"Malcolm," Ginny said, "You need to go down, you're too high."
"I'm fine," Malcolm said, nervously, "as long as I don't look down."
"I'll help you," Ginny said, "but the way you're holding the broom, you're only going to continue to rise."
"I'm fine, as long as I don't look down."
Ginny looked down, then said, hurriedly, "Malcolm, lean forward on the broom. That will take you out of the path of the bludger."
"The what?" Malcolm asked, squeakily.
"The bludger, Malcolm. Just lean forward," Ginny called as she moved her broom. "Malcolm," she shouted, "Move, Now!"
Malcolm tried to move, but he was too late. The bludger almost missed him, but caught his shoulder, knocking his hand loose. He fell sideways, and slipped off the broom before he realized it. The one thought that immediately passed through his mind was, 'I'm not scared, anymore.'
[I can handle this. I know what to do. I should have gotten rid of that broom an hour ago.]
Students screamed as they saw Malcolm start to fall. A half-dozen teachers had already cast cushioning spells on the ground where Malcolm would hit, but they all feared it might not be enough. Albus Dumbledore tried, but failed to cast a spell at the free fall target, and other were afraid to try, for fear of hitting the stands on the opposite side of the pitch. And the owls, hundreds of them, began to hoot loudly.
Everyone watched, in fear and awe, as Malcolm's body suddenly began to shrink. He turned brownish-grey and grew feathers. Thirty feet above the ground, a half-grown tawny owl spread its wings to break its fall, then swooped upward in an avian version of the Wronski Feint. Everyone was speechless. Emma Dobbs dropped the quaffle, and Graham Pritchard, not thinking, caught it and handed it back to her.
Madame Hooch blew her warning whistle and called for the teams to continue playing, while Malcolm flew up, and out of range of the teams, and tried to think.
[This is useless. All I can see are large blurs. If only this were a night game. At least the owls enjoyed it, but they knew what was going to happen. All those nights, flying with them, really paid off.]
The owls were hooting their approval at what Malcolm did, but Malcolm was still in a quandary. Now that he was free of the broom, he wanted to play, but being an owl, his daytime vision left a lot to be desired. Then he heard it. Hedwig's whistling hoot, deliberately lower than all the others.
[Listen. Thanks, Hedwig. Yes, I can hear everything. That's EJ, he just blocked the quaffle. There are the bludgers. That's Ginny, racing after . . . the snitch. I HEAR IT. It's there, and it's heading . . . ]
Malcolm folded his wings and went into a dead fall. Moving only enough to avoid hitting anyone, he fell through the crowd of players, bringing himself up in time to face the oncoming snitch. He raised his claws and caught it, to be hit by a grasping hand. Ginny Weasley was one second too late.
Madam Hooch blew her whistle to announce the end of the game. Malcolm flew over and handed (clawed?, declawed?, unclawed?) over the snitch. He transformed back and touched the ground, as a white owl swooped down and landed on his shoulder, nuzzling his ear to show her satisfaction. The owls hooted loudly and flapped their wings, in contrast to the silence of the humans in the crowd.
"The final score is . . . ," Madam Hooch called out, but was interrupted.
"Slytherin cheated," Ron Weasley called out, "they had an illegal player."
"Now, what do you contest about this match," Madam Hooch asked, when Ron Weasley, to the chagrin of his brothers, walked onto the field.
"Malcolm, their Seeker, is a Gryffindor. He can't play on the Slytherin team. Slytherin has to forfeit for fielding an illegal player."
"Excuse me," Blaise Zambini said, halfheartedly, "The rules say that each house team must pick only first or second year students, they don't specify which house they have to be in."
"I'm sorry," Madam Hooch said, "that rule only affects age qualifications. Standard rules specify that a member of a house may not play on the team of another house. If no one has anything to add, then Slytherin forf . . . "
"Uhm," said Gregory Goyle, loudly.
"Uhm is not a word, Mr. Goyle," Madam Hooch said, "If you have something to say please try using sentences."
"Uhm, sorry," Goyle said, "But Malcolm is, well, there was an incident last year, when we traded with Hufflepuff . . . "
"I know the incident, Mr. Goyle. What does that have to do with anything?"
"Well, Uhm, Malcolm helped us out, and we were really grateful," Goyle said, sheepishly. Then, he puffed out his chest and added, "so, we made him an honorary Slytherin, with all the rights and privileges that go with it."
"Is that true," Madam Hooch asked in surprise?
"Yes, it is," chimed Draco Malfoy, "It was Marcus Finch who thought of it. And there were no objections."
"That is true," Severus Snape said. "I even informed Professor McGonagall of that fact."
"He did indeed," Professor McGonagall said, adding under her breath, "not that he meant it to be nice."
"That is an interesting turn of events," Madam Hooch said, "Since Malcolm is known to be an honorary Slytherin, I rule that Malcolm is a legitimate player." As Ron Weasley and Blaise Zambini cursed under their breaths, Madame Hooch announced, "The score stands at . . . "
"Excuse me," a voice said, "I have an objection."
"What is it, Professor Flitwick?"
"I don't wish to interfere, but the Slytherin Seeker is an illegal animagus. He had no right to play in this match, although that is the least of his problems, once the ministry hears about this."
"Excuse me," Professor McGonagall said, "but I am more familiar with the laws concerning registering animagi. Malcolm has not done anything wrong, yet. Malcolm, how many people knew you were an animagus?"
"No one," Malcolm said sheepishly, "I didn't tell anyone, because it's not allowed. Sorry."
"What do you mean, it's not allowed?" Albus Dumbledore asked.
"I'm underage, Sir," Malcolm said, pawing the ground.
Albus smiled, and several of the teachers began to laugh. "Malcolm," he said, "There is no age limit. There is only the requirement that you report it. There are people who have become animagi at younger ages than you are now."
"Really?" Malcolm said with genuine surprise.
"I don't like to brag," Professor McGonagall said, smugly.
"Then we'll register him," Madame Hooch said. "Malcolm, are you an animagus? Answer truthfully please."
"Yes," Malcolm said, to general laughter.
"And what animal do you change into?"
Hedwig bit his ear affectionately as he answered, "An owl, Ma'am."
"I'll inform the ministry, Malcolm. You are now a registered animagus. The score stands, Slytherin wi . . . "
"No, we can't win," Malcolm Baddock, the first-year Slytherin, shouted, as everyone looked curiously at him. "I mean, I only want to be fair, but . . . Malcolm wasn't on his broom when he caught the snitch. The rules say he has to use a broom."
"That's not fair," Hermione Granger shouted. "Ron, you know all about Quidditch. There has to be something . . . "
"Mr. Weasley," Dumbledore said, "if you know something, you must tell us."
Grumbling, Ron said, "there was one exception. In 1896 Mark MacMahon of the Chudley Cannons fell off his broom during a match against Puddlemere United. On the way down he managed to catch the snitch. The official ruling was that it was a fair catch because he had not yet touched the ground after dismounting his broom." Ron scowled and added, "At least MacMahon had the decency to die when HE fell."
"That's enough, Mr. Weasley," Madame Hooch said, "I rule, based on precedent, that Malcolm caught the snitch in fair play. Are there any more objections? Then Slytherin wins, 200 to 30."
Of the 300+ people who attended the match, only twelve people cheered. Everyone else had bet on Gryffindor.
As they were leaving the field, Lydia bumped into a very cheerful Draco Malfoy. "You must have bet on Slytherin as well," she said.
"I did Dr. Spencer," Draco said, "I've learned to expect the unusual from Malcolm. He never disappoints. Now I have to decide what to do with my winnings."
"I always give my winnings to the St. Mungo's Charity Fund," Lydia hinted.
Draco paused, not letting his real thoughts show, "That's a wonderful idea. I don't really need the money. Give them mine as well, along with my original wager. All I ask is that you mention my generosity. That way father won't get mad at me. He hates anonymous donations."
"Thank you, Draco," Lydia said, appreciatively, "I will do that."
She walked a short way, when Neville Longbottom stopped her, "Did I hear Malfoy say that he was giving his winnings to the hospital?"
"Yes, he is, Neville, although I forgot to ask him how much that was."
"I'm sure it was a good amount," Neville said, "but if it helps you can have my money as well. But I should tell you, I only bet five Knuts."
"I don't believe it," Lydia Spencer said to the Weasley twins, "Draco Malfoy bet that much money."
"I don't believe he gave it all away," George said in return.
"But it is a wonderful thought," Professor McGonagall said, looking at Professor Snape, "please take my share of the winnings as well. I never wanted to gain from this venture."
"And mine," Snape said in an annoyed tone. "If I don't do this, she'll rub my face in it."
Through the use of silent intimidation, Professor McGonagall managed to get everyone else in the small group to agree. It was at that point, Albus Dumbledore walked into the room.
"I am afraid I have some bad news for the Weasley Twins," Dumbledore said in a serious tone, "and everyone else who is here."
Lydia Spencer turned to the headmaster and said, "Albus, it was the most amazing thing. Everyone contributed their winnings to the hospital fund."
"I am completely amazed," Dumbledore said, as he looked at a smiling McGonagall.
A small crowd of students sat in the common room after the match. Malcolm sat at a table with Hermione, while she helped Dewey write a letter. Hedwig perched on a fourth chair giving appreciative looks at her adopted child. On a nearby couch, the twins were explaining events to everyone.
"I didn't realize," Ron said, after his brothers told him the complete story. "If I had known, I would have never said anything."
"I think it's great," Dewey said, "I'm telling Francis all about it."
"Are you done?" Hermione asked, "We'll get an owl and send it to your brother."
"That's okay," Dewey said, getting out of his chair. "I can handle it."
"What?" Malcolm asked as Dewey walked up to him.
"I have a letter to Francis," Dewey said, holding it out to him, "You're an owl. Deliver it."
"I am not an . . . " Malcolm said as Dewey shoved the letter into his mouth.
"YOU"RE AN OWL," Dewey shouted, "Deliver it or I'll tell Mom."
"Maybe you should deliver it," Hermione said, laughing, "It'll give you a chance to visit your brother."
Harry joined in, saying, "Hedwig sounds like she's willing to show you how."
The white owl hooted, and after a few more laughing remarks, Malcolm agreed. He changed into an owl, and perched on the chair, holding out his leg. Hermione showed Dewey how to tie the letter, and had someone open a window. Malcolm then followed Hedwig when she flew out into the evening air.
Shortly thereafter, Professor McGonagall walked into the common room. "Professor Dumbledore needs to talk to Malcolm. Does anyone know where he is?"
No one spoke. Hermione Granger tried to think of a logical reason why Malcolm would deliver a letter. All of the Weasleys, as though one person, searched for the nearest exits. Harry Potter closed his eyes and pretended he was asleep, a trick he had picked up from Neville, sitting next to him, who was also giving a convincing snore. In the middle of the stunned silence, Dewey said, "He went to the park this morning. He hasn't come back yet?"