Chapter 5: The SuperFly

"Don't worry, Harry," said Hermione. "You'll be fine."

"I know, I know," Harry agreed. "It's just – you know…"

"Your first time," said Lance Draper, coming over. "Don't worry. I was like this. Then again, I came in last … you'll be fine."

Harry was not altogether reassured. He was in a stadium in France, in the part designated especially for racers, trainers and family and friends, together with Ron, Hermione, Ron's brothers Fred and George and his sister, Ginny, together with her baby, Ryan, whose father's identity was a total mystery. After that first race, training had continued – exercises, more practices, special diets in one of the buildings – and now Harry was fully kitted out in black Nimbus sports robes and with a new broomstick – a super-expensive improved version of the Nimbus 2500 that he was only allowed to use for races in case it became damaged. It was a true racing broom, with a perfectly straight and streamlined handle and a brush that was trimmed to be flawlessly aerodynamic.

"You'll be fine," repeated Hermione. "Remember your first Quidditch match?"

"If anything happens," said George. "Fred and I will sort it out for you. No one dares beat Harry Potter."

"In fact," said Fred. "Take this." He held out what looked like an innocent food packet. "We made it specially for you. Super Strengthening Spaghetti. It'll let you win anything."

Hermione said, "Fred!" and Harry grinned, "Do you really think they don't perform tests for illegal potions and spells?"

"Only joking," said Fred. "Actually, I bought it from a Muggle shop this morning."

Harry walked out onto the track, behind Deryn and Lance. The other members of the team were not taking part in this race. The three walked out to the starting line, where Lance put on his shades to protect his eyes from the blinding sun. "Remember what the boss said," he whispered. "Don't waste your time overtaking one of us. We're in this as a team. We've got the best brooms here, even Firebolt don't stand a chance. Don't underestimate L'Hippogriffe though – they've got excellent turning, as well as home support. That Russian company as well – the one with the unpronounceable name – they're quite good. The brooms aren't as fast, but the riders are excellent. Listen! They're announcing us."

True enough, an announcer – speaking in French – was reading out the teams and the names of the two-dozen competitors. When he read out Harry, the cheering was even louder than for Deryn and Lance. He was famous already, as the Boy-Who-Lived.

The starter signalled for the racers to take their positions. Harry was in last as Michael Swift had predicted, but Deryn and Lance were in first and second. The Nimbus team was already leading the SuperFly competition by a massive eighteen points.

Harry tensed his muscles, ready to begin. The racer next to him, a thickset African, smiled. Harry nodded back, then concentrated on the track ahead. The starter's wand popped, before squawking out a bang.

Harry and the team had decided it was best not to take any risks, and to stay back, waiting for the racers in front to make the wrong move. Nonetheless, Harry managed to propel himself forward five places as he cut across onto the inside lane. The air was rushing all around him, the slipstreams of the racers thundering in Harry's ears. And even louder was the roar of the crowd, somewhere among them the Weasleys and Hermione.

The laps sped past, almost as fast as the broomsticks. Harry overtook two more racers. Ahead of him, two brooms crashed into each other and their riders fell to the floor. Harry zoomed onwards, hoping that neither of the racers (now being carried off by mediwizards) were his teammates.

Lap twenty-four, lap twenty-five – a quarter of the way – lap twenty-six, lap twenty-seven. Harry overtook another wizard as he overshot the corner. Lap forty, fifty, sixty. Harry could see that some of the racers were losing their concentration. He managed to get into eighth by lap sixty-seven, taking advantage of riders glancing round or going too slowly. Lap seventy. Lance and Deryn were clearly ahead now. Another racer, in Comet white and silver, fall from his broom as he tried to speed past them. Lap eighty. Harry caught sight of Ron's cheering face in the stands, and lost concentration. In those few split seconds, a racer in the red and gold of the Firebolt team sped past. Harry cursed himself. Lap ninety. The racers were more spread out now. Only eighteen remained in the race. Harry wormed his way past three riders. Lap ninety-five. He moved to block the racer behind him. The speed of the race was now nauseating. Lap ninety-six. He dummied a collision with the racer in front, causing the unlucky rider to collide – for real – with the one in front. Lap ninety-seven. He was being reckless, he knew. He should try to hold his place. Lap ninety-eight. Harry allowed a racer to overtake him, before seizing the advantage as she rammed into the next rider. Lap ninety-nine. The racers all seemed to want to win, even though it now seemed nearly impossible from Harry's point of view. The third-placed rider overshot the corner in a rush of desperation, losing six places before he could retain his place. Harry was now one place away from leading the pack. The final lap – number one hundred. Up ahead, Lance sped over the finish line, followed closely by Deryn. Harry, too, was approaching the line. Measuring the distances in his mind, he left the inside lane to overtake the new third-placed rider, finishing the race milliseconds in front of him. He dived back down to the ground, landing in a crumpled heap with a thump. The next thing he knew, Deryn and Lance were hugging him – they had won, gaining the team a total of eighteen points and further extending their lead in the championship. The Weasleys and Hermione had left the stands, and were running over, closely followed by Michael Swift. "See, we told you!" exclaimed Ron. "Ginny had to take Ryan out he was so excited."

"Well done, lad!" praised Swift. "They told me you were good."

Everything was just too confusing. Harry climbed onto the podium and received his bronze medal, then cheered and clapped as Deryn and Lance received theirs as well. Then he got down, applauded the fans, before finally leaving to the calmness of the changing rooms.