Author's Notes: This has got to be the longest chapter yet. At first I was freaking out because I didn't feel as if I had enough material to write with, but look at the outcome – a record-breaking ten pages on Word. Apparently Quidditch can keep you occupied.
I must say, I am very pleased at where this story is going. The number of reviews I have received is truly amazing, all of them as positive as possible. It's overwhelming, really. So here's my attempt at saying thank you in a very serious way (which I think I pulled off pretty well!)
I've also come to notice how most of you are craving more Ron/Hermione tension and absolutely do not want them making up. This is the twelfth chapter in which there have been no attempts at repairing their friendship, and I'm sad to say it cannot continue much longer. Just a little forewarning so you all aren't bowled over when the words "I'm sorry" finally come tumbling out of one of their mouths. Don't know why I'm telling you this, really, but I'm sure you've all realized they weren't going to ignore each other forever, right? And if not, er… sorry for the spoiler. =)
CrimsonEnchantress: Thank you once again for another heart-warming review. I'm very glad you've liked (and noticed) the way I've "woven this story", as you said.
Ordinary Princess: And thank you for reviewing my story back! Seeing as I've never been to London… or, more curiously, Los Angeles or anything East Coast, I was bound to make it seem a bit uncharacteristic, so I apologize. It was a different side of London, you see. wink
Moonypadfoot: Yes, Harry and Ron do liven things up a bit, don't they?
Youngwriter56: A Draco/Hermione? Really? Let me go re-read my summary. Hm, I suppose, but as you now know, I am totally against anything that doesn't involve a stubborn little redhead. =)
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CHAPTER TWELVE: LETHAL QUIDDITCHThe start of December dawned unbelievably cold and unusually snowy. Outdoor classes were being cancelled on a regular basis to save students from getting severe cases of frostbite (or perhaps the reason was because the hospital wing had reached its capacity of students already inflicted). Those who decided to brave the harsh conditions and venture outside for a quick snowball fight after classes were either extremely courageous or astoundingly stupid – students could be seen trudging back into the warmth of the castle after dinner daily, their faces frozen by the wind in grotesque positions, begging incomprehensibly for Warming Concoctions through immovable blue lips. Hermione had resulted to assigning detentions to those who frequently had overwhelming impulses to go against all better judgment and have ferocious snowball fights anyway.
Because of the great deal of complaining Hermione overheard regularly in her classes, it was obvious the two Quidditch teams participating in the upcoming match, Gryffindor and Slytherin, were having rather a difficult time practicing. Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw appeared quite laid back and were, undoubtedly, grateful they would not be playing in such harsh weather conditions. Hermione had caught several members of both teams trying to weasel out of practicing in the hallways between classes – the most recent event had, however, gone a bit too far.
"Just do it," sixth-year Denver Wickers was commanding a horrified-looking fourth-year, Macaria Jules, in the corridor outside Hermione's classroom three days before the upcoming match. "Come on, make it quick."
"I am not jinxing you, Denver!" Macaria cried, backing into the wall. "Tony would go through the roof if he knew you were trying to get out of practice like this!"
"I'm not asking for a strong jinx," replied Denver, clearly frustrated. "I don't want to miss the match, of course, just make me sprout mushrooms on my nose or something, just so I won't have to fly tonight –"
"Absolutely not!"
"Look," said Denver heatedly, drawing his wand from his pocket. "If you don't jinx me then I'll jinx you until I get a good hex on me, all right? Back off, you warts," he added to an interested group of first years to his left, causing them to scurry away in random directions. Several heads turned as the rest of the hallway quickly became fascinated as well.
"Oh, I don't mind if you jinx me," Macaria said airily. "I can't very well jinx you if I'm knocked out cold, though, can I? So go ahead, I'd be delighted to stay inside tonight, too."
"All right, you've asked for it –" Denver raised his wand menacingly in front of Macaria, who merely yawned. Hermione, who had been watching the scene unnoticed from the shadows of her classroom doorway, realized it was about to get serious and darted forward, pulling her own wand from her pocket.
"Accio!"
Denver's wand promptly shot from his hand and into Hermione's own. He gazed around nonplussed, looking for the source of the voice. His eyes widened when he noticed his professor glaring at him a short distance away, having realized how much trouble his antics had caused him.
"Even though I agree that your Gryffindor team captain should not be having you practice in such formidable weather," Hermione began slowly, clenching her teeth to stop herself from shouting at the quaking boy, "you will never again result to threatening another student with magic to get out of training. Is that clear?"
Denver shook his head, looking slightly relieved.
"That's thirty points from Gryffindor and a detention, Mr. Wickers," Hermione added upon seeing his relaxed expression. To her surprise, it was quickly replaced with a more thoughtful and perhaps even hopeful one.
"Professor, can I do my detention –?"
"No, you are going to fly tonight even if it is snowing hippogriffs, and I will see to it personally. See me during the next break and we will arrange the time of your detention." Hermione gave him another sharp glare before beckoning her fourth year class into the room and shutting the door with a resounding snap.
On the morning of the match, Hermione walked into the Great Hall to find it teeming with students all chattering eagerly. The Gryffindors and Slytherins were already dressed in their uniforms with their broomsticks in hand, glaring at one another from across the Hall and looking rather intimidated themselves. Impulsively, Hermione looked up to check the weather and found the ceiling a dark, snowy gray; warm and fluffy enchanted snowflakes were falling, but compared to the raging snowstorm outside, Hermione found she rather preferred the former.
"Hey," she said, seating herself between Ginny and Desdemona at the head table. They both greeted her back a bit more stiffly than usual, avoiding eye contact with one another. Hermione suppressed the desire to scoff at their immaturity and said nothing.
"Looks like quite a blizzard," she said casually, pulling a plate of biscuits toward her.
"Doesn't matter," Ginny replied quickly. "The Gryffindors can fly through anything. Been practicing nearly every night this week, unlike other teams." She shot a glare at Desdemona, who laughed.
"The Slytherins were smart enough to get all their training in before the storm hit, Ginny," said Desdemona. "Haven't had to go outside once this week. Clever, they are."
Ginny muttered something under her breath that Hermione was sure would have highly offended Desdemona, had she heard it.
"I'm sure both teams will fly well."
"Yeah."
"Right."
The rest of breakfast passed in an awkward, forced silence between the three, which was odd, as the rest of the Hall was quite noisy and excited at the thought of an approaching match. It wasn't until the two teams got up and exited the Hall (amid many cheers from their supporters and rather loud whoops from Ginny) that Hermione found herself becoming a bit delighted as well. Really, she had never been a true-to-heart Quidditch fan, but she wouldn't miss the opportunity to watch a match for anything in the world.
Desdemona left the Hall ten minutes early, muttering about showing support to her team and getting a good seat, leaving Hermione and Ginny on their own. They had just engaged in a conversation about the new motion-detecting coffee maker in the staff room when Harry appeared in Desdemona's empty seat, grinning.
"Quidditch!" he exclaimed as he poured himself a large cup of pumpkin juice. "Haven't seen a proper match in ages. It's hard, you know, to sit down and watch a match without jumping up halfway to chase after a Death Eater or something. Gryffindor will cream Slytherin," he added with emphasis. Ginny positively beamed at him.
"Where's – Ron?" Hermione found it difficult to choke out his name, especially after she had unexpectedly eavesdropped on his and Harry's conversation in Hickory's (she and Harry came to an unspoken agreement not to discuss the situation any further). She couldn't help noticing his absence, though.
Harry shrugged. "Not sure. Said he had some work to catch up on for the Ministry. Wouldn't tell me what, the stupid prat. Missing a game of Quidditch over work – that's something you would do, Hermione."
Before Hermione could snap back, Ginny interrupted. "Well, that's his job, isn't it? He's an Unspeakable. Can't say what he does in that Department of Mysteries, can he? You would think his work's rather important… though this is Quidditch," she added as an afterthought, sounding thoroughly betrayed that her own brother would miss a game.
The Hall began to empty out as the school pulled on coats, hats, gloves, scarves, and any other protective clothing they could find, ready to venture out onto the grounds. Hermione and Ginny rose out of their seats, closely followed by Harry, and swept through the crowd into the Entrance Hall, where black figures were slowly disappearing into the white mist beyond. The wind was ferocious and threatened to knock Hermione sideways several times on the walk down to the Quidditch pitch; the snow was so blinding that several students actually brought Muggle sunglasses to wear (though Hermione spotted a Hufflepuff with sunglasses that could hardly be Muggle at all, since Muggle sunglasses didn't squeal loudly and repetitively change lens color). She had absolutely no idea how anyone could fly in such dreadful circumstances.
The three adults seized seats high in the stands, which perhaps wasn't an entirely smart thing to do – the wind appeared to be stronger here. Hermione racked her brain for any spell that could protect them from being blown backwards into the Forbidden Forest, but nothing came to mind, so she settled on covering her face with her hat instead.
As the rest of the seats filled around them, the chattering grew to a maximum but was nearly drowned out by the deafening wind. James Horn, the kind Arithmancy wizard who had congratulated Hermione on consecutively winning the Most Valuable Witch award, was seated three rows back, holding an oversized microphone in his hand and shouting through the din to Professor Flitwick. It appeared as if he would be doing the commentating.
Fourteen figures, half dressed in robes of scarlet and the other half in robes of green, staggered out onto the field through what had to be at least two feet of snow. They lined up facing a taller figure separating the two teams, who was holding a broomstick as well.
"Who's refereeing?" Hermione asked Ginny, pointing to the figure. Ginny didn't appear to have heard, so Hermione was forced to repeat the question four times before getting a response.
"That's Bella," she replied. "The flying instructor – forget his name, honestly – fell ill yesterday. He's in the hospital wing now. Bella volunteered to step in. She's superb on a broom, really."
Bella opened her mouth but no words came out; seconds later, the two teams had kicked off and were zooming upward against the wind and snow. Luckily, Hermione was sitting close to James Horn, or otherwise she wouldn't have been able to hear the commentating at all.
"Gryffindor has possession of the Quaffle to start the match off – Joyce Goodman passes to Denver Wickers, who drops it – caught by Macaria Jules of Gryffindor, nice save! They're going up the field toward the goalposts – watch it, Goodman, that's a Bludger, not a snowball – smacked toward the Slytherin captain Darla DiLorenzo by Luke Barnes. DiLorenzo dodges the Bludger and continues to pursue Jules – come on, Macaria, you're almost there!"
There was a simultaneous groan from the crowd as a thuggish Slytherin player cut off Macaria Jules. She screamed and averted her broom upwards, dropping the Quaffle and leaving Slytherin in possession.
"Ruddy bad block on Slytherin's part, no warning whatsoever. Barry Hunte has the Quaffle, quite a distance to the goalposts – passes to Russell Stuckenbruck, who throws it backwards to DiLorenzo – nice move, Gryffindor ought to steal that one – DiLorenzo passes to Stuckenbruck who volleys it to Hunte. Ooh, that Bludger nearly missed your left arm there, Darla – knocked out of the way by Ray Wigg. Slytherin's nearing the goal, they're closing in – SAVE IT, MARROQUIN!"
Tony Marroquin nearly threw himself off his broom to stop the Quaffle from entering his left hoop, but to no avail, failed. The Gryffindor supporters groaned again as the Slytherins jumped from their seats, cheering wildly. Hermione caught sight of Desdemona grinning noticeably across the field. Ginny, on the other hand, looked positively murderous.
"Ten-nothing to Slytherin," James announced, raising his voice against the vociferous wind. "No amount of wind or snow is going to stop this ambitious team from winning today. Okay, so Gryffindor's back in possession, it's Jules with the Quaffle again. Going up the field alone – watch your back there, Cattrall, she's coming through – Dirke and Wigg are coming up on her, their clubs raised. Is this allowed, Miss Levrero? Don't look back, Jules, come on!"
Suddenly two figures appeared at Macaria's side, blocking the Slytherin Beaters from advancing upon her. Realizing who it was, the Gryffindors let out cheers of support, which were most likely unheard by the players on the field.
"I don't believe this! Out of nowhere come Goodman and Wickers to assist Jules – nice move, very unexpected but nice! Slytherin, you better be paying attention, they could steal this from right under your nose today. Moving up the field, closing in on the goalposts – the Slytherin Beaters retreat backwards, Wigg ducking to avoid a near collision with Kinsey of Gryffindor – they're almost there, just a few more feet, and –"
Cheers to rival the clamor of the wind were let out all over the stadium as Macaria feigned scoring to the center goalpost and instead threw the Quaffle through the right one. Dale Vselensky barely made a move to capture the ball, but no one cared; the score was now tied, ten to ten. Ginny was still screaming minutes after the crowd's cheers had subsided, and Hermione, who noticed she was attracting many stares from nearby professors, forcefully pushed her back into her seat, giving her a stern look while ignoring Harry's stifled sniggers.
"Getting exciting, this match!" James continued, unable to hide the glee in his voice at Gryffindor scoring. "Slytherin in possession – DiLorenzo has the Quaffle and drops it to Hunte, whether deliberate or accidental, it worked either way – up the field Hunte goes, dodging Bludgers and Gryffindors alike, he's – wait a minute, what's Christoph doing?"
In a streak of green, the Slytherin Seeker darted past the Chasers, up the field towards the Gryffindor goalposts. The crowd rose to their feet to watch; the players on the field became immediately immobile. Sadie Kinsey, Gryffindor Seeker, noticed too and did a complete turn in mid-air, zooming a full twenty feet downward. She was still a good distance away from catching up with Jeremy Christoph, and if he really did see the Snitch, there was no chance that Kinsey would get to it first. Then, unexpectedly, Christoph pulled out of the dive and turned to face the Gryffindor Seeker with a perceptible sneer on his face. Kinsey was unable to stop in time and collided head first with Christoph; both of them went tumbling to the ground, making large imprints in the snow below.
Bella rose her whistle to her lips, but the shrill sound was drowned out by the groans and jeers from the crowd. Fortunately, the two Seekers had not fallen a long distance, and the snow seemed to have cushioned their landing.
"THAT WAS DELIBERATE!" Harry shouted, now on his feet with the rest of the Gryffindor supporters. The Slytherins, however, remained in their seats, laughing so boisterously that their faces turned scarlet. "HE DIDN'T SEE THE SNITCH AT ALL! DIDN'T SHE REALIZE THAT? COME ON, ANYONE COULD'VE –"
The only person yelling louder than Harry was, perhaps, Ginny. Hermione covered her ears with her hands and tried to block out the screams from the angry professor (unfortunately, she happened to be seated next to her and received the bad end of the tantrum right in her left ear). Her words were unintelligible – she seemed to be beyond coherent sentences and took to screaming random insults at the Slytherins instead.
"– awful, appalling, nasty move, that was," James was saying angrily. "But it appears as if both Seekers are uninjured – darn Gryffindor's luck, Christoph's still able to use both his legs –
and yes, they're both mounting their broomsticks and disappearing into the blizzard again. Apparently Christoph's little show wasn't counted as a foul. Levrero's blown the whistle and the match is back on."
Determined to show Slytherin up, Gryffindor seized the Quaffle instantly and before anyone knew it, had scored another goal. Slytherin was looking absolutely deadly by now, as was Desdemona across the field. Ginny had forgotten her anger at the unjustly sabotage against her team and was cheering Gryffindor on with much enthusiasm.
"I don't believe it!" said James ten minutes later after Gryffindor scored yet again on Slytherin. "Gryffindor's doing amazing! Just takes a nasty little Slytherin to make you all play harder, eh? Er – sorry, Professor King, didn't mean anything by it," he added quickly as Desdemona shook her fist at him quite noticeably from her own seat. "Well, let's see… the score is now forty-ten to Gryffindor and still no sign of the Snitch."
The two Seekers were circling the goalposts at the opposite ends of the field, thrashing their heads wildly about, hoping to catch a glimpse of the Snitch before their opponent. True, apart from Christoph's ersatz dive, there had been no more action concerning the Seekers.
"Barry Hunte of Slytherin with the Quaffle, narrowly escaping a Bludger there. Passes to DiLorenzo, who's flying beautifully today, I must say. Intercepted by Jules of Gryffindor – duck, Jules, Wigg's swinging his club at you! Near miss! Quite nasty of you, that was, Wigg. Try swinging it at yourself next time, eh? Er –" He fumbled, receiving another spiteful glare from the Slytherin lot. "Right. DiLorenzo cuts off Jules, who drops the Quaffle to Stuckenbruck – Slytherin's closing in on the goalposts, get on your guard there, Marroquin – they shoot, and it's –"
He didn't need to finish his sentence; the Gryffindor supporters did it for him. Another concurrent groan swept the stands as the Slytherins jumped onto their chairs, dancing with glee. Ginny was shouting furiously at the nearest Gryffindor player who didn't seem to notice her at all; in truth, Hermione realized, the blizzard was picking up and the winds were, if possible, becoming more determined by the minute to wipe out all sound from the crowd. She could barely see what was going on at all and had to rely on the commentating.
"Come on, Gryffindor, get a grip on things," James said rather angrily. "Don't let those slimy – er, I mean, well-trained, er – Slytherins one-up you…" He trailed off, loosing interest in his attempt to politely insult Gryffindor's opponents and refocused on the match instead.
"Gryffindor's got the Quaffle – it's Goodman to Wickers to Jules, back to Wickers, back to Jules, to Goodman again – Slytherin's looking confused! You put that club down, Marshall Dirke! Passed to Wickers by Goodman, very sleek there, Joyce – a Bludger comes up on Denver's right side but he drops several feet to avoid it – DODGE, WICKERS, DODGE!"
Denver Wickers looked behind him, horrified at these words, to see the two oversized Slytherin Beaters gaining on him with their clubs raised. As they were all stationed on Hermione's side of the field, she could see them all quite well, but apparently Bella was on the opposite end or otherwise a foul would most definitely have been called. The Gryffindor Seeker came up behind Ray Wigg and threw a rather large snowball at the back of his head, which knocked him forward and nearly off his broom. He veered to the left and collided with his teammate, giving the three Gryffindor Chasers the freedom to continue up the field.
"IT'S A GOAL TO GRYFFINDOR!"
Gryffindor erupted into cheers that were quickly drowned out by the earsplitting boos and hisses from the Slytherins. Luckily Bella was still nowhere to be seen; otherwise a foul would have been called on the Gryffindors as well.
"Fifty-twenty to Gryffindor! Someone better spot the Snitch soon before we all turn into icicles. Slytherin's in possession, DiLorenzo skirting several Gryffindors along the way…"
Even though James Horn was sitting only a few rows back from Hermione's, his voice began to fade away and a roaring came to replace it. The snow was coming down like sheets of ice now, so thick and cold that it scorched your skin upon touching, and obscuring Hermione's view so much that she had to squint to see Ginny sitting next to her. The players moved away from her side of the field and she could no longer see the game at all. Something didn't seem right; where had all the fliers gone? Did someone spot the Snitch? Had a team scored? She had no way of knowing. Glancing around and straining her eyes, it appeared as if the students and professors surrounding her were thinking along the same lines. Again the same crossed her mind: something isn't right.
There was a brief glint of gold not too far away that had to be the Snitch. Her breath catching in her chest, Hermione became hopeful that someone would grab it – preferably Gryffindor – so the match would end and she could retreat to the warm and dry staff room. Then a voice rang out over the wind, a harsh and threatening voice Hermione had never heard before. How it was heard at all above the commotion of the wind, she did not know, but its words were so unnerving that she hardly had enough sensibility left to think of anything else.
"GET OUT OF THE WAY! CRUCIO!"
The instantaneous gasps around the stands were unheard, but Hermione could feel them. There was no mistaking it; someone or something on that field had just performed an Unforgivable Curse on another person. But – no, it couldn't be. That voice was completely foreign. None of the students spoke like that, and it sounded like neither a man nor a woman's voice.
But then the awful, dreaded screams followed, puncturing the air, making the wind seem like nothing more than a playful breeze. Another voice – higher this time, and more feminine – screamed uncontrollably for several long painstaking seconds before ceasing and allowing the wind to dominate once more. There was no telling where either of these voices had come from – perhaps the ground? Or still in the air?
Several more cries erupted from a location that seemed to be mid-field. Two distant flashes of light illuminated a clump of players on brooms, but vanished quickly, leaving the crowd as clueless and terrified as ever. A vague but unmistakable shout of "STUPEFY!" drifted over to where Hermione sat frozen to the spot, not by the bitter temperatures but by fear; the snow became at least an inch thinner just in time for her to see a limp figure plummeting through the air towards the ground. The crowd rose to their feet, speechless but alarmed… it appeared as if the figure, no doubt an actual human being, would sickeningly crash against the earth at any second. But miraculously, it didn't; a strong, familiar yell of "IMPEDIMENTA!" from somewhere below was directed at the figure, causing it to slow down a considerable amount, just as the snowstorm decided to intensify yet again.
Whatever was taking place out on the Quidditch field was as absurd as it was puzzling. Listening only to outlying shouts of spells and curses only bewildered Hermione more. She was sure that more than one person – or perhaps even more than one student – had been hurt, or even –
Her thought was interrupted when she felt a strong tug on her arm. Swiveling her head around and reaching for her wand instinctively, Hermione saw a face that only could've belonged to Harry. His expression was one of mingled determination and alarm and she was sure that it matched her own.
"Harry, what the –"
"COME ON!" he yelled, tugging her arm more forcefully and pulling her to her feet. Ginny seemed to have disappeared from her side. "WE'VE GOT TO GET DOWN THERE, COME ON!"
Stumbling through the stands and treading on several panicking people's feet, she followed Harry at a run. Her wand was clutched tightly in her right palm, ready to blast anyone out of the way. The pair of them slipped down the wet stairs, descending one level after another, Hermione's breathing as ragged and aberrant as Harry's. She couldn't think rationally about anything – the only thought stuck in her mind was the command to get down to the ground and prevent any more perilous occurrences.
They flat-out sprinted across the field through several feet of snow before Hermione collected enough sense to melt the snow rapidly with her wand and create an easier path. Many people were grouped not far from them; several appeared to be lying unconscious. Gulping down her fear at what she might encounter upon arriving on the scene, Hermione stayed close to Harry, breathing heavily from the force of the storm blowing against her face.
Someone with a very noticeable mop of flaming red hair was standing amongst the group, facing them, their wand out and their hand shaking. Three unmistakable students – all dressed in Gryffindor-colored robes – were lying unconscious in the snow. What appeared to be all of the Slytherin Quidditch team and the remainder of Gryffindor's were gathered around the trio, staring at each other with faces that put the color of the snow to shame. The smallest Slytherin who, Hermione remembered, happened to be the Seeker was clenching something tightly in his right hand, his broomstick lying forgotten near his feet.
Ron, who Hermione thought had remained up at the castle to finish "work", as Harry had said, was the vibrant-haired figure facing them. He noticed Hermione and Harry advancing upon the group and his expression confirmed Hermione's worst suspicions; something appalling had happened indeed.
"What the hell's going on?" Harry shouted at Ron, staring around at all the children, causing them to cower under his gaze. Two Slytherins at the front of the group parted and McGonagall, apparently finishing an investigation of the three fallen students, emerged at Ron's side, looking as if she was about to collapse on the spot.
A soft thud sent Hermione nearly a foot into the air; turning wildly around with her wand rising at her side, Bella came darting toward the group, having just landed. Her expression matched everyone else's – terror rivaled by perplexity. McGonagall pushed past Hermione and engaged in a conversation with Bella immediately, both their faces becoming graver by the minute.
Harry repeated his question to Ron again but Ron, who seemed to have lost his voice, pointed one quaking finger at the middle of the group. Harry and Hermione edged forward, knocking the Gryffindors and Slytherins aside, to look more closely at the three students lying immobile on the ground. Hermione gasped and nearly collapsed herself.
The smallest Gryffindor, the female, was none other than Seeker Sadie Kinsey. Her legs stuck out at odd angles and her eyes were closed, but a faint grimace still lingered around her face. The other two larger figures were the Gryffindor Beaters, Mitch Cattrall and Luke Barnes. Mitch seemed to have replaced his club with his wand but Luke still held on tight to his own club, looking as if it had gotten recent use for something other than a Bludger. Nothing made any sense at all. Why were three Gryffindors who, just minutes before, had been playing their hearts out on the field all lying on the ground, motionless?
"Are – are they –?" Hermione was unable to choke out the rest of her sentence.
"Still alive," Ron finished grimly. A more lucid Hermione would have realized that she was actually speaking to Ron without throwing something at him and he was answering back with no traces of a sneer on his face. The current Hermione, however, had no time for such tedious thoughts and feelings; several lives could potentially be at stake.
"Ron, what's this all about?" Harry asked again, bending down to take the pulse of the Seeker.
Ron opened his mouth and closed it quickly, shaking his head and staring pointedly at the students surrounding them. Hermione looked too. Normally, the Slytherin team would have been delighted at the prospect of three unconscious Gryffindors, but the sight of all seven students trembling and gazing unfocusedly at the ground only sent Hermione's stomach into uncomfortable somersaults.
McGonagall and Bella's distant conversation ceased as they reappeared in the group, pushing aside several Slytherins that looked as if they had strong cases of the Leg-Locker Curse. With a flick of her wand, Bella conjured three stretchers at her side and, with another swish, the lifeless Gryffindors were hoisted onto them. Bella turned on her heel sharply and plowed through the snow in a direction that no doubt led to the castle, the three stretchers floating after her over her tracks. The remaining members of the group watched the procession disappear into white nothingness.
Hermione turned her head around again, only to face a grim Harry and Ron. As much as she wished it otherwise, she knew all three of them were thinking the very same thought.
"Potter, Weasley, Granger, you take this lot back up to the school and make sure they get to their common rooms safely," McGonagall said, gesturing at the lingering students and trying to regain her severe tone of voice (it still shook noticeably). "You will then meet me in the hospital wing – we are in dire need of a discussion. Do not let the students stray until they are secure in their Houses, do you understand?"
Harry and Ron shook their heads vigorously but Hermione found she could not move hers. A familiar pounding had started again in her temple, making her very aware of her surroundings and the current circumstances – an Unforgivable Curse, three students as pale as death, a fatal snowstorm, that harsh voice…
"C'mon, move," Harry muttered, jostling Hermione and knocking her out of her trance. She blinked the snowflakes that had settled on her lashes out of her eyes and rounded up the horror-struck Gryffindors, giving them all slight shoves towards the direction in which Bella had disappeared.
The walk up to the school felt like a funeral march and seemed to take no time at all. Nobody within the large group talked; they were all too rigid from the cold or too shell-shocked to form a single comprehensible thought. When the walls of Hogwarts castle finally came into view, Hermione felt herself longing to plop down in a squashy armchair in her dorm with a nice, thick book in her hands. But, she reminded herself, that option would not be within her reach for quite a while. It was nearing lunchtime and as much as her stomach rumbled, she repeated McGonagall's words in her mind and knew lunch was currently insignificant and would be put off – there were, obviously, larger issues at hand.
As soon as the front doors flew open and the group entered the entrance Hall, Harry ordered the Gryffindors and Slytherins to retreat back to their common rooms themselves and to stay there. He assured them with a slight waver to his voice that their fellow Quidditch players were unharmed. With reproachful looks and disgruntled mutters, the students ambled up the stairs and down to the dungeons, casting curious glances back at Harry, Ron, and Hermione.
"Right, hospital wing," Harry mumbled with false confidence. The trio set off after the Gryffindors, altering their route slightly, all lost in their own thoughts.
They entered the long ward minutes later to find three beds in the center occupied by the fallen Gryffindors, a short and petite witch bent over the nearest one. Taking in her white attire and the bottle of potion in her left hand, Hermione came to the conclusion that she must be the nurse.
McGonagall rushed out of the infirmary office (which was labeled MADAM Y. LUCILLE, obviously the name of the said nurse) closely followed by Bella, Desdemona, and Ginny. All four of them were looking exceptionally grim and McGonagall seemed to have grown several shades paler since Hermione had last seen her. Desdemona and Ginny were no longer throwing challenging looks at one another and seemed to have forgotten about their disputes over the outcome of the Quidditch match altogether.
"Are they okay?" Hermione asked breathlessly.
"Each of them has suffered a great deal of trauma," McGonagall explained quietly, glancing down at the slack face of Sadie Kinsey. "They will, of course, be revived in due time for imperative questioning, but for now, the least we can do is offer them peace at mind. There is much to discuss, but a great deal cannot be done without their help." She broke off sadly, unable to repress a shuddering sigh.
"Professor, what happened on the Quidditch field?" Ron asked slowly as if not really wanting to hear the answer.
After giving Harry, Ron, and Hermione long, hard stares in turn, McGonagall took a lengthy breath and attempted to force out calm, sensible words.
"Perhaps you should take a seat, and be prepared to hear the very worst."
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Author's Notes, Edition Two: Quite the cliffhanger, don't you agree?
grins evilly