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Chapter 9 The Price of Victory
January passed and neither hide nor hair had been seen of Voldemort. Harry, however, had not been idle. Quidditch practices were held four nights a week. Despite how hard he'd been working his team, they were still behind in the standings. Gryffindor needed to win the upcoming game against Slytherin to stay in the running for the Quidditch Cup.
The morning of the match dawned cold and clear. A thin layer of snow blanketed the lawns. Harry rose late and headed down to breakfast alone. As he crossed the Common Room, Mark jumped up from a chair near the fire.
"Hiya, Harry! Are you going to breakfast?"
"Yeah. You wanna come?"
"Okay. So are you nervous about today?"
"Sure am. I haven't been this nervous about playing Quidditch since my first year."
"Your first year? But I didn't think first years ever go to play on House teams."
"They usually don't. But I just got lucky. Have you been flying yet?"
"Yeah I have! I love it! Do you think I could ever play Quidditch for Gryffindor?" Mark asked excitedly.
"You probably could. Do you know what position you want to play?" Harry asked as they entered the almost empty Great Hall.
"Well, I've been watching you and I really would like to be Seeker, too."
"You'd be pretty good," said Harry, loading his plate with food.
"Do you really think so?"
"Sure. You're light and speedy; you've got quick reflexes. And you don't have glasses. They really get in the way in the rain. So aside from Quidditch, what else do you like at Hogwarts?"
"Everything! I mean, the magic, and all the people and the teachers! Wow!"
"What's you're favorite class?" inquired Harry, glad to have something to distract him from the game.
"Well, I know which one's not my favorite. I hate Potions. That Snape's always picking on Gryffindors. But I think I like Defense Against the Dark Arts the best. Lupin's really nice."
Harry nodded. "I don't like Snape much either. But that's okay 'cause he doesn't like me," he said through a mouthful of food.
"Harry!"
Harry turned to look at the entrance. Ron was striding towards them. "What are you still doing down here? You need to get to the field."
"What time is it?"
"Almost ten."
"What time does the match start?" Harry asked standing up.
"Ten."
"No! Sorry, Mark," Harry shouted. "Is everyone down on the field already?"
"Yes. We were just trying to find you."
Harry burst into the locker room, out of breath.
"Hey, Harry! Where've you been?" asked Dean.
"Sorry. But listen guys—"
"Hey!" cried Ginny.
"And girls. We really need to win this. We'll be out for sure if we don't. So no pressure whatsoever."
"Ahhh, Harry, we don't have anything to worry about," said Seamus.
"Yeah," agreed Dennis. "We're the better team. We've got this."
"You all know I agree wholeheartedly," said Harry, fighting a grin. "But we can't afford to get cocky. Look, let's just get out there and do our best. Just remember it's my last year and this would look really good when I go to try out. Remember that!" he joked. "Let's go!"
Harry led the team out onto the field. The snow crunched beneath their feet and soaked the hems of their robes. The stands roared and the familiar chant "Go, Go Gryffindor!" was heard above the boos of the Slytherins. Harry stopped at the center of the pitch.
Madam Hooch walked out to them. "Captains shake hands," she ordered.
Harry and Malfoy stepped forward, trying to glare at each other without laughing. Malfoy offered a hand and Harry pretended to take it grudgingly.
"Mount your brooms," Madam Hooch called. She opened the chest with the balls and let them loose. Then she put her silver whistle to her lips and gave one shrill blast.
Harry kicked off hard from the ground and was soon high above the game. He scanned the pitch for a glint of gold. Then suddenly, out of the corner of his eye, he saw it. Hardly daring to believe that the Snitch had shown up this early in the game, Harry flattened himself on his broomstick, but he sat up again. It was only Dennis's wristwatch glinting in the sunlight. Harry cursed under his breath.
Soaring a bit higher to dodge a Bludger, Harry surveyed the game. Cheers erupted from the Slytherin stands as Ron dove to make a save and missed. Harry groaned.
Gryffindor, however, was not going down without a fight. A few minutes later, Hermione made a spectacular shot past the Slytherin Keeper. Soon after that, Dennis also streaked towards the Slytherin hoops. He was not so lucky. Crabbe slammed a Bludger toward Dennis who was forced to drop the Quaffle to avoid colliding with it.
Unfortunately, one of the Slytherin Chasers caught it and took off toward the Gryffindors end of the pitch. Ginny soared after him, but not fast enough. He threw the Quaffle hard towards Ron, who was not about to be beaten twice in five minutes. He dove and this time the Quaffle landed squarely in his hands. The roar from the crowd was tumultuous.
But, as always, Slytherin made sure their feelings were noticed. Goyle aimed his broom right at Ron and zoomed toward him. The two collided and Ron was sent careening out of control. With one last spin, he flipped over the edge of his broom and landed hard on the ground.
Madam Hooch let out a shrill blast from her whistle. "Penalty awarded to Gryffindor!"
"Time out!" Harry called as he dove to his friend's aid along with the rest of the team. The Gryffindors booed loudly.
"Ron! Are you okay?" Harry shouted as he jumped off his broom.
Ron sat up dazed. "Why that…He knocked me off my broom!" Harry offered him a hand and stood Ron on his feet.
"Are you okay? Can you still play?" Harry asked, handing Ron his broom.
"Yeah, I think so. I just landed wrong on my wrist is all. I'll be fine."
"Let me have a look," said Ginny. Ron gave her his hand. "It's only a sprain, but he probably shouldn't play."
"But I've got to!"
"Ron, it's up to you. Do you think you can finish the game?" Harry asked.
"I'm fine," Ron insisted. "You played with a broken arm before, Harry, remember."
"I haven't got a back up, Ginny," Harry said. "He's go to play or we'll forfeit the match."
Ginny nodded. "Just finish the game quick."
Harry and the others took off again. Harry zoomed across the pitch, scanning for the Snitch. And then, he saw it. There it was, glittering high above the crowds in the stands. He took off for it, Malfoy hot on his tail.
Harry closed in on the Snitch. As he stretched out his hand to grab it, Malfoy called, "Look out, Harry!" but he wasn't quick enough.
As Harry's fingers closed over the Snitch's beating wings, something hit him hard in the small of his back. He cartwheeled over the end of his Firebolt and landed in the uppermost part of the stands.
The last thing Harry saw before he passed out was Malfoy screaming at Goyle and Ron fighting his way up to Harry. He held on tight to the golden ball in his hand and let darkness envelope him.
Harry woke in the hospital wing sometime later. Every part of him hurt. He groaned and opened his eyes. The entire Gryffindor team surrounded him. "What happened? Did we win?" he asked quickly.
Ron grinned. "Yeah, we beat 'em, thanks to you."
"But what hit me?" Harry asked as he tried to push himself into a sitting position. "Why can't I move my legs?"
Ginny moved forward and sat on the edge of his bed. "Goyle hit a Bludger at you. Madam Pomfrey said you broke your back."
Too right he did," said the nurse as she bustled into the room. "But it'll heal in time and with a little help from me you'll be back on your feet in no time."
"Well, what's it going to take to fix me up this time?" asked Harry lightheartedly, desperately trying to fight the terror that had welled up inside him at the news that he wouldn't be able to move.
"I've got a potion mixed for you, and then it's bed rest for about a day or so. After that, you'll just have to take it easy for a while," said Madam Pomfrey as she filled a syringe with a golden liquid.
"What's that for?" Harry asked haltingly.
"How else am I supposed to get this potion in you. You couldn't very well drink this." Harry shrank away from her. "Oh, you can't tell me you're afraid of needles," she chuckled.
"No, I'm not afraid of them. They just make me a little bit nervous is all," Harry said.
"Right then. Well, if you plan on lying in that bed for the rest of your life, by all means, don't let me stop you. Just let me know when you're ready to walk again." She set the needle on Harry's bedside table. The she glanced at the clock on the far wall. "Out! Harry's going to need his rest tonight," she said, shooing his friends out the door.
After they left, Madam Pomfrey rounded on Harry again. "Now, Mr. Potter, you need this potion, and there's only one way I can give it to you. It won't hurt. You don't even have to look."
"Alright," Harry said grudgingly.
He watched as the nurse swabbed a bit of skin on his left wrist. Thankfully she was too preoccupied with clicking her tongue at the dangers of letting children play such violent sports to notice the thin, pink line there. Harry shuddered at the memory of the night at the Weasley's when he'd given himself that scar. "After all the injuries you've had, you, the famous Harry Potter, are afraid of needles," she said.
"I'm not proud of it, you know."
"Alright, then. I'll do it on three." Harry turned away and gritted his teeth. "One…Two…" Harry grimaced but didn't feel anything.
"Are you gonna do it?" he asked.
"I'm done."
"What? But I didn't feel anything." He lifted his wrist in front of his face. Sure enough, a tiny dribble of blood trickled down his arm.
"I know," said Madam Pomfrey curtly. "Now you'll probably want to get some sleep before that kicks in. You're in for an unpleasant night."
Shortly after three in the morning, Harry woke with a pain like a white-hot knife in his back. He gave a small cry, and then clapped a hand over his mouth. He sat up and rubbed the spot on his back until the pain died down. He shook out his legs, glad to find that he could move again.
He sighed and laid his head back down on his pillow, ready to finish the night, but his wish was not granted. A tingling sensation had started in his feet and was moving up his legs. Quickly, it spread to every part of his body. He felt as if all of him had fallen asleep. He rolled onto his side and hugged his knees to his chest as he waited for the pain to subside.
Just then, a light flooded into the room. "I thought I heard you," said Madam Pomfrey. "Unfortunately that feelings not going to go away tonight, and I can't give you anything for it."
"When does it stop?" Harry asked.
"It'll be gone by lunch tomorrow, I suppose." She set her lamp down. "For now, all I can do is give you this. It's just a sleeping potion, but at least you won't be awake through the worst of it. How's your back feeling?" she asked as she poured Harry a glass of the potion.
"It's better," Harry said shortly. He was in a hurry to get the potion so he didn't have to feel the needles all over his body anymore.
"Of course it is." She handed him the draught. "Drink up."
Harry drained the glass and handed it back to Madam Pomfrey. As she doused the light and left the room, Harry dropped into a deep sleep.
Madam Pomfrey woke Harry late the next day and informed him that he had visitors. He sat up, pleased to feel back to normal, and saw Ron, Hermione, and Ginny filing through the door. "You have fifteen minutes," said the nurse as she left the infirmary and closed the door behind her.
"How are you feeling, Harry?" Ginny asked, settling herself on the foot of Harry's bed.
"Better than I did last night. And I can move again," he said. He wiggled his legs to show them.
"Good!" Hermione said. "Then you can do all your homework." She dug into her bag and pulled out a stack of books and papers.
"All this is from one day?"
"You picked a bad time to get hurt," said Ron, helping himself to a few of Harry's get-well sweets.
"How's your wrist?" asked Harry as he flipped through his homework.
Ron held up his hand to reveal a brace. "She's able to fix every weird thing that goes on in this castle but she can't heal a sprain. Go figure."
Hermione checked her watch. "Ron, we should really go get started on that Herbology essay, don't you think." she said.
Ron's jaw dropped. "Do you ever stop?" he asked as he followed her out of the hospital wing.
Harry shook his head. "Those two…"
"They're glad to see that you're okay. You gave us all quite a scare yesterday," Ginny said. She crawled toward Harry and curled up with her head on his chest. He stroked her hair. "Malfoy kicked Goyle off the team, you know."
"Good. Stupid git tried to kill me and Ron."
"Do you think you'll be well enough to play against Ravenclaw next week?"
"I haven't asked yet. I hope so. I haven't got a reserve."
They sat in silence for a few minutes before Ginny got off the bed, muttering about how she needed to get to dinner. Harry took her hand up in his and wished her goodnight as Madam Pomfrey and Professor Lupin came into the infirmary. Harry dropped her hand.
"Oh, Miss Weasley, I thought you'd left," said the nurse.
"I was just going," she said as she sidled out the door.
Lupin caught Harry's eye and smirked. Then he turned to Madam Pomfrey. "Thanks, I'll just talk to Harry while a finish this," he said, holding up a cup of steaming tea. She nodded and left again.
The professor pulled up a chair and sat near Harry. "So did I see you and Ginny holding hands?" Lupin asked, peering at Harry over the top of his cup.
Harry blushed.
"You two look just like your mother and father. It's almost scary actually."
"Why's that?" Harry asked. He thought, if anything, it would remind Lupin of his good old days.
"I'm worried that with everything going on with Voldemort and the fact that you're so much like your father that you may meet the same fate as them. I hope against hope that that won't be your destiny."
Harry sat in silence a moment or two. Lupin, sensing his uneasiness, changed the subject. "So that was a nasty fall you took the other day. What did you break this time?"
Harry grinned sheepishly. "Only my back," he joked. Lupin blanched and Harry laughed at him. "Don't worry. I'm all better now," he chuckled.
"And when can you play again?" he asked.
Harry shrugged. "Madam Pomfrey hasn't told me yet. I hope I'm better by the weekend. We've got a match against Ravenclaw."
Lupin drained the last of his tea and stood. "Well, Harry, get better. Merlin knows that Gryffindor needs to win this year of all years."
"Good-bye, Professor," said Harry. Madame Pomfrey bustled back in and took the cup from Lupin. After he had left, Harry asked the question that seemed to be on everyone's minds.
"Madam Pomfrey," Harry started, twiddling his sheets in his fingers, "when will I be allowed back for Quidditch?"
She looked at him pityingly. "I have no problem with you coaching, as long as I don't catch you near your broomstick. But I'm afraid you won't be back in time for your next game."
"What!" Harry shouted, nearly leaving the bed. "But I've got to play," he whined.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Potter, but that's that. You'll just have to sit the next one out. If it were up to me, I wouldn't even have you play your last game. However, I know you would never allow that."
"But—"
"Unless you want to sit out the last game, you will not play in this next match," she said calmly. Turning to leave, she continued, "You can pout all you want but I will not change my mind."
Harry stared after her in disbelief. He hadn't missed a game since his fifth year and he hadn't planned on it happening again, so there was no one to take his place. He glared bitterly at the homework in his lap.
