Quidditch

Archive: Padfoot...Snuffles, not p r o v e n guilty
Summary: Harry's sixth year at Hogwarts - the first Quidditch match of the year
Pairing: None
Disclaimer: JKR owns everything mentioned here, I don't
Spoilers: OotP

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Harry blinked. It had been three weeks since he had returned to Hogwarts, yet his emotions still felt raw. Just the sight of so many wizards and witches in Diagon Alley had made those tears trickle down his cheek, remembering those moments where he had felt true love for his godfather, which would happen no more. Yet Harry almost wished that he had pulled back that veil - in his dreams, he did just that allowing him to re-appear, with that bark-like laugh of his.

Screwing his eyes up again, forcing himself to concentrate, he looked down at the Transfiguration book he was studying. It was no use. Transfiguration reminded him of Animagi, and that reminded him of...

Turning in his seat, Harry gazed out of the window. Ron was practising his Quidditch skills early - the main team practise didn't start for another 30 minutes, but each time Harry mounted his broom he was reminded of the grim-like black dog watching him: wanting to know if his skills were on a par to his father's, but he had never asked.

Hermione had been acting rather distant to Harry: she was finding it difficult to say anything just in case he flew of the handle and shouted, or in case he started crying again. Neither, she had thought, would be that appropriate to happen in the common room. He glanced over to her, knitting those House-Elf hats. Her knitting had improved, but that hardly mattered. What was a nicely knitted hat when you've lost someone that close to you?

Slowly, he stood up, making his way to the dormitory to collect his Firebolt for the team practise. On his way, the portraits shunned him - maybe they too were afraid, scared that he may shout at them. Clambering out of the portrait hole, he trudged slowly to the Quidditch pitch. The sun was shining, but his heart felt heavy. How could the sun shine when... he was so upset?

Entering the changing rooms, the air grew tense. Eyes flicked over at Harry - players checking if it was safe to talk to him, shunning him like the portraits just in case. "Just in case," Harry thought, "just in case of what? What's it to them if I do shout or even... cry?"

Walking into the stadium, Harry blinked hard - the sunlight was glistening off the tears in his eyes, on his cheeks, making it hard to see. Mounting his broom and half- heartedly soaring up, he wished he had tried harder with Occulmency, or at least that he could have told him how much it meant to have a father-figure.

Harry glanced down, shaking his head to clear the image that had come into view. A large black dog was running along beneath him. Wiping the tears from his eyes, he looked again. It appeared so real, but how could it be? Tearing his eyes away, Harry leant over to avoid the incoming bludger. Half way through the sloth-grip roll, his eyes caught sight of the black dog again. His grip loosening on the Firebolt's handle, Harry felt himself falling, yet he felt no fear.

His eyes fixed on the spot where the black dog stood, he fell faster, hurtling towards the ground. Somewhere in the distance he could hear Hermione screaming, yet he kept his eyes on the dog. Just one metre before he would hit the ground, he felt himself slow, and landed gently on the sun-baked earth. Calm and unhurt, he looked up into those big amber glinting eyes: he was sure the dog was talking to him - transmitting his thoughts through to Harry

"Harry, I always admired you, and thought of you as my son: I will always be there when you need me"