Christmas became a somewhat morbid affair, following the deaths of Ron and Hermione. The students' sullen faces shuffled through the corridors, no doubt counting the days until they could leave Hogwarts for the festive season.
Even the flying lessons, which Harry enjoyed, no longer carried the same appeal. Their first flying lesson, during his first week at the Wizarding school, had been a joyous occasion as he swooshed around the grounds with Draco. He had managed to talk his friend out of chucking Neville's Remembrall, believing the notion to be cruel rather than a source of fun, and instead the lesson had continued event-free, once Madam Hooch had returned from escorting Neville to the Hospital Wing. The poor lad had got stuck on the spire, before plummeting to the ground, breaking several bones in the process. He had been afraid to mount a broom ever since that incident, causing him to fall considerably behind in his flying lessons.
This flying lesson was no different. Neville stood by his broom, trembling, as Madame Hooch approached the students on the castle grounds.
"Alright, Class," She addressed the class with a calm authority, her steely eyes observing the group in front of her. "Grab your brooms and follow me. Today we will be doing something different,"
Hooch led the group towards the Quidditch grounds, which were unlike anything Harry had seen. Six hoops stood proudly inside a magnificent arena, stadium seating covered in a thick pile of snow. Harry had opted against joining his students for the school's Quidditch matches, having no idea about the sport or what it entailed. Instead, he and Draco had continued their fighting lessons with Crabbe and Goyle, determined that Harry should be able to make a stand against Dudley's bullying behaviour.
After Madam Hooch had explained the game's rules, the students were split into two groups. Gryffindor would take on Slytherin, with Hooch having nominated two of the respective house's pupils to act as the team captains. Gryffindor would be led by Seamus Finnigan. Meanwhile, Draco was appointed Slytherin's noble leader.
This made Draco particularly smug, as he gleefully lorded over his fellow classmates.
"Alright, Potter, I'm appointing you Seeker," He declared. "Crabbe, Goyle, you can be our Beaters. Parkinson, Bultrode, Davis, you will be our first Chasers. The rest of you will be our substitute Chasers. No arguments. Is that clear?"
They nodded, afraid of what Draco would say if they challenged his decision.
"Good. I'm glad you all agree," Draco smirked. "Now I propose we take an aggressive stance. Crabbe, Goyle, I need you to do whatever it takes to knock those Gryffindor clowns off their brooms. Although knowing Longbottom, he will fall from his broom before the Bludger even makes contact. Potter, if Gryffindor's Seeker spots the Snitch before you do, strike them with your broomstick,"
"Erm…I'm not sure that's fair…" Harry said nervously.
Draco stared at his friend in disbelief.
"Sport isn't fair, Potter. Sport is winning, whatever the cost,"
"Hooch said she wanted a nice, clean game," He reminded Malfoy. "The last thing we need is another accident right now,"
Malfoy's eyes glared at Harry, shocked that he would defy his authority.
"I am team captain, Potter,"
"I know. But what if I do what you suggest, and somebody dies? Like Ron and Hermione?"
Harry watched as a frightful expression formed across Draco's face; the troll incident had clearly troubled him. He fell quiet for a few seconds, before a softer look spread across his facial features.
"You're right, Potter. Just do whatever you can to catch that Snitch. Got it?"
Harry nodded.
"And as for our Chasers…" Draco glanced in their direction. "If the other team have the Quaffle, interject at every available opportunity. I want you to cross their path as soon as the ball is chucked, and catch it before it lands in the hands of their teammate. Everybody ready?"
They all nodded, and followed Draco onto the right hand side of the pitch. Hooch blew their whistle, and the students kicked their brooms into the air. Harry swooped above the grounds, surveying the area for sign of the Snitch.
He watched as his teammates scored Quaffle after Quaffle. They were trouncing their rivals, the score crossing over fifty points after fifteen minutes into the game.
Thirty minutes' later, Gryffindor had accumulated a measly 10 points in comparison to Slytherin's 90. Harry was still circulating high above the stadium, searching for his prize. As he passed the Gryffindor stands, he finally caught sight of a golden speck hovering below him.
Unfortunately, Gryffindor's seeker Dean Thomas had also caught his eye on the Snitch, and he was closer to the glistening golden ball. Harry spurted towards his winged prize, his hands outstretched, but Dean got there first. As Dean's hands closed around the Golden Snitch, Harry could only watch as the Gryffindors yelled triumphantly. Harry's eyes widened as the ground came plummeting towards him; the last thing he saw, as he struck the freshly manicured grass, was Draco's worried face as the students gathered around his injured body.
