You're a protagonist Harry
Chapter 26 – Know thy enemy
…
Anticipation was in the air. Silly really, to think a concept, a state of mind, a mere idea really could somehow manifest itself a physical form, even one so thin as air. Honestly, where do people get these metaphors.
Quidditch, it was a funny thing. Chaotic, wild, and dangerous; and that was just the crowds.
Oliver Wood was mad about Quidditch. Harry thought he might just be mad period, full stop. As the first game of the season approached, which would include Gryffindor, he chose to accelerate the teams training, finding fun new ways of doing the exact same thing but faster, longer, and with a lot more cursing. So much cursing.
"If he doesn't slow down, none of us are going to be in any condition to play this weekend. That'll show him," Harry griped.
"He does seem a bit, um, enthusiastic," Hermione offered, now a regular third to his and Ron's dynamic duo.
"I think you mean crazy," said Ron, who was far less polite than Hermione just by nature. "Seriously, I love my Quidditch as much as the next bloke, but that guy is just not right. You can see it in his eyes. He's got the crazy eyes."
"Well that's not very nice."
"S'true though."
She had a difficult time arguing with that, "All the same. You just need to make sure you get a good night's sleep before the game. I'm sure even Wood will understand that."
"If I heard Fred and George right, they've got two bats to explain it to him if he doesn't," said Ron, making Harry grin.
Not Hermione though, "That's totally barbaric!" she said, aghast.
"Oh come on Hermione," said Harry. "The soccer hooligans back home were just as bad."
"YES! I KNOW!"
"I don't think she's a sports fan Harry."
"Yeah, I got that."
She was very much in the minority at Hogwarts. Everywhere they went people were talking Quidditch. An invisible cord surged through the denizens of Hogwarts, even the ghosts were getting into the spirit of the thing, for better or worse.
"PEEVES! Come back here with that paint!"
"See, this is why I don't like sports," said Hermione as they tried to make themselves as unnoticeable to the passing poltergeist as they could. "It turns otherwise sane people into absolute lunatics."
"I don't know if it's fair using Peeves as an example here Hermione," said Harry, eyeing the cackling poltergeist warily as he zoomed about overhead before zipping into a wall, summarily smashing his paint can into said wall.
"He's not even a person," Ron agreed. "He's a poltergeist."
"Well, he certainly acts like a person. A 'sports' person!"
"You know you're being very closed minded about this," said Harry as the trio scampered away before Filch could notice them as he screamed at the paint dripping wall.
"I am not," she insisted, "I have all the evidence I need to support my claims. I am right, and that is that," she said primly.
"You're still coming to the game though," said Harry. "I'll never forgive you if you don't."
"What!"
"He's right. If we're really friends ya gotta come. That's what friends do," said Ron ever so smugly. There was something to be said about the bonds one formed over fighting a troll. They were not a thing easily broken.
"But… but I, that is… well, bollocks!"
"Miss Granger!"
"Such language!"
"Oh, stuff it, both of you."
The boys chuckled but allowed her the small victory of not heckling her further. It was enough getting her to the game when she clearly did not want to go. But that's what friendship is all about, sharing the suffering.
"How long do these games usually take?"
"Depends how good the teams are," said Ron thoughtfully. "Longest game ever played was three days."
"THREE DAYS!"
"Yeah. World cup game, just a couple years ago. Something wrong with the rune ball. It kept disappearing. It only reappeared for about a minute every couple hours. No one ever figured out what happened. The last time it came back it hit the ground and just lay there, completely dead. All its magic was used up."
"What kind of charge do these things have?" Harry asked.
"Most are good for years, decades even."
"I am not sitting out there that long," said Hermione, "I don't care what you say. I won't. I won't!"
"I'm with her on this one," said Harry.
By the sound of things as they entered the great hall, they were once again in the minority. The chatter was up at least three notches from the usual and the word Quidditch was being repeated across every conversation like a low humming chant.
"Ugh! It's spreading," Hermione grumbled. "It's like a disease."
"Yeah," Ron grinned, fully in his element. "Hey, you think Snape'll get a disease from that bite?"
"One can only hope," said Harry, though doubting he could really be that lucky.
"I still don't understand it," said Hermione as they sat down for breakfast. "Unless there are other enormous creatures hidden away in the castle we don't know about, and I refuse to even harbor such a thought, what on earth was Snape doing around Fluffy? When there was a troll running around the castle no less."
That was the million-galleon question. There was no good reason they could think of that Snape, or in fact anyone but Hagrid and Dumbledore, should be anywhere near Fluffy. A most painful death, that's what the man said.
Harry thought it might be a culture thing but since Ron had assured him, painful death meant painful death, he'd discarded that theory with the greatest expedience.
"He wants whatever Fluffy's guarding," said Harry. It was the only answer that made sense.
"But why?" Hermione pressed, to which Harry could only shrug.
"Might help if we knew what it was," said Ron through a mouthful of eggs.
"Well, what do we know?" said Hermione. "It's small, and important enough to put a giant three-headed guard dog in front of it."
"Given that description, I think the list of things it couldn't be is shorter than the list of things it could," said Harry, scanning the ceiling anxiously.
"You're right, but I… Harry? Are you looking for something?" she asked, unable to ignore his inattentiveness when she was speaking.
"Just waiting for the mail," he said absently.
"You expecting something?" Ron said between a pair of sausage.
"Hoping," he said. "If it doesn't come today, I need to go have a word with Clementine."
"Clementine? Wait, isn't that the girl from the flying lesson?" said Hermione.
Indeed it was, but before he could say as much, the great hall was filled with owls. One of those owls was carrying a long package and headed straight for the Gryffindor table.
The grin that spread across Harry's face could have lit the room if it wasn't already daylight.
"You didn't," said Ron, suddenly realizing what such a package must certainly be. "Tell me that's not what I think it is."
"I could, but I'd be lying," said Harry.
The twine was knotted in several places and Ron was practically vibrating by the time Harry got the last one off and pulled back the paper. His squee of absolute joy caught the rest of the table's attention and everyone gathered around to see.
Their eager stares and hushed whispers lent the simple act of lifting the broom from its packaging a near religious gravity. He half expected to hear choirs of angels burst into song as he held aloft the sacred relic.
In nomine Patris et Filil et Spritus Sancti, Amen.
"Pretty," Serena whispered reverently.
"Do you know what that is?" said Ron with equal reverence.
"It's a broomstick," said Hermione with no reverence at all.
"BLASPHEMY! That is not just a broomstick. That's a Nimbus 2000."
The latest model. Fastest broom every created. The ultimate weapon in a Seeker's arsenal.
"Do I even want to know how much money you threw away on this?"
Harry grinned, "No." It wasn't a small amount. It even made him cringe to think about it, but he'd done it, and as he stood there, feeling the power coursing through that magnificent rod, he didn't regret it. Couldn't regret it.
The only thing that could have made the moment better was seeing the look on Malfoy's face, but glancing at the Slytherin table, he found his second least favorite person at Hogwarts absent.
He thought it a bit peculiar but found no reason to dwell on it. Despite what Draco may have thought, the annoying Slytherin was not important to Harry. He did not spend undo time thinking about the obnoxious blonde ponce. Out of sight, out of mind.
And with him out of sight, he spent the whole day not thinking about him. It was a long day too, dragging along at a snail's pace.
Hermione's 'disease' must have been catching because he was finding it very hard to focus on anything but getting to the end of classes so he could go play on his new toy.
She probably wasn't the only one to notice his inattentiveness, but she was the only one to scold him for it. It didn't help, and her petulant scowl just made everyone laugh.
"Oh, honestly!"
She acted all put out, but it lacked the heat it once possessed. Nearly being killed has a way of changing your outlook and having friends when before you've had none can do strange things to the brain.
Harry thought the effect on Hermione seemed quite positive. She was, calmer, even when acting annoyed.
But all her acting couldn't get past his impenetrable wall of optimism. At long last classes ended and Quidditch practice approached. He was so excited he arrived far too early, finding no one around but his second-string counterpart.
He must have been walking on air to sneak up and startle the boy so badly.
Harry politely pointed out he was trying to get into the wrong locker and went to his own to get changed.
He was 'patiently' sitting on the bench when the others started filtering in. Everyone smiled and chuckled but none were willing to chide him, knowing how hypocritical it would sound. There wasn't a one among them who wouldn't be acting the same way.
The group was all smiles as they marched onto the pitch, eager to see what the fastest broom on the market could do.
Those smiles faded into memory when they saw what awaited them. Or rather who awaited them.
"You lost Flint?" said Wood, addressing a sneering Slytherin built like a brick wall. "The pitch is reserved for Gryffindor. Shove off."
Flint chuckled wickedly and presented a piece of parchment, "I'll see your reservation, and raise you a special permission. Signed by Professor Snape himself."
"What are you playing at, Flint?" Wood growled.
"Gotta train in our new first-string Seeker," he said, nodding to someone in the back who strutted forward like he owned the world.
The well coifed blonde hair and sneer of perceived superiority set the burner for Harry's blood up three notches. "Malfoy."
"Potter. Didn't see you there," he snidely remarked. "See you've got a new broom. And this year's model. How quaint," he went on, brandishing his own, black handled with silver lettering.
"What the bloody hell?"
The inscription read Nimbus 2001.
"Like it? It's next years model. Not even available on the market but father knew someone. Got one for every member of the team."
As if on cue, the whole Slytherin team presented their own brooms, all duplicates of Draco's.
The Gryffindor team saw red, blood boiled and the threat of those watching was the only thing that prevented them from committing violence.
Bastards. FILTHY CHEATING BASTARDS!