Chapter Seven
It was the second weekend of November, a late chilly Saturday morning. Having decided to suspend Avery from their early one-on-one practices due to the following day's Quidditch match, Tom was making his way to the Quidditch pitch, accompanied by his roommate - one overly excited Frederic Lestrange. Luke had talked so much about the upcoming match that even Riddle, generally indifferent to Quidditch, was now waiting to see it. Although, he had to be honest with himself, his main interest lay in seeing Granger's performance.
Frederic was chirping some merry codswallop, trying to impress his prefect with everything he recently learned, but he succeeded only in getting on Riddle's nerves. Tom's body was aching from his training sessions with Luke, and the lack of sleep from all his visits to Tina was not helping him recover. Riddle even considered starting taking naps in the library in between homework assignments.
- Oh, there's Abraxas with Augustina on the tribunes, - Frederic squeaked, - I heard they got in a fight.
- What? - It was the first time Lestrange mentioned something vaguely relevant to Tom, - About what?
Frederic cheered up, grateful for his attention.
- Apparently, Abraxas demanded that Tina gave him her house elf for some service, and she said no. Can you believe it? I'm completely on my cousin's side. The nerve! How dare he even think about her elf when they are not even married...
Riddle couldn't help rolling his eyes. Merlin, those pure-bloods... To brawl about a house elf!
- Do you have a house elf, Tom? - Lestrange asked innocently.
Riddle finally turned to face him, his fingers twitching with irritation.
- Don't you know where I live outside of Hogwarts, Frederic? - he asked in a cold voice.
Lestrange went red from ear to ear.
- Oh! Sorry, Tom...I wasn't thinking...
- Maybe you shouldn't talk without thinking, then?
Riddle continued walking until he finally noticed he wasn't followed. He stopped and turned to see where Frederic was. The boy was standing a couple of meters away, his fists clenched, head down in shame. Tom rolled his eyes again.
- Get a grip of yourself, Lestrange, and come up here.
Nothing followed.
- Now!
Frederic shrunk from Tom's raised voice, but finally did as he was told. Riddle let out a tired sigh. He was well aware of his roommate's sensitive nature, but he hoped the boy would grow out of it at some point.
- I probably sounded harsh. However, Frederic, after all our years as roommates, I expect a deeper understanding from you. More thought-through words and wiser actions.
Lestrange still couldn't look Tom in the eye, but tried his voice.
- I.., I just got carried away. You know, better than anyone else, how Augustina makes me feel... I forget everything and get so anxious when she's nearby.
Oh, the silly love drama, always getting in the way.
- Frederic, do you remember what I told you before the summer? About how I see my future and your role in it?
Lestrange finally met Tom's eyes.
- Yes, I do.
- And do you still support my views?
- With all my heart...
- Then I want you to focus on them. On our role. On your future, instead of letting childish feelings muddle your brain. Otherwise, you cannot be with us. You cannot be a Death Eater.
- I'm sorry, Tom, I'll act more serious!
- I certainly hope so.
They continued walking and soon reached their seats on the tribunes, strategically situated two rows behind Malfoy and Tina, so that Tom could keep an eye on any possible crisis outbreaks and hear some entertaining remarks in case the match got boring.
Luke was so red-faced it was scary. It was honestly making Potter sick, anxious about the upcoming match as he already was. Avery was yelling at the team for five whole minutes. Harry even started checking his left ear to make sure he wasn't going deaf.
- CRABE, I WILL SKIN YOU IF YOU MISS EVEN ONE BLASTED BLUDGER! YOU HEAR ME?!
- I hear you alright, captain...
- DAPHNE! YOU BETTER FOLLOW MY LEAD OR I SWEAR I'll KICK YOU OFF THE FUCKING TEAM, NO MATTER WHAT SLUGGY SAYS ABOUT YOUR PRECIOUS PARENTS!
The fifth-year rolled her eyes, but nodded in agreement.
- ED! IF YOU MISS ONE QUAFFLE I'll TELL RIDDLE WHAT HAPPENED TO HIS SWEATER!
Harry watched in amusement as Rosier's face flushed red. Avery finally turned his head to Potter.
- And you, Granger... I've put everything I got on you... You disappoint me AND I'll RIP YOUR GUTS OUT WITH MY BARE HANDS AND FEED IT TO THE FIRE CRABS!
- I'll do my best, Luke, - Harry tried to sound as polite and submissive as possible, although his insides were screaming to smack the annoying captain across the face.
Avery cast everyone one last mad look.
- THEN GO AND HAND THEIR ASSES BACK TO THEM!
After a firm group handshake, they marched out on the Quidditch pitch following Lucas, in a cadence that would make any commander proud, accompanied by cheers from the Slytherin tribunes and booing from every other House. Harry took a look around, noticing that the only non-Slytherin supportive face was that of Shacklebolt's, and couldn't resist grinning back when he winked. He then glanced at the Slytherin supporters, noticed Abraxas's and Tina's sour faces and, for the first time since their encounter in the Chamber of Secrets, met Riddle's curious eyes.
Something tickled inside Harry's ribcage. He suddenly realized that he had another chance to show his rival just what he might be up against. That thought cheered him up better than any other kind of support and he finally felt excited about the match against Gryffindor.
They met the opposing team on the middle of the pitch. Septimus Weasley had a murderous look on his face.
The referee, a limping old warlock named Gideon Nimble, ordered the teams to mount their brooms, barked something about the rules (made hardly recognizable by his thick Scottish accent), released the snitch and bludgers, and Harry finally heard the whistle. The game began.
It was as if adrenaline itself lifted Potter into the air. He felt such an intoxicating wave of it that he shot upwards in a flash, the world around smudged into a blur, the roar of the tribunes growing ever more distant by the second.
A quick circle around the pitch and he finally got his adrenaline under control, pausing opposite of the commentator's booth. Now it was time to concentrate.
- And Daphne Rackharrow loses the quaffle to Robert Henderson, who is making a sprint to the Slytherin goal posts!
Harry's eyes dashed to his team's goal posts.
- Robert aims, throws... AND HE SCORES! It's zero to ten, and GRYFFINDOR TAKES THE LEAD!
A familiar yelling reached Harry's ears. He found the source and immediately felt worried about both Daphne, who was about to be strangled by their team captain, and Avery, who was the colour of Uncle Vernon at his angriest state.
- KEEP OUT OF THE WAY IF YOU CANT HOLD THE QUAFFLE, DAMN YA!
Avery spat and flew up to a devastated looking Rosier, who had just let through the first goal in his career. He barked something at him, but Edward looked even more lost for it.
Harry decided not to dwell upon the unfortunate scene and check out what Weasley was up to. It turned out Septimus was looking exactly at him, grinning like a shark and giving him a wave.
Harry heard the wind swoosh by his right ear and instinctively ducked, letting a bludger pass above him. Alright, so the Gryffindor beaters were on him. But so was Septimus with his foolish vanity.
Harry leaned forward on his broom, pretending that he spotted the snitch, and Weasley couldn't risk staying behind. Harry made sure he stayed on his tail, bringing him, along with both bludgers, to the Gryffindor goal posts. They were ten meters away, and Harry was hoping that Luke would see the opportunity for the attack.
- Granger is following what seems to be the snitch, but Weasley is close behind! Oh, and what's that?! One of the bludgers nearly knocks Prewett off his broom AND OH NO! Neil Akishino scores for Slyherin! It's ten to ten, ladies and gentlemen!
Harry dashed away from Septimus who was hovering in distraught by the goal posts and decided to check the colours the commentator was wearing. He was used to Lee Jordan always taking potshots at Slytherin, but guessed it was common practice throughout the ages. This one looked like a Hufflepuff.
- It looks like Adrian Montague, the new Slytherin beater from second year, is set on aiming at any Gryffindor players! This smells like a FOUL!
Adrian, in fact, didn't look as if he was planning any foul - he was simply batting the other bludger away from Harry and into Henderson, the Gryffindor chaser.
- AND MONTAGUE SENDS HENDERSON INTO A KNOCKOUT! - yelled the commentator.
- BULLSEYE! - yelled Luke.
- Oh no, but what is this? Looks like it's time for some Gryffindor revenge! - continued the Hufflepuff.
Harry spun around on his broom watching as Gryffindor's beaters rounded up on Montague, swinging their bats dangerously close to his head.
- REFEREE! - Potter now found himself yelling, watching as one of the senior beaters hit Adrian, a twelve-year-old, in the nose with his elbow - FOUL!
- GRANGER, GET BACK TO THE SNITCH AND QUIT DOING MY JOB! - yelled Avery, - REFEREE, DAMN YA! YOU OLD DEAF BLOKE!
Harry found the referee looking completely the other way, realizing that no sanctions whatsoever will follow. He hushed down the anger boiling inside him and started on another circle around the pitch, searching for a glimpse of gold.
- Gryffindor presses the attack on Slytherin, a pass to Brown, back to Robins... then Brown again AND HE SCORES! Gryffindor is leading once again!
Harry checked the Slytherin goalposts and saw the colour draining from Rosier's face. What was wrong with him? He did so much better during Quidditch practice.
Ed caught Potter's look and scowled at him. What? He was angry at Harry even now? Right at that moment the quaffle flew through the left goal post.
- Thirty to ten, Gryffindor scores again!
The tribunes cheered, and Harry turned away, unable to look at Rosier's face anymore. What a wimp.
He continued scanning for the snitch, keeping the other eye on Septimus.
- Forty to ten for Gryffindor!
The golden ball was nowhere in sight.
- Fifty to ten, and Rosier is knocked out!
Well, to hell with him. He's no use anyway. Where is the snitch?
- Rackharrow is trying to get the quaffle out of Brown's hands... She succeeds...passes it to Avery, he leads the attack on Gryffindor goal posts, passes to Akishino, he aims... AND PREWETT SAVES!
More cheers from the tribunes, chanting Prewett's name.
- Daphne Rackharrow gets knocked out by a bludger!
Damn it. What a violent match!
- Oh no, it looks bloody... Will the Slytherin team captain call for a timeout?
Harry was circling high above the Slytherin side of the field, desperately hoping to spot the snitch.
- Meanwhile Gryffindor scores again! Oh, but what is that? Looks like Weasley is at the snitch!
Harry felt his stomach drop. For some reason he was sure this was not some trick. He found Septimus sprinting in Harry's direction, only down below, next to the Slytherin tribunes, and there was only the smallest chance Harry would get there in time.
But he had to take it. He turned his broom straight down and took a headlong dive, gathering as much speed as possible, the wind tugging at his ears. He had no idea whether the capricious broom would pause smoothly enough for him to grab the snitch and not jerk him out of the way completely, or worse - just pass his target on full speed. There was only one way to do it for certain.
He had to make a free fall.
Harry let go off his broom.
Author's note.
Ok, it's a short one, but a fun one - and I must leave you hanging :( Until probably the middle of January... But I'm deep in the writing process, building up the eighth chapter.
I have to say, I like Luke Avery very much. He seems like a fun guy, doesn't he? :)
Special thanks to my Editor for making time for me this past week, even though work deadlines were bad on both of us. You're awesome.
Merry Christmas to all celebrating... AND A HAPPY NEW YEAR! 2019's gonna be awesome, I swear. Difficult... but great!
Oh, and isn't it Tom's birthday? December 31st? Oh, happy birthday, Tom! This one, this everything, to be honest, is for you! 3 I should put my Voldemort t-shirt on to celebrate.
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.