Never, in anyone's memory, had a match approached in such a highly charged atmosphere. By the time holidays were over, tension between the two teams and their Houses was at a breaking point. Scuffles were breaking out in the corridors, leading to many trips to the hospital wing for both sides.
Harry was having an especially hard time with it. He couldn't walk to class without Slytherins trying to trip him. Crabbe and Goyle were popping up wherever he went, and slouching away in disappointment when they saw him with Alfred. Wood had specially requested that the American constantly remain by his side, in case the Slytherins tried to put him out of action. Alfred had taken to his role of bodyguard enthusiastically, and seemed to enjoy sending dark glowers at any passing Slytherins who so much as looked at Harry wrong.
Harry was really more concerned for his Firebolt's safety. Without it, he'd be stuck with a school broom...and that would not help Gryffindor's chances at all. When it wasn't in the air, it was securely locked in his trunk. He frequently dashed back up to Gryffindor Tower to check that it was still there.
All usual pursuits were abandoned in the Gryffindor Common Room the night before the match. Even Hermione had put down her books for the moment.
"Hey, we finally get to see your face instead of a book cover!" Ron exclaimed surprisedly.
"I can't work," Hermione explained nervously. "I can't concentrate."
No one would be able to concentrate with the level of noise in the room. Fred and George Weasley were dealing with the pressure by being louder and more exuberant than ever. Oliver Wood was crouched over a model of a Quidditch field in the corner, prodding little figures across it with his wand and muttering to himself. Angelina, Alicia, and Katie were all laughing at the jokes told by the Weasley twins.
Harry was sitting with his friends, away from the center of things, and trying not to think about the next day. Every time he did, he felt sick with nerves.
"That's not necessarily a bad thing," Matthew voiced in response to Hermione.
Alfred peered closely at Harry's face. "You okay, bro? Ya look a bit green around the gills."
"I'm-uh, I'm fine..." Harry reassured unconvincingly.
The American regarded Harry with a deadpan expression. "Uh-huh, okay, we'll totally go with that. Now what's wrong?"
"You'll do fine in the match tomorrow," Ron said confidently. "You've got a Firebolt! The fastest broom on the field!"
"Yeah..." Harry felt his stomach writhing. What if something went wrong?
It came as a relief when Wood suddenly stood up and yelled, "Team! Bed!"
Harry slept badly. First he dreamed that he'd overslept, and that Wood was yelling, "Where were you? we had to use Neville instead!" Then he was hovering over the Quidditch field, to see that the entire crowd was just hundreds of duplicates of Snape, and that the Snitch was covered in jagged icy spikes, rendering it untouchable, courtesy of a cackling maple-syrup starved Matthew that sat in one of the goalposts with his angry, tree-wielding twin. After that he dreamed that Malfoy and the rest of the Slytherin team arrived for the match riding dragons. He was flying at breakneck speed, trying to avoid the flames licking out of Malfoy's steed's mouth, when he realized he'd forgotten his Firebolt. He fell through the air, the hard packed ground getting closer and closer and-
Harry woke up with a start. It was a few seconds before Harry remembered that the match hadn't taken place yet, and that he was safe in bed. Slytherin team wouldn't be allowed to play on dragons, Matthew had plenty of maple syrup now-courtesy of the house elves, and thank God there wasn't that many Snapes in the world.
Harry's mouth felt dry and sticky from thirst. He quietly crawled out of his four-poster bed and went to pour himself from the silver jug beneath the window.
Alfred turned over in his bed and muttered in a thick accent. "Naw...I don' like soup...'s gross...no more..."
Harry frowned. Alfred had nightmares about soup? With his reaction to Dementors, one would think there was more disturbing things Alfred's brain could cook up. Harry shook his head and looked back out the window.
The grounds were still and quiet. No breath of wind disturbed the treetops of the Forbidden Forest; the Whomping Willow was motionless and innocent-looking. It looked as though the conditions for the match would be perfect.
Harry set down his goblet and was about to turn back to bed when something caught his eye. An animal prowling across the silvery lawn.
Harry dashed to his bedside table, snatched up his glasses, and put them on, then hurried back to the window. It couldn't be the Grim. Not now-not right before the match...
He peered out at the grounds again, spotting the creature again, skirting the edge of the forest...Harry breathed a sigh of relief. It was just a cat. He'd recognize that bottlebrush tail anywhere. It was only Crookshanks...
The cat came to a halt, and seemed to watch the forest intently, waiting for something. Harry pressed his nose against the glass of the window and squinted, trying to distinguish the shadowy form moving about in the darkness of the brush.
And just then, it emerged. A gigantic, shaggy black dog, moving stealthily across the lawn, Crookshanks trotting at it's side. Harry stared. What did this mean? if Crookshanks could see the dog as well, how could it be an omen of Harry's death?
The Gryffindor boy glanced around the dorm room, wondering if he should wake someone up. He glanced out the window again, to see that both animals had disappeared.
Harry and the rest of the Gryffindor team entered the Great Hall the next day to enormous applause. Harry couldn't help grinning broadly as he saw that both the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff tables were applauding as well. The Slytherin table hissed loudly as they passed. Harry couldn't help but notice that Malfoy looked even paler than usual.
Wood spent most of breakfast urging his team to eat, while touching nothing himself. Then he hurried them off to the field before anyone else had finished, so that they could get an idea of the conditions. As they left the Great Hall, everyone applauded again.
"Good luck, Harry!" Cho, the Ravenclaw seeker, called. Harry felt himself blushing.
"Okay-no wind, which is good. Sun's a bit bright, that could impair your vision. So watch out for it...the ground's fairly hard, good for a fast kickoff..."
Wood paced the field, staring around with the team behind him. Finally, they saw the front doors of the castle open in the distance and the rest of the school spilling out onto the lawn.
"Locker rooms," Wood ordered tersely.
No one spoke as they changed into their scarlet robes. Harry wondered if they were feeling as nervous as himself. Like he'd eaten something wriggly for breakfast. In what seemed like no time at all, Wood was saying, "Okay, it's time..." He paused and took a deep breath before finishing with, "Let's go."
They walked out onto the field to a tidal wave of noise. Three quarters of the crowd was wearing scarlet rosettes, waving scarlet flags with the Gryffindor lion upon them, or brandishing banners with slogans like "GO GRYFFINDOR!" and "LIONS FOR THE CUP." Some of the most noticeable members of this crowd were the scarlet-clad Professor McGonagall, and a quietly smiling Professor Lupin sitting next to her. Along with Professor Kirkland, who wore a Gryffindor rosette and a smirk despite his dark green robes.
Two hundred people behind the Slytherin goalposts, wore green; the glittering silver serpent of Slytherin adorning their flags. Professor Snape sat in the very front row, wearing green like the others, his face twisted into a horribly grim smile.
"And here are the Gryffindors!" the acting commentator, Lee Jordan, yelled. "Potter, Bell, Johnson, Spinnet-"
Hermione jumped when she heard Alfred's loud voice next to her ear. "WOOOHOOOOO! GOOOOOO GRYFFINDOR! KICK SLYTHERIN-ASS!"
Ron shot an incredibly annoyed look the American's way. "I can't hear the commentator with you shouting like that, Alfred!"
"Well what am I supposed to do at a game?" Alfred inquired jokingly. "Be polite?"
Fourteen brooms rose into the air. The crowd roared. Two figures separated from the rest. One in red, the other in green. Harry and Malfoy were off in search of the Snitch.
"And it's Gryffindor in possession, Alicia Spinner of Gryffindor with the Quaffle, heading straight for the Slytherin goal posts, looking good, Alicia! Argh, no-Quaffle intercepted by Warrington, Warrington drops the Quaffle, it's caught by-Johnson, Gryffindor back in possession, come on, Angelina-nice swerve around Montague-duck, Angelina, that's a Bludger!-SHE SCORES! TEN-ZERO TO GRYFFINDOR!"
Angelina punched the air as she soared around the end of the field; the stands went wild with delight.
There was a collective gasp as Marcus Flint went smashing into her. Alfred jumped to his feet. "NOT COOL, ASSHOLE!"
Matthew forced his brother back into his seat with a visible effort. "Don't let McGonagall hear you say that!"
Alfred looked at his brother moodily for a brief moment, before jumping to his feet and yelling incoherently in the general direction of the field to show his support for Gryffindor.
Madam Hooch's whistle blew-a penalty shot for each team. Silence descended on the crowd. Ron leaned forward in his seat. Matthew and Hermione watched with avid interest, watching Slytherin for any cheating. Alfred was practically vibrating in his seat as he waited impatiently for something to happen.
"YES! SHE'S BEATEN THE KEEPER! TWENTY-ZERO TO GRYFFINDOR!"
The crowd cheered, and rapidly quieted again as Flint flew to take the Slytherin penalty. Wood's hovering scarlet figure could be seen in front of the Gryffindor goalposts.
"Wood's a superb Keeper!" Lee Jordan informed the crowd as the teams waited for Madam Hooch's whistle. "Superb! Very difficult to pass-very difficult indeed-YES! I DON'T BELIEVE IT! HE'S SAVED IT!"
Ron did a funny little victory dance in his seat, much to his friends amusement. But he clearly didn't care. This was Quidditch, and unmanly dances were perfectly acceptable here.
"Gryffindor's in possession, no, Slytherin in possession-no! Gryffindor back in possession and it's Katie Bell, Katie for Gryffindor with the Quaffle, she's streaking up the field-THAT WAS DELIBERATE!"
Montague, a Slytherin Chaser, had swerved in front of Katie, and grabbed her head instead of the Quaffle. Katie did a cartwheel in the air, but thankfully managed to stay on her broom. Though she'd dropped the Quaffle.
Madam Hooch's whistle rang out as she soared over to Montague and shouted at him. Katie had put another penalty past Slytherin a moment later.
"THIRTY-ZERO! TAKE THAT, YOU DIRTY, CHEATING-"
"Jordan, if you can't commentate in an unbiased way-"
"I'm telling it like it is, Professor!"
Harry's figure could be seen to zoom towards the Slytherin end, Malfoy haring right behind him. A Bludger streaked past Harry's head, hit the gigantic Slytherin Beater, Derrick. The second Beater, Bole, was closing in. Harry could be seen to wrench his Firebolt straight up, causing the two Slytherins to collide.
The crowd cheered and chanted their support. The Slytherins booed harshly.
"IF YOU HAD BIRD BRAINS, YOU'D FLY BACKWARDS!" Alfred hollered at two Slytherin players who passed over their heads.
"And it's Gryffindor in possession again, as Johnson takes the Quaffle-Flint alongside her-poke him in the eye, Angelina!-it was a joke, Professor, a joke-oh no-Flint in possession, Flint flying towards the Gryffindor goal posts, come on, Wood, save-!"
Flint scored; there was an answering eruption of cheers from Slytherin bleachers. Lee swore so badly that Professor McGonagall tried to tug the magical megaphone away from him.
"Sorry, Professor, sorry! Won't happen again! So, Gryffindor in the lead, thirty points to ten, and Gryffindor in possession-"
It was rapidly becoming the dirtiest game they'd seen this year. Slytherins were resorting to any means to take the Quaffle, physical violence included. Gryffindors were retaliating in kind. Hooch gave both teams penalties, and the score ended up at forty points to ten. Gryffindor was in the lead.
"GO! GO! GRYFFINDOR!" Alfred chanted steadily. Soon the whole crowd was doing it-even Professor Kirkland.
Katie scores. Fifty-ten. Illegal attack on Wood; Gryffindor penalty. Now the score was sixty-ten. Alicia steals a Quaffle from under Warrington and puts it through the Slytherin goal. Seventy-ten, now.
Gryffindor's supporters screamed themselves hoarse. Ron jumped to his feet. "CATCH THE SNITCH, HARRY! CATCH IT NOW!"
Harry could be seen to put on a huge burst of speed. Malfoy surged forward and latched onto Harry's broom, slowing it down by pulling back.
Madam Hooch blew her whistle sharply and shot up to Malfoy, who was sliding back onto his Nimbus Two Thousand and One.
"YOU CHEATING SCUM!" Lee Jordan howled into the megaphone. "YOU FILTHY, CHEATING B-"
McGonagall wasn't even bothering to tell him off. She was actually shaking her finger and shouting furiously at the pale Slytherin boy. Her hat had fallen off, revealing a pinched and angry expression that no one wanted to be subject to.
Surprisingly, it was Matthew that jumped to his feet and roared louder than anyone had heard him yet. "YOU'RE NOT AN ATHLETE-YOU'RE A FUCKING DOGGER! A WASTE OF SKIN!"
Ron leaned away from the Canadian, surprised and a little fearful at his sudden and uncharacteristic outburst of vehemence.
Alicia took Gryffindor's penalty, but missed by several feet because she was so angry. The team was losing concentration and Slytherin was catching up.
"Slytherin in possession, Slytherin heading for goal-Montague scores-" Lee groaned. "Seventy-twenty to Gryffindor..."
Harry could be seen on Malfoy's tail, marking him so closely that it was a wonder that they hadn't collided. Malfoy tried to turn, but Harry deftly blocked him.
"Angelina Johnson gets the Quaffle for Gryffindor, come on, Angelina, COME ON!"
Every Slytherin player save for Malfoy streaked up the pitch and towards Angelina, including the Slytherin Keeper. They were going to block her. Harry made a sharp turn and kicked his Firebolt forward. He shot towards the Slytherins like a bullet. The Slytherins scattered.
"SHE SCORES! SHE SCORES! Gryffindor leads by eighty points to twenty!"
Harry skidded to a halt in midair, reversed, and zoomed back into the middle of the field.
Malfoy's figure suddenly dived towards the ground, where a faint gold glimmer could be seen hovering a few feet off of the grass.
"HARRY!" Matthew yelled in alarm.
"GET THE FUCKING BALL!" Alfred boomed. Ron and Hermione both clutched their ears and watched the game anxiously.
Harry, as if hearing them, shot off towards the Snitch. He threw himself forward, knocking Malfoy out of the way with one arm and grabbing with the other. He pulled out of his dive and raised his clutched fist in the air victoriously.
"YES! POTTER'S CAUGHT THE SNITCH! THE GAME GOES TO GRYFFINDOR!"
The team clumped together in embrace and sank down to the ground together. Alfred dashed from his seat and down the wooden stairs that would lead to the field, intent on getting ahead of the crowd. Matthew and Ron high-fived. They then each grabbed one of the Hermione's wrists and led her down to the field.
Wave upon wave of crimson supporters poured over the barriers and onto the field. Hands rained down on their backs. Harry had a confused impression of noise and bodies pressing in on him. Then he, and the rest of the team, were hoisted onto the shoulders of the crowd. Harry looked down and saw none other than Alfred single-handedly balancing him on his shoulder. He looked up and saw Hagrid, covered in crimson rosettes-"Yeh beat 'em, Harry! And Professor Kirkland-"Good show, lad!"
There was Percy, jumping up and down like a maniac, all dignity forgotten. Professor McGonagall was sobbing even harder than Wood, wiping her eyes with an enormous Gryffindor flag; Ron, Hermione, and Matthew fought their way towards Harry and Alfred. Words failed them. They simply beamed as Harry was borne towards the stands, where Dumbledore stood waiting with the enormous Quidditch Cup.
If only there'd been a Dementor around...As a sobbing Wood passed Harry the Cup, and he lifted it into the air, Harry felt he could have produced the world's best Patronus.
Yay! Slightly longer chapter! (mostly filler...) But more words! Huzzah! I promise that more is going on in the next chapter, though. Virtual pinky-swear.
Thanks for all the reviews, follows, and favs! Filler or not, what'd you think of it? Reviews are usually the best way to tell me...
Later dudes. ^J^