Lyla woke early on Saturday morning and lay for a while thinking about the coming Quidditch match. She was very nervous, mainly at the thought of what Flint would say if Slytherin lost. She had never wanted to beat Gryffindor so badly. After half an hour of lying there with her insides churning, she eventually got up, dressed, and went down to breakfast early, where she found the rest of the team huddled at the long, empty table, all looking uptight and not speaking much.
As eleven o'clock approached, the whole school started to make its way down to the Quidditch stadium. It was a muggy sort of day with a hint of thunder in the air. Daphne and Blaise came hurrying over to wish Lyla and Draco good luck as they entered the locker rooms. The team pulled on their emerald green Quidditch robes, then sat down to listen to Flint's usual pre-match pep talk.
"We've trained harder than they have, we've been flying in all weathers— "("Too true," muttered Derrick with a sigh. "I haven't been properly dry since August") "— and we're going to make them rue the day they beat us over last-minute points."
Chest heaving with emotion, Flint turned to Draco, who paled visibly under the Captain's gaze.
"It'll be down to you, Draco, to show them what a real Seeker is made of. Get to that Snitch before Potter or die trying, because we've got to win today, we've just got to."
"So no pressure," snickered Bole, winking at him wickedly.
As they walked out onto the pitch, a roar of noise greeted them. Madam Hooch, the Quidditch teacher, asked Flint and Wood to shake hands, which they did, giving each other threatening stares and gripping rather harder than was necessary.
"On my whistle," said Madam Hooch. "Three... two... one..."
With a roar from the crowd to speed them upward, the fourteen players rose toward the leaden sky.
"And the Quaffle is taken immediately by Slytherin Chaser, Adrien Pucey– closely followed by fellow chasers Lyla Potter and Marcus Flint–"
Lee Jordan was back as a commentator, once more being watched by a scowling McGonagall.
"Oh dear– Come on Gryffindor! You show Slytherin how it's done–"
"Jorden, I'm warning you,"
"Sorry professor– ahem– oh! YES! Intercepted by a passing Bludger sent by Fred Weasley–? uh, no, my mistake, George Weasley–"
Lyla sped up the field until she was beside Angelina Johnson, shoulder to shoulder.
"Come on Angelina! You're so close to– OUCH! Bludger to the back of the head! Slytherin is now in possession of the Quaffle."
Lyla, Quaffle wrapped under a secure arm, sharply turned the direction of her broom, easily dodging Bludgers and other flying figures. Behind her, she knew Marcus and Adrien were behind her.
"Would you watch her fly– it's like Lyla Potter was born on a broom or something– look– uh oh, what could be happening–"
Lyla faltered, as a heavy black Bludger came sharply into perspective right towards her face. She shot upwards, breaking the formation she and the Slytherin Chasers had been practicing like mad. She avoided it so narrowly that she felt it ruffle her hair as it whipped passed.
"Close one, Potter!" shouted Bole, streaking past her with his club in his hand, ready to knock the Bludger back toward a figure wearing scarlet robes. Lyla saw the large boy give the Bludger a powerful whack in the direction of Chaser Katie Bell but the Bludger changed direction in midair and shot straight for Lyla again.
Now weaving madly towards the goal hoops on the opposing side of the pitch, Lyla felt as if her stomach was churning with nerves once more. With a great yell, she threw the Quaffle behind her at random, hoping that Adrien was ready. She didn't have enough time to watch if she'd succeeded, as she was now spinning madly about, trying to keep the Bludger from knocking into her skull.
Derrick had managed to hit it hard toward Alicia Spinnet. Once again, the Bludger swerved like a boomerang and shot at Lyla's head. She put on a burst of speed and zoomed toward the other end of the pitch. She could hear the Bludger whistling along behind her, almost screaming What was going on? Bludgers never concentrated on one player like this; it was their job to try and unseat as many people as possible…
Bole was waiting for the Bludger at the other end. Lyla swerved and ducked as he swung at the Bludger with all his might; the Bludger was knocked off course.
"Gotcha!" Bole yelled happily, but he was wrong; as though it was magnetically attracted to Lyla, the Bludger pelted after her once more and Lyla was forced to fly off at full speed.
It had started to rain; Lyla felt heavy drops fall onto his face, splattering onto her face and in her eyes. She didn't have a clue what was going on in the rest of the game until she heard Lee Jordan, who was commentating, say, "Slytherin lead, sixty points to thirty."
Thank goodness Adrian and Marcus seemed to be doing alright a Chaser short. Bole and Derrick were now flying so close to Lyla on either side that she could see nothing at all except their flailing arms.
"Someone's — tampered — with — this — Bludger —" Bole grunted, swinging his bat with all his might at it as it launched a new attack on Lyla.
"We need a time out!" yelled George, trying to signal to Marcus and stop the Bludger breaking from breaking Lyla's nose at the same time. Having obviously gotten the message, he waved his arms until Madam Hooch's whistle rang out. Lyla, Bole, and Derrick all dived for the ground, still trying to avoid the mad Bludger.
"What the hell is going on!?" shouted Flint as the Slytherin team huddled together. "We're beating Gryffindor! Bole, Derrick, where were you when the Bludger stopped Adrien from scoring!?"
"We were twenty feet above him, stopping the other Bludger from murdering Lyla," snarled Bole. "Someone's fixed it— it won't leave her alone for a second. It hasn't gone for anyone else all game. The Gryffindors must have done something to it."
Flint narrowed his eyes and gazed upwards, biting his lip as he stared at where Oliver stood huddled around the Gryffindor team.
"But the Bludgers have been locked in Madam Hooch's office since our last practice," reasoned Draco, frowning, "and there was nothing wrong with them then..."
"It's fine," said Lyla with a small wave of her hand. "You two need to stop circling me– you need to do your jobs and knock the Gryffindors around."
"You're mental!" said Bole with exasperation, "you'll definitely come out of this game with a cracked skull, Potter."
"No, she's right," said Flint, eyeing the redhead with amazing eyes. "If you two keep this up, Gryffindor will score on us and beat us in no time. We need you knocking the Chasers and Seeker off course, or we're bound to lose."
Madam Hooch was walking toward them. Over her shoulder, Lyla could see the Gryffindor team watching them carefully. Arabella looked as if she was pushing her way towards where the Slytherins stood but appeared to be restrained by one of the Weasley twins.
"I can do this," she said confidently, "I'm a good enough flyer to avoid it, though I don't know how much I can be of help when it comes to scoring."
"Let me go!" Arabella said loudly, trying to wrestle free of George's grip. "I've got to see what's going on! She's nearly died at least a dozen times!"
"The other Gryffindors shook their heads, anxiously shooting the opposing team's worried glances.
"Keep it cool," breathed Fred, looking pale. His gingery hair was now plastered to his face.
"Surly Madam Hooch will figure out what's wrong," reassured George, grip still firm on the younger girl's shoulder.
Moments later, Madam Hooch approved the Gryffindors and nodded.
"Ready to fly?" she asked, gesturing to the Slytherin's who were all mounting their broomsticks.
The rain was falling more heavily now. On Madam Hooch's whistle, Arabella kicked hard into the air. No sooner had she lifted off, she heard the telltale whoosh of a Bludger behind her. George materialized beside her and smacked it away wildly, sending it towards Draco, who just barely dodged it. However, it turned sharply and pelted towards Arabella now. The crowd below groaned.
"Oh my god!" yelled Lee Jordan in the commentator's box, "has this mad Bludger switched targets now? Just what is going on?"
"What– is– this–?!" grunted George as he once again hit the Bludger at Adrian Pucey.
"It's been tampered with!" shouted Fred.
Higher and higher Arabella climbed; she looped and swooped, spiraled, zigzagged, and rolled. Slightly dizzy, she nevertheless kept her eyes wide open, watching the blonde head that was Draco from the corner of her eyes. While the Weasley twins circled her to keep the Bludger from knocking her off, she could hear the crowd underneath her gasp, scream, and cry. She began a kind of roller-coaster ride around the edges of the stadium and gazed at where Adrian Pucey was trying to get past Wood.
A whistle blew before she could think of a strategy out of this predicament and she reluctantly met the Gryffindors on the pitch.
"Why's it gone after you suddenly?" asked Alicia, eyes wide.
"Nevermind that," said Arabella, quickly looking at the score of the game. Forty-five to one hundred and thirty. Gryffindor was falling further and further behind.
"Listen!" shouted Arabella to be overheard over the crowds clammering voices, "Fred, George, I can't have you flying around me. The only way I'm going to catch the Snitch is if it flies up my sleeve. Go back to the rest of the team and let me deal with the rogue one.
"Don't be thick," laughed Fred. "It'll take your head off, Arabella"
"Well, from where I'm standing, I don't think we can win, so at this point," she replied tightly. "I just want to catch the Snitch and end the game already before the Bludger decides to refocus back on Lyla."
Wood was looking from Arabella to the Weasleys with a slightly creased forehead.
"Oliver, this is absolutely insane," said Alicia angrily. "You can't let Arabella deal with that thing on his own. Let's ask for an inquiry..."
"If we stop now, we'll have to forfeit the match!" said Wood indignantly. "And we're not losing to Slytherin."
"Come on, guys," said Arabella, turning to Wood with pouting eyes, "tell them to leave me alone, Wood!"
Madam Hooch had joined them.
"Ready to resume play?" she asked Wood.
Wood looked at the determined look on Arabella's face.
"All right," he said. "Fred, George, you heard her— leave her alone and let her deal with the Bludger on her own."
It was pouring now. Arabella kicked off the muddy ground and shot high into the sky, higher and higher she went. Gazing down when she could, eyes wide and watching, she desperately wished a glint of gold would appear. When she heard the whooshing of the Bludger behind her, she looped and swooped, spiraled, zigzagged, and rolled.
"What's going on!?" yelled Draco anxiously as Arabella was forced to do a stupid kind of twirl in midair to dodge the Bludger.
"Just shut up and find the Snitch!" she shouted back, swirling to the right as the Bludger trailed a few feet behind her; and then, glaring back at Malfoy to yell something else, she saw it — the Golden Snitch. It was hovering inches above Draco's left ear — and Draco, too busy watching Arabella, hadn't seen it.
For an agonizing moment, Arabella hung in midair, not daring to speed toward the Slytherin Seeker in case he looked up and saw the Snitch.
WHAM.
She had stayed still a second too long. The Bludger had hit her at last, smashed into her elbow, and Arabella felt his arm bones shatter. Dimly, dazed by the searing pain in her arm, she slid sideways on her rain-drenched broom, one knee still crooked over it, her right arm dangling useless at her side— the Bludger came pelting back for a second attack, this time zooming at his face— Arabella swerved out of the way, one idea firmly lodged in her numb brain: get to the Snitch, even if she died trying.
Through a haze of rain and pain, Arabella dove for the shimmering glint and saw Draco's eyes widen with fear.
"What the—" he gasped, careening out of Arabella's way. Arabella took her remaining hand off his broom and made a wild snatch; she felt his fingers close on the cold Snitch but was now only gripping the broom with her legs, and there was a yell from the crowd below as she headed straight for the ground, trying hard not to pass out.
With a splattering thud, Arabella hit the mud of the Quidditch pitch and rolled off her broom. Her arm was hanging at a very odd angle; riddled with pain, she heard, as though from a distance, a good deal of whistling and shouting. He focused on the Snitch clutched in his good hand.
"Aha," she said vaguely. "I've caught you at last…"
And she promptly fainted. She came around quickly, however, with the cold rain falling on her face shaking her from her pain-induced daze. Still lying on the field, she now had someone leaning over her. She saw a glitter of teeth."
"Oh, no, not you," she moaned.
"Doesn't know what she's saying," said Lockhart loudly to the anxious crowd of Gryffindors pressing around them. "Not to worry, Arabella. I'm about to fix your arm."
"No!" said Arabella weakly. "I'll keep it like this, thanks..."
She tried to sit up, but the pain was terrible. She heard a familiar clicking noise nearby.
"I don't want a photo of this, Colin, please!" she said loudly.
"Lie back, Arabella," Lockhart instructed soothingly. "It's a simple charm I've used countless times—"
"Why can't she just go to the hospital wing?" said a new voice, which belonged to a fuming redhead. She was staring at Lockhart with narrowed eyes. "That's what it's here for, injured or sick students, isn't it?"
"She should really, Professor," said a muddy Wood, who looked very disheartened. "Great capture, Arabella, really. We lost though…"
Through the thicket of legs around her, Arabella spotted George and Derrick wrestling the rogue Bludger into a box. It was still putting up a terrific fight.
"Stand back," said Lockhart, who was rolling up his jade-green sleeves.
"No — don't —" said Arabella weakly, but Lockhart was twirling his wand and a second later had directed it straight at her broken arm.
"Professor," pleaded Lyla, gazing at the man's wand in horror. But it was too late.
A strange and unpleasant sensation started at Arabella's shoulder and spread all the way down to her fingertips. It felt as though her arm was being deflated. She kept her eyes closed, not daring to see what was happening. But then, her worst fears were realized as the people above her gasped and Colin Creevey began clicking away madly. Her arm didn't hurt anymore— nor did it feel remotely like an arm.
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