You're a protagonist Harry
Chapter 27 – One rough ride
…
There were butterflies in his stomach. They had rope. Rope they were tying into knots, in his stomach. Have I sufficiently mutilated this metaphor?
It was game day, morning, early, too early. He couldn't sleep. How could he sleep? His very first game, his grand debut, his ultimate judgement, and what was he up against, Slytherin riding next year's brooms.
The words 'unfair' and 'cheating bastards' just didn't seem sufficient. He'd use them anyway.
It was nice to know wizards were no different than non-magical people. Those with money used that money to buy ever single advantage they could find, and everyone else was just shit out of luck.
It may have seemed hypocritical he was feeling sour about rich people throwing around money when he was ostensibly one of them, but a broom for himself after he was already on the team was a little different than buying brooms for the team just to get onto it.
Lucius Malfoy must either be stupidly rich or stupid with money. He had a pretty good idea which it was, and it wasn't the one he wanted.
Unable to sleep and tired of twisting and turning his sheets into knots, he was down in the common room polishing his broom. Not that it needed it. The Nimbus 2000 gleamed with newness, but the repetitive, mundane activity helped focus his mind.
He was going to need that focus if he wanted to win, and as he sat there thinking about it, he thought he'd never wanted anything more in his life.
There was a lot of spite tied up in that wanting, but he chose to ignore that.
Hermione wouldn't, and had warned him about not sinking to their level. He didn't expect her to understand. She was such an innocent girl. But this was not the first time he'd seen wealth flaunted so obscenely.
The Dursley's had done it all the time. Taunting him like a cat with a toy, holding it just beyond his reach and laughing as he hopelessly swiped for their entertainment.
Things were different now though. Draco was 'not' beyond his reach as the Dursley's had been. He may have been the better swordsman, but if he had to buy his way onto the team, Harry was going to show him, and all the rest of Hogwarts, there were some things money couldn't buy.
This time it wouldn't be Furiko coming to his rescue. This time, he'd knock the effeminate little git on his ass all by himself. Provided his teammates didn't get in the way. What a bunch of thugs.
The confrontation over the pitch had shown him many things, not least of them being the qualities Slytherin valued in its Quidditch players.
Malfoy aside, the others were, to a man, thick, surly, and made of beef. He'd be lying if he said he wasn't just a little intimidated.
He was still stewing—uh, polishing, a half hour later when the rest of the team staggered down the stairs looking as rested as he felt. Even Wood was lacking his usual vigor and seemed rather like his name, wooden.
None of them said anything, not then, not at breakfast where they ate like men (and women) condemned, not out to the stadium where they changed, mechanically, then sat around waiting, waiting for… something.
Something, turned out to be Wood. He paced, he stuttered, several false starts, and when it looked like he might just give it up, something flipped.
"FILTHY CHEATING BASTARDS!"
His exclamation resonated with his team.
"I think that sums things up," said Katie.
"Not that we didn't already know that," snarked Alicia.
"Shh, he's ranting," said Angelina.
"It's not bloody fair. It is NOT BLOODY FAIR!" he shouted, pacing now in earnest. "We put together a great team this year. We worked, we trained, then BOOM! That little shit buys a spot on the team with brooms so new you'd have to blackmail someone just to see them. NOT! BLOODY! FAIR!"
"Tell us something we don't know," said Fred.
"Like what we're going to do about it," finished George.
That question took some of the heat out of his ranting or turned it up so high it went all the way back around to cold. "I'll tell you what we're 'not' going to do," he said evenly. "We are not giving up. If they think some fancy new brooms are going to make them better, they've got another thing coming."
"Sounds good so far," said Harry, "keep going."
"Fred, George, doesn't matter how good their brooms are, their beaters are nothing special. I want those bludgers on their asses like a pureblood cousin. I don't wanna see even a hint of formation."
"We can do that."
"Most of that."
"Maybe not the pureblood cousin bit."
"Nah, that's nasty."
Ignoring the verbal byplay, "Katie, Angie, Alicia, they may have faster brooms but their still thick as bricks. Use that. Pass often, make hard turns, and most importantly, don't let them get you alone. That goes for you too Harry," he plowed on, focusing on the Seeker.
"You're the only one with a broom as good as theirs. I want you to show'em what it should look like flying something that nice. Get in close, make them uncomfortable, and when the Rune ball goes up, get it.
"Malfoy's got nothing on you up there. Now's your chance to prove it."
"Is that all," said Harry, his smirk sardonic and eager, "anything else."
"Yeah. Don't get killed. You're the only spot we don't have a second stringer for."
Harry blinked in surprise, "When did that happen?"
"Last night. Came to me and said, and I quote, you expect me to play against that! I'm not gonna make a fool of myself in front of the whole school."
"Are you kidding me!"
"What a coward!"
"Useless!"
"Rubbish!"
There was no descent in their opinion of the dissenter. The rest of the second-string had showed up, quiet and nervous as the rest, but they still showed up.
"Safe to say, he's off the team," said Wood, bringing the group back on topic. "Which means we only have one Seeker. So, let's make sure he doesn't get clobbered."
"No promises," said Fred with far too much cheer.
"I hate you," said Harry, but he only meant it a little bit.
A great cacophony greeted them as they strode stoically onto the pitch. From the opposite side Slytherin approached looking arrogantly pleased and absolutely confident. The two met in the middle where Madam Hooch stood waiting.
Flint, their team captain, stepped away from his group and approached Wood.
"Got something to say Flint?" Wood repressed a snarl.
"Just thought I'd give you a chance to surrender now. Save yourself some embarrassment," the stocky slab of meat said, his unpleasant features made no less so by his sneer.
Wood, in a show of great restraint, said the following. "You'll have to run up to the library and get us a dictionary Flint. Because I don't know the meaning of the word, surrender."
It was a good comeback, but Flint was neither impressed nor surprised. "Have it your way," he said and swaggered back to his team.
"Gonna knock that smug look right off his face," Wood growled under his breath.
Seeing the preliminary cock measuring was done, "Players up!" Madam Hooch commanded.
Once in the air, the flying teacher kicked the box, releasing the bludgers, then activated the rune ball before collecting the quaffle, scanning to see everyone was ready, then…
"And the ball is up!" the announcer, Lee Jordan, exclaimed. "And it's Katie Bell with he quaffle. Katie Bell, a good find last year now playing first-string and watch her go. Bell passes to Spinnet who heads for the hoops and OH! Intercepted by Bole.
"And Bole got the quaffle and WAIT! Bole is intercepted by Potter, that's Harry Potter ladies and gentlemen. Potter takes the quaffle and passes to Angelina Johnson who takes it to the rings. SCORE! First goal goes to Gryffindor!"
Three fourths of the crowd erupted in cheering. Apparently Slytherin didn't have many fans. Go figure.
"Flint has the quaffle now and he's making a beeline for Wood. It doesn't look like anyone can catch him. I don't OO! Flint takes a bludger from Weasley. Which Weasley? I can't tell and neither can their mother.
"Flint still has the quaffle. He makes a throw, but it's no good. Deflected by Wood and it's picked up by Potter. Potter's off like a rocket, riding his Nimbus 2000, fastest broom on the market folks. If you want better, you'll have to blackmail someone."
"JORDAN!"
"Sorry Professor."
Didn't sound that sorry, Harry mused briefly as he shot across the pitch.
"The other team are closing in on Potter. Malfoy on his left looks ready to NO! Potter makes a hard dive and heads for the ground. The Slytherin team follow close behind. But what—what is he doing? He can't! Pull up Potter. PULL UP!"
At the very last second.
"Sweet Merlin did you see that! He just pulled a Wronski feint! I have never seen anyone get that close to the ground without hitting it. And neither have the boys from Slytherin. How does that grass taste fellas?
"And Potter's up. Flint moves to intercept, but Potter no longer has the Quaffle. He's passed it off to Bell who takes it to the rings. SCORE! Another ten points for Gryffindor."
And so it went, back and forth. Wood was a stone wall against Slytherin. Three more goals were deflected, all shot by Flint, while Gryffindor managed to make two out of three more shots, Angelina missing one when a bludger got too close and threw off her aim.
Things took a turn when Flint seized the bat from one of his beaters and sent a bludger at Wood. Used to blocking things coming at him, his brain didn't process fast enough for him to get out of the way and he took the hit head on, clinging to consciousness just long enough for his broom to get him to the ground.
The game didn't so much as pause as the second-string dragged Wood off the field and their second-string Keeper, Adams, took his place.
Adams was no Wood, but he was better than nothing. Blocking one of the next three shots, though still better than the Slytherin Keeper who missed all four of Gryffindor's next shots, nearly falling off his fancy new broom when Harry buzzed dangerously close to put the Quaffle through the ring.
All told, Gryffindor was still up when it happened.
"The Rune ball is up!" Lee Jordan cried.
And just like that, the dynamic of the game abruptly shifted.
Harry and Draco peeled off from what they were doing and shot for the Rune ball. Draco was closer and touched the ball first, but Harry was on him before he could get a grip on it, knocking the flyweight flyboy out of the way and taking the lead as they chased the elusive orbish thing around the pitch.
"Potter and Malfoy are hot on it's tail. These boys are not playing nice."
Not nice, and in Draco's case, not fair. Any time Harry got ahead or came close to the Rune ball he'd grab hold of Harry's broom. Harry was half tempted to knock the bastard off his and see if he could fly without it. The only thing that stopped him was the chase.
The Rune ball ran for the stands, buzzing the bleachers then bobbing and weaving through the various towers and bits of bunting, anything it could put between it and its pursuers.
Harry flew through every obstacle like he'd done it a hundred times, but Draco, despite having more overall experience on a broom, fell behind in this part of the chase. So it was Harry, not Draco, who got the Rune ball first, caught and calmed and back into the game.
They'd lost ground since he left, they were now down by one goal. One goal that could easily be erased if he put the Rune ball through the ring and ended the game.
With Malfoy still dogging his heels but just out of reach, he went for it.
"Potter has the Rune ball, and it looks like he's ending this game," Jordan shouted.
The Slytherin team heard him and moved to block him. He went low, then spiraled upward in large circles around the ring. It was no good. His path was blocked at every turn.
"And Alicia Spinnet scores!"
Though while they were busy blocking him, his teammates were still in the game and it caused the Slytherin team a moments distraction as their attention was drawn between two potential problems.
Even as Flint collected the Quaffle and Harry headed for the middle of the pitch, the Slytherin's looked uncertain.
Harry thought one of the rune combo's he'd learned might be a good way to break them up, but as he went to touch the first face, his broom suddenly jerked.
"What's that? Potter's broom appears to have gone berserk!"
And no matter what he did it refused to stop. Thinking quickly, he punched in the combo 'third bludger' and released the Rune ball, just in time to grip his broom with both hands as it flailed and swerved, completely out of his control.
"Potter has released the Rune ball but his broom refuses to calm. If he's not careful he—OH SWEET MERLIN! The broom has thrown him off. He's hanging on for dear life."
But the broom was not satisfied, it wanted him gone. And with all his weight hanging from his fingertips, it didn't take much more, and Harry was sent plummeting earthward.
Time seemed to slow as the wind whipped across his cheeks. Fear, already turned up to nine, spun the dial all the way around passing the brink of absolute terror and putting him into a strange state of calm as the earth rose faster and faster to meet him.
He felt it, the wind, but not the wind around him. There was a wind inside him, swirling and swirling. He didn't, he couldn't understand it, not consciously, but something did. He stopped trying to think about it, rationalize it, and for a frozen instant, he just let it happen.
Hands, outstretched as he fell, slammed together, blasting a gale that cracked like thunder straight at the ground. The swirling gale blew back at him, hard, slowing his descent, but he was still falling. And as the earth approached, he threw his hands at the ground once again then braced for impact.