Disclaimer: Everything you recognize is J.K. Rowling's except Jamie, Luka, and Ariana.
Chapter 13- The Quidditch Final
So after Hermione dealt the cutting blow of my favorite Hippogriff's death the two of us make to leave the tower. We have to find Harry and Ron, and my best guess is that they're coming back from Hogsmeade. We make it no farther than out our portrait hole when we spot Ron and Harry.
"Come to have a good gloat?" says Ron savagely as we stop in front of them. "Or have you just been to tell on us?" Oh, they must have gotten in trouble then.
"No," says Hermione. She is holding the letter in her hands and her lip is trembling. "I just thought you ought to know . . . Hagrid lost his case. Buckbeak is going to be executed." I wince again even though I had already heard the news. Buckbeak didn't do anything wrong unlike the Fluffy the three headed hellhound, or Aragog the man eating spider. If anything those creatures should be dealt with instead.
"He — he sent me this," Hermione says, holding out the letter. I watch as the boys read the words that are coming close to being seared into my brain.
"They can't do this," says Harry. "They can't. Buckbeak isn't dangerous."
"Malfoy's dad's frightened the Committee into it," I tell them gripping my hands into fists. Hermione is wiping her eyes. "You know what he's like. They're a bunch of doddery old fools, and they were scared. There'll be an appeal, though, there always is. Only I can't see any hope. . . . .Nothing will have changed."
"Yeah, it will," says Ron fiercely. "You won't have to do all the work alone this time, Hermione. I'll help."
"Oh, Ron!" Hermione flings her arms around Ron's neck and breaks down completely. Ron, looking quite terrified, pats her very awkwardly on the top of the head. Finally, Hermione draws away.
"Ron, I'm really, really sorry about Scabbers . . . . ," she sobs. If he says one word…
"Oh — well — he was old," says Ron, looking thoroughly relieved that she has let go of him. "And he was a bit useless. You never know, Mum and Dad might get me an owl now."
I give both boys a long look wondering if this reconciliation is for real. "Are we done being prats now?" I ask them eyeing the pair suspiciously. The boys turn their gazes on me and shoot me sheepish looks.
"We shouldn't have acted the way that we did Jamie." Harry tells me looking me in the eye so that I can tell that he's serious.
"And I'm sorry Hermione… I shouldn't have focused so much on Scabbers. I don't want to lose either of you as friends." Ron apologizes as well rubbing the back of his head. I share a glance with Hermione before turning back to the boys.
"No more bone headed git moves until next year!" I say sternly, before grabbing each of them in a tight hug.
The safety measures imposed on the students since Black's second break-in makes it impossible for Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I to go and visit Hagrid in the evenings. Our only chance of talking to him is during Care of Magical Creatures lessons.
He seems numb with shock at the verdict.
"S'all my fault. Got all tongue-tied. They was all sittin' there in black robes an' I kep' droppin' me notes and forgettin' all them dates yeh looked up fer me, Hermione. An' then Lucius Malfoy stood up an' said his bit, and the Committee jus' did exac'ly what he told 'em. . . ."
Why if I ever see that man again, I'm going to give him a piece of my mind. "There's still the appeal!" says Ron fiercely. "Don't give up yet, we're working on it!" Ron's attitude towards everything has taken a significant turn for the better.
We are walking back up to the castle with the rest of the class. Ahead we can see Malfoy, who is walking with Crabbe and Goyle, and keeps looking back, laughing derisively.
"S'no good, Ron," says Hagrid sadly as we reach the castle steps. "That Committee's in Lucius Malfoy's pocket. I'm jus' gonna make sure the rest o' Beaky's time is the happiest he's ever had. I owe him that. . . ."
Hagrid turns around and hurries back toward his cabin, his face buried in his handkerchief.
"Look at him blubber!" Oh that boy is hurting for some hexes. "Have you ever seen anything quite as pathetic?" says Malfoy. "And he's supposed to be our teacher!"
Harry, Ron, and I both make furious moves towards Malfoy, but Hermione gets there first — SMACK!
She slaps Malfoy across the face with all the strength she can muster. Malfoy staggers. Harry, Ron, Crabbe, Goyle, and I stand flabbergasted as Hermione raises her hand again.
"Don't you dare call Hagrid pathetic, you foul — you evil —" I can't help but stop laughing at the look on Malfoy's face! Oh Merlin! Hermione is now my favorite person forever and ever!
"Get him Mione! Make him regret ever showing his weasely face here ever again!" I cry egging my best friend on. This day will go down as my favorite one in history for a long time to come!
"Hermione!" says Ron weakly, and he tries to grab her hand as she swings it back.
"Get off, Ron!" Hermione pulls out her wand. Malfoy steps backward, and I bounce in anticipation. Please turn into a weasel please! Crabbe and Goyle look at him for instructions, thoroughly bewildered.
"C'mon," Malfoy mutters, and in a moment, all three of them have disappeared into the passageway to the dungeons.
"Hermione!" Ron says again, sounding both stunned and impressed.
"You rock Mione! I'm so proud of you!" I cry embracing the girl in a tight hug.
"Harry, Jamie, you better beat him in the Quidditch final!" Hermione says shrilly. "You just better had, because I can't stand it if Slytherin wins!"
"You're not the only one." I say darkly.
"We're due in Charms," says Ron, still goggling at Hermione. "We'd better go."
We hurry up the marble staircase towards Professor Flitwick's classroom.
"You're late!" says Professor Flitwick reprovingly as Harry opens the classroom door. "Come along, quickly, wands out, we're experimenting with Cheering Charms today, we've already divided into pairs —"
Harry and Ron hurry to a desk at the back and open their bags. I go to the only other open desk and look around for Hermione. Ron looks behind him. "Where's Hermione gone?" I honestly don't know.
Harry looks around too. Hermione hasn't entered the classroom, yet I know she has been right next to us when we opened the door. "Professor! I don't have a partner!" I say raising my hand. Professor Flitwick raises his eyebrow and comes over to me. Charms is my favorite class since coming to Hogwarts and if I can say so, I'm not too shabby at it. "Partner with Potter and Weasley for this class Pendragon. There's nothing else to be done since you're partner is not present at the moment." He squeaks and turns back to the rest of the class.
I turn around in my seat and face the boys. They both have puzzled looks on their faces as well. "That's weird," says Harry, staring at us. "Maybe — maybe she went to the bathroom or something?"
But Hermione doesn't turn up all lesson.
"She could've done with a Cheering Charm on her too," says Ron as the class leaves for lunch, all grinning broadly — the Cheering Charms have left us with a feeling of great contentment.
Hermione isn't at lunch either. By the time we have finished our apple pie, the after-effects of the Cheering Charms are wearing off, and Harry, Ron, and I start to get slightly worried.
"She just seems to disappear." I say bewildered.
"You don't think Malfoy did something to her?" Ron says anxiously as we hurry upstairs towards Gryffindor Tower.
"I'm beginning to think that there is more to your theory about Hermione Jamie. Its just too odd for something like this to happen." Harry tells me huffing as we jump up the last few steps.
We pass the security trolls, give the Fat Lady the password ("Flibbertigibbet"), and scramble through the portrait hole into the common room.
Hermione is sitting at a table, fast asleep, her head resting on an open Arithmancy book. We go to sit down on either side of her. Harry prods her awake.
"W-what?" says Hermione, waking with a start and staring wildly around. "Is it time to go? W-which lesson have we got now?"
"Divination, but it's not for another twenty minutes," I tell her. "Hermione, why didn't you come to Charms?"
"What? Oh no!" Hermione squeaks. "I forgot to go to Charms!"
"But how could you forget?" asks Harry. "You were with us till we were right outside the classroom!"
"I don't believe it!" Hermione wails. "Was Professor Flitwick angry? Oh, it was Malfoy, I was thinking about him and I lost track of things!"
"You know what, Hermione?" says Ron, looking down at the enormous Arithmancy book Hermione has been using as a pillow. "I reckon you're cracking up. You're trying to do too much."
"No, I'm not!" says Hermione, brushing her hair out of her eyes and staring hopelessly around for her bag. "I just made a mistake, that's all! I'd better go and see Professor Flitwick and say sorry. . . . I'll see you in Divination!"
Hermione joins us at the foot of the ladder to Professor Trelawney's classroom twenty minutes later, looking extremely harrassed.
"I can't believe I missed Cheering Charms! And I bet they come up in our exams; Professor Flitwick hinted they might!"
Together we climb the ladder into the dim, stifling tower room. Glowing on every little table is a crystal ball full of pearly white mist. Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I sit down together at the same rickety table.
"I thought we weren't starting crystal balls until next term," Ron mutters, casting a wary eye around for Professor Trelawney, in case she is lurking nearby.
"Don't complain, this means we've finished palmistry," Harry mutters back. "I was getting sick of her flinching every time she looked at my hands."
"Good day to you!" says the familiar, misty voice, and Professor Trelawney makes her usual dramatic entrance out of the shadows. Parvati and Lavender quiver with excitement, their faces lit by the milky glow of their crystal ball.
"I have decided to introduce the crystal ball a little earlier than I had planned," says Professor Trelawney, sitting with her back to the fire and gazing around. "The fates have informed me that your examination in June will concern the Orb, and I am anxious to give you sufficient practice."
Hermione snorts. I kick her in warning underneath the table. She's going to get in trouble one of these days. "Well, honestly . . . 'the fates have informed her' . . . who sets the exam? She does! What an amazing prediction!" she says, not troubling to keep her voice low. Harry and Ron choked back laughs, and I can't keep back my grin.
It is hard to tell whether Professor Trelawney has heard us, as her face is hidden in shadow. She continues, however, as though she has not.
"Crystal gazing is a particularly refined art," she says dreamily. "I do not expect any of you to See when first you peer into the Orb's infinite depths. We shall start by practicing relaxing the conscious mind and external eyes" — Ron begins to snigger uncontrollably and has to stuff his fist in his mouth to stifle the noise — "so as to clear the Inner Eye and the superconscious. Perhaps, if we are lucky, some of you will See before the end of the class."
Oh boy this is going to be entertaining. And so we begin. I, at least, feel extremely foolish, staring blankly at the crystal ball, trying to keep my mind empty when thoughts such as "This is stupid" keep drifting across it. It doesn't help that Ron keeps breaking into silent giggles and Hermione keeps tutting. Harry hasn't stopped couching to cover up snorts of laughter.
"Seen anything yet?" Harry asks us after a quarter of an hour's quiet crystal gazing.
"Only the insides of my eyelids." I reply trying to stifle a yawn behind my hand.
"Yeah, there's a burn on this table," says Ron, pointing. "Someone's spilled their candle."
"This is such a waste of time," Hermione hisses. "I could be practicing something useful. I could be catching up on Cheering Charms —"
Professor Trelawney rustles past. "Would anyone like me to help them interpret the shadowy portents within their Orb?" she murmurs over the clinking of her bangles.
"I don't need help," Ron whispers. "It's obvious what this means. There's going to be loads of fog tonight."
The three of us burst out laughing.
"Now, really!" says Professor Trelawney as everyone's heads turn in our direction. Parvati and Lavender are looking scandalized. "You are disturbing the clairvoyant vibrations!" She approaches our table and peers into our crystal ball. Please tell me she's not doing what I think that she's doing.
"There is something here!" Professor Trelawney whispers, lowering her face to the ball, so that it is reflects twice in her huge glasses. "Something moving . . . but what is it?"
This isn't going to end well. I can just feel it. "My dear . . . ," Professor Trelawney breathes, gazing up at Harry. "It is here, plainer than ever before . . . my dear, stalking toward you, growing ever closer . . . the Gr —"
"Oh, for goodness' sake!" says Hermione loudly. "Not that ridiculous Grim again!"
Professor Trelawney raises her enormous eyes to Hermione's face. Parvati whispers something to Lavender, and they both glare at Hermione too. Professor Trelawney stands up, surveying Hermione with unmistakable anger.
"I am sorry to say that from the moment you have arrived in this class, my dear, it has been apparent that you do not have what the noble art of Divination requires. Indeed, I don't remember ever meeting a student whose mind was so hopelessly mundane." No one has ever called Hermione Granger mundane before. I think that it's practically against nature to do so.
There is a moment's silence. Then —
"Fine!" says Hermione suddenly, getting up and cramming Unfogging the Future back into her bag. "Fine!" she repeats, swinging the bag over her shoulder and almost knocking Ron off his chair. "I give up! I'm leaving!" Wait! Hermione Granger, Miss loves school, is quitting?
And to the whole class's amazement, Hermione strides over to the trapdoor, kicks it open, and climbs down the ladder out of sight. I bite my lip in worry watching my best friend go. A great part of me is amused by her reaction as well.
It takes a few minutes for the class to settle down again. Professor Trelawney seems to have forgotten all about the Grim. She turns abruptly from our table, breathing rather heavily as she tugs her gauzy shawl more closely to her.
"Ooooo!" says Lavender suddenly, making everyone start. "Oooooo, Professor Trelawney, I've just remembered! You saw her leaving, didn't you? Didn't you, Professor? 'Around Easter, one of our number will leave us forever!' You said it ages ago, Professor!"
Professor Trelawney gives her a dewy smile.
"Yes, my dear, I did indeed know that Miss Granger would be leaving us. One hopes, however, that one might have mistaken the Signs. . . . The Inner Eye can be a burden, you know. . . ."
"I rather think she was predicting the departure of Lavender and Parvati's common sense, but that seems to have left them quite some time ago." I say just loud enough for the boys and the two in question to hear. I get scathing looks in reply to my comment, and Ron and Harry snicker.
"Some day Hermione's having, eh?" Ron mutters to Harry, and me, looking awed.
"Yeah . . ."
The Easter holidays are not exactly relaxing. The third years have never had so much homework. Neville Longbottom seems close to a nervous collapse, and he isn't the only one.
"Call this a holiday!" Seamus Finnigan roars at the common room one afternoon. "The exams are ages away, what're they playing at?"
But nobody has as much to do as Hermione. Even without Divination, she is taking more subjects than anybody else. She is usually last to leave the common room at night, first to arrive at the library the next morning; she has shadows like Lupin's under her eyes, and seems constantly close to tears.
I would be more worried about her, but I'm currently swamped with work myself as it is. Ron has taken over responsibility for Buckbeak's appeal. When he isn't doing his own work, he is poring over enormously thick volumes with names like The Handbook of Hippogriff Psychology and Fowl or Foul? A Study of Hippogriff Brutality.
He is so absorbed, he even forgets to be horrible to Crookshanks. Harry and I meanwhile, have to fit in our homework around Quidditch practice every day, not to mention endless discussions of tactics with Wood. The Gryffindor-Slytherin match will take place on the first Saturday after the Easter holidays. Slytherin is leading the tournament by exactly two hundred points. This means (as Wood constantly reminds his team) that we need to win the match by more than that amount to win the Cup. It also means that the burden of winning falls largely on Harry, because capturing the Snitch is worth one hundred and fifty points.
I feel for my friend but Wood is working us Chasers to the bone making sure that we are prepared to score at every given opportunity that we have. To say that I'm exhausted is to say the least. I've taken to doing my work and studying in the library with Luka and Ariana again, for they both have a brilliant study system in place, and both know how to keep me on track.
Wood even seems to find us in the moments we least expect him to like in a library or directly out of its doors. "So you must catch it only if we're more than fifty points up," Wood tells Harry constantly. "Only if we're more than fifty points up, Harry, or we win the match but lose the Cup. You've got that, haven't you? You must catch the Snitch only if we're —"
"I KNOW, OLIVER!" Harry yells. The stress that Oliver is putting on Harry is definitely getting to him. I think that it's safe to say that everyone is on edge around here.
The whole of Gryffindor House is obsessed with the coming match. Gryffindor hasn't won the Quidditch Cup since the legendary Charlie Weasley (Ron's second oldest brother) has been Seeker. But I doubt whether any of them, even Wood, wants to win as much as Harry does even me. The enmity between Harry and Malfoy is at its highest point ever. Malfoy is still smarting about the mud-throwing incident in Hogsmeade and is even more furious than Harry has somehow worms his way out of punishment. Harry hasn't forgotten Malfoy's attempt to sabotage him in the match against Ravenclaw, but it is the matter of Buckbeak that makes us most determined to beat Malfoy in front of the entire school.
I've been pushing myself to the limit the past few weeks so much that I've been falling asleep in most of the worst places popular. One time Ariana woke me up from my position sitting on the floor leaning against a bookshelf in the back of the library. She didn't say anything though. Only kept a hand on my arm as she walked me up to the landing to Gryffindor tower, with the threat to go straight to bed.
Never, in anyone's memory, has a match approached in such a highly charged atmosphere. By the time the holidays are over, tension between the two teams and their Houses are at the breaking point. A number of small scuffles break out in the corridors, culminating in a nasty incident in which a Gryffindor fourth year and a Slytherin sixth year end up in the hospital wing with leeks sprouting out of their ears.
Harry is having a particularly bad time of it. He can't walk to class without Slytherins sticking out their legs and trying to trip him up; Crabbe and Goyle keep popping up wherever he goes, and slouching away looking disappointed when they see him surrounded by people.
Wood has given instructions that Harry should be accompanied everywhere, in case the Slytherins try to put him out of action. The whole of Gryffindor House takes up the challenge enthusiastically, so that it is impossible for Harry (and me by association) to get to classes on time because he is surrounded by a vast, chattering crowd. Harry is more concerned for his Firebolt's safety than his own of course. When he isn't flying it, he locks it securely in his trunk and frequently dashes back up to Gryffindor Tower at break times to check that it is still there.
I think that that is a little over the top, but who am I to say otherwise, I'm not the one with the Firebolt.
All usual pursuits are abandoned in the Gryffindor common room the night before the match. Even Hermione has put down her books.
"I can't work, I can't concentrate," she says nervously.
"Tell me something that I don't know, I can't even draw and if I can't draw than that is bad." I say tapping my hands against my leg nervously.
There is a great deal of noise. Fred and George Weasley are dealing with the pressure by being louder and more exuberant than ever. Oliver Wood is crouched over a model of a Quidditch field in the corner, prodding little figures across it with his wand and muttering to himself. Angelina and Katie are laughing at Fred's and George's jokes. Harry and I are sitting with Ron and Hermione, removed from the center of things, trying not to think about the next day, because every time we do, he has the horrible sensation that something very large is fighting to get out of my stomach.
"You're going to be fine," Hermione tells us, though she looks positively terrified.
"Not helping." I say shakily.
"You've got a Firebolt!" says Ron.
"Yeah . . . ," says Harry, his stomach writhing. It comes as a relief when Wood suddenly stands up and yells, "Team! Bed!" As I climb the bed that night I try to dispel the nervous energy that I feel about the game tomorrow. Hopefully I won't fall off my broom.
The next morning in the common room Harry whispers to me about seeing Crookshanks out by the forbidden forest this morning and the big black dog that he saw come out of the forest and meet the cat. To say that I'm now officially spooked is to say the least.
The rest of the Gryffindor team and I enter the Great Hall the next day to enormous applause. I can't help grinning broadly as I see that both the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff tables are applauding us too. I manage to spot my brother at the Ravenclaw table. His shirt has a dragon on it, and on both his cheeks is my name. I beam at him for his support in me.
Ariana is a little easier to spot in the support section of Hufflepuff. A lion is painted on one cheek, with my number on the other, and her shirt has her favorite decal of a dragon riding a broom on it. I'm pleased to see that even my friends outside of my own house want me to do well.
The Slytherin table hisses loudly as we pass. I notice that Malfoy looks even paler than usual, I nudge Harry to see if he sees that and judging by the look on his face he does.
Wood spends the whole of breakfast urging his team to eat, while touching nothing himself. Then he hurries us off to the field before anyone else has finished, so we can get an idea of the conditions. As we leave the Great Hall, everyone applauds again.
"Good luck, Harry!" calls Cho Chang. I watch as Harry blushes.
Oh Merlin does the boy have it bad. "You better have your eyes open Pendragon." Ariana tells me passing by with her friends sporting a wide smile. I grin back at her, and notice that my nerves have gone down considerably.
"Always Dumbledore I have to keep it that way in case trouble comes my way!" I call after her. I can hear her laughter ringing down the halls as she goes.
"Okay — no wind to speak of — sun's a bit bright, that could impair your vision, watch out for it — ground's fairly hard, good, that'll give us a fast kickoff —" Wood paces the field, staring around with the team behind him. Finally, we see the front doors of the castle open in the distance and the rest of the school spilling onto the lawn.
"Locker rooms," says Wood tersely.
None of us spoke as we change into our scarlet robes. I wonder if we are all feeling like I am: as though there's a herd of hippogriffs stomping around in my chest. In what seems like no time at all, Wood is saying, "Okay, it's time, let's go —"
I'm not sure if I'm ready for this. This is the biggest game that I've ever played in in my life to date. What if I screw up? What if I cause us to lose the game? I feel a hand give mine a quick squeeze and look up to see Harry giving me a slightly nervous smile.
Okay I can do this. We can do this. We can and we will win this cup. We walk out onto the field to a tidal wave of noise. Three-quarters of the crowd is wearing scarlet rosettes, waving scarlet flags with the Gryffindor lion upon them, or brandishing banners with slogans like "GO GRYFFINDOR!" and "LIONS FOR THE CUP!" Behind the Slytherin goalposts, however, two hundred people are wearing green; the silver serpent of Slytherin glitters on their flags, and Professor Snape sits in the very front row, wearing green like everyone else, and a very grim smile.
Not for the first time I'm thankful that I'm not in the Slytherin house. "And here are the Gryffindors!" yells Lee Jordan, who is acting as commentator as usual. "Potter, Bell, Johnson, Pendragon, Weasley, Weasley, and Wood. Widely acknowledged as the best team Hogwarts has seen in a good few years —"
Lee's comments are drowned by a tide of "boos" from the Slytherin end.
"And here comes the Slytherin team, led by Captain Flint. He's made some changes in the lineup and seems to be going for size rather than skill —" More boos from the Slytherin crowd. I, however, think Lee has a point, especially since I have to play against most. They're all practically twice the size of me and I'm one of the youngest players on the team. Malfoy is easily the smallest person on the Slytherin team; the rest of them are enormous.
"Captains, shake hands!" says Madam Hooch. Flint and Wood approach each other and grasp each other's hand very tightly; it looks as though each is trying to break the other's fingers.
"Mount your brooms!" says Madam Hooch. "Three . . . two . . . one . . ."
The sound of her whistle is lost in the roar from the crowd as fourteen brooms rise into the air. I'm instantly immersed in the constant aerial battle that is Quidditch as a Chaser.
"And it's Gryffindor in possession, Jamie Pendragon of Gryffindor with the Quaffle, heading straight for the Slytherin goalposts, looking good, Jamie! Argh, no — Quaffle intercepted by Warrington, Warrington of Slytherin tearing up the field — WHAM! — nice Bludger work there by George Weasley, Warrington drops the Quaffle, it's caught by — Johnson, Gryffindor back in possession, come on, Angelina — nice swerve around Montague — duck, Angelina, that's a Bludger! — SHE SCORES! TEN–ZERO TO GRYFFINDOR!" Yes!
Angelina punches the air as she soars around the end of the field; the sea of scarlet below is screaming its delight —
"OUCH!" Angelina is nearly thrown from her broom as Marcus Flint goes smashing into her. If I was any bigger, I'd go over there and give him a piece of my mind, but I'm not the stupid.
"Sorry!" says Flint as the crowd below booed. "Sorry, didn't see her!"
A moment later, Fred Weasley chucks his Beater's club at the back of Flint's head. Flint's nose smashes into the handle of his broom and begins to bleed.
"That will do!" shrieks Madam Hooch, zooming between them. "Penalty shot to Gryffindor for an unprovoked attack on their Chaser! Penalty shot to Slytherin for deliberate damage to their Chaser!"
Well this game is shaping up to be a real winner. "Come off it, miss!" howls Fred, but Madam Hooch blows her whistle and I fly forward to take the penalty. Penalty shots are my specialty on the team, I'm really good at the high stress situations.
"Come on, Jamie!" yells Lee into the silence that has descended on the crowd. "YES! SHE'S BEATEN THE KEEPER! TWENTY–ZERO TO GRYFFINDOR!" I pump my arm in victory as Warrington misses the quaffle. He glares at me with contempt and I merely grin back at him victoriously. That makes up for my missed shot earlier.
I turn my broom sharply to watch Flint, still bleeding freely, fly forward to take the Slytherin penalty. Wood is hovering in front of the Gryffindor goalposts, his jaw clenched.
"'Course, Wood's a superb Keeper!" Lee Jordan tells the crowd as Flint waits for Madam Hooch's whistle. "Superb! Very difficult to pass — very difficult indeed — YES! I DON'T BELIEVE IT! HE'S SAVED IT!"
Oh Merlin this is quite unbelievable, we're managing to do the seemingly impossible today so far! Play resumes quickly and I'm back to dodging bludgers, and streaking past opposing chasers.
"Gryffindor in possession, no, Slytherin in possession — no! — Gryffindor back in possession and it's Katie Bell, Katie Bell for Gryffindor with the Quaffle, she's streaking up the field — THAT WAS DELIBERATE!"
Montague, a Slytherin Chaser, has swerved in front of Katie, and instead of seizing the Quaffle has grabbed her head. Katie cartwheels in the air, manages to stay on her broom, but drops the Quaffle. Okay that's not even legal! Now I'm mad and more than a little afraid after watching my teammates be manhandled like this.
Madam Hooch's whistle rings out again as she soars over to Montague and begins shouting at him. A minute later, Katie has put another penalty past the Slytherin Keeper. "THIRTY–ZERO! TAKE THAT, YOU DIRTY, CHEATING —"
"Jordan, if you can't commentate in an unbiased way — !"
"I'm telling it like it is, Professor!"
I'm in the thick of it with possession of the quaffle as I work on dodging around the gigantic Slytherins for I'm not sure that I would be able to stay on my broom if in a collision with one of them.
"Ha haaa!" yells Lee Jordan as the Slytherin Beaters lurch away from each other, clutching their heads. "Too bad, boys! You'll need to get up earlier than that to beat a Firebolt! And it's Gryffindor in possession again, as Pendragon takes the Quaffle — Flint alongside her — poke him in the eye, Jamie! — it is a joke, Professor, it is a joke — oh no — Flint in possession, Flint flying toward the Gryffindor goalposts, come on now, Wood, save — !"
I'm still sore from where he bashed into me, and overturned my on my broom. I manage to climb back onto my seat from my dangling position though. But Flint has scored; there is an eruption of cheers from the Slytherin end, and Lee swears so badly that Professor McGonagall tries to tug the magical megaphone away from him.
"Sorry, Professor, sorry! Won't happen again! So, Gryffindor in the lead, thirty points to ten, and Gryffindor in possession —"
It is turning into the dirtiest game I have ever played in. Enraged that Gryffindor has taken such an early lead, the Slytherins are rapidly resorting to any means to take the Quaffle. Bole hits me with his club and tries to say he thought I am a Bludger. George Weasley elbows Bole in the face in retaliation (my hero). Madam Hooch awards both teams penalties, and Wood pulls off another spectacular save, making the score forty–ten to Gryffindor, after I manage to put away another penalty shot.
Katie scores. Fifty–ten. Fred and George Weasley are swooping around her, clubs raised, in case any of the Slytherins are thinking of revenge. Bole and Derrick take advantage of Fred's and George's absence to aim both Bludgers at Wood; they catch him in the stomach, one after the other, and he rolls over in the air, clutching his broom, completely winded. That's a low blow, no one attacks the keeper when the quaffle isn't in play.
Madam Hooch is beside herself. "YOU DO NOT ATTACK THE KEEPER UNLESS THE QUAFFLE IS WITHIN THE SCORING AREA!" she shrieks at Bole and Derrick. "Gryffindor penalty!"
And Angelina scores. Sixty–ten. Moments later, Fred Weasley pelts a Bludger at Warrington, knocking the Quaffle out of his hands; I seize it and put it through the Slytherin goal — seventy–ten. This is one of my better games despite everything though I'm going to be littered in bruises tomorrow.
The Gryffindor crowd below is screaming itself hoarse — Gryffindor is sixty points in the lead, and if Harry catches the Snitch now, the Cup is ours. So I put another burst of speed on and attempt to run interference for Angelina who is attempting to steal the quaffle from Flint.
Apparently the Seekers are now joining in on the dirty play. "Penalty! Penalty to Gryffindor! I've never seen such tactics!" Madam Hooch screeches, shooting up to where Malfoy is sliding back onto his Nimbus Two Thousand and One. He had been holding onto the back of Harry's broom to keep him from getting the snitch.
"YOU CHEATING SCUM!" Lee Jordan is howling into the megaphone, dancing out of Professor McGonagall's reach. "YOU FILTHY, CHEATING B —"
Professor McGonagall doesn't even bother to tell him off. She is actually shaking her finger in Malfoy's direction, her hat has fallen off, and she too is shouting furiously.
I take Gryffindor's penalty, but I'm so angry I miss by several feet. The Gryffindor team is losing concentration and the Slytherins, delighted by Malfoy's foul on Harry, are being spurred on to greater heights.
"Slytherin in possession, Slytherin heading for goal — Montague scores —" Lee groans. "Seventy–twenty to Gryffindor. . . ." Okay get your head in the game Pendragon. This is no time to be letting your emotions be getting the best of you!
"Angelina Johnson gets the Quaffle for Gryffindor, come on, Angelina, COME ON!" All the Slytherins are flying to her now. I kick up the speed and shoot towards them to disperse them, and Harry dive-bombs from above to break them up. It works, we narrowly miss each other, but someone grabs onto my arm from the fray, and twists.
With a sickening snap the bones in my arm break. I cry out in pain, cradling the arm to me. "SHE SCORES! SHE SCORES! Gryffindor leads by eighty points to twenty! And A LOW DOWN ROTTEN FOUL BY FLINT! CHASER PENDRAGON'S ARM APPEARS TO BE BROKEN!" Jordan yells through the microphone.
No one seems to pay him heed though which relieves me, for it seems like the Seekers have found the snitch. I still chase after the quaffle though, even though it's a half-hearted effort. "YES!"
Harry pulls out of his dive, his hand in the air, and the stadium explodes. Harry soars above the crowd, an odd ringing in his ears. The tiny golden ball is held tight in his fist, beating its wings hopelessly against his fingers. We won! Holy Merlin we actually won!
Then Wood is speeding towards him, half-blinded by tears; he seizes Harry around the neck and sobs unrestrainedly into his shoulder. Harry feels two large thumps as Fred and George hit them; then Angelina's, Katie's, and my voices, "We've won the Cup! We've won the Cup!" Tangled together in a many-armed hug (me one armed and gingerly on the outside), the Gryffindor team sinks, yelling hoarsely, back to earth.
This moment is one of the best of my life. Wave upon wave of crimson supporters are pouring over the barriers onto the field. Hands are raining down on our backs. I had a confused impression of noise and bodies pressing in on me. I can barely feel my broken arm anymore. Then the rest of the team and me, are hoisted onto the shoulders of the crowd. Thrust into the light, I see Hagrid, plastered with crimson rosettes — "Yeh beat 'em, Harry, Jamie yeh beat 'em! Wait till I tell Buckbeak!" There is Percy, jumping up and down like a maniac, all dignity forgotten. Professor McGonagall is sobbing harder even than Wood, wiping her eyes with an enormous Gryffindor flag; and there, fighting their way towards Harry and me, are Ron and Hermione.
I grin at my friends caught up in the moment, and searching for the others. Words failed them. They simply beam as Harry, and I are borne toward the stands, where Dumbledore stands waiting with the enormous Quidditch Cup. A sobbing Wood hands Harry the cup, as he lifts it into the air. This moment is perfect.
A few minutes later though, I'm winding through the crowd attempting to get away to go and get my arm fixed it hurts something fierce. "That was quite a hit you took Jamie are you okay?" Luka asks me worriedly pushing over to me a paling at the sight of my arm. Ariana is a step behind me. It takes her a second to assess he situation before she grabs my good arm, and starts marching me back to the castle.
"Come on Pendragon its time to get you patched back up yet again. At least you listened me this time and made it longer then a month." Ariana says. And even through the pain, I can't help but smirk. This day was great and so totally worth it.