Chapter 8: Quidditch

The beginning of November brought Snape's usual announcement that he expected all of Slytherin House in their common room after dinner. However, this time no one bothered placing bets on which of the month's various incidents and transgressions would be the subject of this evening's lecture. Instead, the same thought occupied everyone's mind so strongly that no one was listening to Snape; instead, the whole of Slytherin waited with bated breath to see which of their classmates would dare to bring it up first.

They didn't have long to wait, for they'd scarcely been seated five minutes when Elvira Hardell, a fifth-year girl known for her aptitude for dueling and her intimidating stare, put up her hand.

"I do not recall asking a question, Miss Hardell," said Snape smoothly.

"Please, sir, I was wondering if you could tell us anything about the Chamber of Secrets."

At once the energy in the room shifted palpably as everyone tried, with varying levels of success, to act nonchalant. It was obvious, however, that every single person in the room was positively bursting with anticipation. Draco focused with all his might on keeping his eyes glued to the tapestry above him. He could feel Blaise shifting uncomfortably in his seat, and lightly smacked his arm.

"That is not an appropriate topic for this discussion, Miss Hardell," said Snape coldly. "As I was saying-may I help you, Mr. Pucey?"

"Sir, it's just that we've all been wondering...I mean, with everything that's happened."

"Mr. Pucey, if you put half as much time and effort toward your studies as you do toward matters that do not concern you, perhaps you would not have failed your last Transfiguration exam."

Adrien Pucey fell silent. However, the rest of the older Slytherins were emboldened now and a barrage of questions broke out from the sixth and seventh years at the front of the room. Draco and Blaise sneaked a look at one another, and Draco certainly hoped his eyes weren't glowing with anticipation the way Blaise's were. In front of them, Professor Snape looked livid.

"Silence," he hissed. "I should not have to say more than once that this topic is closed."

"Sir, is it true the Chamber has been opened before?" At once, every head in the room turned toward Felix Rosier, a sixth-year seated on the edge of the group. He was looking at Snape very intently, and Draco felt a shiver down his spine.

"That will do, Rosier," said Snape, with an air of awful finality. "Allow me to be perfectly clear. The Chamber does not exist. The monster does not exist. The very serious incident which occurred on Halloween is the sole concern of the Headmaster and those he entrusts to assist him. Should I find evidence, no matter how slim, that anyone in Slytherin House has attempted to insert themselves into this matter, I shall be most displeased, and rest assured that person shall be severely punished. Is that understood?"

There were a few nods and scattered murmurs of ascent, and within moments, Snape returned to enumerating the various ways they'd brought shame to their House and their families this month, but Draco wasn't listening, and he was far from alone. By the time Snape released them back to their own devices, small clusters had formed with their heads together, whispering rapidly to one another and casting suspicious looks around the room.

"What about it, Draco?" asked Blaise, in a low voice. "You've got to write to your dad now, you've got to."

"You heard Snape," snapped Draco. "Besides, what would you do if you knew who it was? Help them? You're twelve." Without waiting for a response, he stood and made his way up to the dormitory. He threw himself onto his bed without bothering to turn on the light or undress, and relished the darkness as he pulled the hangings shut. He was quite used to words from the day's conversations echoing through his mind, and this time, they were his own.

What would you do if you knew who it was? Help them?

And suddenly, he knew he needed to know who it was. Whatever it took, he had to find out who was behind the attack on Halloween. Not to help them-indeed, he wasn't sure what he would do if he found them-but the longer the Heir of Slytherin roamed unchecked around the castle, the longer Hermione was in a kind of danger that turned his blood to ice and his stomach to stone. If she was searching for the Heir, then so would he. He just needed to make sure he found them first.

Harry and Ron seemed to give up on the idea of the Polyjuice Potion very quickly-suspiciously quickly, Hermione thought, but as the days wore on, they still spoke of the attack often but showed no signs of forming any sort of plan to catch the Heir in action. In fact, the person whose behavior seemed most changed following the attack was Ginny. She'd been quite animated before, and now seemed remarkably subdued, retreating into the corner of the Gryffindor common room in the evenings to quietly pore over her homework, often with Theo's kitten happily asleep in her lap. This, Hermione thought, was quite sweet; she'd already known Theo didn't have the malicious streak so many of his housemates seemed to share, but she'd still found herself stunned at how kind he'd been to Ginny in her first months at Hogwarts. However, after the attack on Halloween, he no longer seemed able to cheer her up. According to Ron, she was a great lover of cats, but something told Hermione this wasn't the whole story.

She firmly rebuffed Hermione's halfhearted attempts to discuss the attack, however, until one dreary morning halfway through November. Hermione had gone down to breakfast quite early, and therefore found herself alone at the Gryffindor table. She was relishing the quiet and reading a few chapters of Holidays with Hags when, quite suddenly, someone slipped into the seat across from her. She looked up, startled, and saw that it was Ginny, looking much paler and much more serious than usual.

"Er-" she began, but Ginny interrupted.

"I don't think you should be looking into the Chamber stuff anymore," she blurted at once. Startled, Hermione opened her mouth to speak, but Ginny put up a hand to silence her. "I know you've read up on it, and I know you're trying to catch the Heir. I heard you and Draco in the library, and he's right. You've got to stop. It's really dangerous." She paused, as if considering saying something else, then shook her head and, before Hermione could say anything, fled, leaving Hermione feeling as if she'd been struck around the head with a troll's club.

Mid-November ushered in raw cold, driving rain, and the beginning of Quidditch season. After nearly two months of training, Draco worked quite well with the rest of the team and the general consensus was that he had much better prospects than Higgs before him. He enjoyed training very much, but it was often repetitive, and carried no real risk. He was therefore quite anxious, by the time the first match arrived, to play in a real game.

By the morning of the match against Gryffindor, he supposed he ought to be nervous, but couldn't seem to summon the feeling. Instead, everything around him simply felt fuzzy and slightly removed, and time passed much more quickly than usual, with the result that he felt as if he'd scarcely blinked and then it was eleven o'clock and he was making his way, hidden from view by his much taller teammates, down to the packed Quidditch pitch.

"Scared?" asked Lucy, as they prepared to step out of the locker room and onto the pitch.

"Not really," he answered smoothly, and realized this was still true. Energy seemed to flow through him now, pure and slightly warm, making him feel alert and invigorated. He felt as though he'd been waiting his whole life for this moment.

"Good," she replied, grinning a little. "Me, neither." She winked, and then they were walking out onto the field. Madam Hooch made Flint and Wood shake hands, which neither looked pleased about in the slightest.

"Oh my whistle," said Madam Hooch. "Three...Two...One…"

And then fourteen players rose simultaneously into the sky. Draco shot up slightly higher than the rest, watching the mad rush for the Quaffle below and scanning the air for a glimmer of gold. Potter shot up as well, and stopped cold.

"You!" he snapped, looking shocked. Draco gave him a cocky grin and a slight shrug, but before he could say anything, a Bludger pelted through the air toward them, missing Potter's head by centimeters. Instinctively Draco shot down to avoid it, but he'd no sooner got out of its path than Fred Weasley-or George, it was impossible to tell, and in any case, who cared?-smacked it back toward him.

"Close one, Harry!" cried Weasley, and before Draco could dodge the oncoming Bludger, he realized it wouldn't be necessary; it had changed direction in midair, seemingly of its own volition, and was headed straight back toward Potter. That was odd. No, not odd-it was impossible. But, Draco supposed, it meant he didn't have to worry about having his skull bashed in. It began to rain, great droplets pelting down from the heavens and soaking them within minutes. It occurred to Draco for a moment to be annoyed, but almost at once, a wonderful realization struck him: Potter, his only real opponent, wore glasses. It was raining, he was competing to spot a tiny, walnut-sized hunk of gold in a mess of other flying colors, and at the moment, the other Seeker likely couldn't see. Seizing his window of opportunity in case it was short-lived, Draco shot up once again and looped around the stadium, weaving in and out of the action until, twenty feet below him, he saw a glimmer of gold. He put on a burst of speed and dove at once, and the tiny ball zipped left and right in an effort to avoid him but he was gaining, nearly there, and then Madam Hooch's whistle split the air, signaling a time out.

"What the hell's going on?" he called to Lucy, who was nearest. Now that he looked up, he realized the Gryffindor team was huddled together at the other end of the pitch, looking distraught.

"One of the Bludgers won't leave Potter alone," she replied, shrugging slightly. "If I were them I'd forfeit the match, but if I know Oliver Wood, he'd rather die."

Draco sighed, annoyed. It didn't matter the reason for the time-out, the result was the same. By the time Madam Hooch's whistle signaled a return to play, the Snitch had long since disappeared. The moment the Gryffindor team rejoined the field, Draco shot upward to begin his search anew. It appeared as if Potter had also realized Draco's advantage when it came to his sight, for he stuck to Draco like a plaster for the remainder of the match. This made sense-he was larger and easier to spot than the Snitch, and Potter could simply allow Draco to find the Snitch for him-but it was also absolutely infuriating, and had the extremely unpleasant consequence of sending the rogue Bludger after Draco, too. He therefore found himself forced to search for the glint of gold between waving scarlet arms out of the corner of one eye and a menacing black blur out of the corner of the other, and he had to change course frequently to avoid being hit by the Bludger. When he spotted the Snitch for the second time, he knew he couldn't afford to miss it. He had to end the game, and end it now. However, although his broom was a shade slower than Draco's, Potter was in hot pursuit and would make certain Draco didn't reach the Snitch. Making a split-second decision, Draco pulled a hairpin turn and dove in the opposite direction, hoping Potter would think he'd seen the Snitch there and follow. It worked; Potter shot after him, elbowing him fiercely to pull ahead as he drew level. Draco, however, pulled back at once. He shot back in the other direction, the real direction he'd seen the Snitch, and there it was. He made a desperate grab, and felt his hand close around cold metal. Over his shoulder, a sickening crunch told him the Bludger had, at long last, made contact with its target.

He scarcely heard the roar of the crowd, Madam Hooch's whistle ending the game, or the commentator declaring Slytherin the winner. In fact, as he landed and allowed himself to be buried in the team's jubilant hugs and cheers, he scarcely heard anything but the beating of his own heart in his ears. He'd done it. He'd proven himself. No one, not the Gryffindor team, not Snape, not his father, could say he didn't deserve his spot on the team.

The common room was very loud that evening. The older students had sneaked firewhiskey in from Hogsmeade, and it added a celebratory mood to the proceedings that Draco hadn't seen in the common room before. By and large, the older students ignored the younger ones, but Lucy drew Draco into their crowd enthusiastically, and tried to offer him a drink.

"I'll take that," snapped Flint, swooping down and snatching the flask away from her. "He may be brilliant, but he's still only twelve, and I won't be the one to explain to old Lucius Malfoy that I've murdered his son. Watch her," he added to Draco, giving him a significant look as he passed. Draco, however, slipped off to find Blaise and Theo, who were taking advantage of the older students' distractions to bask in the good armchairs nearest the fire. Blaise was in the midst of a lively game of Exploding Snap with Vince, but he looked up as Draco joined them.

"There he is," he said grandly. "I'm not sure how to feel about you, at the moment. On the one hand, you were bloody brilliant. On the other hand, it seems you've been keeping secrets for the past two months, and you know how I feel about secrets." Draco laughed and threw himself into an armchair next to Theo.

"I'll never do it again," he promised. "Unless I feel like it, and then I will do it again." He paused. "It's probably safest to assume I'll do it again." Blaise laughed.

"I thought you'd say something like that," he said wisely, and promptly paid for his lapse in concentration as he lost his game.

Theo turned away from the fire then, and gave Draco a grin that tugged at something deep inside him, though he couldn't have said what.

"You really were brilliant," he said softly. "And by the way, I wouldn't fix your hair. It looks much better like that." It was very faint, but Draco felt a tinge of something like electricity travel through his whole body at these words.

What the hell, he thought to himself, as Theo turned back to face the fire. He stared, for a moment, at his friend's left ear, then shook his head to clear it and turned back to watch Blaise exact his brutal revenge on Vince.