Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter
Yo, if anyone has time check out my PJO story 'The Roman Legion' :)
Hope you enjoy
"Duck!" A voice screamed, and Harry didn't have time to question whether the owner of said voice was an ally or an enemy. He pressed his body down, making himself as small as a target as possible as something whizzed above his head, mere fractions away from bludgeoning into him.
Quickly he began to manoeuvre his across the field, the arena of opponents, a fierce battle raging on beneath him, it was better to remove himself from the proximity of the others, to move before what nearly hit him would return, smacking into him.
He'd felt that sort of pain before, crashing into his arm, once into his stomach, winding him and almost making him fall, he'd been fortunate to not receive one to the head... yet.
"Sorry about that Harry." A voice called from his right, but Harry just waved him off, wishing he'd focus on not repeating the same mistake instead of apologising for the old one.
Harry began to scour the field for the little ball everyone was so obsessed with. The golden snitch. It was the most competitive game of the year - from Ravenclaws' perspective anyway. To be honest, the Gryffindor-Slytherin match held more of a football derby atmosphere, like Man United vs Liverpool, this game was more like Everton vs Liverpool, a derby sure, but one which hadn't been as competitive over the last years.
Then again, unlike Everton, this Ravenclaw quidditch team was on the rise. They had finished in second last year, despite having beaten both Gryffindor and Slytherin.
It was one of those stupid things where they'd lost despite defeating the winners: Slytherin had absolutely demolished both Gryffindor and Hufflepuff, whilst Ravenclaw had suffered a shock defeat to Hufflepuff, and Slytherin had won their games by a higher margin so they'd ended up winning the cup, much to the snakes' glee.
Ravenclaw-Slytherin was the first match of the year, and the weather seemed to echo the animosity between the two teams. The entire school had come out to watch the match, despite the icy weather and rain hammering down onto the stands, their curiosity to see whether Slytherin would be knocked off of their perch bigger than their skills of self-preservation.
Luckily for the supporters Dumbledore had cast some anti-weather spells around the stands, as well as warming charms and hot chocolate being handed around. The players didn't have the same luck.
Harry was just glad that he had contacts in - playing quidditch in these conditions with glasses would have been hell. Though, he was slightly worried that the rain would wash off his concealer - the only thing stopping him from being immediately identified as the Boy-Who-Lived. Something which was even more dangerous now than ever.
It did help having the stands full with supporters, though the Hufflepuffs weren't overly animated in their support the Gryffindors had gone all out. Though most of their posters and chants were composed more of anti-Slytherin propaganda instead of encouraging the 'claws.
Draco Malfoy, the Slytherin seeker, sat at the opposite end of the field to Harry, his eyes flickering around the pitch in a similar manner to Harry's, just trying to find the snitch, but, thirty minutes since the opening whistle, there was no sign of the elusive ball.
Thinking back on it this year had started off well... well except for that unfortunate incident on the train. These creatures - normally the guards of Azkaban (a wizarding prison) - called Dementors had come aboard the Hogwarts Express, searching for mass-murderer Sirius Black.
He was the first convict ever to escape from Azkaban and the ministry-labelled 'mad-man' (also Harry's godfather according to the prophet) had been on the run for nearly two months now, and the ministry showed no signs of being near to finding him, despite expending most of their efforts on the manhunt.
More and more information came out on the man, each one another blow to Harry. Sirius Black had apparently been the best friend of his father, James, as well as the man who'd later betrayed them, and caused their deaths. They'd trusted him, and he'd stabbed a knife in their backs.
It had been a hard one to try and figure out how to explain to Dr Jackson, his therapist, but Luke had insisted, fearing that Harry might do something stupid and go after him - you do one Gryffindor-esq activity and suddenly you're stuck with that label for life, honestly... Harry, despite Luke's (expected) lack of trust, had no desire to get anywhere near Black. In reality he hoped that Black had gone to Australia, or Antarctica even, anywhere far away from him.
He did contain some of the anger that Luke predicted, because who wouldn't be angry at the man who'd betrayed his parents in such a devastating fashion. From the papers' descriptions, Sirius Black had been to James Potter, what Terry was to Harry, and the thought of Terry ever betraying him like that seemed, for starters completely ridiculous and unbelievable, but also heart-crushing. He couldn't help but wonder if his father's final thoughts were the realisation that his childhood best-friend had stabbed him in the back - metaphorically of course, in reality it had been Voldemort killing him with a simple wave of his wand.
He also felt fear. Unrealistic fear, but fear, fear that somehow Sirius Black would know he was, that he'd find him and finish the job. Though the Ravenclaw side of him rejected this phobia - for irrational fear was perhaps the right term for it, based on the entire wizarding world presuming he was dead - sometimes in the dead of night Harry would wake up, and mistake the old and creaking plumbing for Black making his way up the stairs to his room...
Perhaps that was why Harry had fainted on the train. Yes, fainted. And no, no one else fainted. Just Harry. Luckily nobody other than the people in his compartment, the usual assortment of (now) third year Ravenclaws, along with the new DADA teacher, Professor Lupin, found out about that incident. Which was lucky, because Harry could not be bothered to deal with whatever taunts Malfoy would come up with in response to that.
So yes, third year had started off well (other than the incident). Finally being in third year was nice, mainly due to the fact that they were now deemed old enough to be part of the Hogsmeade visits - a trip into the local, magical town of Hogsmeade.
Alongside the added independence, there was also a change of curriculum, leading up to OWLS, which allowed them to take more control over their classes. The core subjects remained the same, DADA, Charms, Herbology, Potions, Transfiguration - and even Astronomy and History of Magic, though Harry had no clue why - were all compulsory.
However now they were also offered the ability to take a minimum of two new classes, choosing between Divination (hell no), Arithmancy, Care of Magical Creatures (not quite Harry's taste), Ancient Runes (honestly though, who wouldn't want to take Ancient Runes), and Muggle Studies (pointless, and boring).
Whilst it was exciting to finally get some choice over his electives, Harry was slightly disappointed with the lack of range offered, he'd been, naively - as he was previously aware of the classes offered to third years - hoping for Healing, Alchemy (which was only offered at NEWT level), or even some magical foreign language like mermish, alas, there was not, so Harry settled for Ancient Runes and Arithmancy.
Whilst most students took three subjects, the minimum was only two, so Harry was not required to take up another one, and honestly thought it was a more Ravenclaw move to not take up the impractical Divination or Muggle Studies - and honestly he just wasn't interested in Care of Magical Creatures, he'd lived with beasts, he preferred to stay away from them now.
So Harry had decided to instead just focus on his current academics, and maybe spend more time exploring the extracurriculars, which would be possible now without the restraints of the tight schedule from first and second year.
He knew that he'd be sharing both his electives with Michael and Terry, whilst Anthony would also be joining them for Ancient Runes - he'd rejected the notion of Arithmancy as soon as he could, claiming that maths (and maths-related courses) was the most evil thing since You-Know-Who.
He knew that Terry was also taking up Muggle Studies, along with Anthony, and that Anthony and Michael would also attend Care of Magical Creatures, whilst all of the Ravenclaw boys strongly swore off of Divination. They'd met Trelawney before, and heard rumours: Divination was a joke. Everyone at Hogwarts knew it, and the only reason it was still an elective, was because nearly the entire of Gryffindor house, as well as many Puffs, took it as an easy OWL.
Harry would also resume his attendance of Flying classes. Now that it was not a compulsory subject the class would be focussing on achieving a higher-technique, and due to low attendance, he'd get a lot of one-on-one time... he was determined to win the cup this year, and, well, he enjoyed the class, plus it was good exercise.
The class ran with just an hour a week, however, despite the short hours, Harry soon came to regret his decision, finding out that he would be sharing the class with only one other third year... Draco Malfoy. Michael had previously told Harry he'd be attending the class, but had to back out at the last minute as it clashes with Care of Magical Creatures, leaving Harry alone with the scion of Malfoy.
The same pompous blonde who was at the opposite end of the quidditch pitch, searching for the snitch. Harry could not, and would not let him win.
The game had been whirling on for an hour and a half now, with some supporters having given up and surrendered back to the warmth of the castle, the weather making the game rather boring - and obscuring the pitch from view as well.
It was cold enough to make the quaffle slippery, and harder to catch, whilst the bludgers seemed to pack an extra punch in the icy cold - if the beaters managed to hold onto their bats (Jason Samuels had let his slip at one point, and had to take a brief detour to pick it up from the ground before he could continue playing).
Then Harry had suddenly seen it. It was hovering near the middle of the pitch, slightly closer to Harry than it was to Malfoy - though he did have the added advantage of a far superior broom.
Unwilling to try some trick to throw Malfoy off his game - and in doing so, risk the snitch disappearing once more and the game having to continue - Harry leapt into action, racing towards the snitch. He could hear the commentator buzzing, yelling his name, followed by Malfoy's, and out of the corner of his eye he could see the blonde gaining on him.
As the snitch was only an arms length away from him it suddenly shot up into the sky. Higher and higher up into the clouds, as Harry was forced to make a sharp vertical turn to follow it.
His ear popped as he thrust onwards and upwards, up into the clouds where it was even colder. Thunder boomed around him, as though welcoming him to the domain of the sky, and he could no longer hear Lee Jordan's commentary, nor the quiet whiz of Malfoy's broom. It was just the sound of his shallow breathing, and the fluttering of the snitch's wings.
Then it happened. A scream. The same damn scream as on the train. The same coldness entering his body - it was no longer the chill of the air, it was something else, something darker. It felt like a cumulation of everything bad that had happened to him was happening once more. He felt like he was back in the cupboard, or when he first woke up from the coma, or back in the Chamber. All at once, everything hit him with all that it had.
It took everything to maintain a grip on his broom, no longer flying to catch the snitch, but flying to not fall to his death. Then he caught a glimpse of something. Something tall, and big, yet slender, and skinny all at the same time.
Then he saw it again - or perhaps it was a different one... a different Dementor. It's robes were tattered and torn, though, in all honesty, Harry had no idea if they were robes or just the Dementors' skin.
All of a sudden he saw another one, and one more. One right in front of him. Only a meter away. But he couldn't stop his broom. He kept going forwards and forwards, the scream in his head growing louder, and his grip loosening. The Dementor reached out a hand, now only inches away from Harry, pulling back its robe which had been lying over its mouth.
If you can call it a mouth. He saw it for a split-second before he blacked out. It was scarier than the Basilisk itself. A glimpse into the void. A black hole, inhaling Harry himself.
He let go.
He fell.
His eyes snapped open as pain shot down his arm and back, blinding lights flashing in his head as for a second he thought he was going to pass out again.
"Come on Reynolds." A voice called exasperated, and Harry looked up to see who the owner of the hand painfully gripping his own was.
Malfoy.
Sitting on a broomstick.
The storm was still raging on around them, he must have only been blacked out for a few seconds - preferable to a few years. "Malfoy. What-" Then his eyes flashed in remembrance. At the scream. The Dementors. The fall.
He wasn't falling anymore... which meant... Malfoy had caught him.
The stands were barely visible beneath them, just a mirage of colours - red, green, gold - as the ever-darkening clouds rolled on around them.
"I can't hold you forever." Malfoy gritted out, the strain in it evident, the sheer effort being applied to holding you - effectively dead weight as your survival instincts were pushed to the side for your curiosity - could be heard as the words forced their way out of his mouth.
The grip loosened, the sweat acting as a lubricant as Harry's hand slipped a little bit further... A little bit closer to his inevitable death. Harry would not survive the fall.
With a lot of effort Harry managed to swing his arm - the one not being held - up to Malfoy's broom, which dipped under the added weight. The next obstacle was harder. It was the equivalent to doing a pull-up - and Harry had never exactly excelled in gym.
"You've got to pull yourself up." Malfoy demanded, the urgency clear in his voice.
"Easier said than done," Harry replied as he pulled on the broom - both pulling himself up and pulling the broom down towards him. "You try doing a pull-up in the middle of the sky surrounded by a bloody storm." He says just as he finally manages to swing a leg over the broomstick.
"Always complaining Reynolds. I did just save your damn life." Malfoy snarked back.
"Surprised you didn't go for the snitch."
"Why are you always trying to vilify me? What asshole would choose a game of Quidditch over somebody's life?" Harry resisted muttering 'your father' under his breath. His one encounter with Lucius Malfoy had been enough to prove to him that he was a bigoted, self-obsessed, pompous-
"Thanks." Harry reluctantly changed his thought process.
"No problem." Malfoy drawled back, something bitter in his tone. "Though, considering you fell off your broom - like a firstie - I'd barter that Slytherin deserve the win on precedent."
"Fell of my broom?" Harry retorted incredulously. "You try flying when a Dementor's trying to suck you - or whatever the hell it was doing." Malfoy made an amused noise before his back straightened.
"Dementor?" He asked urgently.
"What? You didn't see them. I swear to god they were trying to kill me."
"The Dementors are only stationed here to ward off Sirius Black, they shouldn't even be inside the grounds, let alone attacking the students."
"I'm not lying." Harry replied angrily. He wasn't some inexperienced first year, he wouldn't have fallen off of his broom for no reason.
"Merlin Reynolds, you're so defensive. I wasn't saying I didn't believe you."
"Right... sorry."
"From how you describe it... well it sounded like it was trying to kiss you."
"Kiss me?" Harry's eyes nearly popped out of his head. "Look, I don't have much experience with kissing but I'm pretty sure that's not it."
"Never kissed a girl Reynolds?" Malfoy taunted, his head still facing the sky, as if trying to catch sight of the Dementors.
"What and you have?" Harry retorted and Malfoy made another noise.
"A Dementor's kiss is perhaps the worst fate anyone can have. They suck out your soul leaving you a human shell of the person you once were. It's worse than death." Malfoy paused. "That's what will happen to Black if they find him."
"Oh." Harry muttered, the taunting atmosphere having been sucked out of the air like his soul was nearly sucked out of his body. The wind whirled round them as the two fell into a strained silence. "Are you going to fly back down?" Harry eventually asked and Malfoy flinched, as if he'd forgotten Harry was even there.
"Yeah. Right. I just didn't want to start going when you weren't ready and watch you fall off your second broom of the day." He taunted, though there was something candid in his tone, as when he started moving the broom he moved so slowly, and so gently, that Harry knew he was trying to make sure Harry wouldn't fall off again.
"I'd prefer for you to not dislocate my other arm as well."
"Dislocate?" Malfoy asked, confused.
"You know, as in if your arm is dislocated?"
"No." The boy replied, in a clipped tone - clearly offended at something, though Harry had no clue what.
"It's when the bone in your arm disconnects from the socket." Malfoy's back was turned from him, but Harry could practically hear the frown.
"Socket?" He asked quietly and Harry almost couldn't hear him as the winds raged around them.
Clearly magical education did not involve any form of Biology. "It's a joint, in your shoulder that connects two bones together." Harry explained, trying to remember if that was scientifically accurate information - not that Malfoy would be able to correct him. "When it gets dislocated it always takes a while to fully heal."
"Right. Well, Madam Pomfrey could fix that up in two seconds." Malfoy replied haughtily.
"Probably." Harry conceded, unsure of why Malfoy was acting so defensive.
"You should probably hold on. I can't keep going this slow forever." Malfoy told him. Harry quickly gripped the broom, wincing as pain shot up his arm, but unwilling to tell Malfoy. It wasn't as if there was an alternative. Not one Harry wanted to do at least - what on earth would his friends say if he came flying down to the ground with his arms wrapped around Draco Malfoy of all people. No, the pain is preferable to the rumours that would likely cause.