've gotta try something." Hermione turned and sprinted around the pitch toward the teachers' box.

Meanwhile, Harry managed to get back in front, but Malfoy was marking him closely. He tried to shake him off by diving into the heart of the action, and hopefully fend off the Slytherin Chasers from Katie Bell while he was at it. But nothing went right, there. Katie swerved in his direction at the same moment Harry's broom seized up once again. Malfoy flew wide, and with good reason. In the stands, Hermione squealed with fear when she saw it. Harry was rapidly headed toward a three-way, no, a four-way collision, as he was headed straight towards Katie Bell, even as Marcus Flint moved to intercept her, and a Bludger sailed their way.

"Oh no, watch out!" Lee shouted.

Harry waved his arms frantically and yelled, "Get out of the way!" But it was too late. Katie barely had time to start pulling up when Flint and Harry both slammed into her broom and sent it spinning so hard that she flew right off the handle. She flipped through the air as Harry reached out to grab her.

The crowd rose to its feet in horror. They could barely see anything in the tumble of bodies and broomsticks. Lee yelled out, "What's going on? I can't see!" The Bludger had clipped Flint's shoulder and sent him careering toward the teachers' box, blocking their line of sight. With one bad arm, he couldn't get control again until he had flown into the crowd—straight into Professor Quirrell, who dove to the floor, clutching at his turban and cursing most unprofessionally.

But when the view cleared, Harry heard a roar from the crowd. His broom had miraculously started obeying him again at the last second, and he caught Katie by her wrists. He was now hanging upside down, his scarlet robe billowing around his shoulders, with Katie swinging from his arms like a trapeze artist.

"YES!" Lee bellowed. "I don't believe it! Potter has caught Bell in a Serafini Snatch! I've never seen anything like it!"

"Thanks," Katie said with a shaking voice as she looked up at Harry's face.

"Anytime," Harry replied. He gripped her left wrist as hard as he could while she held out her right hand and called her broom back to her. In another moment, they were off again.

He took a lap low around the stands, not too fast this time. It could almost have been a victory lap: everyone but the Slytherins was giving him a standing ovation.

Hermione breathed a sigh of relief and kept running. Finally, she snuck around to a place close by where she could see both the teachers and the match, and waited. Not a minute later, she saw Harry bolt down the pitch, and she made her move. Not bothering to draw her wand, she surreptitiously waved her hand, and Professor Snape's long, greasy hair flew in front of his eyes. The Potions Master staggered in surprise.

That'll teach you to try to hurt my brother.

Harry was growing more excited by the second. He had finally spotted the Golden Snitch on his own and made a beeline for it. Then, as it got closer and closer, he noticed something else: his broom was still responding! Whatever was messing with it must have stopped. And it was a good thing, too, because the Snitch made a sudden turn downward. Harry took a chance and dove and was pleased to find that he pulled out of it just fine. But now the Snitch doubled back, giving Malfoy a chance to catch up. They were side by side, now, racing as fast their brooms would carry them just feet above the grass. Malfoy bumped Harry to the side, but Harry bumped Malfoy back. Their brooms were too evenly matched. They were both closing in on the Snitch, inches apart. But then Harry had an idea. He kicked he feet up and laid completely flat along his broom, his shins balancing on the tail, and his chin on the very front of the handle, cutting down his air resistance and giving him the extra burst of speed he needed to—

YES! His fingers closed around the fluttering golden ball three feet in front of Malfoy's face.

"Potter's caught it! Potter's caught the Snitch!" Lee Jordan was ecstatic. "Gryffindor wins a hundred and ninety to ninety!"

Harry held the Snitch triumphantly over his head as he took another lap around the pitch. He waved to the teachers' box, where Professor McGonagall was beaming at him, Snape was yelling at Dumbledore for some reason, and Quirrell was still recovering from his collision with Flint and looking confused.

The roar of the crowd was deafening as he descended to the grass. The Slytherins were all sulking away, but the Gryffindors and some Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs stormed the field, crowding around the team. Oliver Wood had tears in his eyes when he landed. "Potter, that was incredible!" he said.

"Amazing!"

"Unbelievable!" Fred and George echoed.

"Party in the Common Room!" They bellowed, lifting Harry onto their shoulders. They started singing an improvised song as they carried him back to the castle: "Harry Potter is our king! Potter can catch anything…" Harry blushed when they started including some off-colour lines about catching girls, but it wasn't too bad since Katie Bell was laughing hysterically by the end of it.

Harry finally got them to set him down when they reached the Great Hall, where the despondent Slytherins were sitting down to lunch. Malfoy seemed to have only Crabbe, Goyle, and Pansy Parkinson wanting to sit near him. Deciding it was only sporting, he walked up behind him. He was vaguely aware of Hermione and some of his teammates following at a distance.

Malfoy spun around and stood up, glaring at him, but Harry just offered him a hand and said, "Good game, Malfoy?"

Malfoy seemed to consider the offer, but didn't take him up on it. "Beginner's luck, Potter," he grumbled, and he sat back down.