Chapter 8: FIRE QUIDDITCH
After peacefully eating dinner with the Weasleys, Sirius and Hermione, Mrs. Weasley hastily suggested they get to bed immediately. The general consensus among everyone was that this game was going to be far more interesting with the rule changes introduced since last year's. Harry fell asleep, dreaming happily about catching both Snitches at the same time, one in each hand but he was shaken awake by Mrs. Weasley at some time in the morning. He felt he got enough sleep but she wouldn't even let him lay there for a few more minutes.
"Up!" she barked. "Now!"
"All right... all right..." said Harry thickly, his face still firmly planted in his pillows.
"And get changed into your Quidditch robes, dear," she said, receeding back to her usual, kinder self. "Mr. Stone wants everyone out on the field and ready. And wake everyone else for me, will you?"
Mrs. Weasly practically ran out of their bedroom. Harry dangled an arm off his top bunk and shook Ron's shoulder as he had not woken up from Mrs. Weasley's barking.
"'S matter?" said Ron thickly, not even bothering to move.
"Nothing," Harry said, sitting up and jumping down. "Time to get up."
He poked Raides awake, knowing full well that her morning growl and yawn was loud enough to wake up Fred and George as well. Indeed, Raides' voice rumbled the floor so much that they woke and sat up so quickly you'd think that they had been shocked with a bit of electricity.
Fred and George immediately conjured curtains, opened their suitcases and took out a pair of fresh robes to change into behind the curtains. Harry left the bedroom for the bathroom, taking his Quidditch robes, necklace, gold wristwatch and bracelet with him.
He placed the robes on the shelf above the toilet and his jewelry on top of that. He washed his face, cleaning it of the sweat that had accumulated overnight. It was hot outside, after all... or was it the result of that nasty feeling in the pit of his stomach? For a split second, while Harry was examining the wet bangs of his black, untidy hair, he saw something different about the lightning-shaped scar on his forehead. After thinking how ridiculous it would have been for it to look like it shrunk a little, he took another look at it and was sure that he imagined it.
Harry stared for a minute at his last name, Potter, Cho had sewn in gold on the back of his cloak and then changed into his Quidditch robes. Putting on the Order of Merlin necklace, his mother's Phoenix Bracelet and the golden wristwatch he got for a birthday present, Harry left the bathroom fully dressed and ready.
Raides brushed up against his leg as he walked into the kitchen, following the drunken footsteps of Sirius (he had bags under his eyes). Mr. Weasley pointed at a box of Bertie Bott's Pancakes In A Second and Harry understood.
"Eat fast, dear," Mrs. Weasley told Harry. "Mr. Stone's coming soon. We'll meet you on the field after the game's over."
Harry wolfed down the pancakes and barely had time to stand up when Mr. Stone stuck his head into the kitchen, positively beaming. He beckoned Harry out and they headed back to the Fire Quidditch field. The rest of the team was clamboring around the field, stumbling over their own feet, apparently too tired to walk properly yet.
"Come on, team!" shouted Mr. Stone excitedly, clapping his hands. He, evidently, had been properly woken up and not jolted to his senses from a sound sleep.
Harry looked over at Oliver and what he guessed was true: Oliver was standing bright-eyed and attentive. Oliver had always woken Harry up in the wee hours of the morning for Quidditch practice ever since Harry's second year. He worked the Gryffindor team so hard one year, that as George Weasley, once a Beater for Gryffindor, once put it, they hadn't "been properly dry since August."
A drumroll of footsteps made Harry turn around to see Raides come tearing through the woods and onto the field, some of her golden fur sticking up in the wrong direction from running so fast. Charging at Harry, she jumped while at least one hundred feet away from him, her powerful legs taking her a frightening distance off the ground. She then transformed into the Staff of Cybele while airborne, the speed of her run carrying the flying staff all the way towards Harry. He stretched a hand out, and, the staff tearing through the air at him, even Harry was amazed that he caught it without a hitch.
"Right..." muttered Oliver to himself.
"Sorry," said Raides, panting, the crystal ball missing.
"Wait, that thing can still talk while it's a staff?" Oliver said, staring at the tiny mouth as it moved. Raides grinned at him, her scarlet tail blowing lightly in the wind.
"Ludo Bagman, who you all know from the Department of International Games and Sports, is going to be sounding the gong for everyone to head over here in about one hour," Mr. Stone said, after everyone had finished staring at the staff. "As you can see, they extended the seats even higher up than last year. If I remember what he told me correctly, about six hundred thousand are showing up today!" he shouted exuberantly. Everyone was gaping at one another except Harry who was nervous enough with just one hundred thousand pairs of eyes looking at him. "They had to use very complicated Invisibility Charms to hide this stadium from surrounding Muggle areas.
"Now, just to remind you, there's four Bludgers, two Spiked Snitches, both of which must be caught and are still worth one hundred and fifty points. If you fly as well as you did yesterday, we're sure to win --"
All of their heads suddenly turned as the United States team, in their red and blue robes with white cloaks walked nonchalantly towards the opposite side of the field. They were carrying what looked like modified Dragonbacks. Whereas Harry's Dragonback had a black handle and fire-colored twigs on it's tail, their handles were painted red, white and blue. The twigs were several inches longer too and Raides spoke her mind immediately.
"What are you lot worried about," she said in a half-drawl that eerily reminded Harry of Draco Malfoy, one particular wizard from Slytherin whom Harry hated -- a lot. "You've all got Dragonbacks and your Seeker has something even better. And no, Harry, not only can you turn better, but just trying going faster. Just -- er -- hold on tightly," she warned.
"Can they do that?" said Angelina sounding worried and pointing at one rather well-built player with the name La Grange written across her back.
She had absolutely no hair at all and shot them all a very evil look before turning back to her team. One of them, Harry noted, was wearing a cloak made, not of cloth, but of dragon hide. Another one of them had a mohawk on top of his head and a long, silver chain dangling out from beneath his robes like some monstrosity of a key chain.
"They belong at a rock concert," Harry blurted out, "not a Quidditch game!"
"I agree," said Callum blankly, staring open-mouthed at the girl with no hair.
"Rock concert or not... it looks like they're trying to scare us into messing up!" Mr. Stone shouted defiantly. "We're not going to let that work, are we!"
"HEY!" shouted one member of the United States team. This player had artfully, or in Harry's opinion, messily, torn his cloak and was sporting violently blood-red, dyed hair. The entire England team turned to look at him and when they did, he made quite a rude gesture with one of his hands.
"What do they think they're playing at!" shouted Alicia angrily.
"Oooh that makes me so mad!" Katie shouted equally angrily.
The rest of the United States team joined in and was making all sorts of rude gestures now.
"NOTHING WITHOUT POTTER, ARE YOU?" jeered the girl with no hair.
This set a set off a box full of Filibuster's Fabulous No-Heat, Wet-Start Fireworks in Harry's stomach. He accidently tightened his grip on Raides too much and she growled at him.
"Sorry," Harry muttered.
"Understandable."
The team captain was making no effort to curb his team's actions and, after a few minutes, he joined them. Harry's anger, along with everyone else's, only grew.
"We can't do anything," Oliver said, slightly disheartened. "There's nothing in the rules about being a good sport."
"Let's make them put their egos where their skills are," Harry said, his free fist clenched.
"Yeah," said Madelyn. "We know how big their ego is, let's see how big their skills are!"
"That's the spirit," said Mr. Stone proudly.
There was a bit of a pause while England's team regained their courage. Harry had a small struggle, fighting to keep his free hand where it was and not letting it jump to the plaque dangling from his neck. In the end, he succumbed for a quick second or three when Mr. Stone beckoned them to get in the air, a small bit of his usual -- or unusual, depending on your point of view -- calm self seeping in.
The two teams stayed on separate sides of the field, forbidden to play together until the real game starts. Each United States player took every single available opportunity to throw an insult at any England player that passed by them. Harry took note that the modified Dragonbacks were performing better than the unmodified ones, turning sharper and moving faster. This didn't give Harry any comfort as the United States Beater, whom he now knew was the well-built girl named La Grange, sent the normal Quidditch Bludgers screaming around their half of the field. She had bigger muscles in her arms than even Gregory, who was bigger than Mr. Stone.
The United States Seeker, one Jeff Uder, announced to the entire field each time he caught the Snitch, which, to Harry's dismay, was more often than him. Maybe it was his anger at the team, he thought to himself, as his fingers wrapped around the Golden Snitch for the first time in the past half hour -- Uder had caught it twice in the past fifteen minutes, oweing largely to his broom's seeming ability to track the Snitch by itself. Harry watched as Uder had caught it again in under two minutes, waving his rubbery arms madly in the air, shouting "I GOT IT, POTTER! I GOT IT!"
There was a silent agreement among all the players of the England team. Never had Angelina, Katie, Alicia, Oliver and Harry wanted to win a game more, not even in Harry's third year when enmity between Slytherin and Gryffindor had grown to a high point such that even the Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw Houses were cheering on Gryffindor -- except then, Slytherin wasn't using enhanced broomsticks.
At half past noon, when they had sufficient time to digest their lunch, Bagman walked, almost skipping, onto the field, calling everyone to the ground, with a small hammer and what looked like a miniature gong. There was nothing miniature about the ear-rumbling sound it produced when Bagman hit it with the small hammer.
"Okay, team," said Oliver, breathing in a fashion that was clearly supposed to calm him down, but failing miserably. "They may look more dangerous and have better brooms... We know we've got the best of the best. We're not going to let them stop us. We're going to win!"
The most Oliver got was a muffled "hurrah" from one player on the backlist, Jeanie Tidus. Regardless, each and every one of them felt a rush of excitement only a worldwide Quidditch game could bring. Mr. Stone beckoned them to the waiting area behind the giant hoops, the United States team manager moving his team towards theirs. The gigantic blackboard that showed the scores came to life and started flashing advertisements ("Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans - A risk with every bite!"; "Try New Bertie Bott's Pancakes In A Second - It's Instant!")
Harry watched, his nerves at a breaking point, as the first of the hundreds of thousands of wizards and witches started to fill the stands. He didn't know exactly where the Weasleys, Sirius, Hermione and the Chang's would be sitting but he got an unexpected answer when Cho came running right at him.
Cho greeted him with an embarassing hug, Harry turning a bright red, but he was glad to see another friendly face all the same. Causing Harry to blush even more, Angelina, Katie and Alicia all thought it was cute that he became more than acquaintances with Cho. They knew well that Harry fancied her but had all graduated Hogwarts before Harry and Cho... got to know each other better.
"You should see what the United States team was doing during pre-game practice," Harry told her. "They were making all kinds of faces and nasty gestures at us." Cho made a face of pure disgust, her mouth hanging open. "They modified their brooms, too."
"What, they're cheating?" Cho asked Mr. Stone.
"You're allowed to use any broom you can get your hands on," Mr. Stone explained. "If they happen to have their own custom manufacturer in the United States... so be it."
"I think their Seeker's broom is bewitched to chase the Snitch," said Harry. Everyone turned to look at him for his seemingly ridiculous accusation.
"Bewitched to chase the Snitch?" Mr. Stone repeated. Harry nodded. "They certainly aren't allowed to do that!" Mr. Stone said loudly.
"It looked like it, Mr. Stone," said Oliver, agreeing with Harry. The rest of the team nodded their heads in worried agreement.
"Why didn't you tell me during practice!" shrieked Mr. Stone.
"Because you couldn't do anything then, either," Oliver reminded him curtly. "They're not going to call the game off, not when everyone's already here."
"That's the trouble with this setup," muttered Mr. Stone. "They prefer to keep the game as dangerous as possible and that includes not having practices between the teams beforehand. For the Quidditch World Cup, all countries must agree on brooms. For Fire Quidditch, since there's so few teams and they haven't had any trouble in the past, they don't bother."
"Great," said Oliver loudly, darkly and sarcastically, doing a sort of anxious spin where he stood. "Just great."
Harry felt an uncomfortable number of eyes start to turn to look at him until, eventually, all of them were.
Before anyone opened their mouth, Harry read their minds. "I know, I know," he groaned. "It's all down to me. I have to catch both Spiked Snitches as fast as possible," he recited.
"You got your wand, right, Harry?" Cho said slowly.
"Yeah," Harry said, showing it to her and then stuffing it back inside his robes.
"If you're going to try to go really fast with me," Raides piped up, having been silent so far, "just hold on really tight, don't worry about hurting me. Better yet, use a Friction Charm, Strigo Lapsus, so you don't have to strangle me. Just say Perigo Lapsus to remove it. And if a big chunk of my fur falls off, I'll be really upset."
Harry and a few others couldn't help but laugh shortly which was exactly what Raides intended.
"Welcome to the International Ministry of Quidditch's 1998 Fire Quidditch game!" came the booming voice of Bagman.
Mr. Stone gave an excited squeak and Harry was forcefully reminded of tiny Professor Flitwick, the Charms teacher at Hogwarts who was no taller than Harry when he was eleven. Upon saying Harry's name for the first time, Professor Flitwick gave an excited squeak and tumbled off the books he used to prop himself up.
"Oh!" shrieked Mr. Stone. "That's it! Miss Chang, sorry dear, but you have to get back to your seat now."
"Good luck, Harry!" she said, giving him one last hug and then exiting.
Oliver had a broad grin on his face but Harry had a very good idea of what he was going to say as his lower jaw just started to move.
"Not a word, Oliver," Harry warned him, unable to stop his face from staying red.
"And there goes Miss Cho Chang, folks, no doubt visiting Harry Potter, star player for England!" Bagman boomed.
Oliver tried to say something again but Harry silenced him with the Staff of Cybele rather than his finger.
"Ladies and gentlemen, from the world over you have come to watch Fire Quidditch!" Bagman shouted.
"Why don't they show team mascots like they did for the World Cup?" Harry asked.
"Propaganda and money," explained Mr. Stone. "They run this strictly and the Ministry is secretly trying to keep excitement down for it but as you can see it hasn't worked. Mascots build up awareness and they can't afford to keep mascots, either. The teams don't have enough money."
"Please welcome the United States!" Bagman went on. "Uder! Sebastian! Leslie! McMera! Ghesi! Jacobs! Aaaaand La Grange! My, they do look colorful and interesting, don't they?"
Harry watched as they exited the changing room just opposite the field from him and rose into the air, a blurred mix of red, white and blue.
"Playing for England, I give you Wood! Spinnet! Bell! Johnson! Jungalavingi! Melfina! Aaaaaaaand Potter!"
Harry mounted Raides and rocketed into the air to deafening applause. After all, having spectacularly won two Fire Quidditch games so far does give one a high reputation. People were chanting his name, holding up signs. Harry took one look at the rude United States team, at the girl with no hair, the Seeker with messily torn robes and then at a sign bearing his name in large, lightning-blue lettering. He sat up straighter, more bravely on his broom -- er, staff.
"Showing pure dedication to the game," said Bagman as all fourteen brooms and their players centered themselves on the field, "from Egypt as usual, our most excellent referee and Chairwizard from the International Association of Quidditch, Hassan Mostafa!"
A wizard wearing dirty gold and brown robes came soaring into the air on a Dragonback of his own. He pointed his wand down at the enourmous box of Fire Quidditch balls and it opened, sending four fiery Bludgers (which magically caught fire as they left the box), two Spiked Snitches and one sonic-speed Quaffle straight up. The Bludgers went this way and that, the Spiked Snitches sped out of view and the Quaffle began to fall back down once it was a fair height above every player.
"THEY'RE OFF!" roared Bagman as Wood shot back towards the England hoops and Katie blazed forward, the Quaffle clutched tightly in her arm.
"England in possession!" roared Bagman. "Look at Miss Johnson go!"
Harry watched Angelina closely. The United States Seeker, Uder, was tailing her, an evil glint in his eye. Just before he caught up with her, Angelina passed the Quaffle on to Katie. Alicia nodded at Katie and then it started.
"Johnson! Bell! Spinnet! Bell! Johnson! Bell! Spinnet -- no, Johnson... Oh, I say..." Harry heard Bagman shouting.
Angelina and Alicia went on opposite edges of the enormous field, passing the screaming Quaffle in an enchantingly difficult pattern where occasionally they'd skip over one of themselves and the United States Chasers would swear loudly. After about five minutes of fending off the offending Chasers --
"SCORE FOR ENGLAND!" Bagman boomed happily as the Quaffle went rocketing past the United States Keeper, Samuel Sebastian. It looked for a minute like he had pondered taking his dragon hide cloak off and catching the Quaffle inside it but seemed to think better of the idea. And so far, Harry noticed, no one had touched the fiery Bludgers -- they simply looked too scared.
It was when Katie sent the Quaffle screaming down half of the field only to be intercepted by the United States Chaser, Mike Jacobs, the one with the mohawk and eye sore of a chain dangling from his robes, did Gregory find the courage to send a Bludger zooming towards Jacobs. He did a most excellent ballerina spin in midair, narrowly missing a lot of heat across his back.
"Oooh, narrow miss there and Jacobs drops the Quaffle! England's Spinnet in possession!"
Thirty minutes later, England had scored twice more, the United States once, bringing the score to thirty-ten with no sign of either Spiked Snitch. Bored, Harry casted an eye out for the United States Chaser, Jeff Uder, and saw him slowly circling the middle of the Fire Quidditch field.
"What d'you think, Raides?" Harry asked, looking down at the staff's tiny lion mouth as it yawned.
"I think I'm going to need back surgery after this," she replied. "That's what I think."
Harry laughed airily and said, "I mean their Seeker!"
"Nah," said Raides dismissively, dropping the fake bit about her back hurting. "No contest. Look, he can't even handle his broom!"
Raides was quite right. He flew sloppily, his broom bucking every now and then and Harry couldn't tell if it was that the broom was defective, or, probably the correct answer, that he was just that bad at flying.
"Wonder if it's those holes in his cloak," Harry suggested.
"Who knows... who cares..." said Raides airily, turning around on her own accord to Madelyn who just whacked all four fiery Bludgers at United States Chaser Jacobs, who was holding the Quaffle tightly.
Harry heard him shriek, tighten his grip and then flatten himself against his broom handle, all four Bludgers chasing him resembling a jet of flame.
It was an hour later when the score was at one hundred twenty for England, twenty for the United States did things start to get dirty.
"Harry, ripped-robes boy, twelve o'clock," said Raides, letting out a cheery growl of near-victory.
"What -- oh!"
Uder had his wand pointing at a speck of gold some two hundred feet from Harry. Feeling the need, Harry shouted "Strigo Lapsus!", pointing his own wand at the patch of fur he'd been holding onto. And then he flattened himself against the staff handle.
The speed was incredible.
The mere light breeze was turned into a force of wind so powerful, flapping his hair so hard that it hurt as it whipped against his head. Harry could feel the skin making up his face being stretched back, also being whipped by the wind. Before he even had a chance to look for the Spiked Snitch -- and he didn't have a hope anyway while going so fast -- Uder had dived downwards to avoid getting many bones in his body broken by a speeding, out of control Harry. And then, fifty feet away from the field, Harry slowed down, turned around and rejoined his teammates.
Oliver had missed two well-placed goals from the United States Chaser, Aidan Ghesi a few minutes later and the fiery Bludgers had been put into full use. While Uder had found the Spiked Snitch once again, all four balls of flame went tearing after him. Harry wouldn't disable them until he was about the catch the Snitch, it just wasn't worth it.
"FOUL!" cried Alicia, who had just been whacked, not by a Bludger, but by the bat of La Grange.
"Sorry!" La Grange said in her most innocent voice, not sounding remotely convincing at all. "Thought she was a Bludger!"
"Hard to mistake something for one of these Bludgers," Harry murmured to himself. Raides looked up at him and nodded. Very soon it became apparent what the United States was doing other than trying to look intimidating: they were fiercly controlling all four Bludgers, occasionally swinging their bats near an England player.
But they didn't have any time to ponder whether La Grange's newest attempts at giving Katie the hot seat had succeeded when Harry spotted a glint of gold and a spin of sharp blades.
Not wanting to miss the Snitch, he gave enough speed to his broom to bring him quickly to the Spiked Snitch, immediately feeling blistering heat behind him.
"Careful, Harry!" Katie called, the Bludgers having moved off of her and onto Harry.
He didn't see it, but he could feel one coming straight towards him and on instinct, he did a barrel roll to avoid it. The Bludgers did all sorts at attempts at hitting him -- they were clearly much faster than last year, when they couldn't even keep up with Harry's Dragonback.
Around the United States goal hoops the Spiked Snitch went, before turning sharply around and heading back towards the England goal hoops and Harry continued to perform acrobatics in the air. The extra long Fire Quidditch field would make the job a little easier, at least giving him time before the Spiked Snitch would have to turn again.
"United States Beater Zoe Leslie knocks a Bludger off England's Seeker's tail!" Bagman shouted. Harry didn't bother turning around. "Was that supposed to help them or hurt them?"
"Okay," Harry said to himself, not noticing Uder pointing his wand at the Spiked Snitch, too. "Simple levitation charm." He pulled his wand out, pointed it at the Snitch and no sooner had he started saying the words did he hear a resonating and ghastly "oooh" from the surrounding crowd.
Raides turned on her own, pointing Harry at the limp figure of Oliver Wood on the ground, some fifty feet below. He was turned on his stomach, his limbs splayed on the ground in all directions and most of his hair had been burned off. Harry saw a big patch of charred, black and crusty skin, no doubt from a fiery Bludger having been aimed directly at his head. The burn looked so bad Oliver was almost sure to be dead.
"Oh my. This could be a bad situation, folks.." said Bagman darkly.
"He's right," Raides croaked. "That -- does not -- look good."
"They've got medic witches surrounding him," Harry said, feeling the panic in himself rise. "They've got to be able to do something!"
His back gave a panicky twitch, staring at a ghostly white Oliver
Every single player had stopped moving, even the United States players, to watch Oliver on the ground. All manner of potions poured over the skin or into Oliver's mouth didn't wake him up. Harry's heart sunk from where he floated in the air down to the ground with Oliver. He did all he could think of doing and stayed where he was, watching, waiting, hoping.
The scene intensified with more and more medic witches Apparating at Oliver's side, carrying armfulls of rainbow colored potions. It didn't look like they were succeeding with even Charms. Harry distinctly heard someone scream something about Lily Potter. Harry knew his mother to be great with Healing Charms. If only she was still around... and his heart sunk still lower. Mr. Stone could be seen running out.
Feeling utterly helpless, a feeling which he never liked, Harry dived straight downwards, dropped Raides and then ran towards Oliver, thinking it might take away some of his helplessness. Raides transformed into the great golden and scarlet lion (to even more "oohs" of the crowd) and stampeded just behind Harry. They both skidded to a halt just before the seeming lifeless body.
"Sorry, Mr. Potter," said one of the medic witches. "We're -- well, as you can see..." she said heavily. "But he's still breathing," she assured everyone, "barely..."
Harry saw all right, but he didn't want to. The damage looked far worse up close, Oliver having so much skin burned, Harry could swear he was looking at muscle. One of the witches merely tried slapping him. Obviously, it didn't work.
"The Phoenix Bracelet," Raides said suddenly and softly. "Harry, the bracelet!" she now shouted.
"The... what?" Harry heard one of the witches say in disbelief.
Not even bothering to try to reprimand himself for forgetting, Harry pushed his way through the medic witches. The Phoenix Bracelet held extraordinarily powerful healing magic that only ancients can use. It was quite easy to forget this, as he had only had it a few, short months. Bending over Oliver, Harry stuck the hand on which wrist the Phoenix Bracelet was over the grevious wound.
The medic witches stood in awe as the fire that normally circled around the band jumped clean off towards Harry's outstretched hand and down his fingers. It turned a pearly white and glazed itself generously over the charred skin on the back of Oliver's head. Harry, wishing for nothing more than for it to work, paid no attention to the dazzling special effects of the bracelet and focused his all of his attention on the white glow. It was now putting color back into the black skin and turning it back to normal, non-scarred skin. A monstrous, white scab formed over the entire area, falling off only a second later only to be consumed by a great fire. The entire wound had been healed.
The fire turned red again, jumping back onto Harry's fingers and clinging to the bracelet, dancing around the Phoenix Bracelet's silver band once again.
"A Phoenix Bracelet!" squealed one of the witches, looking agape at Harry. "But, do those not require an ancient to work?"
"Yeah," said Harry impatiently, "they do and you're looking at one, remember?" She tried to say something but words seemed to fail her. "Now what can you do!" Harry shouted at her and she seemed to come back to her senses.
"Yes, well. He's perfectly fine now," she muttered as she turned Oliver over and then shouted, "Ennervate!" pointing her wand at him.
He let out an almighty cough, spitting up bits of blood and opened his eyes.
"Harry?" he said in the quietest of voices. Oliver propped himself up on his hands.
"Looks like he's going to be okay, folks!" shouted Bagman happily.
Harry did nothing but return Oliver's weak smile and then stand up. He was just glad Oliver hadn't died; the situation looked scarily close to that.
"You're all right, Wood, thanks to Potter, here," said Mr. Stone.
"I suggest we use one player on the backlist --" said one of the medic witches, only to be interrupted by Oliver.
"No," he said hastily in a please-let-me-play sort of voice, getting gingerly to his feet, "I'm okay." He moved his arms and tested out his legs by shaking them in front of him individually. All seemed normal.
That same medic witch gave a look so remnisicient of Madam Pomfrey, the strict and dedicated Hogwarts nurse, who Oliver clearly still remembered, that he gave up.
"Miss Jeanie Tidus," said Mr. Stone, turning toward a would-be attractive girl if it wasn't for her silver-dyed hair. "You're up first."
Jeanie nodded and ran a finger through her long, silver hair.
"It looks like they're almost ready to go again!" Bagman said.
Mr. Stone and the United States team managers agreed they were set to go and then nodded towards Bagman.
Fourteen brooms rose into the air once again and the sonic speed Quaffle was thrown high above them.
Afterwards, the game proceeded like normal except no one could help but notice Jeanie wasn't nearly as good a Keeper as Oliver was. The United States managed to score many more times, bringing the score to an ever closer one hundred and thirty to seventy.
The light of day slowly became dimmer and dimmer and as several people left the field only to return with food, Harry spotted a Spiked Snitch that was apparently tailing him, mocking him.
Harry turned on a dime and the Spiked Snitch immediately tried to escape his view. Four fiery Bludgers made a mad attack at Harry's head and he ducked to avoid joining the Headless Hunt. Once again, Uder had his wand pointed at the Spiked Snitch and at this point, Harry figured he was just waiting to disable it on his own. He concentrated on keeping the Bludgers from hitting him and not losing the Snitch.
"Right, this time no one's going to get walloped," Harry said more to himself than to Raides. "Furcilla Leviosa!" he shouted, his wand pointed directly at the Spiked Snitch. Harry watched, victory -- or at least half of it -- in his eyes, as the blades of the Spiked Snitch gave a lurch until breaking off with an incredible force, doing far more than he intended.
The blades of the Snitch scattered in all directions, one burrowing itself into Harry's left forearm, the hand of which was clutching Raides, and another catching him square in the chest. He swore loudly, swerving in the air, the Bludgers leaving him, and listening to the snickers of Uder who, Harry then realized, had his wand out to make that very thing happen.
Blood was freely flowing from his wounded hand and coloring his robes a deeper red while a sharp, stinging pain ran up and down the area of both wounds. Feeling a million pairs of eyes on him and the inevitable breathless silence, Harry closed his eyes to keep the pain tolerable. He then wrenched the small, one inch blade from the middle of his forearm, causing a great deal more pain and then pulled the one out of his chest. Harry did just as he had done for Oliver to repair the wounds and once he was wound-free, but still bloody, Harry urged Raides further forward and, teeth gritted, swore even more loudly as Uder caught the spike-free Snitch, narrowly missing getting a burned hand.
"UDER CATCHES THE FIRST SPIKED SNITCH!" roared Bagman to tumultuous applause from the United States crowd and a heavy sigh from England supporters. He tried his very to keep his personal conflict with the catch out of his seemingly happy voice. "The United States leads! Two hundred and twenty to one hundred and thirty!"
"No fair!" Ron shouted angrily. "Foul play! Uder did that! No way Harry would have!"
"Nothing anyone can do, Ron," said Mr. Weasley, just as disappointed as his son. "They can't prove it. Besides, he's perfectly okay (bless that bracelet). Don't worry, he'll get the next one."
"I sure hope so," muttered Ron.
"There will be a thirty minute intermission before the game starts again!" Bagman announced.
Harry didn't need to grab the Order of Merlin plaque dangling from his neck to feel any better -- it was the large sign that said some mighty rude words to the United States. Harry grinned and the game got progressively dirtier. With La Grange's failed attempt at accidently killing Oliver, Uder's successfull attempt at purposely injuring Harry and then catching the Snitch under Harry's nose, the American players saw fit to let their arrogance and egos get the best of them by the time the game started again.
The Beaters cared not if their clubs hit human or Bludger and dived in all sorts of directions. Harry watched Uder closely, seeing if he had any sign of the Snitch. Uder would definitely be looking out for this one because if he caught it, game over, the United States wins. Uder wasn't watching Harry at all. At least Wronski Feint's don't work (a technique involving a Seeker faking having seen the Snitch) in Fire Quidditch: the Bludgers chase a Seeker if they're actually chasing the Snitch and not just faking it.
As the game wore on, the Spiked Snitch hadn't presented itself and the dim light of day turned to dusk. Some people, but very few, could actually be seen leaving and still fewer coming back just to see if it was over yet. Many players were feeling extremely weary and tired, Harry included. He floated, dazed, over the heads of the other twelve players, Uder still casting an eye out for the sneaky Spiked Snitch.
Bored and his eyes almost closing, Harry felt wide awake when the score was announced to be five hundred to six hundred and fourTy. The United States team had lengthened it's lead and soon, even if Harry caught the Snitch, it wouldn't help. He took part in watching continual rude gestures and words from the United States players, mostly from La Grange and when he heard Uder call him "scar head," he really didn't care.
Gregory had heard it, too, and his reaction was much different. He grabbed Madelyn's club from her hand and whacked two fiery Bludgers at Uder. Uder instinctively tried to jump backwards, a very dumb move being at least fifty feet in the air, and landed with a sickening crunch on the ground to loud gasps from the crowd.
Gregory clasped a hand to his mouth and dropped both clubs. Harry knew the Phoenix Bracelet had no hope of bringing someone back from the dead. Once again, medic witches quickly Apparated, this time right at Uder's side. Harry probably should have felt slightly more sorry but simply couldn't. Despite himself, he didn't want to see anyone die and lowered to the ground. Raides turned into the great lion and rode Harry over to Uder before turning back into the Staff of Cybele.
"He's got many broken bones!" said one witch, feeling all over Uder's back.
"But is he alive?"
Harry stepped closer, his hand releasing it's grip on the Staff of Cybele all on it's own and looked down. The medic witches didn't usher him away, apparently expecting him to pull another miracle.
"No way to tell."
"What do you mean 'no way to tell," said an angry voice. "He's not breathing, he's dead! We shouldn't have bothered with this stupid sport!"
A few people started to cry and the entire crowd surrounding Uder suddenly stepped several feet away, taking Harry with them. It seemed as if they couldn't bear to look at Uder. Harry agreed.
"You knew there were risks," said a different voice, sounding very impatient. "And you agreed to it..."
A few people turned to look at Harry and he looked back into their desperate eyes. He didn't bother asking what they were looking at him for. He well knew, but there wasn't a thing to be done. He took one last look at Uder -- and noticed something.
"Wait a minute," said Harry suddenly. "He IS breathing!"
The people looking at Harry turned their gaze to Uder whose chest which, quite miraculously, was moving up and down. One witch who was Uder's mom, apparent by the way she had been crying, said thickly, "Bless him! He's alive!"
"Let's not ask how," someone said.
"Good, because I don't think anyone's going to answer it," said a witch.
"Oh hush, all of you. Clearly, he wasn't dead. He just stopped breathing for a bit, that's all."
"Yes, come on, dear," someone said to the witch who thought no one could find an answer. "Potter, here, survived a fifty foot drop as well."
In his third year at Hogwarts, Harry had fallen off his broom from fifty feet in the air, having passed out from nearby dementors. He had survived, partly because Dumbledore had slowed Harry's fall... Their terrible power, the dementors, was to drain any nearby human of happy thoughts, causing them to drown in their own despair and sorrow, leaving them with nothing but the bad. Leave them with a wizard or witch long enough and they drain you of your powers. As Harry has had awful horrors in his past, the dementors' power overwhelmed him time and time again, causing him to faint, listening to the last moments of his screaming parents. For a split second, he was forcefully reminded of his recurring dream.
Shaking his head to get rid of the nasty reminder, Harry picked up the Staff of Cybele from Uder's side and went over to Mr. Stone who was calling his team over.
"Okay, you've done a great job so far," he was saying, trying to insert the usual happy and boyish tone in his voice, "but unless someone doesn't catch the Spiked Snitch soon, we'll be playing well into tomorrow morning..."
Harry, still shaken by Uder's even closer near death experience (as was everyone else) nodded shortly and in ten minutes, one Mitch Shachner replacing Jeff Uder, Harry was back in the air, circling a small area to keep himself awake.
Shachner, while proving to be far nicer, also proved to be a better Seeker and Harry was tearing after him while the score remained stagnant for the past fifteen minutes (Gregory and Madelyn were increasingly aggressive, using the Bludgers, not to hit, but to divert). Not wanting to have a repeat of his last experience, Harry pointed his wand at the Spiked Snitch in front of Shachner and muttered, "Furcilla Leviosa," hoping it would work without him shouting it.
And it did, Shachner turning around at Harry, who smirked back, to see who had done it. Just then, the four Bludgers caught up with Shachner, and, unfortunately all four of them were headed straight towards Harry. He plunged several feet down to avoid getting the blunt end of all of them at once and suffering a fate far worse than Oliver's.
The Bludgers seemed to think Harry was after the Snitch as they turned around in perfect harmony and came pelting after him once again. Harry stuck his wand out and absolutely thundered "DRACONUS ICICLIA!" so loud that Shachner swerved.
A small tuft of frost erupted from the tip of Harry's wand and formed into a dragon made up entirely of ice. Harry would have been shocked and frightened that it was a full size dragon, some fifty feet tall, it's arms as thick as small glaciers, if he wasn't so anxious about finding out whether it would work to stop the Bludgers.
It gritted it's icicle fangs dangerously and grinned, looking like some sort of insanely happy demon. The powerful tail protruding from it's end was stretched out the full seventy feet and wagging merrily. Harry did take note of the claws on it's thick, muscular (if that were possible for a creature made of ice) hands that were as long as knives and probably sharper and he caught a small glimpse of the teeth in it's jaw and didn't scream. This last bit was surprising considering the front two were as big as his head and as thick as his leg -- he was too into the game to care.
With one last grin of self-satisfaction at it's master, the dragon sent itself speeding towards the Bludgers and did a spectacular three-sixty in mid air. It's enormous wings smashed into the all of Bludgers at once, turning them into blocks of ice upon contact like liquid nitrogen to any other substance. The Bludgers went crashing to the ground and exploded, raining the ground with bits of ice. The terribly large ice dragon gave a deafening roar, mocking the feeble Bludgers and then exploded into a million flakes of snow. It's force so large, the dragon so big that the snowflakes reached every inch of the Fire Quidditch field. It looked like it had just snowed for a few minutes.
Satisfied and not letting anything sink in yet, Harry turned his attention to Shachner who was gaining on the Spike-less Snitch, apparently not bothered by a dragon screaming in his ear. Harry charged forward, slapped Shachner's hand out of the way and --
"POTTER CATCHES THE SECOND SPIKED SNITCH!" roared Bagman to tumultuous applause from England supporters and ravenous boos from the United States crowd. Harry distinctly saw someone fly over to Shachner and smack him on the head. "SIX HUNDRED AND FIFTY TO SIX HUNDRED AND FOURTY! ENGLAND WINS! OH, I SAY!"
Floating there, Shachner in a rage of fury, Harry took the precious few seconds before anyone had came flying towards him to let it all sink in. Oliver and Uder were alive, he had won the game and the fiery Bludgers had been exploded with a spectacular ice dragon spell; all of it worthy of the front page of the Daily Prophet.
Harry couldn't see, but Cho's face was glowing with admiration. He was sure, regardless of being able to see or not, that it was. Likewise, Ron and Hermione were jumping up and down, clapping and yelling themselves hoarse.
"I don't fancy telling them to stop celebrating," Bagman whispered, grinning, to Dumbledore as the England team slowly bumped one by one into their victorious Seeker.
Dumbledore, who had been sitting in the Top Box, a block of seats centered in the field, with the Weasleys, raised an eyebrow, cocked his head and gave Mr. Weasley a grin that clearly said, "he's right, you know."
"They'll be talking about this game for years," Mr. Weasley said.
Percy Weasley drew a deep breath, raised both his eyebrows and let out a superior-sounding sigh, his chin in the air, trying to look as grave as possible. "Ah, you know Penelope didn't want to bother betting this time," he said, speaking of his girlfriend, Penelope Clearwater.
"Wonder why," Ron whispered in Hermione's ear as Mr. Weasley ushered them down the steps to get to Harry. He could only guess that his ambitious brother was thinking of betting against his girlfriend to win some money.
Mr. Stone had taken his team over to the United States team, the other team manager bringing his to Mr. Stone's, for a hand-shake, presumably so they wouldn't feel like hexing each other next year. La Grange's handshake was very harsh and she was eyeing the blood stains on Harry's forearm and chest. She seemed to like the idea that he got hurt, though didn't voice it and, all the same, Harry kept his opinion quiet that she should have been his ice dragon's target. Well, either her or Uder, it didn't really matter.
During this, about ten wizards were cleaning up the mess of Bludgers Harry had made (they couldn't repair them) and fixing the Spiked Snitches, sticking them back into the box, not spinning and harmless. The Quaffle was quite an easy matter as it's only magic was to gain speed while flying in the air. Finally, after exchanging many not-so-friendly glances and handshakes, the two teams separated and left the field, the stands still clearing out. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, Ron, Hermione and Sirius strode over to Harry at once, a look of utter awe on Ron's face. Ron's only words were "nice" and "dragon."
"You're okay, right?" said Mrs. Weasley, seizing Harry's bloodied arm at once and examining it.
"Yes," replied Harry. "If this thing can heal burns, it can heal small cuts," he added, referring to the Phoenix Bracelet.
"Well, get changed then as soon as we get back to the tent. It's starting to smell."
Every inch of him was still bursting with excitement when the sky had turned black as ink and Ginny was still going over and over Harry's ice dragon with a speechless Ron. Ron thought the ice dragon so cool that he hadn't said a single word, an expression of awe on his face for the past half hour.
"Ron, your face is going to stick like that," said Mrs. Weasley irritably.
"I don't think he minds," said Fred.
"It was just a spell, dear."
Ron's face finally changed. "Harry -- bloody hell!" he said, still amazed.
Harry couldn't help it. He grinned back.
"We all agree it was a spectacular ice dragon now will you please go to bed?" said Mrs. Weasley, still sounding irritated. "It's nearly two in the morning!"
"Oh come on, mom," Ron said pleadingly back. "I don't think anyone has gone to sleep yet!"
"He's right, Molly," Sirius said, peering out of the tent.
Every England supporter had been bellowing, screaming, singing and laughing ever since the game had ended and salesmen were now coming around all of the tents, selling miniature ice dragons and, to Harry's great displeasure, Fred and George's miniature Harry models. These had been modified, of course, having a small Spiked Snitch stuck in an outstretched, closed fist.
"No," Harry had said firmly when a salesman had Apparated at their tent a few minutes later and tried to sell Harry a model of himself ("Better than an autograph!").
A few minutes after that, a wizard Harry had never met before came striding to the tent and asked Harry if he would let his lightning dragon duel with Harry's ice dragon. Harry didn't know what to say and so he turned to Sirius for an answer without thinking, like a son would to a father. Sirius noticed this and nodded, as he would have anyway.
Perhaps it was the spur of the moment during the game, but when Harry tried to conjure his most excellent ice dragon again, he only managed to get one twelve feet in height and not the most glorious fifty-footer from hours earlier. Both of them conjured their dragons high above the tents for all to see and a small crowd had moved closer to them, many people leaving their tents to get a better look to see the fabulous air fight. Both dragons put up a good duel and despite the fact that Harry's dragon was so much smaller, it was able to move around much more quickly, dodging and taunting it's fifty foot opponent. Bill, Charlie and Ron were cheering Harry on the entire time.
The unknown wizard then looked sourly at Harry as one well-placed lightning bolt from his fifty foot lightning dragon struck Harry's horribly frightened ice dragon between it's eyes and shattered it. Raides had scrambled to her feet at his words ("I expected better...") and growled at him. Having a sudden idea, she transformed into the Staff of Cybele and suggested Harry use her instead of his wand. Fully knowing he was going to lose, the wizard agreed to another try and this time Harry had managed to conjure a dragon so huge, it sent the unknown wizard's lightning dragon screaming and several people had shrieked.
It was over three hundred feet in height. Ron didn't speak for fifteen minutes. Ginny fainted. Then, the roar it made before it exploded, making the moor look like it probably did after a blizzard, made everyone clamp their hands over their ears and that still didn't help. Hermione's glass of water had shattered. Mr. Weasley was extra glad the Ministry of Magic placed Invisibility and Noise Charms over the area for a Muggle would surely notice a dragon of that stature or a roar that loud.
Raides transformed back into the golden and scarlet lion, still chucklingly merrily and Ron was now goggling even more at Harry, who didn't think that look would ever leave Ron's face until morning. The unknown wizard looked for a minute like he was going to introduce himself but decided to save himself the embarassment and stalked away. Ron looked desperately at Raides with a please-let-me-try look in his eye but she looked gravely back at him, her eyes narrowed not unlike Mrs. Weasley's. She told him that she could vaguely remember that the only time she had let a non-ancient use her, she ended up destroying an entire town. As much as she trusted Ron, she had been enchanted to kill anyone who tries to cast a spell with her who's not an ancient. Ron finally desisted.
After peacefully eating dinner with the Weasleys, Sirius and Hermione, Mrs. Weasley hastily suggested they get to bed immediately. The general consensus among everyone was that this game was going to be far more interesting with the rule changes introduced since last year's. Harry fell asleep, dreaming happily about catching both Snitches at the same time, one in each hand but he was shaken awake by Mrs. Weasley at some time in the morning. He felt he got enough sleep but she wouldn't even let him lay there for a few more minutes.
"Up!" she barked. "Now!"
"All right... all right..." said Harry thickly, his face still firmly planted in his pillows.
"And get changed into your Quidditch robes, dear," she said, receeding back to her usual, kinder self. "Mr. Stone wants everyone out on the field and ready. And wake everyone else for me, will you?"
Mrs. Weasly practically ran out of their bedroom. Harry dangled an arm off his top bunk and shook Ron's shoulder as he had not woken up from Mrs. Weasley's barking.
"'S matter?" said Ron thickly, not even bothering to move.
"Nothing," Harry said, sitting up and jumping down. "Time to get up."
He poked Raides awake, knowing full well that her morning growl and yawn was loud enough to wake up Fred and George as well. Indeed, Raides' voice rumbled the floor so much that they woke and sat up so quickly you'd think that they had been shocked with a bit of electricity.
Fred and George immediately conjured curtains, opened their suitcases and took out a pair of fresh robes to change into behind the curtains. Harry left the bedroom for the bathroom, taking his Quidditch robes, necklace, gold wristwatch and bracelet with him.
He placed the robes on the shelf above the toilet and his jewelry on top of that. He washed his face, cleaning it of the sweat that had accumulated overnight. It was hot outside, after all... or was it the result of that nasty feeling in the pit of his stomach? For a split second, while Harry was examining the wet bangs of his black, untidy hair, he saw something different about the lightning-shaped scar on his forehead. After thinking how ridiculous it would have been for it to look like it shrunk a little, he took another look at it and was sure that he imagined it.
Harry stared for a minute at his last name, Potter, Cho had sewn in gold on the back of his cloak and then changed into his Quidditch robes. Putting on the Order of Merlin necklace, his mother's Phoenix Bracelet and the golden wristwatch he got for a birthday present, Harry left the bathroom fully dressed and ready.
Raides brushed up against his leg as he walked into the kitchen, following the drunken footsteps of Sirius (he had bags under his eyes). Mr. Weasley pointed at a box of Bertie Bott's Pancakes In A Second and Harry understood.
"Eat fast, dear," Mrs. Weasley told Harry. "Mr. Stone's coming soon. We'll meet you on the field after the game's over."
Harry wolfed down the pancakes and barely had time to stand up when Mr. Stone stuck his head into the kitchen, positively beaming. He beckoned Harry out and they headed back to the Fire Quidditch field. The rest of the team was clamboring around the field, stumbling over their own feet, apparently too tired to walk properly yet.
"Come on, team!" shouted Mr. Stone excitedly, clapping his hands. He, evidently, had been properly woken up and not jolted to his senses from a sound sleep.
Harry looked over at Oliver and what he guessed was true: Oliver was standing bright-eyed and attentive. Oliver had always woken Harry up in the wee hours of the morning for Quidditch practice ever since Harry's second year. He worked the Gryffindor team so hard one year, that as George Weasley, once a Beater for Gryffindor, once put it, they hadn't "been properly dry since August."
A drumroll of footsteps made Harry turn around to see Raides come tearing through the woods and onto the field, some of her golden fur sticking up in the wrong direction from running so fast. Charging at Harry, she jumped while at least one hundred feet away from him, her powerful legs taking her a frightening distance off the ground. She then transformed into the Staff of Cybele while airborne, the speed of her run carrying the flying staff all the way towards Harry. He stretched a hand out, and, the staff tearing through the air at him, even Harry was amazed that he caught it without a hitch.
"Right..." muttered Oliver to himself.
"Sorry," said Raides, panting, the crystal ball missing.
"Wait, that thing can still talk while it's a staff?" Oliver said, staring at the tiny mouth as it moved. Raides grinned at him, her scarlet tail blowing lightly in the wind.
"Ludo Bagman, who you all know from the Department of International Games and Sports, is going to be sounding the gong for everyone to head over here in about one hour," Mr. Stone said, after everyone had finished staring at the staff. "As you can see, they extended the seats even higher up than last year. If I remember what he told me correctly, about six hundred thousand are showing up today!" he shouted exuberantly. Everyone was gaping at one another except Harry who was nervous enough with just one hundred thousand pairs of eyes looking at him. "They had to use very complicated Invisibility Charms to hide this stadium from surrounding Muggle areas.
"Now, just to remind you, there's four Bludgers, two Spiked Snitches, both of which must be caught and are still worth one hundred and fifty points. If you fly as well as you did yesterday, we're sure to win --"
All of their heads suddenly turned as the United States team, in their red and blue robes with white cloaks walked nonchalantly towards the opposite side of the field. They were carrying what looked like modified Dragonbacks. Whereas Harry's Dragonback had a black handle and fire-colored twigs on it's tail, their handles were painted red, white and blue. The twigs were several inches longer too and Raides spoke her mind immediately.
"What are you lot worried about," she said in a half-drawl that eerily reminded Harry of Draco Malfoy, one particular wizard from Slytherin whom Harry hated -- a lot. "You've all got Dragonbacks and your Seeker has something even better. And no, Harry, not only can you turn better, but just trying going faster. Just -- er -- hold on tightly," she warned.
"Can they do that?" said Angelina sounding worried and pointing at one rather well-built player with the name La Grange written across her back.
She had absolutely no hair at all and shot them all a very evil look before turning back to her team. One of them, Harry noted, was wearing a cloak made, not of cloth, but of dragon hide. Another one of them had a mohawk on top of his head and a long, silver chain dangling out from beneath his robes like some monstrosity of a key chain.
"They belong at a rock concert," Harry blurted out, "not a Quidditch game!"
"I agree," said Callum blankly, staring open-mouthed at the girl with no hair.
"Rock concert or not... it looks like they're trying to scare us into messing up!" Mr. Stone shouted defiantly. "We're not going to let that work, are we!"
"HEY!" shouted one member of the United States team. This player had artfully, or in Harry's opinion, messily, torn his cloak and was sporting violently blood-red, dyed hair. The entire England team turned to look at him and when they did, he made quite a rude gesture with one of his hands.
"What do they think they're playing at!" shouted Alicia angrily.
"Oooh that makes me so mad!" Katie shouted equally angrily.
The rest of the United States team joined in and was making all sorts of rude gestures now.
"NOTHING WITHOUT POTTER, ARE YOU?" jeered the girl with no hair.
This set a set off a box full of Filibuster's Fabulous No-Heat, Wet-Start Fireworks in Harry's stomach. He accidently tightened his grip on Raides too much and she growled at him.
"Sorry," Harry muttered.
"Understandable."
The team captain was making no effort to curb his team's actions and, after a few minutes, he joined them. Harry's anger, along with everyone else's, only grew.
"We can't do anything," Oliver said, slightly disheartened. "There's nothing in the rules about being a good sport."
"Let's make them put their egos where their skills are," Harry said, his free fist clenched.
"Yeah," said Madelyn. "We know how big their ego is, let's see how big their skills are!"
"That's the spirit," said Mr. Stone proudly.
There was a bit of a pause while England's team regained their courage. Harry had a small struggle, fighting to keep his free hand where it was and not letting it jump to the plaque dangling from his neck. In the end, he succumbed for a quick second or three when Mr. Stone beckoned them to get in the air, a small bit of his usual -- or unusual, depending on your point of view -- calm self seeping in.
The two teams stayed on separate sides of the field, forbidden to play together until the real game starts. Each United States player took every single available opportunity to throw an insult at any England player that passed by them. Harry took note that the modified Dragonbacks were performing better than the unmodified ones, turning sharper and moving faster. This didn't give Harry any comfort as the United States Beater, whom he now knew was the well-built girl named La Grange, sent the normal Quidditch Bludgers screaming around their half of the field. She had bigger muscles in her arms than even Gregory, who was bigger than Mr. Stone.
The United States Seeker, one Jeff Uder, announced to the entire field each time he caught the Snitch, which, to Harry's dismay, was more often than him. Maybe it was his anger at the team, he thought to himself, as his fingers wrapped around the Golden Snitch for the first time in the past half hour -- Uder had caught it twice in the past fifteen minutes, oweing largely to his broom's seeming ability to track the Snitch by itself. Harry watched as Uder had caught it again in under two minutes, waving his rubbery arms madly in the air, shouting "I GOT IT, POTTER! I GOT IT!"
There was a silent agreement among all the players of the England team. Never had Angelina, Katie, Alicia, Oliver and Harry wanted to win a game more, not even in Harry's third year when enmity between Slytherin and Gryffindor had grown to a high point such that even the Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw Houses were cheering on Gryffindor -- except then, Slytherin wasn't using enhanced broomsticks.
At half past noon, when they had sufficient time to digest their lunch, Bagman walked, almost skipping, onto the field, calling everyone to the ground, with a small hammer and what looked like a miniature gong. There was nothing miniature about the ear-rumbling sound it produced when Bagman hit it with the small hammer.
"Okay, team," said Oliver, breathing in a fashion that was clearly supposed to calm him down, but failing miserably. "They may look more dangerous and have better brooms... We know we've got the best of the best. We're not going to let them stop us. We're going to win!"
The most Oliver got was a muffled "hurrah" from one player on the backlist, Jeanie Tidus. Regardless, each and every one of them felt a rush of excitement only a worldwide Quidditch game could bring. Mr. Stone beckoned them to the waiting area behind the giant hoops, the United States team manager moving his team towards theirs. The gigantic blackboard that showed the scores came to life and started flashing advertisements ("Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans - A risk with every bite!"; "Try New Bertie Bott's Pancakes In A Second - It's Instant!")
Harry watched, his nerves at a breaking point, as the first of the hundreds of thousands of wizards and witches started to fill the stands. He didn't know exactly where the Weasleys, Sirius, Hermione and the Chang's would be sitting but he got an unexpected answer when Cho came running right at him.
Cho greeted him with an embarassing hug, Harry turning a bright red, but he was glad to see another friendly face all the same. Causing Harry to blush even more, Angelina, Katie and Alicia all thought it was cute that he became more than acquaintances with Cho. They knew well that Harry fancied her but had all graduated Hogwarts before Harry and Cho... got to know each other better.
"You should see what the United States team was doing during pre-game practice," Harry told her. "They were making all kinds of faces and nasty gestures at us." Cho made a face of pure disgust, her mouth hanging open. "They modified their brooms, too."
"What, they're cheating?" Cho asked Mr. Stone.
"You're allowed to use any broom you can get your hands on," Mr. Stone explained. "If they happen to have their own custom manufacturer in the United States... so be it."
"I think their Seeker's broom is bewitched to chase the Snitch," said Harry. Everyone turned to look at him for his seemingly ridiculous accusation.
"Bewitched to chase the Snitch?" Mr. Stone repeated. Harry nodded. "They certainly aren't allowed to do that!" Mr. Stone said loudly.
"It looked like it, Mr. Stone," said Oliver, agreeing with Harry. The rest of the team nodded their heads in worried agreement.
"Why didn't you tell me during practice!" shrieked Mr. Stone.
"Because you couldn't do anything then, either," Oliver reminded him curtly. "They're not going to call the game off, not when everyone's already here."
"That's the trouble with this setup," muttered Mr. Stone. "They prefer to keep the game as dangerous as possible and that includes not having practices between the teams beforehand. For the Quidditch World Cup, all countries must agree on brooms. For Fire Quidditch, since there's so few teams and they haven't had any trouble in the past, they don't bother."
"Great," said Oliver loudly, darkly and sarcastically, doing a sort of anxious spin where he stood. "Just great."
Harry felt an uncomfortable number of eyes start to turn to look at him until, eventually, all of them were.
Before anyone opened their mouth, Harry read their minds. "I know, I know," he groaned. "It's all down to me. I have to catch both Spiked Snitches as fast as possible," he recited.
"You got your wand, right, Harry?" Cho said slowly.
"Yeah," Harry said, showing it to her and then stuffing it back inside his robes.
"If you're going to try to go really fast with me," Raides piped up, having been silent so far, "just hold on really tight, don't worry about hurting me. Better yet, use a Friction Charm, Strigo Lapsus, so you don't have to strangle me. Just say Perigo Lapsus to remove it. And if a big chunk of my fur falls off, I'll be really upset."
Harry and a few others couldn't help but laugh shortly which was exactly what Raides intended.
"Welcome to the International Ministry of Quidditch's 1998 Fire Quidditch game!" came the booming voice of Bagman.
Mr. Stone gave an excited squeak and Harry was forcefully reminded of tiny Professor Flitwick, the Charms teacher at Hogwarts who was no taller than Harry when he was eleven. Upon saying Harry's name for the first time, Professor Flitwick gave an excited squeak and tumbled off the books he used to prop himself up.
"Oh!" shrieked Mr. Stone. "That's it! Miss Chang, sorry dear, but you have to get back to your seat now."
"Good luck, Harry!" she said, giving him one last hug and then exiting.
Oliver had a broad grin on his face but Harry had a very good idea of what he was going to say as his lower jaw just started to move.
"Not a word, Oliver," Harry warned him, unable to stop his face from staying red.
"And there goes Miss Cho Chang, folks, no doubt visiting Harry Potter, star player for England!" Bagman boomed.
Oliver tried to say something again but Harry silenced him with the Staff of Cybele rather than his finger.
"Ladies and gentlemen, from the world over you have come to watch Fire Quidditch!" Bagman shouted.
"Why don't they show team mascots like they did for the World Cup?" Harry asked.
"Propaganda and money," explained Mr. Stone. "They run this strictly and the Ministry is secretly trying to keep excitement down for it but as you can see it hasn't worked. Mascots build up awareness and they can't afford to keep mascots, either. The teams don't have enough money."
"Please welcome the United States!" Bagman went on. "Uder! Sebastian! Leslie! McMera! Ghesi! Jacobs! Aaaaand La Grange! My, they do look colorful and interesting, don't they?"
Harry watched as they exited the changing room just opposite the field from him and rose into the air, a blurred mix of red, white and blue.
"Playing for England, I give you Wood! Spinnet! Bell! Johnson! Jungalavingi! Melfina! Aaaaaaaand Potter!"
Harry mounted Raides and rocketed into the air to deafening applause. After all, having spectacularly won two Fire Quidditch games so far does give one a high reputation. People were chanting his name, holding up signs. Harry took one look at the rude United States team, at the girl with no hair, the Seeker with messily torn robes and then at a sign bearing his name in large, lightning-blue lettering. He sat up straighter, more bravely on his broom -- er, staff.
"Showing pure dedication to the game," said Bagman as all fourteen brooms and their players centered themselves on the field, "from Egypt as usual, our most excellent referee and Chairwizard from the International Association of Quidditch, Hassan Mostafa!"
A wizard wearing dirty gold and brown robes came soaring into the air on a Dragonback of his own. He pointed his wand down at the enourmous box of Fire Quidditch balls and it opened, sending four fiery Bludgers (which magically caught fire as they left the box), two Spiked Snitches and one sonic-speed Quaffle straight up. The Bludgers went this way and that, the Spiked Snitches sped out of view and the Quaffle began to fall back down once it was a fair height above every player.
"THEY'RE OFF!" roared Bagman as Wood shot back towards the England hoops and Katie blazed forward, the Quaffle clutched tightly in her arm.
"England in possession!" roared Bagman. "Look at Miss Johnson go!"
Harry watched Angelina closely. The United States Seeker, Uder, was tailing her, an evil glint in his eye. Just before he caught up with her, Angelina passed the Quaffle on to Katie. Alicia nodded at Katie and then it started.
"Johnson! Bell! Spinnet! Bell! Johnson! Bell! Spinnet -- no, Johnson... Oh, I say..." Harry heard Bagman shouting.
Angelina and Alicia went on opposite edges of the enormous field, passing the screaming Quaffle in an enchantingly difficult pattern where occasionally they'd skip over one of themselves and the United States Chasers would swear loudly. After about five minutes of fending off the offending Chasers --
"SCORE FOR ENGLAND!" Bagman boomed happily as the Quaffle went rocketing past the United States Keeper, Samuel Sebastian. It looked for a minute like he had pondered taking his dragon hide cloak off and catching the Quaffle inside it but seemed to think better of the idea. And so far, Harry noticed, no one had touched the fiery Bludgers -- they simply looked too scared.
It was when Katie sent the Quaffle screaming down half of the field only to be intercepted by the United States Chaser, Mike Jacobs, the one with the mohawk and eye sore of a chain dangling from his robes, did Gregory find the courage to send a Bludger zooming towards Jacobs. He did a most excellent ballerina spin in midair, narrowly missing a lot of heat across his back.
"Oooh, narrow miss there and Jacobs drops the Quaffle! England's Spinnet in possession!"
Thirty minutes later, England had scored twice more, the United States once, bringing the score to thirty-ten with no sign of either Spiked Snitch. Bored, Harry casted an eye out for the United States Chaser, Jeff Uder, and saw him slowly circling the middle of the Fire Quidditch field.
"What d'you think, Raides?" Harry asked, looking down at the staff's tiny lion mouth as it yawned.
"I think I'm going to need back surgery after this," she replied. "That's what I think."
Harry laughed airily and said, "I mean their Seeker!"
"Nah," said Raides dismissively, dropping the fake bit about her back hurting. "No contest. Look, he can't even handle his broom!"
Raides was quite right. He flew sloppily, his broom bucking every now and then and Harry couldn't tell if it was that the broom was defective, or, probably the correct answer, that he was just that bad at flying.
"Wonder if it's those holes in his cloak," Harry suggested.
"Who knows... who cares..." said Raides airily, turning around on her own accord to Madelyn who just whacked all four fiery Bludgers at United States Chaser Jacobs, who was holding the Quaffle tightly.
Harry heard him shriek, tighten his grip and then flatten himself against his broom handle, all four Bludgers chasing him resembling a jet of flame.
It was an hour later when the score was at one hundred twenty for England, twenty for the United States did things start to get dirty.
"Harry, ripped-robes boy, twelve o'clock," said Raides, letting out a cheery growl of near-victory.
"What -- oh!"
Uder had his wand pointing at a speck of gold some two hundred feet from Harry. Feeling the need, Harry shouted "Strigo Lapsus!", pointing his own wand at the patch of fur he'd been holding onto. And then he flattened himself against the staff handle.
The speed was incredible.
The mere light breeze was turned into a force of wind so powerful, flapping his hair so hard that it hurt as it whipped against his head. Harry could feel the skin making up his face being stretched back, also being whipped by the wind. Before he even had a chance to look for the Spiked Snitch -- and he didn't have a hope anyway while going so fast -- Uder had dived downwards to avoid getting many bones in his body broken by a speeding, out of control Harry. And then, fifty feet away from the field, Harry slowed down, turned around and rejoined his teammates.
Oliver had missed two well-placed goals from the United States Chaser, Aidan Ghesi a few minutes later and the fiery Bludgers had been put into full use. While Uder had found the Spiked Snitch once again, all four balls of flame went tearing after him. Harry wouldn't disable them until he was about the catch the Snitch, it just wasn't worth it.
"FOUL!" cried Alicia, who had just been whacked, not by a Bludger, but by the bat of La Grange.
"Sorry!" La Grange said in her most innocent voice, not sounding remotely convincing at all. "Thought she was a Bludger!"
"Hard to mistake something for one of these Bludgers," Harry murmured to himself. Raides looked up at him and nodded. Very soon it became apparent what the United States was doing other than trying to look intimidating: they were fiercly controlling all four Bludgers, occasionally swinging their bats near an England player.
But they didn't have any time to ponder whether La Grange's newest attempts at giving Katie the hot seat had succeeded when Harry spotted a glint of gold and a spin of sharp blades.
Not wanting to miss the Snitch, he gave enough speed to his broom to bring him quickly to the Spiked Snitch, immediately feeling blistering heat behind him.
"Careful, Harry!" Katie called, the Bludgers having moved off of her and onto Harry.
He didn't see it, but he could feel one coming straight towards him and on instinct, he did a barrel roll to avoid it. The Bludgers did all sorts at attempts at hitting him -- they were clearly much faster than last year, when they couldn't even keep up with Harry's Dragonback.
Around the United States goal hoops the Spiked Snitch went, before turning sharply around and heading back towards the England goal hoops and Harry continued to perform acrobatics in the air. The extra long Fire Quidditch field would make the job a little easier, at least giving him time before the Spiked Snitch would have to turn again.
"United States Beater Zoe Leslie knocks a Bludger off England's Seeker's tail!" Bagman shouted. Harry didn't bother turning around. "Was that supposed to help them or hurt them?"
"Okay," Harry said to himself, not noticing Uder pointing his wand at the Spiked Snitch, too. "Simple levitation charm." He pulled his wand out, pointed it at the Snitch and no sooner had he started saying the words did he hear a resonating and ghastly "oooh" from the surrounding crowd.
Raides turned on her own, pointing Harry at the limp figure of Oliver Wood on the ground, some fifty feet below. He was turned on his stomach, his limbs splayed on the ground in all directions and most of his hair had been burned off. Harry saw a big patch of charred, black and crusty skin, no doubt from a fiery Bludger having been aimed directly at his head. The burn looked so bad Oliver was almost sure to be dead.
"Oh my. This could be a bad situation, folks.." said Bagman darkly.
"He's right," Raides croaked. "That -- does not -- look good."
"They've got medic witches surrounding him," Harry said, feeling the panic in himself rise. "They've got to be able to do something!"
His back gave a panicky twitch, staring at a ghostly white Oliver
Every single player had stopped moving, even the United States players, to watch Oliver on the ground. All manner of potions poured over the skin or into Oliver's mouth didn't wake him up. Harry's heart sunk from where he floated in the air down to the ground with Oliver. He did all he could think of doing and stayed where he was, watching, waiting, hoping.
The scene intensified with more and more medic witches Apparating at Oliver's side, carrying armfulls of rainbow colored potions. It didn't look like they were succeeding with even Charms. Harry distinctly heard someone scream something about Lily Potter. Harry knew his mother to be great with Healing Charms. If only she was still around... and his heart sunk still lower. Mr. Stone could be seen running out.
Feeling utterly helpless, a feeling which he never liked, Harry dived straight downwards, dropped Raides and then ran towards Oliver, thinking it might take away some of his helplessness. Raides transformed into the great golden and scarlet lion (to even more "oohs" of the crowd) and stampeded just behind Harry. They both skidded to a halt just before the seeming lifeless body.
"Sorry, Mr. Potter," said one of the medic witches. "We're -- well, as you can see..." she said heavily. "But he's still breathing," she assured everyone, "barely..."
Harry saw all right, but he didn't want to. The damage looked far worse up close, Oliver having so much skin burned, Harry could swear he was looking at muscle. One of the witches merely tried slapping him. Obviously, it didn't work.
"The Phoenix Bracelet," Raides said suddenly and softly. "Harry, the bracelet!" she now shouted.
"The... what?" Harry heard one of the witches say in disbelief.
Not even bothering to try to reprimand himself for forgetting, Harry pushed his way through the medic witches. The Phoenix Bracelet held extraordinarily powerful healing magic that only ancients can use. It was quite easy to forget this, as he had only had it a few, short months. Bending over Oliver, Harry stuck the hand on which wrist the Phoenix Bracelet was over the grevious wound.
The medic witches stood in awe as the fire that normally circled around the band jumped clean off towards Harry's outstretched hand and down his fingers. It turned a pearly white and glazed itself generously over the charred skin on the back of Oliver's head. Harry, wishing for nothing more than for it to work, paid no attention to the dazzling special effects of the bracelet and focused his all of his attention on the white glow. It was now putting color back into the black skin and turning it back to normal, non-scarred skin. A monstrous, white scab formed over the entire area, falling off only a second later only to be consumed by a great fire. The entire wound had been healed.
The fire turned red again, jumping back onto Harry's fingers and clinging to the bracelet, dancing around the Phoenix Bracelet's silver band once again.
"A Phoenix Bracelet!" squealed one of the witches, looking agape at Harry. "But, do those not require an ancient to work?"
"Yeah," said Harry impatiently, "they do and you're looking at one, remember?" She tried to say something but words seemed to fail her. "Now what can you do!" Harry shouted at her and she seemed to come back to her senses.
"Yes, well. He's perfectly fine now," she muttered as she turned Oliver over and then shouted, "Ennervate!" pointing her wand at him.
He let out an almighty cough, spitting up bits of blood and opened his eyes.
"Harry?" he said in the quietest of voices. Oliver propped himself up on his hands.
"Looks like he's going to be okay, folks!" shouted Bagman happily.
Harry did nothing but return Oliver's weak smile and then stand up. He was just glad Oliver hadn't died; the situation looked scarily close to that.
"You're all right, Wood, thanks to Potter, here," said Mr. Stone.
"I suggest we use one player on the backlist --" said one of the medic witches, only to be interrupted by Oliver.
"No," he said hastily in a please-let-me-play sort of voice, getting gingerly to his feet, "I'm okay." He moved his arms and tested out his legs by shaking them in front of him individually. All seemed normal.
That same medic witch gave a look so remnisicient of Madam Pomfrey, the strict and dedicated Hogwarts nurse, who Oliver clearly still remembered, that he gave up.
"Miss Jeanie Tidus," said Mr. Stone, turning toward a would-be attractive girl if it wasn't for her silver-dyed hair. "You're up first."
Jeanie nodded and ran a finger through her long, silver hair.
"It looks like they're almost ready to go again!" Bagman said.
Mr. Stone and the United States team managers agreed they were set to go and then nodded towards Bagman.
Fourteen brooms rose into the air once again and the sonic speed Quaffle was thrown high above them.
Afterwards, the game proceeded like normal except no one could help but notice Jeanie wasn't nearly as good a Keeper as Oliver was. The United States managed to score many more times, bringing the score to an ever closer one hundred and thirty to seventy.
The light of day slowly became dimmer and dimmer and as several people left the field only to return with food, Harry spotted a Spiked Snitch that was apparently tailing him, mocking him.
Harry turned on a dime and the Spiked Snitch immediately tried to escape his view. Four fiery Bludgers made a mad attack at Harry's head and he ducked to avoid joining the Headless Hunt. Once again, Uder had his wand pointed at the Spiked Snitch and at this point, Harry figured he was just waiting to disable it on his own. He concentrated on keeping the Bludgers from hitting him and not losing the Snitch.
"Right, this time no one's going to get walloped," Harry said more to himself than to Raides. "Furcilla Leviosa!" he shouted, his wand pointed directly at the Spiked Snitch. Harry watched, victory -- or at least half of it -- in his eyes, as the blades of the Spiked Snitch gave a lurch until breaking off with an incredible force, doing far more than he intended.
The blades of the Snitch scattered in all directions, one burrowing itself into Harry's left forearm, the hand of which was clutching Raides, and another catching him square in the chest. He swore loudly, swerving in the air, the Bludgers leaving him, and listening to the snickers of Uder who, Harry then realized, had his wand out to make that very thing happen.
Blood was freely flowing from his wounded hand and coloring his robes a deeper red while a sharp, stinging pain ran up and down the area of both wounds. Feeling a million pairs of eyes on him and the inevitable breathless silence, Harry closed his eyes to keep the pain tolerable. He then wrenched the small, one inch blade from the middle of his forearm, causing a great deal more pain and then pulled the one out of his chest. Harry did just as he had done for Oliver to repair the wounds and once he was wound-free, but still bloody, Harry urged Raides further forward and, teeth gritted, swore even more loudly as Uder caught the spike-free Snitch, narrowly missing getting a burned hand.
"UDER CATCHES THE FIRST SPIKED SNITCH!" roared Bagman to tumultuous applause from the United States crowd and a heavy sigh from England supporters. He tried his very to keep his personal conflict with the catch out of his seemingly happy voice. "The United States leads! Two hundred and twenty to one hundred and thirty!"
"No fair!" Ron shouted angrily. "Foul play! Uder did that! No way Harry would have!"
"Nothing anyone can do, Ron," said Mr. Weasley, just as disappointed as his son. "They can't prove it. Besides, he's perfectly okay (bless that bracelet). Don't worry, he'll get the next one."
"I sure hope so," muttered Ron.
"There will be a thirty minute intermission before the game starts again!" Bagman announced.
Harry didn't need to grab the Order of Merlin plaque dangling from his neck to feel any better -- it was the large sign that said some mighty rude words to the United States. Harry grinned and the game got progressively dirtier. With La Grange's failed attempt at accidently killing Oliver, Uder's successfull attempt at purposely injuring Harry and then catching the Snitch under Harry's nose, the American players saw fit to let their arrogance and egos get the best of them by the time the game started again.
The Beaters cared not if their clubs hit human or Bludger and dived in all sorts of directions. Harry watched Uder closely, seeing if he had any sign of the Snitch. Uder would definitely be looking out for this one because if he caught it, game over, the United States wins. Uder wasn't watching Harry at all. At least Wronski Feint's don't work (a technique involving a Seeker faking having seen the Snitch) in Fire Quidditch: the Bludgers chase a Seeker if they're actually chasing the Snitch and not just faking it.
As the game wore on, the Spiked Snitch hadn't presented itself and the dim light of day turned to dusk. Some people, but very few, could actually be seen leaving and still fewer coming back just to see if it was over yet. Many players were feeling extremely weary and tired, Harry included. He floated, dazed, over the heads of the other twelve players, Uder still casting an eye out for the sneaky Spiked Snitch.
Bored and his eyes almost closing, Harry felt wide awake when the score was announced to be five hundred to six hundred and fourTy. The United States team had lengthened it's lead and soon, even if Harry caught the Snitch, it wouldn't help. He took part in watching continual rude gestures and words from the United States players, mostly from La Grange and when he heard Uder call him "scar head," he really didn't care.
Gregory had heard it, too, and his reaction was much different. He grabbed Madelyn's club from her hand and whacked two fiery Bludgers at Uder. Uder instinctively tried to jump backwards, a very dumb move being at least fifty feet in the air, and landed with a sickening crunch on the ground to loud gasps from the crowd.
Gregory clasped a hand to his mouth and dropped both clubs. Harry knew the Phoenix Bracelet had no hope of bringing someone back from the dead. Once again, medic witches quickly Apparated, this time right at Uder's side. Harry probably should have felt slightly more sorry but simply couldn't. Despite himself, he didn't want to see anyone die and lowered to the ground. Raides turned into the great lion and rode Harry over to Uder before turning back into the Staff of Cybele.
"He's got many broken bones!" said one witch, feeling all over Uder's back.
"But is he alive?"
Harry stepped closer, his hand releasing it's grip on the Staff of Cybele all on it's own and looked down. The medic witches didn't usher him away, apparently expecting him to pull another miracle.
"No way to tell."
"What do you mean 'no way to tell," said an angry voice. "He's not breathing, he's dead! We shouldn't have bothered with this stupid sport!"
A few people started to cry and the entire crowd surrounding Uder suddenly stepped several feet away, taking Harry with them. It seemed as if they couldn't bear to look at Uder. Harry agreed.
"You knew there were risks," said a different voice, sounding very impatient. "And you agreed to it..."
A few people turned to look at Harry and he looked back into their desperate eyes. He didn't bother asking what they were looking at him for. He well knew, but there wasn't a thing to be done. He took one last look at Uder -- and noticed something.
"Wait a minute," said Harry suddenly. "He IS breathing!"
The people looking at Harry turned their gaze to Uder whose chest which, quite miraculously, was moving up and down. One witch who was Uder's mom, apparent by the way she had been crying, said thickly, "Bless him! He's alive!"
"Let's not ask how," someone said.
"Good, because I don't think anyone's going to answer it," said a witch.
"Oh hush, all of you. Clearly, he wasn't dead. He just stopped breathing for a bit, that's all."
"Yes, come on, dear," someone said to the witch who thought no one could find an answer. "Potter, here, survived a fifty foot drop as well."
In his third year at Hogwarts, Harry had fallen off his broom from fifty feet in the air, having passed out from nearby dementors. He had survived, partly because Dumbledore had slowed Harry's fall... Their terrible power, the dementors, was to drain any nearby human of happy thoughts, causing them to drown in their own despair and sorrow, leaving them with nothing but the bad. Leave them with a wizard or witch long enough and they drain you of your powers. As Harry has had awful horrors in his past, the dementors' power overwhelmed him time and time again, causing him to faint, listening to the last moments of his screaming parents. For a split second, he was forcefully reminded of his recurring dream.
Shaking his head to get rid of the nasty reminder, Harry picked up the Staff of Cybele from Uder's side and went over to Mr. Stone who was calling his team over.
"Okay, you've done a great job so far," he was saying, trying to insert the usual happy and boyish tone in his voice, "but unless someone doesn't catch the Spiked Snitch soon, we'll be playing well into tomorrow morning..."
Harry, still shaken by Uder's even closer near death experience (as was everyone else) nodded shortly and in ten minutes, one Mitch Shachner replacing Jeff Uder, Harry was back in the air, circling a small area to keep himself awake.
Shachner, while proving to be far nicer, also proved to be a better Seeker and Harry was tearing after him while the score remained stagnant for the past fifteen minutes (Gregory and Madelyn were increasingly aggressive, using the Bludgers, not to hit, but to divert). Not wanting to have a repeat of his last experience, Harry pointed his wand at the Spiked Snitch in front of Shachner and muttered, "Furcilla Leviosa," hoping it would work without him shouting it.
And it did, Shachner turning around at Harry, who smirked back, to see who had done it. Just then, the four Bludgers caught up with Shachner, and, unfortunately all four of them were headed straight towards Harry. He plunged several feet down to avoid getting the blunt end of all of them at once and suffering a fate far worse than Oliver's.
The Bludgers seemed to think Harry was after the Snitch as they turned around in perfect harmony and came pelting after him once again. Harry stuck his wand out and absolutely thundered "DRACONUS ICICLIA!" so loud that Shachner swerved.
A small tuft of frost erupted from the tip of Harry's wand and formed into a dragon made up entirely of ice. Harry would have been shocked and frightened that it was a full size dragon, some fifty feet tall, it's arms as thick as small glaciers, if he wasn't so anxious about finding out whether it would work to stop the Bludgers.
It gritted it's icicle fangs dangerously and grinned, looking like some sort of insanely happy demon. The powerful tail protruding from it's end was stretched out the full seventy feet and wagging merrily. Harry did take note of the claws on it's thick, muscular (if that were possible for a creature made of ice) hands that were as long as knives and probably sharper and he caught a small glimpse of the teeth in it's jaw and didn't scream. This last bit was surprising considering the front two were as big as his head and as thick as his leg -- he was too into the game to care.
With one last grin of self-satisfaction at it's master, the dragon sent itself speeding towards the Bludgers and did a spectacular three-sixty in mid air. It's enormous wings smashed into the all of Bludgers at once, turning them into blocks of ice upon contact like liquid nitrogen to any other substance. The Bludgers went crashing to the ground and exploded, raining the ground with bits of ice. The terribly large ice dragon gave a deafening roar, mocking the feeble Bludgers and then exploded into a million flakes of snow. It's force so large, the dragon so big that the snowflakes reached every inch of the Fire Quidditch field. It looked like it had just snowed for a few minutes.
Satisfied and not letting anything sink in yet, Harry turned his attention to Shachner who was gaining on the Spike-less Snitch, apparently not bothered by a dragon screaming in his ear. Harry charged forward, slapped Shachner's hand out of the way and --
"POTTER CATCHES THE SECOND SPIKED SNITCH!" roared Bagman to tumultuous applause from England supporters and ravenous boos from the United States crowd. Harry distinctly saw someone fly over to Shachner and smack him on the head. "SIX HUNDRED AND FIFTY TO SIX HUNDRED AND FOURTY! ENGLAND WINS! OH, I SAY!"
Floating there, Shachner in a rage of fury, Harry took the precious few seconds before anyone had came flying towards him to let it all sink in. Oliver and Uder were alive, he had won the game and the fiery Bludgers had been exploded with a spectacular ice dragon spell; all of it worthy of the front page of the Daily Prophet.
Harry couldn't see, but Cho's face was glowing with admiration. He was sure, regardless of being able to see or not, that it was. Likewise, Ron and Hermione were jumping up and down, clapping and yelling themselves hoarse.
"I don't fancy telling them to stop celebrating," Bagman whispered, grinning, to Dumbledore as the England team slowly bumped one by one into their victorious Seeker.
Dumbledore, who had been sitting in the Top Box, a block of seats centered in the field, with the Weasleys, raised an eyebrow, cocked his head and gave Mr. Weasley a grin that clearly said, "he's right, you know."
"They'll be talking about this game for years," Mr. Weasley said.
Percy Weasley drew a deep breath, raised both his eyebrows and let out a superior-sounding sigh, his chin in the air, trying to look as grave as possible. "Ah, you know Penelope didn't want to bother betting this time," he said, speaking of his girlfriend, Penelope Clearwater.
"Wonder why," Ron whispered in Hermione's ear as Mr. Weasley ushered them down the steps to get to Harry. He could only guess that his ambitious brother was thinking of betting against his girlfriend to win some money.
Mr. Stone had taken his team over to the United States team, the other team manager bringing his to Mr. Stone's, for a hand-shake, presumably so they wouldn't feel like hexing each other next year. La Grange's handshake was very harsh and she was eyeing the blood stains on Harry's forearm and chest. She seemed to like the idea that he got hurt, though didn't voice it and, all the same, Harry kept his opinion quiet that she should have been his ice dragon's target. Well, either her or Uder, it didn't really matter.
During this, about ten wizards were cleaning up the mess of Bludgers Harry had made (they couldn't repair them) and fixing the Spiked Snitches, sticking them back into the box, not spinning and harmless. The Quaffle was quite an easy matter as it's only magic was to gain speed while flying in the air. Finally, after exchanging many not-so-friendly glances and handshakes, the two teams separated and left the field, the stands still clearing out. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, Ron, Hermione and Sirius strode over to Harry at once, a look of utter awe on Ron's face. Ron's only words were "nice" and "dragon."
"You're okay, right?" said Mrs. Weasley, seizing Harry's bloodied arm at once and examining it.
"Yes," replied Harry. "If this thing can heal burns, it can heal small cuts," he added, referring to the Phoenix Bracelet.
"Well, get changed then as soon as we get back to the tent. It's starting to smell."
Every inch of him was still bursting with excitement when the sky had turned black as ink and Ginny was still going over and over Harry's ice dragon with a speechless Ron. Ron thought the ice dragon so cool that he hadn't said a single word, an expression of awe on his face for the past half hour.
"Ron, your face is going to stick like that," said Mrs. Weasley irritably.
"I don't think he minds," said Fred.
"It was just a spell, dear."
Ron's face finally changed. "Harry -- bloody hell!" he said, still amazed.
Harry couldn't help it. He grinned back.
"We all agree it was a spectacular ice dragon now will you please go to bed?" said Mrs. Weasley, still sounding irritated. "It's nearly two in the morning!"
"Oh come on, mom," Ron said pleadingly back. "I don't think anyone has gone to sleep yet!"
"He's right, Molly," Sirius said, peering out of the tent.
Every England supporter had been bellowing, screaming, singing and laughing ever since the game had ended and salesmen were now coming around all of the tents, selling miniature ice dragons and, to Harry's great displeasure, Fred and George's miniature Harry models. These had been modified, of course, having a small Spiked Snitch stuck in an outstretched, closed fist.
"No," Harry had said firmly when a salesman had Apparated at their tent a few minutes later and tried to sell Harry a model of himself ("Better than an autograph!").
A few minutes after that, a wizard Harry had never met before came striding to the tent and asked Harry if he would let his lightning dragon duel with Harry's ice dragon. Harry didn't know what to say and so he turned to Sirius for an answer without thinking, like a son would to a father. Sirius noticed this and nodded, as he would have anyway.
Perhaps it was the spur of the moment during the game, but when Harry tried to conjure his most excellent ice dragon again, he only managed to get one twelve feet in height and not the most glorious fifty-footer from hours earlier. Both of them conjured their dragons high above the tents for all to see and a small crowd had moved closer to them, many people leaving their tents to get a better look to see the fabulous air fight. Both dragons put up a good duel and despite the fact that Harry's dragon was so much smaller, it was able to move around much more quickly, dodging and taunting it's fifty foot opponent. Bill, Charlie and Ron were cheering Harry on the entire time.
The unknown wizard then looked sourly at Harry as one well-placed lightning bolt from his fifty foot lightning dragon struck Harry's horribly frightened ice dragon between it's eyes and shattered it. Raides had scrambled to her feet at his words ("I expected better...") and growled at him. Having a sudden idea, she transformed into the Staff of Cybele and suggested Harry use her instead of his wand. Fully knowing he was going to lose, the wizard agreed to another try and this time Harry had managed to conjure a dragon so huge, it sent the unknown wizard's lightning dragon screaming and several people had shrieked.
It was over three hundred feet in height. Ron didn't speak for fifteen minutes. Ginny fainted. Then, the roar it made before it exploded, making the moor look like it probably did after a blizzard, made everyone clamp their hands over their ears and that still didn't help. Hermione's glass of water had shattered. Mr. Weasley was extra glad the Ministry of Magic placed Invisibility and Noise Charms over the area for a Muggle would surely notice a dragon of that stature or a roar that loud.
Raides transformed back into the golden and scarlet lion, still chucklingly merrily and Ron was now goggling even more at Harry, who didn't think that look would ever leave Ron's face until morning. The unknown wizard looked for a minute like he was going to introduce himself but decided to save himself the embarassment and stalked away. Ron looked desperately at Raides with a please-let-me-try look in his eye but she looked gravely back at him, her eyes narrowed not unlike Mrs. Weasley's. She told him that she could vaguely remember that the only time she had let a non-ancient use her, she ended up destroying an entire town. As much as she trusted Ron, she had been enchanted to kill anyone who tries to cast a spell with her who's not an ancient. Ron finally desisted.