Flint has almost killed the Gryffindor seeker, which could happen to anybody I'm sure[…]

Lee Jordan, Harry Potter à l'école des sorciers, page 188

ANSWERS TO THE ALMIGHTY OPINIONS OF THE REVIEWERS

Shireen McLean: Ah, yes… the famous Dark!Harry. He will make an appearance in this from book 4 to 7, if things go as planned. Thanks, I love that sarcasm too ^_-. Well, I did inspire myself on V's, J.L. Matthew's and Dauphin's fics, so there might be resemblances. However, I'm doing my best to keep as far and as unique as I can. Just read the first two chapters of your fic… cool so far!

VMorticia: *snicker* yeah, I like that quote too. No, not really. From JK's writing, Quirrell almost sounds like a less annoying version of Lockhart. Sorry 'bout making Snape like that, it's necessary. And it'll make a great twist for book 2 ^_- Not saying anymore.

Lbj: Glad you liked it!

Tom: Thanks… I'm trying not to be upset, but by chapter 6, my Digimon fic had nearly twice as much reviews as this one… and what's wrong with AU's??? C'mon, they're the best. And some of the hardest to do, too ^_-. Oh, I think there is a difference already. He's much more open, talkative and he does think a lot more before acting… but he's still the bashful Harry we know. It wouldn't make sense for me to make him evil and sadistic already (Not all Slytherins are like that, just the most famous ones). He'll start getting bad in book 4, and book 5 if OotP doesn't come out before I get there (which I sincerely hope it does come out). For the last comment, I am doing this, but remember, this isn't a completely different character. This is still Harry, with the same horrible youth that make him want to avoid being greedy, evil and sadistic (Unless Dursleys are involved).

…Guess I should make a character essay. Lol.

…MANNN!!! 4 reviews??! Am I gonna have to threaten you all of not updating until I've had enough reviews?

Reason it took a while this time: The fact that I have so little reviewers, it's not helping with my moral. Plus, I just got Warcraft III and I'm hooked on it. ^_- "Dead man walking" (LOL)

Chapter 6: Quidditch


"C'mon, Potter. You've got to eat something." Bole said, sitting two seats by Harry's left.

"Can't." The black-haired boy groaned. He felt as if his stomach was protesting against the unfairness of the world, against Hogwarts' heavy foods and against the evil, evil strawberry jam that Blaise was emptying a pot of every morning and that she was currently emptying in his plate.

"You'll need energy, Harry." Draco said, filling up the other boy's plate with eggs straight in the strawberry jam, thus making Harry partly lose his appetite. "The seeker is usually the other team's target."

Harry felt his stomach constrict more and start a general strike, helped by the muscles and pretty much all of his body.

"Thanks Draco, that's really reassuring."

"Shut up, you big baby." Blaise said with a teasing smile. "It's your fault for catching that rememberall."

Harry shot her a glare, as if trying to send his thoughts, which were 'I did it so you wouldn't completely fail in potions'. When he saw it wouldn't work, he let out a sigh.

"Yeah, I just wish Higgs didn't have that accident…" He mumbled. "I'm starting to wonder if it really was an accident."

Just two days ago, Higgs had tripped in the stairs going down from the divination tower. He was now laying in the hospital wing, his body unfit for playing. Flint had, oddly enough, looked ecstatic when he had told Harry he would be the one to play.

Trying to calm himself down, he dug into his bag and pulled out Quidditch through the ages, a book Granger had passed to him. She had become much friendlier since the troll incident. Her exact words were:

"Well, you came to save me, so you can't be as bad as the rest of them."

To which Draco and Blaise had, of course, resented. However, what she thought wasn't the same thing Weasley did, although she had also come closer to him up to the point where they were rarely seen apart – apart from the library, that is. Weasley had book-o-phobia.

Harry plunged himself in his reading, trying to block out the noise of everyone eating when the mere thought of doing the same made Harry's stomach protest and demand a syndicate. Why was he so worried? Because the match was in a few hours. Against Gryffindor. His very first Quidditch match, against his house's sworn enemies. He dearly hoped he wouldn't make a fool of himself.

He managed to take a single toast, which tried to get out from the way it went in for, before Flint got up and claimed that breakfast was over for the Quidditch team and that they had to hurry (their butts off) to the Quidditch pitch (under the threat of decapitation).

Never mind that the players probably wouldn't be able to play without their heads. Flint's philosophy seemed to turn around the assumption that a head is only a target for budgers/beating bats/broom handles/flying quaffles/rocks/wooden AND/OR metal poles/various thrown objects/physical blows, thus a handicap. This is what happens when people take the game too far, hint to all coaches of the world.

"It's not too dangerous, is it?" Harry asked Derrick, one of the two beaters, as they put on the Slytherin team's green and silver robes.

"Naa, nobody's died yet at Hogwarts. Sure, there's a couple of broken bones, concussions and keepers falling off their broom during their first matches…" Harry noted that the boy's mouth turned into a satisfied smirk at that "But no deaths yet. With Flint leading us though, I think we'll die of exhaustion before the year's done."

Harry couldn't help but agree. He could faintly hear footsteps above them; they probably were under the stands surrounding the oval Quidditch pitch.

Flint walked back from checking the temperature, cleared his throat in a growl and, with a glare, started talking.

"It's nearly time. This is the most important match of the season. If we lose this one, we're likely to get only the second place. Of course, the Gryffindors don't have our team. Bole, Derrick, you two try to take out Wood and that new seeker of theirs. MacDonald I think his name is. No matter, he's not gonna use it for long."

Flint had a smirk on his face that clearly indicated he was serious. Harry gulped. Were seekers that important? He hoped not, for his own sake.

Flint turned toward the two other chasers, who tensed up.

"Pucey, Montague, watch your passes. Miss a single one and I swear you'll be wishing you've never been born."

The two chasers nodded. Harry heard gulps coming from them as well. Flint apparently took the game very seriously.

"Bletchley, I want you to be at three places at the same time. Budgers, players or flying rocks in your way, I don't give a damn. Take them in your face for all I care, as long as you can still fly. All you need to worry about is stopping that darn Quaffle."

The keeper nodded. A black eye from an earlier practice was still present on his face.

Harry had no time to feel sorry for Bletchley because Flint turned his icy eyes on him.

"And you. Potter. If you don't catch that snitch, I'll have you running back to whatever hole you came out of. You'll never step foot in the wizarding world again without fearing my wrath. Catch that snitch like your life depended on in… which in some way, it does."

Harry nodded slowly and nervously, his eyes wide open. Please stop looking at me… he thought weakly.

Thankfully, he did, but only to grab his broom and bark "Why aren't you all on the pitch yet?! GO!"

Harry idly wondered if the other Quidditch captains were as… fanatic (Obsessed and extremist also come into mind) as Flint.

He could hear hundreds of voices above them, each of them belonging to someone who would watch him in his very first real Quidditch match. His stomach clenched further and promptly signed it's resignation. A louder voice came from outside and 7 names were said. He faintly heard what came next.

"And, unfortunately, here's the Slytherin team."

Harry frowned. Apparently, the commentator didn't like them.

"Flint is evidently getting desperate, digging into the youngest of the school to get his players, although some may thing the youngest in question used his connections to make it there – Sorry professor McGonagall – Here's to Bletchley, Flint, Pucey, Montague, Derrick, Bole and, replacing Higgs, the-boy-who-played-Quidditch-too-early, Potter!"

The stands erupted in jeers, except for the distant Slytherins. Harry let out an angry growl as he walked toward the middle of the field, where the Gryffindors were already, wearing bright red robes. Now he understood why the beaters used red targets.

"I want this match to be fair and clean." Madam Hooch, who was standing in the middle, said once the players were in position around her. Harry noticed her eyes were turned especially at Flint as she said those words. The boy kept silent, but Harry was certain he was thinking something along the lines of "Keep wishing".

"On your brooms!" Hooch barked, to which the players obeyed. Once again, Harry found himself on the comfortable handle of his Nimbus 2000.

The match started with the blowing of Hooch's whistle, to which the players lifted off, and the releasing of the balls. Derrick and one of Weasley's twin brothers took the budgers and proceeded to jab it at each other, while the chasers battled for the quaffle.

"Angelina Johnson, of the Gryffindor team, takes the quaffle!" Said the commentator, obviously a Gryffindor from the tone of voice. "That girl is an excellent chaser, and quite beautiful too—"

"JORDAN!"

"Sorry Professor."

Harry let another scowl come to his face. Jordan was watched by McGonagall. It was widely known the professor didn't like Slytherins. So, Jordan could probably get away with murder, only getting yelled at once or twice.

"Angelina passes to Alicia Spinnet, who was playing last year in the reserves. Another pass to Johnson and… no, it's Marcus Flint who takes the quaffle and soars like an eagle to the Gryffindor goals! He shoots… excellent block by Oliver Wood, the Gryffindor keeper! Gryffindor takes the quaffle again with Katie Bell, who does a nice dive to escape Flint and… ouch – that had to hurt, a budger in the face – Quaffle to the Slytherins – Adrian Pucey heads toward the goals, but is stopped by Fred or George Weasley, can't be more precise."

The Gryffindor seeker floated in front of him, looking around the field. Harry blocked out the commentaries and started looking for the Snitch.

"GRYFFINDOR SCORES!"

Harry let out a growl and sped ahead, going lower down toward the field.

"Can yeh move a bit?"

"um… sure" Hermione said, looking up to Hagrid with a tingle of fear. He had always intimidated her a bit.

Weasley and Hermione squeezed together to make room for the huge man (not an easy feat).

"So, did Harry do anythin' yet?" Hagrid asked, sitting down on the benches, making the wood protest and creak.

"Nope. Potter's just floating there, nobody's seen the snitch yet." Weasley said, before turning to Hagrid with a look. "You know him personally?"

"Sure I do! Rescued 'im from his relatives m'self… with a little help from 'lmira."

The red-haired boy gave a look at Hagrid. "Relatives? I thought he lived in some kind of huge manor or something like that."

"Nope, a crammy little muggle house with people who hate him. Yeh'll have to ask him 'bout that later, although he might be a tad bit sore 'bout it."

"Slytherin retakes the Quaffle," Jordan said. "Chaser Pucey dodges both budgers, both Weasleys and Bell, and heads for the—wait a second—Is that the snitch?!"

At the magic word, both Harry and the Gryffindor seeker, a hunchbacked third year boy who looked like he was afraid his broom would throw him off, turned around and looked at Pucey, who had dropped the Quaffle, which Flint caught while no one was looking or caring. Harry sped forward, pushing his broom as fast as he could.

Hermione squeaked in annoyance.

"I don't know for who to root!!" She moaned.

Weasley didn't have the same attitude, however, as he yelled "CRASH DEAD, POTTER!!"

"GO HARRY!!!!!!" Blaise and Draco shouted at the same time, accidentally spilling their Every flavor beans all over Crabbe and Goyle, who scowled in annoyance.

Harry grinned as he spotted his three friends. To help him, Derrick shot a budger at the other seeker, who was hit in the stomach and dropped the two meters left to the ground, his broom crashing like a javelin few meters ahead. Harry's grin grew wider. Now all he needed was to catch the—

To his annoyance, however, Hooch whistled a time-out for Gryffindor.

"She can't do that, can she?!" Harry yelled at Flint, who had used the distraction to score three times, bringing the score to 30-10 Slytherin.

"Nope, she can't, but none of the other houses will complain." The Slytherin captain said with a scowl, looking at the Gryffindors turning around their seeker, in a matter much like, Harry found, a pack of vultures.

The game started again two minutes later, when the seeker got back on his feet, apparently fine, and lifted off, his broom looking more dirtied than damaged.

'Too bad.' Harry thought.

The Slytherin team was angry. Very angry. It meant bad news for the other team. Bad news as in 'Headache, coming right up!' news or 'Oh, sorry, was that your head?' and 'Hope you got life insurance' news. An angry Slytherin team is not a good sight.

Ten minutes, later, the Gryffindors had scored once because of the third penality shot they received after Bole accidentally mistook a head for a budger, after Flint accidentally rammed into Wood, the keeper, not the forest, and after Pucey slipped and accidentally punched the Gryffindor seeker in the face.

Nope, it wasn't pretty.

After two budgers nearly turned him into the-boy-who-had-a-pancake-head, Harry spotted the Snitch, hovering just behind the Gryffindor seeker. He lowered himself on his broom to make it go forward…

…nothing.

"Ehh??!" He gave an odd look at the broom. It was completely unresponsive, just hovering there above everyone. Anytime now, the seeker would turn around and see the snitch…

However, the snitch went away from the seeker and disappeared from Harry's sight. He didn't have the time to actually feel any relief that his broom suddenly gave a strong jerk, followed by another, and a third.

"What in the name of Slytherin?!" Bole hissed, seeing Harry's broom act like a wild rodeo horse to who a Barney torture was about to be induced – Totally out of it's mind.

"Potter's doing a good impression of one of those crazy wild west Yankees, but I don't see why he'd… wait, Potter's broom is out of control?!"

'Good deduction, Sherlock!!' He mentally hissed, gripping the broom handle harder and clamping his knees around the wooden shaft. Everyone was looking at him now, except Flint, who was using this time to score five times against Gryffindor while nobody was watching or caring.

Suddenly, the broom gave a furious jerk and Harry's hands lost their hold. To his great horror, he found himself hanging upside-down from his broom, only held by his legs. And even then, his hold was slipping fast. He clenched his hands on the handle just as the wooden handle slipped, leaving him precariously hanging from his hands.

"Watch your shrieking! I don't wanna become deaf!!" Draco snapped, his eyes not once leaving Harry.

Blaise gave him and apologetic look.

"Could you turn off the yells, just a bit, Hermione?" Ron mumbled.

Hermione gave him a glare and snapped "Excuse me, but Harry's about to try skydiving without parachute if things keep up like this!"

"What's a parashoot?"

"Never mind."

Bole and Derrick flew up to help him, but the broom gave another jerk and flew higher, shaking Harry's body like a twice re-sewed rag doll. He felt his hands go moist and his grip weaken as the two beaters abandoned trying to reach him, just circling below him to try and catch him, along with the three Gryffindor chasers and Pucey. Montague was just staring at him from a distance away while Flint was, of course, being busy scoring another unnoticed goal.

Harry let out a colorful curse that he had once heard Mrs Zabini mutter over the daily prophet, looking around, especially at the teachers. Why weren't any of them trying to help him?!

Draco frowned as the broom flew higher. Beside him, Blaise gave a similar growl, before turning to Millicent and yanking the binoculars from her pudgy hands, pointing them toward Harry. The blonde boy did the same, stealing Pansy's. Both, at once, noticed where Harry was looking. Both pointed their binoculars at the teachers' stands… but neither saw the same thing.

'What on earth is Quirrell doing?!' Draco thought, noticing that the teacher looked unnaturally sure of himself.

It was then Harry noticed Snape staring at him, his mouth moving in a muttered incantation. Was he the one doing this? But why? In his surprise, he didn't notice the broom jerk violently and throw him off, until he was falling, a fact that he only registered a second later when the wind started to pick up and the broom looked like it was fleeing away.

Bzzzzzzzttt

A familiar buzzing came to his ears. In a free-fall, nearly fifteen foot above anyone else, and ninety above the ground, he found it. Falling alongside him, the golden snitch was just a foot away.

And what did he do? Anything a good Slytherin would. He jumped on the occasion.

Just as the Gryffindor chaser called Johnson caught him, he lifted his fist in the air, in which the golden snitch was stuck, trying to escape his grip.

"I caught the snitch!" He bellowed. A second later, the Slytherins stands erupted into deafening screams, while the others let out angry or disappointed groans.

Draco, Vincent and Gregory whooped loudly, while Blaise, Pansy and Millicent did nothing but shriek and scream, which soon caused the three boys to stop yelling and cover their ears.

"Why do they have to sound like such Banshees?!" Draco wondered out loud. Fortunately for him, none of them heard.

"Show your house some loyalty, Hermione."

"Ron, it's his first match! Show some concern!" She replied, giving him a glare from her applauses. "And it's just a game, after all."

Ron gave her a stunned, disbelieving look and proceeded to preach to silent ears the greatness of Quidditch while Hagrid chuckled in amusement.

"Slytherin wins, 160 to… what?!?! Slytherin wins, 260 to 10??! How in the world did THAT happen?!"

Harry was dropped on Bole's broom by a frustrated Johnson, while Wood turned to the hoops poles and started whacking his head on them in a irate, undignified way.

"Great job, Potter." Flint said, holding the quaffle under his arm. "Excellent idea to take everyone's attentions on yourself. It let me score ten times… but did you have to make it look so real?"

"Of course I had to…" He took up the act, grinning falsely as his Nimbus 2000 was returned by Pucey. "How else would the Gryffindor team have believed me? Now we're first and staying there!"

Much congratulatory slaps in the back followed his lie. Harry managed to keep his smile until he was alone, when it completely vanished as his mind started another game of "Reel the thoughts".

That night, the Slytherin common room was a festive place, while anywhere else looked like something had died – which their hope for victory sort of did. Harry only partly participated, even though he was the boy-in-the-spotlight. His mind was busy elsewhere, a large, crooked-nosed elsewhere.

'Did Snape really try to kill me? But why would he?'

'Snape hates yeh? Shoula' known. Just the kinda guy teh hold grudges, that man'

'Hagrid told me he had a grudge on me… but what did I do?'

"Potter." Flint's bark pulled him out of his thoughts like a slap in the face. "The way you manipulated the enemy team into believing you were out of control, the way you masterfully played along up to falling and revealing the snitch you caught at the best possible moment, you've been unanimously voted to be promoted."

By now, the entire common room was silent. Everyone was looking at them. Flint pulled out a neatly folded green and silver uniform on which the words "Slytherin Seeker" were clearly visible.

"Congratulations, Potter. You're the official seeker now."

Harry's grin nearly broke his ears to pieces, something the cheers that flooded the room – and probably the entire castle – a second later actually managed. 

Followed this scene a party that lasted until the wee hours of the morning. In the great hall, every teacher was awake, drinking coffee – even the Tea-lady McGonagall – and glaring daggers at a smirking Snape.

"You should tell them to go to sleep." McGonagall snapped, rubbing her eyes sleepily.

Snape nodded. "I should." But didn't move. He was the only one apparently awake.

"Won't you?" Sprout asked.

"Of course, in a couple of hours." He answered with a straight face.

Everyone sighed in annoyance.

However, not every Slytherin were as happy as he is. Two of them in particular, one of them, called Terence Higgs, was glaring sabers, tridents and spears at Harry in the common room.

As for the other…

"I'm sorry master…"

"You have failed me… I am very disappointed in you, Samuel…"

Followed by an agonizing scream of pain, echoing and unheard through the many halls of Hogwarts.

PART 7 IS FINISHED!!!!! ^_^ FINALLY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I like the ending ^_- Call me psycho.