Thanks To My Beta: Here's chapter four newly updated/beta-ed by Constance1!!! Thank you very much!
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Chapter Four
FIGHT
Harry watched as Ron diligently drilled the team to exhaustion later that evening.
First he led the trio of Chasers through a turbulent exercise of Quaffle stealing, then he charmed about twenty pillows into the air for the two Beaters to practice their batting skills on.
By the end of practice, Ginny, Seamus, and Dennis all had numerous scratches on their faces and arms, and the entire field was blanketed with geese feathers.
They all landed in a tired heap around Ron when he announced the end of their two hours, and everyone looked extremely relieved. Harry himself hadn't really done anything out of the ordinary, but just watching his fellow teammates acting in such an unusually vigorous manner of violence made him feel as if he too had been beating the life out of his arms.
Ron stood beaming at the group, chest puffed out and his Cleansweep slung over one shoulder.
"Brilliant practice!" he exclaimed, his voice booming loud enough to echo across the entire pitch. He paced back and forth authoritatively, looking incredibly pleased. "Absolutely brilliant!"
He opened his mouth to say more, but Andrew cleared his throat uncertainly, interrupting.
"Are you...sure this'll help us win on Sunday?" he asked.
The other members quickly glanced at Ron with expectant looks on their faces.
"'Course it will!" said Ron, undaunted. "This is how the Slytherins have been beating us up till now, right? So we give it right back to them! Can't believe I didn't think of it sooner…"
Andrew nodded resignedly and raised his eyes upwards as if he were praying to the heavens that their captain's efforts wouldn't prove futile. Harry inwardly felt thankful that he was Seeker, all he was expected to do was to catch the Snitch before Malfoy, and that was hardly a challenge in his book.
Ron grimaced at the long gash on Seamus's left cheek and Harry noticed Ginny shifting her gaze, looking very apologetic.
"You three should go up to the Hospital Wing and have Pomfrey fix you up."
"Thank you!" gasped Dennis, who'd been clutching his hand the whole time and looking very pale. And before anyone could utter another word, he picked up his broomstick with his uninjured hand and scampered off in the direction of the castle.
"Right, then." Ron grinned cheerfully, clapping his hands together. "So everyone knows what to do, yeah?"
Five players nodded in unison.
"Don't hold back, and attack full on. If they plunder the Quaffle from you, plunder it back! If they ram a Bludger at you, ram it back!" he whirled around to face Harry, his finger jabbing him in the chest emphatically with each word. "And if Malfoy spots that Snitch before you, don't even think about penalties! Grab his broomtail, grab his robes, grab his hair if you have to. Just get to it. Before. HIM. And that's final."
"Got it." Harry replied firmly, trying hard to keep his face straight as he imagined the girlish scream Draco would let out if he clamped his fingers around a tuft of his perfect silky hair and pulled as hard as he could.
"And nobody is to do anything strenuous tomorrow. We can't afford injuries before the match," Ron warned.
"What counts as 'strenuous'?" Dean asked apprehensively.
"No dueling or fighting, no flying, no dangerous jokes, no stunts -"
Ginny looked immensely relieved. "But Hogsmeade's okay?"
Ron frowned contemplatively for a minute before shaking his head. "It'd be better if you stayed inside the common room. Slytherin might have something up their sleeves and they could try to attack us when we're least expecting it."
"What?" everyone shouted incredulously, Ginny's voice loudest above all.
"No Hogsmeade?" Seamus cried out.
"You've got to be kidding!" Andrew protested. "You can't expect us to stay locked inside the common room all day!"
"We are not going to lose to bloody Slytherin!" Ron bellowed, eyes popping and broom waving madly above his head. "We can't afford to-"
Ginny stamped her foot with a furious expression on her face, it seemed that that had been the last straw for her. "You're becoming obsessive Ron! It's Quidditch, not war! This is just insane!"
"Insane? How is this insane? You know what those Slytherins are capable of! You've seen their sneaky tactics! They'll do anything to crash our chances for the Cup!" Ron's face was rapidly becoming the same hue as his flaming hair and for the first time ever, Harry was actually startled by the fever in his attitude. Ron had always been a very avid team Captain, but his enthusiasm rarely resulted in angry shouting, as was happening now. Harry had half the mind to take a hold of his best friend's arm and tell him to take it easy, but of course, he didn't.
"Look," Seamus interrupted hastily, stepping in between the glaring match of brother and sister. "We're never gonna win if we don't work together, right?"
Dean stepped in, too. "Right. It's all about team work."
"Let's think of a compromise," Andrew suggested cautiously, watching Ron. "We stick with today's playing strategy, but we also get to go to Hogsmeade."
"And we'll move around in large groups so that they won't be able to catch us alone," Seamus added.
Ron pursed his lips, looking very unsettled.
"Harry -" he said suddenly, looking desperate. "You're co-captain, what do you say?"
"Uh-" Harry stammered, scratching his neck indecisively. "Well…I suppose they've got a point..."
Ron glared at him for a moment before closing his eyes and sighing heavily. "Fine," he relented, running a hand through his hair. "Fine. Just - yeah, stay in big groups and have your wands with you."
"See, I knew you'd come around." Ginny beamed and kissed her brother on the cheek. Ron grimaced and wiped his sleeve quickly across his face. The tension seemed to have died away and now the whole team was looking satisfied with the situation. Everyone began trooping back to the locker rooms in considerably brighter moods, and Harry was about to join them when he saw that Ron was lagging behind, looking very forlorn. He slowly walked over and placed a comforting hand on his arm, not quite sure what to say.
"Am I really that horrible at being captain?" Ron asked, his eyes not meeting Harry's as they made their way slowly across the wet field. "I mean, am I not cut out to be as great as Wood?"
"'Course not," Harry said with a warm smile, throwing his arm around Ron's shoulders. "You're a great captain, and a lot less spontaneous than Oliver - and that's a good thing."
Ron cracked a small smile and shrugged. "I dunno, it's just that sometimes I get so caught up in the game and I forget that it's not like chess or exploding snap. I'm always afraid of people rejecting me as a Captain, you know."
"Hey, I'm sure Oliver had his ups and downs too at the beginning. And you saw yourself winning that award today right? That's got to mean something."
There was a pause and then Ron finally looked up hopefully. "You think so?"
And even though Harry wasn't quite sure whether divination actually worked or not, he truly felt that Ron deserved that award more than anyone else he knew. So he wasn't lying when he grinned widely and said:
"Yeah, I do."
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The morning of the big game dawned bright and clear; perfect Quidditch conditions. The air was not too cold, the grass was not too wet, and there were just enough clouds to provide some shade now and again to help the players avoid any glaring sun beams.
Due to a previous day of relaxation and a night of good long sleep, Gryffindor team was more than ready to take action as they piled into the locker rooms beneath the spectator stands. They were huddled in a circle in front of the door, all with one hand extended into the center and unwavering looks of determination etched onto their faces.
No one uttered a word for a good minute; they just stared at one another with as much concentrated strength as they could muster. Captain Ron nodded once and with a loud "FIGHT!" the rest of the team punched their fists into the air and marched out amongst the deafening roar and dizzying flash of scarlet and gold. They waved their arms confidently at the crazed crowd and finally came to a halt when they reached the center of the pitch where the referee was standing with a large, wooden crate.
None of the players could hear their names being announced owing to the screaming fans waving Gryffindor flags, yet they weren't surprised in the least. After all, this was the first and most important kick-off game of the year. Every game was important, just as every win was. And they could not lose. Not this year.
The Gryffindor team looked every part the brave, warrior-esque covey; more lion-like then any other moment in all their history. The sight would have made Godric Gryffindor very proud.
The seven player's faces hardened when the doors on the opposite side of the field were thrown open, and seven more players clad in green came strutting forward. Heads high, nastily smirking, and looking just as dangerous.
The two teams stepped toward the other, perfectly aligned, player to player, as Madam Hooch raised the magical megaphone to her mouth, her wand at the ready.
"Captains, shake hands!" she commanded.
Ron (tall and gangly), and Montague (short and burley), stepped forward and thrust out their hands with looks of pure hatred on their faces. It was hard to tell who looked more intimidating, despite the extreme physical differences between the two captains.
Harry shifted his gaze from Ron back to Malfoy, who was standing a foot before him, staring at Harry with eyes that were as venomous as basilisk fangs. His pale face was smeared with a sneer that would have sent any normal being cowering to the shadows, yet Harry stood his ground. He returned the animosity with as much concentrated fury as his opponent.
"May the best team win." Thin lips curled upward as they formed the sarcastic sentiment.
"May the best team win," he repeated, fingers clenched around the long handle of his Firebolt.
"Players on your mark-"
He lifted his broom and tilted it skywards.
"Get set-"
He threw his right leg over the handle.
"PLAY!"
Fourteen players and three balls shot up into the air like fireworks.
"They're off!" A commentator screeched above the noise.
Harry lost no time in rising to an altitude of fifty feet, leaving the rest of the world behind him in a mad blur of color. Once obtaining enough height to see every inch of the pitch within his vision, his search for that elusive flash of gold began.
The quicker he found the Snitch, the less penalties they'd have to be condemned with.
As the minutes passed by, reverberating shouts and screams could be heard from below, and Harry spared a few moments in his search to watch Bludgers knocking players off their brooms, breaking arms, winding stomachs and specks of blood flying through the air like sprinklers on a summer lawn.
It was barbaric. There was simply no other word to describe it.
Harry winced and felt a lurch of sickness when he saw Goyle hammer a Bludger that crashed into Andrew's shoulder, and the excruciating expression that flashed across Andrew's face as he tumbled sideways off his broom and fell headfirst to the ground. The crowd roared in anger.
Then, Dean cracked that same Bludger back at Goyle and it promptly collided with his jaw and he too was unseated from his broomstick. It had only been five minutes since the start of the game and already two players were down. Just as Ron had assumed, the Slytherin team was definitely looking startled at the aggressiveness of the Gryffindor team and their planned tactics were abandoned. Everyone was just zooming about the field in an attempt to keep themselves alive. The whole pitch was in complete chaos.
Harry himself had to dodge numerous Bludgers and hurtling players while keeping his eye open for the Snitch at the same time. Just when he thought he saw a glimmer of gold, he'd be distracted by another cry from the crowd as a player was injured.
No one seemed to be listening to Madam Hooch, who was constantly blowing her whistle to award endless penalties, the game went on as if this was what Quidditch was all about - blood, blood, and more blood.
Ten minutes later, Warrington was down. Dennis was down. Nott was down. There were now only a total of nine players in the air. If Harry didn't find that Snitch soon...
Another clang and a clamor of hissing. The score was sixty to fifty, with Slytherin in the lead.
Harry hardly noticed the fact that the Slytherin Seeker had been hovering in Harry's shadow since the start of the game; blonde hair in slight disarray and grey eyes wide with fear. More than a few times, he'd let out a high-pitched shriek as a savage Bludger streaked past him, trying to knock him out of the air. Harry of course hardly noticed any of this, he was too busy concentrating - or at least trying to - on other more important things.
He ducked as another Bludger came at him, just grazing the top of his hair. Harry gripped his broom tightly in his sweaty fingers, gulping and feeling very unsafe. How many more of these could he possibly avoid?
And just as he thought that, there was another uproar from the stands below, and he caught a fleeting glance of Ron flying off his Cleansweep with his arms flailing like a windmill.
Oh shit. Harry thought, finally panicking. Ron!
Without their keeper, they were most definitely dead meat.
Gotta find the snitch…gotta find the snitch…gotta find the…
There was nothing else that Gryffindor could do now, with only four players left. It was all up to Harry.
And just as he was about to make an about turn to head over to the other side of the pitch, a Bludger came out of nowhere. He tried to swerve out of the way, but his Firebolt lurched backwards, followed by a scream from somewhere behind him and he whirled his head around to find Malfoy clinging to his scarlet robes and ducking behind him as the black ball shot at them like a canon.
"Let go Malfoy!" Harry bellowed, his heart stopping cold in his chest. "Mal-"
CRACK!
A world of swirling stars, and he slumped forward, the pain in his skull beyond anything he'd ever felt in his life. An inky darkness began to invade his vision and he slipped... down... down... down... screams... or was that the wind whistling in his ears?
He felt his body slamming into the damp earth, spraying water everywhere. His robes were instantly soaked and he knew that he would most certainly have innumerable broken bones, if not paralysis for life. But oddly, either due to the said paralysis or unconsciousness, he could not feel any of the pain that he ought to have been feeling.
He would have concluded that his body was entirely numb, if it weren't for the fact that he could feel the cold grass under his hands and against his cheek. He could feel the water dripping off his face and hair. He could feel his own warm breath coming out of his mouth. And he could feel the familiar struggle of the Snitch's wings in his tight grasp.
Snitch? Harry's eyes sprang open and he cast a look down at his gloved hand that was outstretched to the side, buried deep in the tufts of grass, and sure enough, a pair of silver wings were protruding from between his fingers; fluttering madly and wriggling to free itself.
Huh? A voice in his head said in utter bewilderment. When the hell did I catch THAT?
Suddenly, something black and something very scruffy pounced onto his chest, winding him as thoroughly as a well aimed Bludger. He felt a hot wet something slathering his face and the distinct smell of dog breath in his nostrils.
He shouted out in shock and rolled over to escape his attacker, still clutching the Snitch in one hand and his Firebolt in the other.
"Oh please, desist will you?" a drawling voice said from above, not more than a few feet away.
The licking stopped and Harry immediately scrambled to his unsteady feet, brandishing his broomstick out in front of him like a sword.
The sight that met his eyes made his mouth drop open and his Firebolt fall to the earth with a thud.
Malfoy was kneeling on the ground next to a huge, black dog, a sarcastic yet fond look on his face as he scratched the thick ears of the animal who was barking and jumping about happily.
Harry spluttered, swaying dangerously on his feet then staggering backwards.
"Si - Si - Si -" His heart was thudding against his ribcage so loudly that he couldn't even hear his own voice. And that was when he noticed that Malfoy wasn't wearing Quidditch robes, that the whole pitch was deadly silent - not a single spectator to be seen. Only them.
Malfoy lifted his head to look at Harry, raising an eyebrow questioningly. "Something wrong?" he inquired, standing up.
But Harry couldn't string two coherent syllables together.
"Sir -" his voice choked out. "Sirius??"
The dog stopped jumping and faced him with curious eyes, as if saying, 'What?'
In the next moment there was a soft swishy sort of noise and the dog began to stretch and elongate; legs growing longer and snout flattening out, coarse hair disappearing, and in its place, pale skin and black cloth.
Harry was now staring at a very healthy looking Sirius Black.
"You okay, Harry?" the man asked concernedly, stepping forward and reaching a hand out toward his shoulder.
Harry's whole body trembled uncontrollably as he stood rooted to the spot, breath beginning to come in short unnatural gasps and head pounding from the lack of oxygen in his lungs.
"Harry?" the voice came more urgently.
The last thing he saw before the world blacked out, was Sirius and Malfoy throwing their arms out towards him as his knees buckled and he collapsed to the ground in a dead faint.
A/N
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