Harry was lying down on the quidditch field's still wet grass, his right arm under his head and his right arm thrown over his face, a piece of bread in his hand. His night had been filled with odd dreams, starting once again in the long and dark corridor, which had eventually transformed into Umbridge's office, where she had been carving reproaches with a knife all over his body. He had woken up sweating and with a searing pain in his arms and legs, as if the nightmare had broken through the barrier of reality.
Unable and scared to fall back asleep, he had eventually gotten up at five in the morning, and after quickly dressing up, he had passed by the kitchen and headed to the quidditch pitch. It was a particularly pleasant day; the sun was slowly rising from behind the faraway mountains, he could hear the early birds singing around him, and the fresh morning breeze tickled his cheeks.
He had been lying down like this for almost two hours now; he hadn't fallen asleep but definitely felt more relaxed and energetic for the quidditch tryouts. He couldn't wait to get back on his firebolt and fly again, feeling the wind in his dark curls. The temptation of accepting the seeker position if he won against Malfoy was growing on him; the more he thought about it, the more torn he felt.
Unfortunately, he knew it would be a terrible idea to accept, and he had to remember all the consequences a single decision could have on his life. He slowly sat up to stretch his arms when he spotted Malfoy going down the hill toward the pitch. The tryouts would not begin for thirty minutes; why was he so early? Harry sighed and rose to his feet. He wanted to change before anyone else arrived. He walked hastily to the Gryffindor changing room, where his vivid red quidditch robe was hanging in his locker. He swallowed the rest of his bread and sat on a random bench at the back of the room when he heard the door open. Malfoy was walking toward him with a desperate and grumpy look on his face. A broomstick Harry recognized as his own and a green quidditch robe were hanging from the Slytherin's hands.
"Woke up early, Potter"
It wasn't a question. So what could he answer? He simply shrugged and nodded.
"Couldn't sleep." He mumbled.
Malfoy didn't seem to care; he approached him and handed him the two items.
"Your quidditch robe, and your broom. You could have fetched it yourself." He growled.
The idea of going to Umbridge's office to take his firebolt back had not even crossed Harry's mind. He thanked him sheepishly. He had hoped to wear his Gryffindor robe for the tryouts, especially since he wasn't sure when he would get another chance to wear it again, but it seemed like Umbridge couldn't bear seeing him dressed in red anymore.
"We're going to the Slytherin changing room, I don't even know what you're doing here." Malfoy said before he vanished through the door as fast as he had entered two minutes earlier.
Harry reluctantly followed him to the Slytherin room and sat as far away from his opponent as possible. He took off his shoes, his uniform, and finally his shirt. To his surprise, Malfoy was utterly quiet and wasn't even trying to provoke him. He cast a glance at him, only to notice his gray eyes staring at him and his naked chest. The blond boy quickly averted his eyes from him and refocused on his own robes.
"You're very different when you're not surrounded by your friends," Harry pointed out as he got up to grab his green quidditch robe—his right hand across his chest to keep some privacy.
Malfoy frowned,
"What do you mean?" He asked with a hint of irritation.
"You just show off less, you're more reserved."
"Shut up."
Harry finished putting on his robe and sat back on the bench.
"It's just an observation." He shrugged.
"Then keep your observations to yourself."
The locker room door opened violently, and a hubbub coming from the pitch flew to their ears. Montague interrupted them as he penetrated the room, looking more energetic and determined than the two seekers combined.
"Morning guys. I hope you're both ready for the tryout." He said, as he stood between them.
"What is this noise outside?" Malfoy snarled.
"It seems like the news has spread out quickly throughout the castle, you're going to have an audience."
Harry and Malfoy both appeared upset by this information. They exchanged a quick glance and grabbed their respective brooms, before following Montague outside.
The Slytherin captain was right; a herd of various students was gathering in the stands, wearing green, red, yellow, and blue. It was only eight o'clock, a time when the Hogwarts students usually ate breakfast. However, watching Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy fight for the seeker position seemed to be way more entertaining than enjoying a hearty meal. Harry spotted Hermione and Ron sitting in their usual Gryffindor spot. They didn't look as excited as the others, but they grinned at him as soon as his gaze fell on them.
He nodded back, even if his heart was beating way too fast in his chest. He had never felt as anxious on the quidditch pitch, and was already regretting his stupid decision. Malfoy and he hopped onto their broomsticks and took off from the ground. The cool breeze caressed his skin as he gained altitude, and for a moment, he felt at home again. The stares from the crowd didn't bother him anymore—neither Malfoy nor Montague. He flew around the pitch to warm up a little while the captain was opening the trunk.
"Ok guys," Montague yelled as he looked up at the two seekers above him, "it's going to be very simple. You will have three chances, and the first one to catch the snitch twice wins and becomes the new Slytherin seeker. Understood?"
Both nodded and got ready, not too far from the snitch's starting point. Montague bent down to release the little ball, which instantly opened its wings and took off in the clear sky. A murky hubbub of cheering started from the stands as soon as the tryouts officially started. Harry was unable to catch what they were shouting, he didn't even know what the students expected from him—did they want him to win? Lose? Give up? He clearly had no idea.
He tried to refocus on the snitch and ignore the din of the fans, when he spotted Malfoy heading west confidently. Harry squinted and saw the small ball a few yards from his opponent. He leaned forward to give speed to his firebolt, as he traced in the same direction, but it was too late; Malfoy had his arm outstretched and his hand closed on the snitch before Harry even arrived close enough. He heard a surge of excitement from the Slytherins as Malfoy proudly raised the golden snitch.
"Fuck." Harry growled.
He sighed and glanced at his friends. He still had no idea what they were thinking, Hermione gave him a small encouraging gesture, but her eyebrows were furrowed in concern, while Ron gave him a thumbs up as if to tell him not to give up. He flew over to the trunk again and waited for Montague to throw the second snitch, while Malfoy glared at him with a smirk in front of him.
"Maybe it's time to concentrate, Potter." The young blond sneered.
But Harry pretended not to hear him, his eyes glued to the brown trunk. Montague counted and released the snitch for the second time. This time, Harry focused from the start, and luckily, the snitch headed his way this time, which allowed him to rush after it with a head start. He felt Malfoy following close behind him, the latter trying to grab the tail of his broom, but Harry dodged him sharply. He zigzagged between the poles with exemplary agility, allowing him to gain a lead over Malfoy, then dove forward with his outstretched hand towards the snitch that had lost altitude. He gave a final spurt of acceleration before finally seizing the tiny ball between his freezing fingers. Malfoy roared behind him as the crowd started cheering loudly again.
It was a tie; everything was going to be decided in the last round. They got back into position for the last round; this time Malfoy spared him his smile, and the last snitch was sent. A rush of adrenaline shot through Harry's body. He didn't care about winning, but he hated losing. He directly pursued the target without thinking twice and quickly found himself side by side with his opponent, who seemed to share the same ambition. Malfoy started pushing him, a gesture he reciprocated fervently. The snitch veered sharply to the right, forcing the two teens to drift at the last moment. Harry got a little ahead of his adversary; he didn't take his eyes off the golden snitch for a second, and when it descended a few meters, Harry rushed before turning upside down on his broom, allowing him to intercept the ball and catch it before it changed direction.
"Yes!"
He held the snitch up in the air, a big smile filled with relief and pride hanging from his lips. Part of the crowd was now on their feet and cheering, while another part didn't really know how to react to this result. The Slytherins, on the other hand, seemed relatively disappointed with Malfoy's defeat, except for Montague, who nodded calmly, as if he had made the best decision of his life in organizing this tryout. The two players landed on the pitch at the same time, a few meters apart.
Harry was satisfied to have won; he had finally proven his worth and confirmed his talent at quidditch, as well as been able to avenge himself for the humiliations that his classmates had been inflicting on him for the past few days. He gripped his broomstick in his right hand, the snitch in his left, and he walked over to Malfoy, surrounded by his group of friends who had joined him directly in the field. The Slytherin turned to him with a glare that Harry ignored, and the dark-haired boy stopped in front of him. He handed the snitch to Malfoy and dropped it into his hand with a smile.
"Here, take this win." "I have no desire to be a seeker for your house."
Then he strode purposefully to the changing room, completely ignoring the bewildered expressions of his opponent and his friends. A smirk crept onto his face and stayed there until he reached his locker. He put down his broomstick before opening the locker door and grabbing his uniform. It was over, and he felt relieved and proud of himself; Malfoy was a good player, despite his best efforts to deny it.
Speaking of the wolf, the door slammed open behind Harry, letting in an enraged Malfoy. The latter charged towards Harry, brandishing his wand at him and forcing his classmate to do the same.
"What does that mean, Potter?" He exclaimed, coming to a halt close to him.
"That means you can keep your position, you should be happy." Harry replied simply.
But Malfoy didn't seem to be pleased or grateful, which didn't bother Harry, who was savoring his revenge.
"Do you think it's a joke, Potter? A game?"
Harry suppressed a chuckle. "Well, yes, Quidditch is definitely a game."
"Don't fucking mess with me." Malfoy's nostrils were flaring like an angry dragon.
"I'm not messing with you. I wanted to fly again, you wanted to keep your position, we both got what we wanted."
"Don't play like this wi…"
Malfoy was interrupted by the opening door from where Montague entered. The captain looked more serious than he had ever looked. He was rushing toward Harry, making Malfoy step away and lower his wand.
"Get out, Malfoy, I need to talk to Potter." He ordered. The teenager frowned but obliged, turning one last time to Harry as he whispered:
"This isn't the end, Potter."
He grabbed his things and vanished from their view, under Harry's skeptical stare. The dark-haired boy then turned his attention to Montague, who was standing right in front of him.
"I heard you declined the position?" The captain spoke as he stared at Harry.
"Yes." He merely answered.
"Why?"
"After consideration, I don't want to be on the team."
Montague was still scrutinizing him, which started to make him feel very uncomfortable.
"I want you on the team, Potter; I was thinking about using Malfoy as a chaser to replace Warrington, whose abilities are deteriorating." He explained.
Harry shrugged. "But I don't want to join anymore. I told you, I changed my mind."
"I don't see why you would refuse" Montague cut him off.
Harry's brows went up. "You don't see why?" He repeated, "Well, let me enlighten you then. If I win a match, I'll have the entire school against me because nobody wants Slytherin to win except the Slytherins themselves. My friends will be upset, and the Daily Prophet will take pleasure in writing about how I betrayed my house and surely my parents as well—of course. But if I lose a match, it's going to be the whole Slytherin house against me, accusing me of failing on purpose. I honestly don't think I need that right now." He tried to explain as calmly as possible.
But Montague scoffed,
"You care too much about what others think of you."
"Are you serious?" "Wouldn't you care?"
"No."
Harry sighed. "That's the problem with you guys; you actually don't care about anything; it doesn't matter if you harm your friends or your values, as long as you get what you want."
Montague crossed his arms and gave him a pretentious look.
"Well, that's how you succeed in life, yes."
Harry frowned, which made the older student sneer.
"This is exactly why Slytherin ends up with a better future than the others," the captain added.
"Like being a death eater?" Harry cut him off.
Montague paused for a moment, still staring at him as if he were trying to dissect him alive.
"We're just not held back by any insignificant details in life," he explained.
"Insignificant details in life..." Harry repeated, "I suppose you mean friends?" "Then I'm not interested in your definition of success."
He gathered his things before Montague could continue the argument and made his way between the tall teenager and the lockers. "I have class; thank you for this enlightening conversation."
He headed toward the exit when he heard Montague's voice from behind him.
"Leave your broomstick here; I'll bring him back to Umbridge's office." He ordered.
Harry looked down at the firebolt in his right hand with a twinge. Of course, declining the seeker position meant giving up his chances to fly again…
"You're not going to go far in life with this mentality, Potter, especially considering who you are." Blaise concluded, as if it could make the teen change his mind.
Harry stood still for a moment, then sighed and put the broomstick on the nearest bench before disappearing through the door. A wave of tiredness went through his body; the pressure he had felt for the tryouts was finally gone, quickly replaced by the lack of sleep of this past week. He dragged himself toward the stone stairs leading to the castle as he replayed Blaise's speech in his mind. He heard footsteps rushing from behind him, and a hand reached his shoulder before he had time to turn around.
"Well done, Harry, it was awesome!"
Ron was wearing a broad grin on his face. It was obvious that he and Hermione had been running to catch him, as they were both slightly out of breath.
"We were waiting for you on the pitch, didn't know you would actually leave without us," Ron added with a fake accusatory tone.
"Sorry…"
"Ron is joking," Hermione said as they started to walk up the stairs side by side. "You played well, Harry. Well done."
"And how you stuffed the snitch into Malfoy's hand, bloody brilliant! Did you see his face?" Ron exploded in laughter, making Harry smile.
"So you're not going to play?" Hermione asked from the other side.
Harry shook his head.
"Are you sure?" Ron asked.
"Yes," he sighed, "I was considering it for a moment, but this tryout reinforced my fears; it sounds too wrong to play for Slytherin."
"Well, to be honest, I'm a bit relieved; I didn't really want to play against you," Ron admitted with a shrug.
"Yeah, me neither…"
"I don't reckon you should have done this tryout in the first place, Harry... You might have reinforced the Slytherins' hatred toward you…"
Harry glanced at Hermione; she was pinching her lips, a shadow of worry crossing her face.
"Trust me, they don't need that to hate me."
"But it could get worse…"
Harry sighed. She was right in a way, but what was done was done. He had had the urge to fly again, to prove himself, to stop looking weak in their eyes, and last but not least, to provoke Umbridge. Maybe it had been a bad idea—a terrible idea—but it was too late. And he had enjoyed every second of his flight in the sky.
"Oh, come on, Hermione, Harry had a little fun; it's nothing! What could Malfoy do? Except weeping in his father's pants?"
Even if Hermione had definitely made a point, Ron's excitement made Harry relativize for a second.
The trio reached the castle hallway, where a crowd of students were walking in every direction. Several teenagers who had attended the tryout congratulated Harry for his playing and his decision, before they all rushed to their respective classes. It made him relax a little, maybe Ron was right, he had just had a little fun.
"We have astrology right now," Hermione declared, "what about you?"
"Divination…"
"Oh… Good luck, mate," Ron said.
He would indeed need luck. Attending divination without Ron at his table would be a real nightmare of boredom. At least with his best friend, they could mock Professor Trelawney's predictions.
"We'll see you for lunch, even if we can't eat together." Hermione told him. She stared at him for a minute, until Harry averted his eyes from her when he felt too embarrassed.
"Are you okay, Harry?" She asked.
He looked up again at her and frowned.
"Yes, why?"
The way she was digging her stare into his eyes was making him feel terribly uncomfortable. He was aware that she saw him as a brother in the same way that he saw her as a sister, but he was always awkward with communication and human contact, even with her and Ron.
"Would you tell us if something happened to you?" She asked.
Ron's gaze was switching between his two friends with raised eyebrows. Harry unconsciously hid his left arm behind his back, even though his long sleeve was already concealing his new scar.
"Yes." He answered calmly.
It was easy to read the untruth in his eyes, he was terrible at lying, especially to his friends. However, she didn't insist and nodded instead. "All right, see you, Harry. Take care."
"See you, mate," Ron added.
His two best friends took the stairs leading to the astronomy tower while he remained standing in the middle of the hallway, feeling once again lost and lonely.
(***)
The day passed exactly like the day before, with the exception that Malfoy was avoiding him instead of bullying him. He only chuckled with his friends when Professor Trelawney predicted Harry's death three times within ten minutes, but other than this, he kept his distance from Harry as much as he could, visibly too upset and humiliated to pay him any attention.
Harry didn't talk to Ron and Hermione for the whole day; he was in fact unable to talk to any of his Gryffindor friends, not with the new rules Umbridge had imposed at Hogwarts. He couldn't even greet Luna, as they were not in the same year. The idea of continuing the D.A. was slowly turning into a utopia they would never achieve. He sometimes noticed Hannah Abbott or Justin Finch giving him small glances when they shared class, yet they were not able or allowed to discuss anything.
Unfortunately, Umbridge's detention came far too soon. He had to sit once again on this hard wooden chair, facing the small woman. He couldn't find his firebolt in this office and deduced she was keeping it in her headmistress's office. He should probably inform the twins, in case their broomsticks were the reason they had stood in front of the office the day before. Umbridge stood up from her large chair to get closer to him, right after he had started writing his first line.
"I heard what happened this morning on the pitch." She commented. "I thought the message had already penetrated your brain, but apparently I was too optimistic about you."
She gave Harry a disappointed look, as if he were her son, whom she had failed to properly educate.
"I guess we will have to repeat the process until the sentence reaches your brain, young man, for now it seems to only mark your skin. You will copy your lines for the whole hour this time."
She turned around and sat back at her desk. "I hope you had dinner tonight."
He had eaten dinner. Not much, but he had made the effort to swallow the minimum amount of food to survive this detention.
It was one of the most painful nights he had ever experienced—after the night at the graveyard. The scar had reopened as soon as he had laid the feather on the parchment, letting his blood run over his skin until the wood of the table was impregnated with dark red.
"I can't anymore…" He finally begged after thirty minutes.
His arm was violently shaking, and he knew his face had lost all of its colors. He could faint at any moment; he could no longer hold the feather with his weak and sweaty fingers. As much as he didn't want to show her any sign of weakness, he could not take it anymore. Umbridge sighed, then opened one of her drawers before slowly standing up. She approached the young teenager and dropped a small vial on his table.
"Drink that; it will regenerate blood in your body. Then you will be able to finish your detention without complaining." She ordered before returning to her desk.
He was tempted to not drink the potion and simply wait to faint if it was the only way to escape this torture, but his survival instinct ordered him to grab the vial and swallow it. He felt a sensation of heat throughout his organs, from his head to the extremities of his fingers and toes. Even though he felt immediately better and stronger, the pain had not evaporated at all, and the blood kept trickling down his forearm. Umbridge instructed him to drink the potion every time he felt dizzy, which he reluctantly did for the rest of the hour.
(***)
His body didn't lack blood; he knew that. The potion had made sure he was totally fine. However, the pain lasted all the way up to the dorms. He managed to cast a cleaning spell on his shirt right before entering his room, as he preferred to avoid all attention from his roommates. He shakily opened the door before slipping inside as quietly as possible. This time, all the lights were on inside the dorm, making him sigh. He would have preferred being completely alone after this horrible detention.
He went to drop his bag by his nightstand when he noticed his roommates gathered together between his bed and Malfoy's. Goyle and Crabbe were actually sitting on his mattress and laughing at something Blaise was saying, leaning against the windowsill. Pike was sitting on Malfoy's mattress, while the blond teenager stood with his arms and legs crossed at the foot of his bed, slightly distant from the group. Theodore, on the other hand, was lying on his own bed, reading his potion book, and visibly not interested in their conversation.
Harry looked back at them and spotted something on the floor in front of Blaise's feet. It was a trunk. He first assumed it was one of the guys', most likely Blaise's, but as he frowned at the brown luggage, he realized with horror that it was his. His striped muggle shirt's sleeve was dandling from the edge, and a small mirror, half covered by a black fabric he recognized as Sirius's gift, was shattered on the floor. Fortunately, he always kept his cloak of invisibility in his pocket.
"What the..." he began.
He then spotted his photo album open on Goyle's thighs. He gasped and turned his attention to Blaise. The haughty young man was holding a photograph in his right hand and smiling viciously at him.
"Hey Potter, just in time! We were just talking about you and what an ugly baby you were." Blaise showed him the picture from where he was.
It was one of his only family pictures, where his parents were holding him in front of their house, waving at the camera. Why in the hell was he holding this picture? Harry's intimacy felt utterly violated.
"Unfortunately for you, you took everything from your disgusting dad." Blaise continued, with his audience giggling like little children.
Only Theodore remained silent, clearly not amused by these kinds of mockeries.
"Give me back this picture, Blaise." Harry growled, trying his best to ignore the insults toward his father.
"Your mom was actually pretty hot," Blaise commented, as if he had not been interrupted. "Too bad she was a mudblood and had bad taste."
Harry withdrew his wand from his pocket, ready to use it if necessary.
"Give me the picture; I've never allowed you to go through my things."
But Blaise didn't seem in the mood to oblige. He was still laughing with his friends.
"Oh, come on, Potter, we're your roommates now; we're just trying to get to know you better!"
Harry took a step toward him, his hand drawn to cast a summoning charm. But Blaise was too quick; as soon as the Slytherin noticed his move, he raised his hands in surrender.
"Ok, ok, I'll give you back the picture; no need to use violence."
Harry didn't trust him, but his pain and exhaustion were preventing him from remaining focused or on guard as well as usual. He saw his roommate approach him with the picture in his hand, and a second later, Blaise grabbed his wand and shouted:
"Incendio!"
The picture burst into flames under Harry's shocked eyes. He watched his parents vanish into ashes before he could do anything to stop it. Crabbe, Goyle, and Pike jumped out of surprise when their friend cast the spell, but quickly started laughing when they saw Harry's face. On the other hand, Theodore and Malfoy stared at the ashes falling on the floor, looking slightly stunned by this violent decision they had probably not planned together. An adrenaline rush took over Harry's body, as well as a sharp feeling of anger like he had rarely felt in his life.
"Expelliarmus!" He yelled,
And as soon as Blaise lost his wand, Harry jumped on him, forgetting all about magic. At this moment, his natural instincts and his muggle education with Dudley took control of the fight. With a roar, he punched Blaise as hard as his strength allowed, and an intense pain erupted in his hand as it crashed on the boy's jaw. He punched him over and over, ignoring the gasps around him, ignoring the sound of his victim's bones cracking under his fists. Blaise grabbed him by his robes to push him to the side, but he was unstoppable, and even if he was way lighter and smaller than him, his rage seemed to give him a power stronger than weight.
"Stupefy!"
Someone cast a stunning spell at him, throwing him a few meters away from Blaise. The back of his head hit a bed foot; he yelped as he shut his eyes, and it took a few seconds to come to its senses. They were all staring at him, their wands raised toward his head. He staggered to his feet, his chest still full of violent rage. His breathing was loud and fast, and his legs and arms were shaking.
"You're fucking mental, dude!" Pike spat.
"You'll not get away from what you just did," babbled Blaise, still sitting on the floor with his face covered in blood. "I'll make sure you're punished for that".
Harry glared at Blaise without answering, then looked at Malfoy, who was still standing next to his bed like a curious spectator.
"What?" Malfoy raised his brows.
Harry shook his head, seized the photo album Goyle had dropped on the floor, collected Sirius' present, and rushed to the door without a word, leaving his trunk open on the floor. He needed to get out of here; he couldn't bear their faces and voices any longer. He tumbled down the stairs to the common room. He had no idea where to go, he only knew he had to get away from them if he wanted to calm down. He bumped into a group of seventh years: two boys and a girl, who had just entered the room.
"Wow, watch out!" One of the guys he didn't know exclaimed, "Are you alright?"
They looked genuinely concerned, certainly because of his rapid breathing or the blood that had started dripping again from his sleeve. But Harry jerked away and hastened toward the exit behind them. He couldn't even tell the difference between harmful and helping hands anymore; all he wanted was to be left alone, far away from humans.