I'm fully prepared in uniform with my equipment sporadically encircled around me. My thighs shake like leaves against the bench. I couldn't stop my left foot from tapping the ground if my life depended on it.

The rest of my team is already on the field. The taunting roar of the crowd echoes throughout the vacant locker room.

Naturally, my nerves are getting the best of me as they always did before a big game. Mentally preparing for the first quidditch match, however, is the most unnerving experience I've ever experienced.

As I finally force myself to exit the locker room, I almost run face first into Ginny. The Gryffindor team captain sucks in a few needed breaths while placing her hands on her knees. Her ponytail swishes around the side of her neck as she plants both gloved fists on her hips.

"Ginny," I say faintly. "What're you doing here?"

"Looking for you, of course." Her eyebrows lower. "Marcus told me you were in here; hiding."

"I am not hiding," I insist. I roll my eyes at myself. "Well.. I was on my way out, wasn't I?"

The skittish expression that's plastered across my face isn't too convincing.

Ginny squares my shoulders toward her and shakes my upper body. "Snap out of it, Harry. You've had an incredible success rate, even against me; the Queen of quidditch." She lightly smirks as her eyes erratically search my face. "You conquered a bloody lindworm!" she adds with a bewildered smile. "Surely you can fly around for an hour."

"You got me there," I reply with a forced smile. "Why're you doing this? Being so.. nice. We aren't on the same team.."

"Are we not?" she shoots back full of sarcasm. "Because I believe in you, Potter. I'm not going to let your nerves get to you." A high-pitched whistle pierces our ears. "Now get your arse on the pitch already!"

I extract a sharp breath, a small smile appearing on my face, before following orders. Daunting cheers electrify through my body as I join the rest of my team.

I approach Malfoy's side who unsurprisingly appears calm and collected. We silently bump forearms with a quick nod. Flint paces back and forth, intertwining himself through our team for one last inspection.

"Alright you lot!" Flint announces, positioning himself front and center. He points to his chaser colleagues. "Remember, don't hog the quaffle. We need movement out there!" His finger trails to the beaters next. "Keep heavy defense on the Weasleys," he adds as his focus continues down the line. "No use of magic or jinxes in the air.." The upperclassmen lazily nod their heads, paying half attention to the preamble they've heard a million times over.

"Potter, stay on Wood's tail.. And finally; Bletchley.." Flint sighs while pointing to our keeper. "Just don't let the bloody quaffle get through our goal, alright mate?" The team shoots each other eager excited looks, bouncing around as our adrenaline builds. "Let's go kick Gryffindors arse!"

A second, unnecessarily high-pitched whistle ricochets across the field. I use my forearm as a shield between myself and the bright morning sun. Each bleacher is filled to capacity with housemates decked out in their respective color. Even though I practiced on the grassland daily, it appears tremendously bigger occupying the four houses.

The commentator projects her voice across the field speaking into her wand. She announces each team and telecasts the basic rules of the game.

We readily mount our brooms waiting for the third, shrill whistle. Everyone's cheers of excitement rattle my chest. I wipe my sweaty palms on my pants transitioning my broom into the other hand.

The third whistle sounds, and I lean my body weight toward the front of the sturdy ebony stick. I have a smooth and steady incline once my feet leave the ground. Practicing my arse off certainly had its benefits, and learning how to master my broom was one of them.

I peer across the way once we reach playing level. Fred and George idiotically wave their hands at me, and I notice Malfoy shake his head at them out of my peripheral. Oliver Wood, the Gryffindor seeker, idly hovers opposite of me. We hastily shoot each other a quick nod.

A final, deafening whistle signals the beginning of the match.

Slytherin is in possession of the quaffle based off a random draw. The bludgers instantly take off on their own spastic route. My team mates shoot past me, heavy on offense.

I levitate above a fifth tower which holds the professors and the headmaster. Scanning the crowd beneath me, I identify Professor Snape sitting adjacent to Dumbledore. Snape's beady eyes are stuck to me like glue as expected.

My ears perk once the speakers boom:

Flint speeds through the defense and takes a spinning shot towards the left hoop.. And Cormac takes a flying dive to block the pass! Brilliant save by Gryffindor!

The audience howls in elation.

The quaffle is passed to Angelina Johnson, beginning her first play of the match. She makes her way to the midpoint of the pitch. Fantastic offensive play as Angelina passes to Katie Bell- OH! And I spoke too soon.. Draco Malfoy intercepts the pass and Slytherin is back in possession!

The crowd silences.

I make my way toward the mid-line, intrigued by my roommate's confident and aggressive game play. The impressive tenacity keeps him mainly on the opposing side, boldly taking shot after shot.

And Draco darts toward the Gryffindor post, going for the- My goodness! Fred interferes with a fluid play, smacking the bludger to his twin, nearly hitting Draco. He dodges the bludger, only by inches, and Slytherin loses ownership of the quaffle!

The masses go wild.

Finally, both of the Weasleys are keeping their eye on the freshman chaser. Good.. and delayed, strategy by Gryffindor.

I'm torn from the intense showdown as I hear a familiar buzzing sound. The shiny, beautiful, pain in the arse golden snitch comes soaring my way. I direct my broom toward the prize to be won and speedily propel after it.

It looks as though Harry Potter has gained sight of the snitch, just as Flint reclaims possession.. We may have a quick match today, folks!

And that's when the 'boo's start from below.

Over the hum of the melodic whistling snitch, I hear the thunderous boom of Oliver's broomstick headed straight for me.

Extremely early on in the game, Wood and I initiate the race toward the game finisher.

Oliver catches up to Harry, hot on his tail. Uh oh! It looks as though Harry doesn't see the-

"Watch out!" Marcus shouts from behind me, holding the quaffle, as a trail of Gryffindors jet behind him.

I duck at the very last second, and avoid being beheaded by a rogue bludger.

And Harry barely dodges the bludger. Rookie move by Slytherin; you have to keep your head on a swivel out there!

Momentarily spiraling downward, I yank the broom stick toward myself and shift my body weight back. I eagerly resume my pursuit once I regain balance. Picking up speed, I rapidly ascend toward Wood and the snitch.

We follow the metallic ball's journey while carefully interweaving between players.

Flint maintains possession of the quaffle, and pans the pitch for his teammates. Slytherin lacks in backup as George and Fred target the veteran team captain! They keeps their eyes peeled for the closest bludger to knock him off his game..

I spot one of the bludgers that they were lacking to find.. and it's headed straight for me. Prompting a swift acceleration, I manage to fly over yet another dense wooden ball.

Impressive move by Flint as he rockets into the sky, hopeful to shake the seasoned beaters. But no luck so far.. Blimey! And Draco nears his side; wide open. Beautiful pass! It looks as though Flint gives his fellow Slytherin the perfect set up to-

DING!

The buzzer sounds, and I glance behind me at the Gryffindor goal. Cormac has a hissy fit in midair, hovering in front of the furthest right hoop that had just been penetrated.

AND DRACO MALFOY MAKES THE FIRST SCORE OF THE YEAR FOR SLYTHERIN! What a play by the first-year chaser! Better take notes, Gryffindor.

I make a fist excitedly moving it about. We're only minutes into the game, and we're already destroying our opponent.

All I had to do was close the deal for my team. The spotlight was on me and it was my time to shine.

Suddenly, I feel the Nimbus 2020's power weaken between my fingers. I can no longer ascend, and I'm expeditiously sputtering out of gas. The amount of force I use to pull upward is rendered useless. The more I resist, the faster I decline.

The magic had been savagely stripped from my broom and no longer holds the ability to defy gravity.

I swallow a hefty mouthful of air as I squint at the ground stories beneath me. The crowd mirrors a swarm of fitful ants from my current perspective.

I whimper, bracing for the inevitable. The initial fluid descent is compromised as the velocity of my fall picks up momentum. I hold on for dear life and squeeze my eyes shut as I free fall from the sky. My broom immediately nose dives, plummeting straight to the ground at a 90-degree angle.

No matter which way I spastically jerk it around, the Nimbus 2020 defiantly continues an uncontrollable plunge. Screams are heard from below as the school watches my hopeless attempts to regain power over the broom.

My life is in serious danger, and there isn't a single thing I can do other than accept the fact that I'm about to crash.

The terrain is nearing closer and closer, and I'm seconds from death.

Using every ounce of strength left in my body, I give one last aggressive yank. The resistance alleviates as my Nimbus 2020 smoothly pumps the breaks. With only seconds left to spare, I rectify myself parallel to the ground and refrain from catapulting straight into the grass.

I use my trembling arms to align myself once my equilibrium is revived. The entirety of my body is shivering from head to toe. My numbed hands retain their tight grip as I gradually hover in circles.

It was obvious that my broom had been tampered with by the spiteful benefactor of my Nimbus 2020. But I'm back in control, and the game isn't over yet. I'm nauseous, dizzy, terrified, and pissed.

Despite avoiding my close call, the audience remains frantic. I turn to find that a row on the fifth tower is on fire. Professors frenziedly disperse across the bleachers outrunning the flames. The fire is eventually stomped out, and I do my best to regain focus.

Leaning back, I speedily ascend to the desired elevation. From there I seek Oliver who levitates in place. The snitch was still at large, and I was going to capture it..

.. Even if it required enduring another 90-degree free fall.

Wood suddenly blasts off in the opposite direction, signaling that a particular winged ball had grabbed his attention. No longer distracted by my plummet of death, I hear the telecaster announce:

And Oliver is close on the snitch! Harry makes his way across the field after regaining control of his broom. It's anyone's game with Slytherin back in the race for the golden snitch!

The ever-fluctuating audience excitedly howls in applause. As I fly past the Gryffindors, I get heckled with resounding 'boo's thrown my way. "Conquer Potter! Conquer Potter!"

This only fuels my fire. I'm hell bent, and I'll do virtually anything to catch that bloody snitch.

Wood flies past and leads us beneath the Gryffindor bleachers. The scarlet and gold banners shudder in the breeze as the wind howls through the enclosed area. I'm gaining traction and avoiding all physical barriers.

Once the timing is right, I purposefully falter beneath a row of pillars out of Wood's sight.

I trail within a safe distance so as to not lose momentum. Leaning all the way forward, I plateau my body against the Nimbus 2020 in midair. I momentarily free my hands and remove the concealed wand from my right glove.

I dodge another plank and pick up speed. The second I gain sight of his maroon robes, I urgently aim my wand at Oliver.

"CONFUNDO!"

A surge of energy crackles from the tip of my wand and successfully hits my target with ease.

Oliver is immediately shoved to the side and spun 180 degrees. He glares back at me thoroughly perplexed, as though he had completely forgotten where he was, or what his name was.

I take my chance, and speed past him going in for the kill.