Chapter 12 – A Most Ill-Fated Flight
One of the best things about the day after a Quidditch match was the lack of any practice. Harry was very happy with the way their match had turned out, but after the last few months of very difficult afternoons filled with red and gold numbers and monotonous formations, he was also very happy to have a day off. He spent the rest of the evening relaxing and trying Connor's patience with questions about his new motorcycle.
"Is my bike big? Is it fast?" Harry absentmindedly sketched a small version of it in the margin of his Defense against the Dark Arts book. Connor looked up from his own book.
"Uh, well, yeah…it's good sized, for a Brit its age."
"I still can't believe you didn't tell me about this. Some friends you are!" Ron muttered, leaning forward to look at Harry's doodling. He tapped it with his wand and the motorbike shot off across the page. He'd heard about it from Dean and Connor, who had made him promise not to tell anyone to whom it belonged, and had been sulking about not being in on the whole affair from the beginning. He wasn't so miffed that he didn't want anything to do with it, however; insisting that Harry take him for a ride on Saturday, if the weather permitted. Harry nodded, following the miniature bike around the page with his eyes. He wouldn't be giving Ron a ride anywhere. His friend would have to settle for Connor or Dean, but there was no reason to tell Ron that.
"So," Hermione asked casually, trying to steer the subject away from motorcycles for a while, "where do wizards hide from Muggles in America?"
"I take it you've never been to Los Angeles," Connor replied, nonchalantly twirling his wand.
"No," she replied.
"Why should that matter?" Ron asked.
"We just walk around. One more freak in a robe…" He shrugged. "Of course a lot of us there don't wear robes. We stick to Muggle clothes." He tugged on his robes. "This actually takes some getting used to."
"It must be nice to be able to walk among them without having to wear a disguise," said Dean, who was sprawled on one of the sofas nearby. "I know it takes me a few days to get used to switching every time we go on holiday or come back from one." Connor managed to look amused and homesick at the same time.
"Out there, you fit in a little better if you're abnormal. That's not to say I act out in public, but there's plenty that do. I for one believe you haven't lived until you've seen a man in wizarding robes with a beard like Dumbledore's, waving his wand around and roller-blading by the ocean, down in Santa Monica."
"They really do that?" Hermione was dumbfounded.
"What's a 'roller blade'?" Ron asked.
Ron's mood did not improve as the weather Saturday took a turn for the worse. It didn't snow, and the sun actually shone quite brightly all day, but the temperature remained arctic. This suited Harry's mood perfectly. His enthusiasm for the motorcycle had been temporarily and suddenly quashed as he sat in the commons, gazing at Hermione, who was deeply involved in her Arithmancy homework and oblivious to everything around her. Neville and Connor were off someplace working on a new potion, and Ron was on his Prefect's rounds. There were plenty of students loitering about the common room, and for a while Natalie McDonald and he had a decent conversation about racing brooms, and exactly what sort of modifications she had done, but eventually she left to search for Connor, who she'd been hanging around quite a bit lately. After she left, he did some new Occlumency exercises in a mostly-futile attempt to clear his mind. It did help a little; at some point in the evening he fell asleep on the couch nearest the softly crackling fire.
A shuffling noise later dragged him from his dreamless sleep, and he glanced groggily at his watch. It was 2:40 in the morning and Parvati Patil was sneaking through the Common room to the stairs that led to the sixth-year girls' dormitory. She glanced back quickly, just as she reached the door to the winding stairs that led up to the girls' dormitory, and noticed Harry was watching her. She paused and looked at him more carefully. "Are you…feeling alright?"
"Yeah, I…eh. Never mind. I'm okay."
"You don't look okay."
"I thought that's not the sort of thing you were supposed to say to somebody."
"That's not the sort of thing boys say to girls, Harry. Girls are allowed to say it to boys."
"That's a bit of a double standard, don't you think?" Harry asked. Parvati shrugged and grinned impishly.
"Deep down, all boys want to be babied by girls." That made Harry chuckle, which made Parvati grin wider, which made Harry's heart do a minor tuck and roll on him.
"I've just got some things on my mind, that's all."
"You know," she said, sitting on the arm of the chair, "I know I'm not your friend or anything, but if you ever want to talk to me you can. It's not like I hate you or anything."
"I don't know if I want to talk about it, er, with anyone, really. No offense or anything. I just don't know where to start, or stop, or what to say."
"How about you talk about whatever you want, until you don't feel like talking, and I won't push you. I promise."
Harry thought about it for a moment. Other than the time at the Yule ball in his fourth year, he and Parvati really didn't have any kind of relationship. It was very tempting to have someone to talk to about his problem with Hermione, except for the fact that this was Parvati, and between her and Lavender, every bit of gossip in the school had to pass through one of them before it was official. "And you'll keep it, you know…"
"Between me and you? Of course I will."
"Not even Lavender?" Harry asked.
"Especially not Lavender," Parvati said quietly, glancing back at the archway that lead to their dorms. "I love her but I know any secrets about you would be too much to expect her to keep."
"Why is that?" he asked. "What makes me so special?"
"I don't know. You've got something about you. Mystery. A feeling."
"A feeling like I'm a nutter?"
"Well..." she was too polite to acknowledge it directly. "I don't think anyone who knows you really believes that. Or most of us, anyway. You just have this…aura?"
"More Divination?"
"No! A kind of…attraction really." Parvati paused, and Harry thought that she may be blushing, though her darker skin and the lack of decent light made it harder for him to tell. "Kind of like when there's something that you know is really dangerous, let's say, but that just makes it that much more desirable. Like that flying motorbike Connor has. When I saw you on it the other day, part of me knew it would be suicide to ride it, but part of me really wanted to try."
This was something Harry didn't understand. He didn't particularly like danger, even if he did thrive in it, and dangerous girls had never appealed to him either. Except there was Natalie, and even though he was nothing more than friends with her, part of him really envied the way she flew, taking chances and risks that no sane person would dare take. That part of her was pretty attractive, wasn't it? And there was Connor, who certainly seemed dangerous…many of the girls in Gryffindor practically fawned over him. He decided to keep the fact that it was his motorbike to himself.
"So, you're saying that you want to date dangerous guys?"
"Well, a little, yes. Dangerous guys are the ones you date, you know? The sweet ones are the ones you marry. By the way, that bit about the prophecy was pure genius. Lavender's almost ready to explode."
"Ah. So that explains it…you want to be in danger. Well I have it all figured out now! I know a basilisk we could visit, if you'd like."
Parvati laughed and Harry's heart kicked one of his ribs and threatened to escape his chest entirely.
"That may be a little too dangerous, and I'm…I'm not a big fan of snakes. You just have to give us a hint, you know? You're quite good at that naturally. Keep the big snakes for the ones you really like." She winked, and Harry relaxed a little. He'd never really talked much to Parvati, or any girls other than Hermione and Ginny, and at times, Luna. It was a nice feeling.
"So…any more news on the prophesy?"
"I can't tell you that," Harry said. "It's too dangerous." He figured that she had been fishing for something more about it earlier, and so he had intentionally let it slide. She laughed and then regained her composure.
"So," she said, looking down at him with her sea-green eyes, "anything on your mind?" Harry took a deep breath.
"Well, you see, it's about Hermione…"
Nearly twenty minutes later, Harry stopped talking. He was emotionally drained now, and even though he felt exhausted, it felt good to get things out of his system. Hermione and Ron were who he'd normally talk to about such things, and obviously he couldn't involve them. Maybe Parvati had been right when she suggested he tell her. He gazed at her, trying to weigh her expression.
"So this…is all about a girl?" She seemed stupefied.
"Er…yeah," Harry replied. He felt a flash of anger. "Is there something wrong with that?"
"No!" Parvati exclaimed. "It's just that, well, I thought it would be about…" She leaned very close and whispered, "…You-Know-Who. That'd have been something I wouldn't have been able to do much about. Girl problems I can help you with!"
"You…how?"
"Well, think about it, Hermione is your best friend, right?"
"Yeah."
"And Ron is your best friend, right?"
"Er…yeah?"
"So your best friends are dating each other. Don't you want them to be happy?"
"What kind of question is that? Of course I want them to be happy!"
"So," Parvati continued, ignoring Harry's outburst, "if Ron makes Hermione happy, and if Hermione makes Ron happy, then you should want them to be together, right?"
"That sounds reasonable, but somehow I don't."
"Well, that's normal, but if you really want her to be happy, you should want her and Ron together, unless you can think of some reason they shouldn't be." Harry couldn't, other than his own feelings for her, and he said so.
"If it makes you feel any better, it's nothing serious."
"What do you mean, 'nothing serious'? They're holding hands and snogging, for crying out loud!"
"Do you really think Hermione would dedicate herself to something other than schoolwork?" Seeing the look on Harry's
face, she added, "Or traipsing after you and Ron around the castle after curfew?"
"Well…why bother then?"
"Why bother? Because it's nice to be wanted, Harry. They enjoy spending time around each other. I assume the snogging feels alright. Not everything has to be some life-altering, permanent development, does it?"
Harry never really thought about a girlfriend as someone to hang out with and talk; he'd always considered it something much more serious. He felt that he might just be able to cope with girls, if there was a little less tension involved.
"I never thought of that, I guess; I'm under a little pressure right now, you know."
"So I've heard," Parvati replied. "Well, what do you look for in a girl? Maybe I can set you up."
"I don't really know," Harry said. "Pretty I guess. And smart. And someone who can stand to be alone sometimes. I think Cho was too..." Harry made a grasping motion.
"Clingy?"
"Exactly! Clingy. She made you feel like she absolutely needed you…I've got enough of that as it is."
"Fair enough," Parvati said. "I'll keep my eyes open for a beautiful, intelligent, non-clingy woman."
"What's going on here?" Both Harry and Parvati jumped at the sound of Hermione's voice echoing harshly through the common room.
"Oh, we're just chatting," Parvati said casually, glancing at Harry. Hermione seemed unimpressed.
"Well, it is very late; perhaps you should save it for some other time, hmm?" She didn't even look at Harry when she said this, and Parvati shrunk back, the smile on her face faltering for a moment.
"Then I suppose I should go to bed. Good night, Harry."
"Ah, good night, Parvati," he said with some confusion. What was Hermione's issue, anyway? After she left, Hermione turned on Harry.
"What do you think you're doing?"
"We're just talking, Hermione! What's the prob-"
"What's the problem?" she hissed menacingly, "oh, I'll tell you the problem. You're talking to Parvati Patil! Have some common sense! The first really juicy bit of gossip she gets will be all over the school before you even wake up!"
"I don't think she'll do that," Harry complained hopefully.
"Yes, well; we'll see, won't we? You'd better get to bed as well; you have Quidditch practice in the morning."
"I know, I know. I'm going."
As she left the room a voice in Harry's head was scolding him; one that sounded remarkably like Snape. "Nothing like providing another target for the Dark Lord, eh Potter? Not good enough that you have to endanger everyone around you…now you want to go and draw in some more innocents. Where will you be when they end up-" Harry ended the thought so abruptly it surprised him. Perhaps the Occlumency was paying off after all.
All through the weekend, and into Monday, Harry found himself listless. Even though he'd not gotten a chance to ride the Triumph, Ron was nearly back to normal. It helped that he'd seen Draco and the Slytherin keeper arguing loudly over how many goals they'd allowed Gryffindor to score, versus how many Ron had allowed.
"It must really boil Malfoy's blood to have to admit that I'm the better Keeper. You've got to wonder how he can live with himself, knowing I beat them. He must just deny it and call it dumb luck or something."
"Yeah," Harry agreed, half-heartedly. Ron took a long hard look at him, but didn't say anything. Later, in Transfiguration, Harry turned Ron's eyes a hideous shade of orange, and couldn't get it undone. Professor McGonagall was less than amused, and they were lucky to escape without losing house points. In Temporalism, he didn't answer a single question, prompting Professor Walken to ask him if he was ill. In Muggle Studies, Parvati garnered a detention, because she kept telling Harry jokes in an attempt to cheer him up. That just depressed him even more.
Harry's depression continued through the week, causing him to become more and more distant, until finally Ron pulled him aside at the beginners' D.A. meeting on Wednesday night.
"Look, mate, what's going on?"
"Sorry?" Harry said with a start.
"What's wrong with you? You haven't said five words all night, and barely more than that since the weekend."
"I don't know," Harry muttered. "I've just got things on my mind, I guess."
"Well, pull yourself together." His friend flipped his wand at the D.A. students, who were preparing themselves for their first attempt at full body binds in earnest. "They need you."
"Why?"
"What do you mean, why? This was your idea! You could be the only thing standing between them and…You-Know-Who." Harry, who had been pacing in front of the group nervously, stopped so fast that Ron bumped into him.
"Who says I want to be?" Harry hissed quietly. "Let's be honest here Ron; do you really think anyone here would walk away from an encounter with Voldemort -- regardless of what you or I or anyone else shows them?" Ron actually seemed to consider that for a while.
"You have," he finally answered. Harry's eyes narrowed behind his round spectacles.
"Because I'm lucky
and he's an arrogant git who likes to talk about himself a little too much."
"What about the Ministry?"
"Oh, yeah." Harry threw his hands in the air. "That was a bit of bloody genius, wasn't it Ronald? I let Lord Voldemort trick me into running right into his hands, and top it off by getting my Godfather killed…and I almost got you, Hermione, Ginny, Neville, and Luna killed!"
"But you didn't, and here we are. And now we're pulled into this, whether we like it or not!" Ron was beginning to grow louder as well, and some of the D.A. students were looking around curiously, probably wondering if a fight was brewing. Ron glanced once at the crowd and grabbed Harry's arm, dragging him from the classroom.
"Look, Harry, I don't like this any more than you do, but we're all involved in this now. You owe it to them to make them as ready as you can. No one blames you for anything!"
"Well, they should!" Harry yelled. "They ought to be blaming me for nearly everything because it is my fault. I dragged us there…I got you all hurt…I got Sirius killed…and Diggory, while we're at it, and even my parents. Your father was almost killed because Voldemort was looking for my prophesy. Sometimes I think things would have been better if I hadn't even been born!" This time, Ron didn't bother with an answer. Instead, he very deliberately cuffed Harry alongside the head.
"Listen to yourself!" he whispered. Harry realized that he had stepped over the line of reason, and struggled to regain control of his flaring temper. Last year, perhaps, he'd have stayed angry because it was either that or admit that he was wrong. This year, he'd found it a little easier just to let things go. Besides; it was much harder to stay angry.
"Ron, everyone I care for gets hurt, and I can't stop it. It's killing me! What if it's Hermione next? What if it's you?" Harry was very close to breaking into tears now, and perhaps Ron could tell, because he put his arm around his friend and spoke very quietly.
"There's already a chance that it will be one of us. I mean, Hermione is Muggle-born, and you know how people like Malfoy feel about me, but out of all the people I know, the only ones who've faced him and walked away are Dumbledore and you, and I know that because of you, I lived through a fight with a bunch of fully grown Death Eaters, and so did Hermione, and a bunch of other people who did it because they cared for you. Maybe we can't get someone in here who can show is how it should 'really be done.' Maybe that person doesn't even exist, but out of all the people in this castle who deserve to have people listen to them, you're the only one I really trust."
For the first time in several days, Harry Potter smiled. Ron grinned back and slapped his friend on the back. He gave Harry a moment to compose himself, and then they stepped back into the Room of Requirement.
"Alright, then. Who's ready to take on Harry and me?" Three or four brave souls eagerly raised their hands, and the rest looked on with expressions of anxiety and hope, feeling that perhaps there really was a cause for high spirits.
That Friday, Harry was sitting at the Gryffindor table in the Great hall, sulking and feeling sorry for himself. He was no longer in the deep depression that he'd slumped into the previous weekend, but he did have things on his chest. For one; it was bad enough that he had what he now admitted to himself was an unrequited crush on one of his best friends, and that same best friend was rude to the only person trying to help him through it. Even worse, everyone around him seemed to be girl-crazy as well: Dean and Ginny displayed a disturbing tendency to vanish at the same time, Ron and Hermione argued more than ever, Seamus was still enamored with the mystery witch, Connor had legions of young witches batting their eyes and blushing in his general direction, and lately, an alarming number of witches were inquiring over the whereabouts of Neville Longbottom.
Harry looked for Neville, and finally found him deep within a throng of fifth and sixth-year witches, sitting next to Lavender Brown, who was leaning heavily against him and whispering in his ear. The blush on Neville's face said volumes.
Next to him, Ron was piling food on his plate as if he'd never eat again, and further down, Dean and Connor were sitting next to each other with Ginny and Natalie on either side of them. They looked to be making a joke at Connor's expense, because he was looking at his plate and shaking his head, and everyone else was laughing.
Harry couldn't help but feel a little better around all the good emotions, and by the end of dinner, he was even joking with Ron about the girls who fancied him. Harry had been keeping his eyes open to that sort of thing, but had discovered to his dismay that he was basically no good at figuring out who was flirting with him, or what indeed constituted flirting in the first place. Parvati and Katie were trying to give him pointers, but everything they said came out ambiguously.
"Well, do a lot of girls smile at you?" Katie asked one day over supper. "Because that could be flirting, you know; if they smile at you a lot."
"That's right," Parvati added, "and you shouldn't be afraid to smile at them, either. Women like it when you smile."
"Well, they do, sometimes, if I look at them a while."
"If you look at them a while?" Parvati exclaimed. "Harry, you're flirting when you do that! They may just be returning the flirt."
"Well how the bloody hell am I supposed to figure this out? Watch!" Susan Bones was walking by and Harry spun on her, smiling wildly. She paused with a jump, and then smiled back with a very confused look on her face, looking to Katie and Parvati for an explanation.
"It's okay Suse," Parvati said, "he's touched in the head…just ignore him."
"Hey! I'm not touched!" Susan continued past Harry, giving him a wide berth and peeking back at him over her shoulder. As she turned away, Harry felt that the last smile looked genuine enough.
"There," he said triumphantly. "How about that?"
"Listen, Harry," Katie said, forcing his head around until he was looking into her wide, bright eyes, "you can't go scaring girls like that. That's not flirting! That's frightening!" Parvati was giggling and Ron had to be helped with his food, which had mysteriously grown heavier as he gasped for breath.
"Oh, you would think it's funny!" Harry muttered to his wheezing friend. "Anyway, what did I do wrong?" Connor, who'd hopped up and headed Harry's way when he saw Susan pass, voiced his opinion first.
"Harry, my boy, sad experience has taught me that pouncing on them tends to frighten them away. You've got to be gentle, like this…" he trailed a long, strong finger over Katie's cheek and down her neck, and she shuddered with her eyes half closed in spite of herself.
"Okay, that's enough of that, thanks, Connor. Now back to your seat with you." Connor turned and Harry just caught a glimpse of the spell that hit the American square in the chest. Further down the table, Natalie MacDonald was leaning into the aisle with her wand in her hand.
"Woman!" Connor raised his wand menacingly and drew a long diagonal line in front of him, conjuring a flock of very tiny, but very colorful butterflies. With a flick, he sent them after Natalie, who leapt up shrieking and fled to the far end of the table. From there, nothing short of chaos ensued. Students from every house roared with laughter, sides were chosen, generally breaking down into the boys versus the girls, and streams of sparks, mist, and flying insects filled the great hall. Harry wasn't sure when things degenerated into a full-blown food fight, or who exactly had hit him squarely in the face with the custard pie, but there was one thing of which he was certain:
His flirting skills left something to be desired.
"Oi, Neville! What's that?" Dean yelled across the common room, eyeing the package that Neville was fingering. He'd had it since lunch but had just now sat down to open it.
"It's my obsidian! It's for a potion I'm working on."
"I still can't believe you wanted into potions!" Seamus muttered. "Why, I remember thinking when I was taking my O.W.L.s that I never wanted to fail a test so bad in my life!"
"Well," Lavender said, "I for one am quite pleased that he's still in it. He's a genius, if you ask me!" Lavender gazed Neville's way and batted her eyelashes furiously, causing him to blush deeply and drop the heavy envelope that he'd been toying with all day. Connor, who was still wet from the shower and covered in welts from the stinging curses he'd been subjected to, snagged it before it hit the ground.
"That's right," Emmer added. "Neville's been quite good to us, and I for one am glad he's here." A chorus of feminine voices chimed in their agreement. Dean's eyes narrowed suspiciously.
"Neville, darling, what have you been doing for our fair witches of Hogwarts?"
"That's none of your business," Vicky Frobisher said, "but he's quite the lifesaver to us women, aren't you Neville?"
"It's nothing, really, anyone could do it!"
"Maybe anyone could," a dark-haired fourth-year said, "but you're the one that did." She kissed Neville firmly on the cheek, and several other Gryffindor girls actually stood in line for the chance to kiss Neville Longbottom. Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil planted kisses that smacked and left lip-shaped badges on his cheeks. The boys were stunned, and when Ron stepped through the portrait-hole, no one could blame him for being shocked and confused.
"Neville? What the bloody hell?"
"Just let it go, Ron," Harry shook his head. "It isn't even worth knowing."
Harry was up early the next morning for Quidditch practice. He barely had a chance to eat, and got no more than a glance at the Daily Prophet. He was looking for signs of Voldemort this year as keenly as he could, but when the best thing the Prophet could produce was the Minister of Magic coming down with a bout of influenza, he could be relatively assured that the dark wizard was still lying low. A quick scan through the rest of the paper confirmed his suspicions; several more cases of the grippe and a few editorials praising the Minister for his "speedy and honest" response to Voldemort's return. Harry snorted and threw the paper on the table, stuffing down the last of his meager breakfast and heading to the Quidditch Pitch.
They had changed a number of things after their match with Slytherin, and Katie was merciless when it came to mastering the Red and Gold calls, which had worked well for them. Ginny's Cleansweep 11 had finally come, and the Chaser Corps was now faster than ever. The Creevey brothers were on a strict morning running regiment, which Ginny had cajoled from Connor on one of their morning runs. One of the problems they'd run into with the Slytherin game was that no one had taken into account how much harder the smaller, faster beaters had to work. By the end of the game, they were both exhausted, and Katie wasn't about to let that happen again.
During the practice immediately following their match, Katie had produced double weight Beater's bats and slightly faster and heavier Bludgers. She demanded that Colin and Dennis use them from then on out. They took it well, never once complaining, and Jack and Andrew both played every practice with strict instructions to be especially hard and vicious every chance they got.
The Chasers weren't off the hook, either. Katie had been very satisfied with their production against Slytherin, but she wanted Seamus and Emmer on the pitch more and she wanted them better prepared for the Gold plays, now that the entire school had seen a good many of their Red formations. They practiced endlessly on their formation placement and passing.
Though she never said so in so many words, Harry was certain that Katie was privately very pleased with Ron's performance. Ron's numbers for the match were quite acceptable; even though he wasn't the best keeper ever. He was far from the worst. Katie let him off fairly easily, leaving whichever two chasers were currently on reserve to continuously attempt to score on him in between shots from the three that were doing formation plays.
Harry, of course, really didn't have much of a strategy to follow, owing to the instinctive nature of his position. Katie would occasionally send Natalie to follow him so she could learn the ropes of being a seeker, but other than that, Harry was generally free to do as he wished. This morning he would be flying with Natalie, and Katie had come up with a fairly ingenious idea.
"This," she said, tossing a bright orange ball from one hand to the other, "is a standard Snitch, minus most of the magical protections against enchantments. As you can see, I've painted it a beautiful shade of orange." Harry smiled and reached for it, and Katie snapped her hand back. "I've also added a special enchantment of my own, which you'll see as soon as it takes to the air. I want both of you paying special attention to any patterns in its flight. There aren't supposed to be any, but who knows? Stranger things have happened." She flicked the Snitch into the sky, where it spread its wings and dashed away. Harry didn't have too hard a time tracking it, owing to the fact that it was devastatingly orange, but even if he had, the trail of smoke that it shortly began to belch forth trailed across the sky and made its progress self-evident.
By the end of the practice, the smoke had also proven that the Snitch had no discernable pattern, or least of all, none that could be determined in three hours of flight. Still, Harry felt that it was probably a productive practice for Natalie, who was easily a good enough flyer to be the house Seeker, but still had problems picking up the tiny golden orb. Seeing how they moved was certainly beneficial to anyone foolish enough to entertain thoughts of capturing one of the deviously clever little spheres.
After practice, Harry decided on a quick flight over the Hogwarts grounds. It was another uncommonly warm day, at least for winter, and he hated to waste it. He'd already covered the grounds near the Forbidden Forest, and was swooping over the newly frozen lake, when he glanced to his right, where Professor Walken and the mystery witch were standing and watching him. He cranked his head to get a closer look, raised a hand in a wave, and briefly considered looping around to get another look at them, but the moment he looked forward, he slammed into something large and feathery. His head rocked back and his left hand slipped from the broom handle, but he managed to stay mounted. His body instinctively dropped in a racing position to stay closer to the broom, which decided that this was the cue to go faster. Harry pulled up hard on the handle, but it was cold and slick and his left hand slipped from the polished shaft, causing him to yank it backwards far further than he intended in an effort to hang on, and he shot nearly straight up into the sky. He lurched forward over the handle, his mittens grasping madly at the superbly smooth, diamond-hard finish of the Firebolt. His mind raced – he was way too far forward on his broom, his glasses had been knocked askew, and his left hand was throbbing. Also, he'd replaced his Quidditch gloves with warm woolen mittens, which he now discovered didn't have the grip he needed. His hands started to slide forward again, which forced the broom down, and before Harry knew what was going on, he'd crashed through the ice covering the lake and plunged deep into its icy depths.
The water was excruciatingly cold, and Harry felt his heart actually stop in his chest as he continued downward into the murky depths. He went further and further down, until his ears started popping and the pressure on his chest was enough to force the remaining breath out of him in a silvery explosion.
It felt as if he'd been underwater forever and he was seriously beginning to consider what it would be like to drown when something wrapped itself around his ankles and thrust him backwards, up, up, up and through the ice, over the surface of the lake, and onto the shore directly in front of Ambrose Walken, who had sprinted towards the spot where the tentacle's path intersected the shore.
"Harry! Harry! Are you alright? Speak to me, boy!"
"Mumph," Harry said, spitting out a mouthful of soggy feathers and ice-cold lake water.
"For goodness' sake!" a heavily accented voice cried. "What happened?" Harry tried to answer, but he couldn't get his breath, something was in his mouth, his throat, and his lungs. Around him, the world had been reduced to shadows and the occasional flashing spot floating before his eyes. He was vaguely aware of someone rolling him on his side, and then he felt a wand-tip jabbed into his chest. The woman's voice murmured an incantation, and suddenly Harry felt as if a giant had grabbed him beneath the arms and squeezed. Every muscle in his chest and stomach contracted at once, and he vomited forth a jet of filthy water, broken and water-logged feathers, and the remains of his breakfast. Strong hands grasped him under the arms and pulled him backwards, away from his own mess, and after a few moments, he sucked in a great, agonizing, whistling breath of cold air. Around him, more incantations were flying, and his cloths were suddenly only slightly damp. A pocket of warm air surrounded him, and Harry looked up to see a blob of brownish red growing larger and larger before his eyes. Just as he realized it was about to hit him squarely in the face, a hand reached over his head and snapped it adeptly from the air.
"Merlin, Ambrose! Pay attention! Do you want to brain the boy with his own broom? And where are his spectacles?" Harry's head turned uncertainly towards the voice, and he found himself looking directly into the blurry face of the mystery witch.
"He must have lost them in the lake. I've got it…what in the…" Harry saw an indistinct Professor Walken catch several flying bits. "Well, this won't do. Reparo. There…good as new." He carefully placed Harry's glasses back on his face. The professor knelt before him and gazed at him curiously. "Look, he's cognizant again. What happened, Harry? You were flying by and all of a sudden you dove into the lake. You didn't mean to do that, did you? And where did all these feathers come from?"
"Mean to?" Harry said indignantly. "Are you bloody nuts? I hit a ruddy owl!"
"Mind your manners, Mister Potter," the witch named Minnie said in an authoritative voice that was somehow familiar. "We didn't see an owl flying over the lake; we only saw you." As Harry gazed at the lake's glassy surface, he couldn't see anything unusual either, other than the hole he must have made on entry and the line of crushed ice and open water that the squid created while tossing him ashore. He attempted to adjust his glasses, which he thought had been bent and misadjusted by the crash, as he was seeing two of everything.
"It's got to be out there…it felt like a bloody sack of potatoes when I hit it!"
"Well these are undoubtedly feathers," Professor Walken said, looking with some disgust at the mess Harry had made when he vomited, "so I certainly believe you hit something." Professor Walken picked a few of the more intact specimens from where Harry had spit them on his expulsion from the lake. "I can't believe anything would have flown off after a collision like that."
"It's a mystery, no doubt about it, but this place seems to crawl with them." The black-haired witch looked from the lake to Harry. "Mister Potter, you'd better head straight to the infirmary. Can you make it there unassisted, or would you like us to go with you?"
"I think I can make it," Harry said, testing his legs. They supported him well enough, and he stood for a moment, looking from Professor Walken to the black-haired witch he now knew as Minnie.
"Thank you Professor and…I'm sorry," Harry said politely, "I don't believe I caught your name." She was starting to look very familiar, and Harry was forming an idea as to who Minnie was. He again attempted to adjust his glasses, which weren't cooperating after the crash.
"I don't believe I gave it to you. You can call me Minnie…I'm an old friend of your Professor."
"Well thank you as well, Minnie." Harry nodded his head respectfully and she waved her hand dismissively.
"Off with you then, Mister Potter. I'm certain Madame Pomfrey would have our heads if we kept you out here any longer. We'll take care of this mess."
As Harry turned to go, he saw a scrap of parchment fluttering across the frozen surface of the lake. He slipped his wand from his pocket and summoned it as unobtrusively as he could. The tiny fragment flew directly into Harry's outstretched hand, but before he could look at it, Ambrose spoke from behind him.
"We'll take care of that, Mister Potter, thank you for retrieving it. I really must insist you go to the hospital wing now -- this kind of thing could be very detrimental to your health -- more so than you know." Harry unhappily gave the parchment up, but clandestinely snapped the bit of wax from it before the adults had noticed it was even there. He trudged away shakily and made his way up to the castle and the Hospital Wing.
When Harry tottered into the infirmary, Madame Pomfrey leapt to her feet so fast that she nearly upset the tray upon which her lunch rested. She scowled and mopped up spilled tea with one hand while summoning Harry to her with the other. "Mister Potter! Speak up, lad! What happened?"
"I, uh, crashed into the lake."
"You…what?"
"For crying out loud! Why does everyone act as if I did it on purpose? It was an accident!"
"Calm down, Potter, you're in bad enough shape as it is! What you meant to do is irrelevant; the damage has been done. Let's have a look at you." Madame Pomfrey poked and prodded Harry for the next fifteen minutes, paying special attention to his hands, and his sore face. She muttered to herself as she went. "It's a wonder you don't have hypothermia! Look at me." Harry looked into her sharp eyes, wondering what she was searching for. He was starting to feel dizzy and congested, and an ache was starting to spread from behind his eyes. Before he could register what she was doing, Madame Pomfrey took his left hand and pulled his fingers straight, which caused excruciating pain. "Broken, as I suspected." She waved her wand over his hand and the sharp pain subsided to a dull ache. By now, Harry was very groggy indeed. Madame Pomfrey's voice was echoing in his ears, and he realized that even now with his glasses off, he was seeing double.
"You've gotten yourself a bit of a concussion, Potter, not to mention a broken nose to go along with your fingers. I'm afraid you'll be here for the night, perhaps even two. Jump into bed then. As much as you're here, I'm going to start leasing you a cot!" She unstopped a bottle of sweet-smelling potion and poured a finger into a small glass. It tasted of citrus, and the moment it touched his lips, the ache behind Harry's eyes began to subside.
"This is good," He murmured. "Well, better than the Skele-Gro, anyway." Madame Pomfrey snorted and pulled the curtain around Harry's bed. His eyes were growing very heavy indeed, but he could hear some commotion on the other side of the screen. It ended with Madame Pomfrey's no-nonsense voice.
"No visitors tonight! Let the boy get some rest!"