CHAPTER 8: 2001: A NIMBUS ODDYSEY
After several days of avoiding Lockhart and (less successfully) his new fanboy and dealing with a still miffed Hedwig and Ron's wand malfunctions, Harry was quite glad to reach the weekend. He, Ron, Hermione, Alfred and Matthew were planning to visit Hagrid on Saturday morning. However, Harry found himself being shaken awake several hours earlier than he would have liked by Oliver Wood, Captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team. Apparently they were having Quidditch practice at this ungodly hour.
Unfortunately Colin Creevey overheard and Harry found himself explaining the rules of Quidditch to him, which lasted until they reached the Quidditch pitch. Grateful for the reprieve from Colin's seemingly endless questions, Harry quickly ducked into the changing room. It wasn't much of a reprieve, he quickly found out, because Wood immediately began boring them all with his latest tactics and strategies. It was just about all the rest of the team could do not to nod off. Fred actually fell asleep on Alicia Spinnet's shoulder and began to snore.
As Wood talked excitedly about extremely boring things, Harry allowed his mind to wander. He thought about what Hermione had told him and Ron in the common room at the end of the first day of classes, after Alfred had gone to the Owlery to send his Transfiguration mishaps back home. She repeated everything Alfred had told her on the train in answer to her questions.
"Well, I guess that explains the whole accent thing," Ron had said, leaning back in his chair near the fire. "Did you ask them anything else?"
Hermione shook her head. "No, I didn't get the chance. Alfred went off to look for you two, and Matthew and I started talking about what we might learn this year, and it just didn't come up again."
"That still leaves a lot of questions unanswered," Harry had said. "The fire thing, surviving the curse, not getting crushed by Neville… I suppose we need to ask him about it sooner or later…"
As if summoned by their thoughts, the portrait-hole had swung upon to reveal Alfred. He'd waved at them and come over. "Hey, dudes! Whatcha talkin' about?"
"You, actually," Hermione had said bluntly.
Alfred hadn't looked surprised. "Was it about how awesome I was when I rounded up all those pixies? Yeah, that was pretty awesome and heroic of me."
Harry and Ron had looked at each other and silently agreed to let Hermione do the talking. She had been happy to oblige. "Actually, we were wondering about how you survived Quirrell's curse. And the fire in Snape's challenge."
Alfred had rolled his eyes. "Seriously, dude, you're still going on about that?" He'd sat down in one of the chairs. "All right, fire away, I guess."
"Very well," Hermione had said. "How did you know you would survive walking through the black fire?"
Alfred had shrugged. "I'm the hero. There's no way a little fire is gonna beat me down."
Hermione's eyes had narrowed. "Is that the best explanation you're going to give me?"
"Yup. Dude, you know me so well!"
"Is being the hero the reason you survived Quirrell's curse, as well?"
"Yup! Hurt like hell, though."
Hermione hadn't been satisfied with this answer. She'd looked Alfred straight in the eyes and asked, "What aren't you telling us?"
"Wow, you don't beat around the bush, do you, dude?" Alfred had taken a breath and opened his mouth to say something else, probably a joke or excuse, but he'd faltered under Hermione's gaze. Harry, who had been watching his expression carefully throughout this entire exchange and seen nothing but amusement, saw… something… flicker in those blue eyes. It lasted only a moment, not nearly long enough for Harry to properly identify it, but he knew that he didn't like it. He was glad when the usual, if somewhat diminished, playful twinkle returned to Alfred's eyes. "Look, I'm kinda tired, so I'm just gonna go up to bed. Later, dudes." And with that, Alfred had gone up to the dormitory. When Harry and Ron had gone up themselves when they were feeling tired, he seemed to be asleep. Or maybe he was just faking. He seemed to have a lot of practice in lying.
"So," said Wood, jerking Harry out of his reminiscence. "Is that clear? Any questions?"
After a quick exchange between George and Wood and a guilt trip for Harry over missing the last Quidditch match of the previous year, they headed out to the pitch. In the time it had taken Wood to go over his shiny new plans, the sun had risen.
"DUDE, HOW ARE YOU NOT FINISHED YET?" a familiar voice called. Harry looked up to see Alfred, Ron and Hermione sitting in the stands.
"Haven't even started," replied Harry, looking jealously at the toast and marmalade the three had brought out of the Great Hall. "Wood's been teaching us new moves."
"DUUUUDE," yelled Alfred, a single word filled with sympathy.
Harry kicked off the ground and rose into the air, the feel of the wind in his face doing what Wood's long lecture had failed at; waking him up. He raced around the stadium, racing Fred and George. "What's that funny clicking noise?" Fred called, as they hurled around the corner.
Harry looked into the stands and groaned as his eyes fell upon Colin Creevey, sitting in one of the highest seats, snapping pictures like the deranged paparazzo he'd probably grow up to be. "Look this way, Harry, this way!" he cried shrilly.
"Who's that?" asked Fred.
"No idea," Harry lied, putting on a burst of speed that got him as far away from Colin as possible.
"YO, FANBOY, CHILL!" Alfred yelled at Colin. Harry felt a surge of gratitude towards the American. Whatever he was hiding, he was definitely a devoted friend.
"What's going on?" said Wood, frowning, as he skimmed through the air towards Harry. "Why's that first year taking pictures? I don't like it. He could be a Slytherin spy, trying to find out about our new training programme."
"He's in Gryffindor," said Harry quickly. And you're sounding really paranoid, he thought to himself. He didn't dare say it aloud. Wood would probably go into another several-hour-long speech on how the Slytherin team was out to get him.
"And the Slytherins don't need a spy, Oliver," said George.
"What makes you say that?" said Wood testily.
"Because they're here in person," said George, pointing. Sure enough, several people in green robes were walking onto the pitch, broomsticks in their hands.
Wood hissed in outrage about having booked the pitch, and shot towards the ground, landing rather harder than he meant to in his anger, staggering slightly as he dismounted. Harry, Fred and George followed. "Flint!" Wood bellowed at the Slytherin Captain. "This is our practice time! We got up specially! You can clear off now!" Harry couldn't help think that if Wood hadn't taken so long lecturing them all, they could very well have been finished practice before the Slytherins showed up.
Marcus Flint was even larger than Wood. He looked like he actually could be part troll, especially with his expression as he replied, "Plenty of room for all of us, Wood."
Angelina, Alicia and Katie had come over, too. There were no girls on the Slytherin team (really, were Slytherins sexist on top of everything else, too?) – they stood shoulder to shoulder, facing the Gryffindors, leering to a man.
"But I booked the pitch!" said Wood, positively spitting with rage. "I booked it!"
"Ah," said Flint. "But I've got a specially signed note here from Professor Snape." He took it out of his pocket and read it aloud. "I, Professor S. Snape, give the Slytherin team permission to practise today on the Quidditch pitch owing to the need to train their new Seeker." Harry took more pleasure than he should have from the fact Flint had to pause between every few words to read. Yup, he would not be surprised at all if the Slytherin had some troll blood.
"You've got a new Seeker?" said Wood, distracted. "Where?"
And from behind the six large figures before them came a seventh, smaller boy, smirking all over his pale, pointed face. It was Draco Malfoy. "Aren't you Lucius Malfoy's son?" said Fred, looking at Malfoy in dislike. Whether it was because of the stories Mr. Weasley had undoubtedly told his children about Lucius Malfoy, or because of the stories Ron had undoubtedly told his siblings about Draco, Harry didn't know. Or maybe Fred just didn't like the smug look on Malfoy's face. Harry certainly didn't.
"Funny you should mention Draco's father," said Flint, as the whole Slytherin team smiled still more broadly. "Let me show you the generous gift he's made to the Slytherin team." All seven of them held out their broomsticks. Seven highly polished, brand new handles and seven sets of fine gold lettering spelling the words 'Nimbus Two Thousand and One' gleamed under the Gryffindors' noses in the early morning sun. Harry felt a sudden hollowness in his abdomen.
"Very latest model. Only came out last month," said Flint carelessly, flicking a speck of dust from the end of his own. "I believe it outstrips the old Two Thousand series by a considerable amount. As for the old Cleansweeps," he smiled nastily at Fred and George, who were both clutching Cleansweep Fives. "Sweeps the board with them."
None of the Gryffindor team could think of anything to say for a moment. Partly because they knew they'd be facing a team with the best broomsticks money could buy, partly because that pun had been truly horrendous. Malfoy was smirking so broadly his cold eyes were reduced to slits. "Oh look," said Flint. "A pitch invasion."
Ron, Hermione and Alfred were crossing the grass to see what was going on. "Harry, dude, what's going on?!" Alfred asked Harry. "Aren't you supposed to be flying around throwing balls or whatever? And what's Draco Malfoy doing here?" The name dropped from his lips as if it were something nasty he'd just eaten. He was glaring at Malfoy with his 'I really want to punch that guy in the face' look.
"I'm the new Slytherin seeker, Jones," said Malfoy, perhaps a tinge less smugly than Harry had been expecting. Maybe he'd finally started to recognize that look of Alfred's as well. He'd been on the receiving end of both Alfred's glares and fists on multiple occasions. "Everyone's just been admiring the brooms my father's bought our team." Alfred rolled his eyes, unimpressed, but Ron gaped, open-mouthed, at the seven superb broomsticks in front of him. "Good, aren't they, Weasley?" said Malfoy smoothly, looking quite a bit more full of himself now that he didn't have to look at Alfred. "But perhaps the Gryffindor team will be able to raise some gold and get new brooms too. You could raffle off those Cleansweep Fives, I expect a museum would bid for them." The Slytherin team howled with laughter.
"At least no one on the Gryffindor team had to buy their way in," said Hermione sharply. "They got in on pure talent."
The smug look on Malfoy's face flickered again. "No one asked your opinion, you filthy little Mudblood," he spat.
Harry knew at once that Malfoy had said something really bad because there was an instant uproar at his words. Flint had to dive in front of Malfoy to stop Fred and George jumping on him, Alicia shrieked, "How dare you!" and Ron plunged his hand into his robes, pulled out his wand, yelling, "You'll pay for that one, Malfoy!" and pointed it furiously under Flint's arm at Malfoy's face.
A loud bang echoed around the stadium and a jet of green light shot out of the wrong end of Ron's wand, hitting him in the stomach and sending him reeling backwards on to the grass.
"Ron! Ron! Are you all right?" squealed Hermione. Ron opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. Instead he gave an almighty belch and several slugs dribbled out of his mouth on to his lap. The Slytherin team were paralysed with laughter. Flint was doubled up, hanging on to his new broomstick for support. Malfoy was on all fours, banging the ground with his fist.
While all the other Gryffindors crowded around Ron, Alfred stepped forward to face the mirthful Slytherins. Harry could only see him from behind, but he could tell he was cracking his knuckles. Is he actually going to fight the entire Slytherin team?! "Hey, snakes," growled Alfred. His tone sent shivers down Harry's spine, and all the Gryffindors turned their attention to him. None of them could see Alfred's expression, but the Slytherins obviously could, judging from their suddenly pale complexions as he continued, "You've got until the count of three to get out of my sight before I start breaking every part of your bodies I can get my hands on. Got it? One." Malfoy jumped to his feet and started backing away with the rest of his teammates. "Two." The Slytherins started moving faster, stumbling a bit over their robes. "THREE!" Now they all turned and fled into the changing rooms.
Alfred turned around to grin at his fellow Gryffindors, his expression completely back to normal, as if he hadn't just scared off a bunch of older boys who were each about twice his size. "And the hero is two for two!" He pointed at Ron, who was still throwing up slugs. "So, what should we do about him?"
"We'd better get him to Hagrid's, it's nearest," suggested Harry. He decided not to ask Alfred how he'd managed to scare the Slytherins so badly, in case he felt the best method of telling him was demonstration.
A/N: HUGS FOR EVERYONE! \(^-^)/ America will never come up with a nickname for Malfoy, because he can't think of any name worse than Draco Malfoy. Q&A time! To Insufferable Proximity: Hmm... we'll just have to see, now won't we? Maybe if I can't think of anything to add to a chapter I'll have one of the Nations pop by for a visit. To 95Jezzica: Thanks for the suggestion! I guess I sometimes forget not everyone will have ready access to the books to find out what I skipped over. For the actual question, I think the Malfoys would know of the Kirklands, but not personally. They'd just have heard rumours. Draco would probably do a double-take if he found out Alfred was a part of that family. As for Hermione, I think she's come across the name once or twice but it never really stood out in her mind. To SoulxMakaLover37: Nope, no time-turners! *hurriedly hides necklace under shirt* I'm glad you like it! And Prussia and Lockhart meeting would probably be fun... ooh, I think I just got an idea. To Berlin: I'm really not much of an anime watcher. Before APH, the closest I ever got was playing Persona 3 (which I highly recommend if you have a lot of time on your hands and don't mind endings that make you cry). If I have some free time and don't get distracted by anything else, I'll give it a watch! To all the people who liked Glinda the Sparkly Wizard: I'm glad you guys like it! I'll make sure that Lockhart is never referred to by his real name in America's POV. NEXT CHAPTER: America learns what Mudblood means. See you all next time!