Disclaimed
Author's Note: Sorry about the long wait. Thank you for waiting!
The Basement By Marz Chapter 24: I Will Not Stay Down: I'm Not That SmartA second before he shoved me under the freezing water, I considered abandoning the plan. Unfortunately I was not quite coherent enough to voice my altered state of mind. All I could do was bleat like a miserable sheep as the water soaked through my pajamas and poured over my head. I tried to get out, but was pushed firmly back into the icy stream. Only when I was shivering so hard that my knees knocked together, was I allowed to escape. A mug was pushed into my hands.
"Drink. You have five more cups to get down before the match," said Ron.
"How long?" I asked.
"19 minutes."
I took the coffee from Ron and started chugging. My eyes tried to sink closed again, even as the scalding liquid ran down my throat. Ron walked to the other side of the room, and leaned out the door. I could hear him whispering with Hermione, who'd been stationed in front of the prefect's bathroom to keep watch. It was bad enough that Madam Pomfrey was stalking us through the halls, but Snape had suddenly developed "a great concern for my well being" and was trying to put me back in the hospital, safely away from the championship match.
Sirius would've covered for me. He'd have told the nurse that I had gone back to the dormitory to sleep. He'd probably even have helped me sneak out to the pitch. For the hundredth time I wondered where he was. He wouldn't just miss my transformation.
"It's still clear," Ron reported, throwing me a towel.
My eye's felt gritty and wouldn't stay focused. Every part of me ached. It felt like worms were trying to drill their way out of my skull. I emptied the mug and held it out for a refill. My stomach was churning and sour, but I started on the second cup right away. Hermione had refused to make the Draft of Sleepless Nights, or any other potions to help me make it through the game. She said they'd ruin my health. At least she didn't turn me into the hospital Matron.
There was a knock on the door, and a moment later Fred and George sidled in.
"We've brought your Quidditch robe," said George.
"…as requested," said Fred.
"We were going to ask,"
"…why you wouldn't come down to the locker rooms,"
"…but then Snape arrived,"
"…and wouldn't leave."
"He confiscated your Firebolt,"
"Well, he thought he did."
"We put one of Mr. Filch's brooms in the case."
"The real one is in Angelina's locker."
"Thanks," I said.
The twins handed over the robes and I went into one of the stalls to change. My hands shook as I did up the buttons, and I wasn't sure if the cause was the exhaustion, the cold water, or the caffeine.
"Is there a reason you decided to take a shower fully dressed?" Called Fred, or George, since they sound exactly alike.
Because If I passed out, I didn't want to be found naked; Because I was too out of it to take them off on my own and I sure as hell wasn't going to ask for help; Because its hard to fall asleep in freezing wet pajamas. I didn't say any of that out loud of course. I pulled on my boots and came out of the stall. I staggered. The room seemed to be tilted to the right, but as I tried to compensate I lost what little balance I had left.
Ron helped me up off the floor, and I managed to take three steps before I had to grab the edge of a sink for balance. I closed my eyes and hung on, until the room's violent tilting faded to a milder feeling of displaced motion. I looked in the mirror above the sink. The reflections of three Weasleys watched me with great concern and suspicion. I took a moment to inspect my self.
The circles around my eyes were so dark they looked almost like bruises. My mouth was colorless and my lower lip was quivering as if I was about to burst into tears. My eyes were blood shot and the pupils were dilated. I had to close them again as a wave of nausea ran through me, but I didn't retch.
When I was able to look around again, Fred and George were standing on either side of me.
"Harry, you know we'd be the last people on earth to suggest this,"
"…but maybe you'd better sit this one out,"
"…rather then passing out."
"I'm fine." I said, swallowing hard to make sure the coffee stayed down.
"That is very clearly not true," said George.
As one, they turned to face Ron.
"So tell us little brother,"
"…what's ailing our Seeker?"
Ron shrugged, and they advanced on him, dragging me along.
"Ron, you have to tell us," said Fred.
"It's one of those situations where you have to tell an adult,"
"…or at least us."
Ron shrugged again and tried not to make eye contact with his brothers.
We were saved from further inquiry by Hermione. She ducked in the door and slammed it behind her, then leaned against it, as if expecting a battering ram to strike in the next moment.
"Snape's coming."
"Plan B!," announced Ron, "Everybody out the window, quick!"
Fortunately we'd mapped out several escape routes from the school to the Quidditch pitch. Ron pulled open the window and boosted me and then Hermione out over the sill. We scrambled across the tiled roof, headed for a window of the Arithmancy classroom. I looked out over the grounds on the north side of the castle, but there was no large black dog in sight.
Last night, with only two hours to go before the transformation, I'd gone up to Dumbledore's office. He agreed to check on Sirius, but sent me out of the room before he would do it. I waited outside the door, but I couldn't stop myself from listening. My hearing seemed better then usual, for I could make out every word Dumbledore said.
"Phineas, I need you to check on Sirius again please."
"Would it not be simpler just to fire call him?"
There was a rumble of mutterings throughout the headmaster's office, and I couldn't help but feel disconcerted. I could hear voices, but none of the normal human sounds that went with them, no rustling of clothes, no creaking of chairs or the scrape of shoes across the stone floor. The muttering died away as soon as Phineas said "fine" in a distinctly immature manner. I hopped away from the door, and tried to look as if I had been politely and patiently waiting several steps away, but no one came out, and it was not more then three minutes before Phineas' voice returned.
"He's gone already, Dumbledore. Don't expect me to know where."
He could have been caught. He might've gone crazy again. He could've been hit by a car.
Hermione tugged me out of my reverie, and across the final few yards of the roof. She had to help me climb through the window, and made worried little whining sounds the whole time. Ron caught up to us a second later. He crawled through and we turned to watch. Fred and George didn't come out for several minutes and we were certain they'd been caught, but suddenly two red-haired blurs skidded out onto the roof, slamming the window behind them. Instead of scrambling across to us, they went to the edge and hopped over it. We were more then a little concerned by this, as we were five stories up. Ron ran down the stairs as fast as he could and we followed. When we reached the first floor, Ron was already outside inspecting the lawn. There was no indication that the twins had reached the ground in an unpleasant manner, so we continued on to the Quidditch pitch.
I could barely breathe when we got there. We went under the stands instead of through the main gates, as Pomfrey had stationed herself in front of them. After miles and miles of scrambling, through a dark sticky labyrinth of support beams and discarded candy wrappers, we got to the outside wall of the Gryffindor locker rooms. Hermione knocked twice on the wall and there were three answering thumps, the "all clear" signal. She put her wand to a tiny pin-prick of light leaking through the wooden walls.
"Engorgio!" she said.
The hole in the wall expanded.
Hermione squeezed through first, and I went after, with no problem fitting, though I was too dizzy to stand again after. Ron got completely stuck. The twins came forward to help him out.
"How'd you get down from the roof?" asked Ron as Fred grabbed one of his arms, and George the other.
"That's one of our patented secrets I'm afraid," said George.
"What were you doing in there anyway?" asked Hermione.
"It occurred to us, that perhaps we'd be better off without Snape in pursuit," George said.
"So we made a few adjustments to the doors and windows of the lavatory before we left," said Fred.
"We improved the faucets and drains as well."
"Does anyone know if Snape can swim?"
"Does anyone care?" grunted Ron.
I couldn't help the grin the crossed my face, though I pushed it aside quickly in sympathy for Ron. With a final cloth ripping tug, he came flying out of the hole and landed in a rumpled pile at Hermione's feet. She helped him up, and then both of them set me upright. Ron was rubbing at his shoulder and mumbling about a broken collarbone.
"Good luck Harry," said Hermione. She looked as if she planed to say more, but at that moment Oliver Wood stormed into the locker room. I could honestly say the room was full of contrasts. I felt ready to fall over unconscious, and Oliver was about to explode. Hermione and Ron slinked quickly out, trying to avoid The Wrath, or more exactly The Rant of Oliver. The rest of the team filed in as they left. Angelina handed me my Firebolt.
"Harry, where have you been? We've been out looking. Snape was in here saying you'd gone missing from the hospital wing. You're not sick are you? You missed the entire pre-game strategy meeting! You don't know any of the plays! How could you…"
"Oliver," I cut him off. I knew Oliver was stressed out of his mind by my late appearance, but I was far to close to passing out to care. "Am I involved in any part of those plays?"
"Well not directly, but…"
"Then does it really mater if I was here or not?"
I sat down on the nearest bench, trying to catch my breath before the game started. I hadn't felt this dizzy on the journey under the bleachers, but now it felt as if I was inside a clothes-dryer. I can actually compare the two sensations, because my cousin Dudley and his intellectually challenged friends had, on my seventh birthday, stuffed me into one and turned it on "high" with "full-load". Fortunately the wiring in the basement blew out before I could get overly desiccated. I was grounded for a month for that by the way. I put my hands on the sides of my head, just to make sure my skull wasn't somehow oscillating.
Suddenly Katie, Alicia, and Angelina were surrounding me.
"Harry, what's wrong?"
"Harry, have you been throwing up?"
"Do you have a fever?"
As Katie said the last part she put her hand on my forehead to check. If I wasn't about to go into shock I would have blushed. A whistle echoed through the locker room; ten minutes until game time. I got to my feet and over balanced, falling onto Katie in a very embarrassing manner. She didn't' seem overly annoyed with me though. We headed for the pitch.
The hallway leading to the field couldn't have been more then twenty feet long, but I didn't know if I could make it all the way to the end. Nausea and dizziness fought for dominance of my misery. I started using the handle of my Firebolt as a walking stick.
"Everyone ready? Everyone has their brooms?" Oliver asked. As we walked toward the pitch he began to shake slightly. "I can't stress how important this is. The future of our Quidditch careers, as well as the honor of Gryffindor, depends on the outcome of this game. There will never be a more important day in our entire lives. In fact if we don't live up to our full potential in the next few hours, we may as well throw ourselves in the lake."
Screaming from the stands spilled over us. The five minute whistle shrieked, and Oliver froze mid step.
"I can't do this," he said.
"Oh Merlin," Oliver continued. "I can't remember play 145! Does Katie take the Quaffle to the left and then fake a pass to Alicia or was it the other way, or maybe it was up, not left. Does anyone have a copy of the plays? I have to check!"
"Oliver calm down," said Alicia.
"And play 489! Were the beaters working crosswise or in the figure eight pattern? Wait! Am I left or right handed? I can't remember!" He held an imaginary pen in each hand and tried to write his name with both, but the expression of bewilderment only settled in further. Oliver turned away from the field and looked longingly at the exit.
Fred gave Oliver punch in the shoulder and said "Just remember, the team we're playing against would have trouble beating a tuna fish in a game of Quidditch. Slytherin isn't going to win."
Oliver nodded but otherwise stood statue still.
"Oliver, you'll do fine," Katie said. She walked up to Oliver and kissed him on the cheek.
"No worries Oliver," said Alicia, who then kissed him on the other cheek.
"What they said," said Angelina, before she kissed him on the cheek as well.
Oliver was not longer frozen, and was blushing quite a bit. He looked almost inspired enough to play, but lingering doubt was apparent.
Of course George Weasley knew just what to say to make sure Oliver entered the pitch with confidence, or at least great speed. As Angelina stepped back, George stepped up to Oliver, put his hands on the Keeper's shoulders, and said very solemnly, "Tongue or no tongue?"
If Oliver doesn't make it in Quidditch, I don't think he'd have a problem getting on England's Olympic track team. He also did a very impressive shrug-spin-dodge move, to escape from George, which may indicate he missed a calling to rugby as well. I had to purposely smash my foot into the door frame to keep from laughing, but I was worried it would start me vomiting. I think Angelina cracked up enough for everyone though. The girls were still giggling when we got to the center of the field. Oliver was already hovering in the air, well out of reach of the Weasleys, and shooting them suspicious looks.
The Slytherins were in position as well, leering at us as we took off. They'd made a few changes to their line up. Malfoy was about half the size of the next largest player on their team. The game was going to be rough, but I actually felt a bit better as I rose into the air. I think it was in large part due to the fact that the broom was supporting most of my weight, but I never feel better then when I'm flying. I still felt as if I was being tossed about in a raging hurricane, despite the mild breeze and sunny weather, but I was starting to think I could make it. The only thing missing was Sirius.
Sirius said he was going to be here. He said he wouldn't miss the Quidditch final for all the gold in Gringotts. Sirius can take care of himself. He probably just forgot. He went to the market last night for bread or something, and missed that Phineas fellow, and while he was gone, his calendar fell off the wall and a freak gust of wind blew it into the lit fire place, and he just forgot. But if he just forgot that means he didn't care that much in the first place. Maybe his port key malfunctioned and he ended up in France. Maybe he decided to fly up here by broom instead and got struck by lightening. Maybe he slipped in the shower and can't get to a phone. Maybe…
I hadn't meant to let my eyes close, but waiting for Madam Hooch to come out with the Quaffle and go over the rules, and the dull roar of the crowd, and the rocking motion of the broom as I hovered in the air, all seemed intent on letting me fall asleep. It couldn't have been more then a few seconds.
"Hey Potter!"
I'd missed the whistle. I looked up just in time for the quaffle to bounce off my face. I lost my grip on the broom, falling forward and slamming into the handle of my broom. My nose hurt, my eyes were watering, and my head spun faster then ever. I managed to get up again, just in time to see Oliver block Slytherins first run on the scoring rings. He threw the ball to Katie and the three chasers shot towards the Slytherin rings. A second later the crowd roared and Lee Jordan announced 10 to nothing Gryffindor.
I shook my head, trying to clear it but that only seemed to make things worse. Clenching my teeth I pulled up on the handle of the Firebolt, gaining altitude. Malfoy was circling high above, but I could tell he hadn't seen the snitch yet. As I rose above the game a tiny sparkle of light caught my eye. I dove.
I heard the crowd cheer as Gryffindor scored another goal. The ground rushed up at me and the dizziness nearly overwhelmed me. The edges of my vision grew dark as I plummeted. I was twenty feet above the ground when I saw it was only a foil candy wrapper. I slowed to a stop, waiting for my brain to re-congeal. I hate when people litter.
WHAM!
I blinked up at the sky. Way too big to be a bludger, I thought as I sat up. Some inconsiderate person was blowing a whistle near my poor head. I stood up and staggered to my broom, which had landed only a few hundred million miles away. I looked up and saw Hooch shouting herself red in the face as Malfoy smirked at me. Lee Jordan's commentary started to sink in.
"…PENALTY! MALFOY HAS RECEIVED AN OFFICIAL WARNING FOR RAMING ANOTHER PLAYER, BUT IT LOOKS LIKE POTTER IS BACK ON HIS FEET AGAIN!"
I bent over to pick up my broom and lost my balance. I landed on my knees and crawled the last few inched to it. It took forever for me to get back to my feet. The shouting seemed louder then ever and I turned.
WHAM!
Definitely a bludger that time. I sat up again, and that was a mistake. I turned my head aside in time to avoid messing up my uniform. As the coffee and a lot of things I don't remember eating returned, I heard Oliver call for a time out.
A shadow came over me and someone started patting me on the back.
"Are you alright?" asked Alicia.
I retched again.
There was a thump as Oliver landed next to us. "This is bad! This is bad! Everyone remembers plan 1547? He still has both arms but I think we can adapt it."
I groaned. Alicia grabbed me under the arms and pulled me to my feet. Madam Hooch landed next to us.
"Potter, are you able to continue?"
I didn't trust myself to open my mouth so I nodded. Oliver handed me my broom so at least I didn't have to lean over again. As I took off I saw a very damp Snape and Madam Pomfrey marching across the field towards us, but Madam Hooch blew the whistle, and the game was on.
Malfoy was marking me the second I was in the air. He wasn't taking his official warning too seriously. He followed me all over the pitch, bumping into me when ever Hooch was out of view. I was too sick to try anything fancy to loose him. Even the thought of a barrel roll made me gag.
If I throw up again I hope Malfoy's still flying this close.
In the end it wasn't a battle of skills, or will, or talent. In the end a Nimbus 2001 can't compete with a Firebolt.
The snitch popped into view at the opposite end of the field and we saw it at the same side. I outdistanced Malfoy without bringing the broom up to its full acceleration. The stands blurred and a second later the snitch was in my hand.
I flew back to the Gryffindor side of the pitch. I could hear Malfoy ranting about how the broom had done all the work, and it was true. I knew it would eat at me later, but at that moment, I didn't care. All I wanted was to sit down. I landed next to Madam Hooch and handed her the snitch, so she could put it away. My head was ringing, I could feel nothing but dread as the rest of the school came spilling out of the stands to congratulate us. I wouldn't be able to sneak quietly back to the dorm and pass out. Headmaster Dumbledore walked among them, carrying the Quidditch Cup. It was the first time I was glad the season was over.
I just wish I could lie down.
WHAM!
I hate irony.