Disclaimer: I don't owe it.

I don't know if everyone has heard the news yet, and if you haven't...you live under a rock.

It's official. July 2007. Greatest month of my entire life.

So don't hate me at the end of this, I never do cliffhanger things, except for this. And the next one too. Just read, review, and enjoy!

Chapter 26 Slow Moving Pictures

'They look like ants,' Isabella thought.

The two teams were assembled far below the stands and Isabella could just barely make out their tiny figures.

Madame Hooch stood in black and white as the referee between the rival teams and demanded a "good clean match."

Some Gryffindor was commenter and his high pitched voice rang through the stadium. But Isabella's attention was on the captains.

Both Draco and the Potter kid had reluctantly shaken hands and by what Isabella could see, exchanged a few unkind words.

Madame Hooch however made no objection to it before blowing her whistle and releasing the balls. A cheer rang out through the crowd and the game began.

The first five minutes were a fury of flying figures to Isabella. She tried to watch all the balls, all the plays but everything moved to fast. So fast, it was giving her a headache, or maybe it was just the ringing girl voice of the commenter screaming in her ear. Who ever decided on him to be commenter was blind, dumb, and mostly deaf.

Narcissa soon became Isabella's only insight to the action on the field. It took Isabella the next ten minutes of play, with Narcissa's help, to get the hang of the game. She did eventually catch on.

Isabella found she kind of liked quidditch, though she would never admit it to Draco. It was very exciting, like muggle football or as they called it in the states, soccer. Except the players here were hundreds of feet in the air.

By the half hour marker, Isabella was lost in the game. She screamed every time Slytherin lost possession. And groaned when a player was hit with a bludger which happened quite often. Isabella also kept a special eye out for Draco because as Narcissa told her, "When Draco moves the game is about to end."

As of now, Draco only slowly flew around, dodging blugders and, yelling at his players. There was no snitch in sight, yet.

One hour later and Gryffindors were in the lead, 230 to Slytherins' 200.

Isabella could see the lines of frustration set on Draco's brow. The taunts spewing from Potter's mouth wasn't helping. She could not hear the words but Draco's white knuckles clenched around his broom were evidence enough. Draco was not pleased.

At precisely one o'clock, after two full hours of play, it began to snow, just as Isabella predicted. It started as only a flake here or there but soon it fell in a steady stream covering the land, the people, and the players.

But the game didn't stop, the game wouldn't stop till the snitch was caught and the winner announced.

The score was now nearly tied at 300 Gryffindor, 290 Slytherin.

The snowfall has clouded the view a little but Isabella liked it much better this way. The muddled visions were much more beautiful. They looked like slow moving pictures, blending in and out of the snow.

Isabella could deftly hear her mother complaining on the other side of Narcissa about the weather. Narcissa along side Isabella was too focused to listen or care between the images of snow and quidditch.

"How long do these things usually last Narcissa?" Mary asked annoyed.

"Oh they've lasted for days you know. I think the longest game ever was almost a whole week. I bet that was very exciting."

"Yes, thrilling," Mary replied dully.

Then suddenly there was movement on the field.

Potter had sped off towards the south of the stadium, and Draco flew after him.

The crowd let out a collective gasp as the pair pushed closer and closer to their seen target.

Narcissa squeezed Isabella's hand hard, as if in silent pray for Draco's victory.

Draco had caught up to Potter and both were concentrated on the tiny golden ball only a few feet ahead of them.

All was silent, even the commenter had closed his mouth in anticipation.

The crowd was in awe.

'This was it,' they thought. The end of Malfoy's and Potter's quidditch rivalry.

Would Harry dominate as he had for all these years?

Or could Draco steal back the championship and more important, the pride, in his final year, his final chance?

Following the snitch, the seekers nosedived towards the ground.

Isabella lunged forward with Narcissa to the ledge to see the climax of the match.

Both players had pulled up from the dive, now only a few feet in the air.

With outstretched hands, they raced.

"Oh please Draco, please," Narcissa whimpered beside Isabella.

Isabella's eyes couldn't look over; she was too enthralled, too connected to look away. But her heart screamed the same thing.

'Please Draco, please win this! Win this for yourself! Please!'

There were only inches now, between the snitch and their twitching fingertips.

They battled for the lead, for the prize as they flew over the field.

Potter would lead, than Draco, than Potter, till none could tell.

All the other playing had stopped. They sat motionless atop their brooms, watching the scene unfold below them.

And then for a moment, the snowing stopped.

Everything stopped and only three things in the whole world moved: Potter, Draco, and the snitch.

Both made a jump for it, forgoing their brooms for pure momentum.

All movement in the front of Isabella's eyes was slow motion.

She watched Draco jump and Potter with him.

And then the shine of the snitch disappeared.

The snow resumed.

The match was over.

After two hours and eighteen minutes, it was finally over.

Cheering, screaming, and unadulterated joy poured through the field.

Both captains stood sore from the fall but only one was victorious.

He held his fist high above his head, the snitch fluttering between his closed fingers.

He had won.