The first Quiddich game of the season was almost upon them. Harry'd changed into his clothes first thing (It wasn't like he was unduly scarred, or anything, but he was a scrawny thing, and didn't especially like folks staring at his ribs*). So, while everyone else was changing, he was peeking out the locker room, and looking, well, awestruck at the crowd.

"Did everyone show up?" Harry asked, a bit baffled at so many people spending time on sports. First years he could understand, but 7th years had exams.

"Aww, isn't he cute!" One of the twins said.

"He's been training so hard!" The other responded

"That he didn't notice how Quiddich-mad the school is." the first continued.

No, really, I'm just oblivious, Harry felt like saying, as he hadn't put the least whit of studying into Quiddich. Quite frankly, even with the crowd, he'd rather lose than win. Gryffindor would be mildly upset, but the other houses wouldn't put a target on his back. By other houses, he corrected himself, he meant Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff. He already had a target on his back from House Slytherin courtesy of Lord Voldemort.

As they called out the names, Harry came out to jealous, envious whispers - and then a hearty Gryffindor cheer. Led by who else? Ron Weasley. Hearing that he leapt onto the broom, and assumed the position for the start of the match.

Nobody had told him Quiddich matches took this long**. He was looking for the Snitch in vain, as was the other Seeker.

Suddenly, he saw it. At last! he exhulted, racing for the snitch. Except, then his broom started to shake - and rise. Scared, he saw everyone getting smaller, as if he was suddenly getting an aerial view out of a helicopter. Indeed, his broom was spinning like a helicopter, so quickly that he slid nearly off it, holding on by just his hands. He was suddenly very, very glad he'd spent all of those hours scrubbing cauldrons. His fists felt like iron.

Still, there was no use giving up an advantage, he thought, screaming, "Help! HEEEEELP!"

The broom shook under his hands, going up and then down, and finally sent him crashing towards the ground. Right into the Snitch.

Harry was busier trying to figure out how not to die, but his screaming mouth managed to descend on the snitch anyhow.

They said he won.

Hogwarts was a mad, mad world.

And someone had just tried to kill him.

Harry Potter got to his feet, far, far too late. He scanned the crowd anyway, even as McGonagal and Ollie came running up to him. Was Ollie actually congratulating him? Yes, yes he was. I nearly died, and I get congratulations?!

Harry Potter just wanted to disappear, and figure out, as quickly as possible, what he could do about the situation. Because this was bad. It was one thing to suspect someone operating behind the scenes, covertly poisoning him. That implied some respect for authority. This? This was sticking your dick in the Headmaster's face, and then pissing.

And, whomever it was, had clearly gotten away with it.

Shite.

*He's thin. possibly a little malnourished. On the order of Aunt Petunia is "trying", but is not infallible, and would rather have him looking scrawny than well-fed.

**Practice snitches are easier to catch, so that practices don't last four days.

[a/n: Surely you figured a Slytherin would have a different response to "someone just tried to kill me?" Leave a review!

Also, second post of the day.]