Chapter Fifteen
Losing
Quidditch was the most popular sport in the history of the wizard world. It was a game played on broomsticks high above an arena and involved two teams and several floating hoops in the air. Harry was his team's seeker, the most important person, if he found the tiny little golden snitch and caught it, the game would be over and Gryffindor would win. He mounted his broom, and saw the Slythrins mounting theirs. With a light kick of his feet he was off the ground and soaring above the air and into the sky, the rush and the feeling of weightlessness were the sensations he craved and found only in the air tearing through the sky on his broom.
The Slythrin's served first, with a mighty wack of the bludger several Gryffindors ducked or swerved out of the way, the Slythrins shot forwards, Harry weaved expertly in and out among the players, even with the Slythrins repeated attempts to knock him from his broom.
Up in the stands, Lucius Malfoy was sitting next to Professor Severus Snape in the Slythin end. He smirked down with a smug look on the children playing. His boy Draco would win, he had better.
Harry dodged a swiftly moving bludger, but it swerved back and came straight for him again, he continued to weave in and out among players and even the rafters of the stadium and the goal posts but nothing would shake it. On the ground spectators watched this with mixed emotions, the Slythrins laughed, Hagrid looked terrified, "That's a rouge bludger that is!"
"I think you're right, Hagrid!" Rinoa said, standing on her tiptoes and craning her neck up high.
"I'll stop it!" Ron cried, pulling out his still broken wand, but Hermione stopped him. "It's too dangerous . . ." She muttered.
"How can he keep dodging that thing?" Rinoa asked in awe, "The kids gotta be some kinda prodigy or somethin'."
"Yeah." Hagrid said gruffly, "But still it ain't right! Whoever's behind this 'as gotta pay big time!"
In the stands, Lucius Malfoy was watching the game with great interest, his thin golden eyebrows perked at the Potter boy who did a fine job of dodging the rouge bludger, he wondered fleetingly if it had been his Draco who bewitched it, it better not have been, it was to crude, not elegant enough for Malfoy hexing. Although he did enjoy watching his son taunt the famous Harry Potter, the two suddenly dove sharply towards the ground, the crowd around him gasped, and Lucius peered forwards in his seat, though his expression betrayed no hint whatsoever to his emotions.
A few moments later the two boys vanished beneath the stadium rafters, the rogue bludger following them, the spectators could hear it crashing through the entire stadium as the foundations trembled. Suddenly the two burst out, Lucius scowled as his own son's broom clumsily stuck on one of the rafters and sent Draco spinning head long on to the ground. His blonde haired son lay there in a daze for a few moments, struggled to sit up, but fell back, exhausted. Lucius's lips pressed into a tight, thin, frown of disapproval. What an insult to the family name the boy was, letting that Potter boy win, what a weakling . . . a disgrace.
On the ground, the others ran over with concern to where Harry had landed, having also tumbled off of his broom in grabbing the Snitch and winning the game. The bludger, however, had not given up; it soared into the air and crashed down around Harry threateningly. Hermione pointed her wand at the bludger, "Expelliarmus!" She shouted and it burst apart, Harry breathed a sigh of relief.
Rinoa ran up to him, "Oh my god I think your arm is broken." She gasped.
"It hurts." Harry admitted, "Well, er, let me try to fix it . . ."
She didn't seem very convinced. This worried Harry. Sure enough, he ended up in the Infirmary with Madam Pomfrey, the school nurse, all of the bones in his arm removed by Rinoa. ("I'm so sorry!")
As Harry lay in his bed, he could hear Madam Pomfrey shooing Malfoy out of the other bed. "Stop your bellyaching you're fine!" She insisted.
Draco Malfoy reluctantly pulled himself out of the comfortable infirmary bed. He really did not want to face his father, he knew that he would be furious with him for losing, even angrier that it had been to the Gryffindors and finally, Draco would really be in for it on account of losing to Potter. Draco Malfoy sighed as he dragged his feet to the empty locker rooms-which he knew would be empty by now-except for his father, of course.
Lucius Malfoy's face was pulled into a tight smirk as he glared down at his own son with icy and flashing eyes. "You lost." He said, swiftly striking Draco in the side of the head with his black walking stick.
Draco's head stung for a minute, it felt as though his head were going to split in two, but he refused stubbornly to show pain in front of his father. "You humiliated me." Lucius continued, striking him again, "You weak, worthless, disgrace of a son! Think of my reputation what will the neighbours think?!" He struck Draco for about every word he said then. Finally, Draco's head spinning so much he thought with a feeling of dread that he might lose it and fall over, Lucius stopped as though contemplating something very carefully and decided not to hit his son any more at the moment. "This won't do . . . this won't do at all. . ." Lucius continued saying, "I want you home for the Christmas holidays, boy that should give me the time I need to make this really sink in." He glared down at his son. Draco winced mentally, but forced himself to remain impassive and calm on the outside. "Is that understood?"
"Yes . . . father." Draco forced himself to say through pursed lips. He could already feel a bit of warm blood sliding down the side of his face.
". . . Clean yourself up before class." Lucius said, as though it needed pointing out, "And you've got blood on your robes, I'll send you new ones." It wasn't out of kindness, of course, Malfoy's son simply could not be seen in dirtied robes.
Draco forced himself back to class an hour later, his head was numb and still ringing, and he felt a new and even stronger hatred for Potter, if it wasn't for Potter than he would have gotten the snitch and won the game and then everything would have been . . . different. He wasn't sure how, exactly, but it would have been. He hated, he absolutely abhorred and loathed with every drop of his being that lousy Potter. . .
Quidditch was the most popular sport in the history of the wizard world. It was a game played on broomsticks high above an arena and involved two teams and several floating hoops in the air. Harry was his team's seeker, the most important person, if he found the tiny little golden snitch and caught it, the game would be over and Gryffindor would win. He mounted his broom, and saw the Slythrins mounting theirs. With a light kick of his feet he was off the ground and soaring above the air and into the sky, the rush and the feeling of weightlessness were the sensations he craved and found only in the air tearing through the sky on his broom.
The Slythrin's served first, with a mighty wack of the bludger several Gryffindors ducked or swerved out of the way, the Slythrins shot forwards, Harry weaved expertly in and out among the players, even with the Slythrins repeated attempts to knock him from his broom.
Up in the stands, Lucius Malfoy was sitting next to Professor Severus Snape in the Slythin end. He smirked down with a smug look on the children playing. His boy Draco would win, he had better.
Harry dodged a swiftly moving bludger, but it swerved back and came straight for him again, he continued to weave in and out among players and even the rafters of the stadium and the goal posts but nothing would shake it. On the ground spectators watched this with mixed emotions, the Slythrins laughed, Hagrid looked terrified, "That's a rouge bludger that is!"
"I think you're right, Hagrid!" Rinoa said, standing on her tiptoes and craning her neck up high.
"I'll stop it!" Ron cried, pulling out his still broken wand, but Hermione stopped him. "It's too dangerous . . ." She muttered.
"How can he keep dodging that thing?" Rinoa asked in awe, "The kids gotta be some kinda prodigy or somethin'."
"Yeah." Hagrid said gruffly, "But still it ain't right! Whoever's behind this 'as gotta pay big time!"
In the stands, Lucius Malfoy was watching the game with great interest, his thin golden eyebrows perked at the Potter boy who did a fine job of dodging the rouge bludger, he wondered fleetingly if it had been his Draco who bewitched it, it better not have been, it was to crude, not elegant enough for Malfoy hexing. Although he did enjoy watching his son taunt the famous Harry Potter, the two suddenly dove sharply towards the ground, the crowd around him gasped, and Lucius peered forwards in his seat, though his expression betrayed no hint whatsoever to his emotions.
A few moments later the two boys vanished beneath the stadium rafters, the rogue bludger following them, the spectators could hear it crashing through the entire stadium as the foundations trembled. Suddenly the two burst out, Lucius scowled as his own son's broom clumsily stuck on one of the rafters and sent Draco spinning head long on to the ground. His blonde haired son lay there in a daze for a few moments, struggled to sit up, but fell back, exhausted. Lucius's lips pressed into a tight, thin, frown of disapproval. What an insult to the family name the boy was, letting that Potter boy win, what a weakling . . . a disgrace.
On the ground, the others ran over with concern to where Harry had landed, having also tumbled off of his broom in grabbing the Snitch and winning the game. The bludger, however, had not given up; it soared into the air and crashed down around Harry threateningly. Hermione pointed her wand at the bludger, "Expelliarmus!" She shouted and it burst apart, Harry breathed a sigh of relief.
Rinoa ran up to him, "Oh my god I think your arm is broken." She gasped.
"It hurts." Harry admitted, "Well, er, let me try to fix it . . ."
She didn't seem very convinced. This worried Harry. Sure enough, he ended up in the Infirmary with Madam Pomfrey, the school nurse, all of the bones in his arm removed by Rinoa. ("I'm so sorry!")
As Harry lay in his bed, he could hear Madam Pomfrey shooing Malfoy out of the other bed. "Stop your bellyaching you're fine!" She insisted.
Draco Malfoy reluctantly pulled himself out of the comfortable infirmary bed. He really did not want to face his father, he knew that he would be furious with him for losing, even angrier that it had been to the Gryffindors and finally, Draco would really be in for it on account of losing to Potter. Draco Malfoy sighed as he dragged his feet to the empty locker rooms-which he knew would be empty by now-except for his father, of course.
Lucius Malfoy's face was pulled into a tight smirk as he glared down at his own son with icy and flashing eyes. "You lost." He said, swiftly striking Draco in the side of the head with his black walking stick.
Draco's head stung for a minute, it felt as though his head were going to split in two, but he refused stubbornly to show pain in front of his father. "You humiliated me." Lucius continued, striking him again, "You weak, worthless, disgrace of a son! Think of my reputation what will the neighbours think?!" He struck Draco for about every word he said then. Finally, Draco's head spinning so much he thought with a feeling of dread that he might lose it and fall over, Lucius stopped as though contemplating something very carefully and decided not to hit his son any more at the moment. "This won't do . . . this won't do at all. . ." Lucius continued saying, "I want you home for the Christmas holidays, boy that should give me the time I need to make this really sink in." He glared down at his son. Draco winced mentally, but forced himself to remain impassive and calm on the outside. "Is that understood?"
"Yes . . . father." Draco forced himself to say through pursed lips. He could already feel a bit of warm blood sliding down the side of his face.
". . . Clean yourself up before class." Lucius said, as though it needed pointing out, "And you've got blood on your robes, I'll send you new ones." It wasn't out of kindness, of course, Malfoy's son simply could not be seen in dirtied robes.
Draco forced himself back to class an hour later, his head was numb and still ringing, and he felt a new and even stronger hatred for Potter, if it wasn't for Potter than he would have gotten the snitch and won the game and then everything would have been . . . different. He wasn't sure how, exactly, but it would have been. He hated, he absolutely abhorred and loathed with every drop of his being that lousy Potter. . .