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W.A.T.

"Funny…the amount of damage a book can do." -CoS, Tom Riddle

Harry spotted the glimmering snitch past the Arrows' left goalpost. He soared in that direction, dodging a bludger and a Beater three time his size. He reached the middle post, and there it was, dancing in circles around the post. 'This is too easy,' Harry thought. He reached his arm out and wrapped his fingers around the golden ball. He could feel the Snitch struggling to free itself from his grip as he turned to see the Arrows' Keeper  and Seeker cursing in anger. The game was over. Puddlemere United had beaten the Appleby Arrows. Lee Jordan, the commentator, was cheering ceremoniously from the Top Box. He could see all of the Weasleys, including Ginny and Ron, cheering. Remus Lupin, with a blonde Tonks on his arm, had even come to see him. It was beautiful. Coach Kneeket, the wizard who gave Harry the spot on the team as an alternate player on the Puddlemere United team after seeing him play at the University, came up to Harry as soon as he was on the ground.

            "You've done it again, Flobberworm." He said, smacking him harshly on the back of the head.

            "Now go get changed. Rumor has it that Harry Potter has a fiancée that he needs to pay some attention to. And don't forget, hero, that we have practice at seven A.M. tomorrow morning. Flobberworm." Harry shook his head at the derogatory term. Even his nasty coach couldn't get him down. He was in love with the most beautiful woman in the world, he was on a Quidditch team that was headed for the Cup, and all of his friends (except Hermione, of course) had seen his big match.

Most of the team was still on the pitch when Harry reached the team's changing quarters. He had hurriedly left the pitch to change out of his sweaty, navy blue robes so that he could see his loved ones. He was just about remove the sticky sweaty mess when he heard the loudest sound he had ever heard in his life. The entire room shook. A few benches fell over and he stumbled a bit, losing his balance. Half a moment later, he was blinded by darkness and pain in the back of his head. The room was pitch black, save for popping, white lights in front of his eyes every few seconds. Faint screams could be heard in the background, but they were difficult to hear due to the whooshing sounds in his head, resembling a high-powered industrial fan, every few seconds. His legs carried him unwillingly back onto the field. He stopped at the edge of the pitch, trying to reconstruct what had happened. But he could not. He could not think. He could barely see. Other than the twinkling stars in front of his eyes every few moments, he saw a flickering orange all around him, with faint traces of red. It was so pretty…but what was it. He could not hear anything but the whooshing sound and it was causing him to become dizzy. He felt lightheaded and woozy as he swayed from side to side, as he absentmindedly held the back of his head. He felt his legs grow weak as he continued walking through the scattered orange and red, dodging bits of..things…falling from the sky. He bumped into a tall, hurried-looking man who was carrying a large bundle the size of a person, and Harry stumbled a bit. The man did not seem to notice. He tripped again over a metal object, cutting his leg in the process. Harry continued walking, not really knowing where he was going, but just listening to the whooshing sound, it becoming more and more like a lullaby, enticing him into sleep. His eyes grew heavy as he saw the grass outside of the stadium. 'Where is everyone?' Harry thought, continuing to hold his now sticky head. He felt his legs give way and he crumpled to the ground, resting on the green grass.

Harry was woken abruptly by the feel of something cold on his face and something pushing him forward into a sitting position. A deep, male voice from behind him echoed in his ear.

"Son? Son…Can you talk?" Harry opened his eyes to see a blurry blonde witch in front of him, pressing a cool cloth to his forehead. He turned slightly, and felt a tremendous pain in the back of his head. His hand was prevented from touching the wound, as it was bandaged quite thoroughly with medi-tape. Harry looked curiously at the man behind him as he finished pulling himself into a sitting position. He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. His throat was dry and scratchy. He cleared it a moment later and spoke.

"Who are you? What happened? Where's Ginny?" The man spoke again.

"I'm a healer. You've been hurt pretty badly, son. But not as bad as some of the others." The man was silent for a moment.

"Others?" Harry asked softly. The woman was wiping his forehead, stained with dried blood, clean.

"Harry Potter!" The woman spoke with a shocked voice.

Several heads turned away from Ministry officials to look at Harry. Before he knew it, he was being bombarded with questions and flashes of light from cameras were blinding him.

            "Harry Potter! How did you survive this tragic incident?!"

            "How does it feel that seconds have you won your first match to have been overshadowed by something like this?"

            "Did you know any of the victims?"

            "How do you feel knowing that some of the people who were killed here tonight were here to see you?"

Harry's mind and vision were a blur. 'Killed? Tragic incident? Victims?' He found himself getting up, and running back to the stadium.

Harry gasped as stood in the middle of what was once a fine pitch. The entire structure was charred and falling apart. He walked to the middle of the field and walked in a circle, looking up at the stadium. The seats were charred. Every last one of them had been destroyed and were unrecognizable. The explosion looked like it had originated in the Top Box. Debris was everywhere. Pieces of Quidditch uniforms were everywhere, as were burnt up advertisements that had been hung on the walls separating the field from the viewer boxes. A demolished wand here, a few charred pieces wood there…the entire place had been destroyed along with almost everyone with it. That thought struck him again. Almost everyone with it. The players, his coach, the commentator, his friends. His friends! The section where they had been seated was completely missing and replaced with black. To the left of the section was the Top Box.

Harry felt himself slump into a heap in the middle of the pitch, not caring that a corner of a piece of wood was jabbing him in the back, only caring that he was alone once again. That his friends and family were gone. The thought hit him like a brick. Ginny. Ron. Molly and Arthur. Fred and George. Charlie. Bill. Remus and Tonks. He felt himself trembling. Ginny. The love of his life. He would never see her again. He would never see any one of them again. He could not tell that his nails were digging into his arms drawing blood, or that he was biting his lip so hard that it was beginning to bleed as well. He only knew that a part of him was gone forever. The whooshing sound returned as soon as his head hit the grassy floor of the pitch. And then it was silent and black again.