As Gryffindor's first match against Slytherin approached, Harry spent as much time as he could on the quidditch pitch. Hermione had put in a token protest that he wasn't concentrating on his homework enough, but when Harry had - correctly - completed the 'tricky' worksheet Professor Flitwick had set them in under 5 minutes, she had been forced to concede the point. Wood was ecstatic, and kept comparing his work ethic to the rest of the team.
The truth was that the quidditch pitch was the only place he didn't have to pretend to be 6 years and a war younger. Harry was lonely; the people he had grown up with and had been friends with were all 11, young and comparably immature, and none of the older students wanted to hang out with a first year. He didn't even have work to distract him as it was all aimed at 11-year-olds who had only just started using magic. He had by no means been a brilliant student the first time round - fearing for your life for most of the academic year would do that to you - but NEWT level work was a fair bit more challenging than 'wingardium leviosa'. Harry was starting to wonder if saving the world was worth having to do school a second time; he couldn't even check books out of the library, something he had never thought he would be complaining about.
But when on a broom, there was no reason he couldn't perform to the best of his ability, the only thing currently holding him back were the physical limits of his Nimbus 2000. He could dive and pull stunts that had the rest of the Gryffindor team yelling in concern, and actually feel challenged and alive. Wood had mentioned 3 times already that he could go pro, and Harry was starting to actually entertain the idea.
By eleven o'clock the day of the match, the whole school seemed to be out in the stands around the Quidditch pitch, many students with binoculars. The Gryffindor first years were all up in the top row. As a surprise for Harry, they had painted a large banner on one of the sheets Scabbers had ruined. It said 'Potter for President', and Dean had drawn a large Gryffindor lion underneath, then Hermione had charmed it so that the paint flashed different colours. Harry's throat tightened in affection.
In the changing rooms, Wood cleared his throat for silence.
"Okay, men." He said.
"And women." said Angelina.
"And women." Wood agreed. "This is it."
"The big one." said Fred.
"The one we've all been waiting for," Harry grinned, unable to help himself.
"We know Oliver's speech by heart," Fred said, "we were on the team last year. But how on Earth do you?"
"Clearly I just understand his fanatical brain." Harry said. "We connect on a level you just wouldn't understand."
"Shut up, you two." Wood said. "This is the best team Gryffindor's had in years. We're going to
win. I know it." He glared at them all as if to say. 'Or else.'
Madam Hooch stood in the middle of the field waiting for the two teams, her broom in her hand, whistle around her neck. Out of the corner of his eye Harry saw the fluttering banner high above, flashing 'Potter for President' over the crowd, and the image of Malfoy's 'Potter stinks' badges from fourth year flooded his brain.
He shook his head as Madam Hooch gave a loud blast on her silver whistle, and fifteen brooms rose up, high, high into the air.
They were off.
"And the Quaffle is taken immediately by Angelina Johnson of Gryffindor - what an excellent chaser that girl is, and rather attractive, too-"
"JORDAN!"
"Sorry, Professor."
Harry let out a small laugh as he flew high over the field, eyes darting around for a hint of gold, mindful of the Slytherin seeker's position.
"And she's really belting along up there. Clean pass to Alicia Spinnet. Back to Johnson and - no, Slytherin Captain Marcus Flint gains the Quaffle and off he goes. Flint flying like an eagle up there. He shoots… stopped by an excellent move by Gryffindor Keeper Wood and Gryffindor take the Quaffle! Katie Bell of Gryffindor there, dives around Flint, off up the field and - OUCH - that must have hurt, hit in the back of the head by a Bludger. Quaffle taken by the Slytherins. That's Adrian Pucey speeding off toward the goal posts, he's blocked by a Bludger sent his way by Fred or George Weasley, can't tell which - nice play by the Gryffindor Beater, anyway, and Johnson back in possession of the Quaffle, a clear field ahead and off she goes! Dodges a speeding Bludger, swerves around Flint, the goal posts are ahead - come on, Angelina - Keeper Bletchley dives, misses, GRYFFINDOR SCORE! That's ten-nil to Gryffindor."
Harry dipped lower, passing a few feet under Higgs as the two of them circled the field. He swerved to avoid a stray bludger, and George called out a greeting as he flew up to batter it towards Flint.
Harry's head whipped to the side as he caught sight of a flash of gold. He angled in that direction, peering around. There! A flutter of tiny wings, just to the left of the Slytherin goalposts. Harry glanced back at Higgs, high overhead and heading in the opposite direction. He kept his eyes on the snitch, pointed the handle of his broom in the right direction, and sped off.
He shot past Adrian Pucey, who dropped the quaffle in surprise, and suddenly all attention was on him as too late, Higgs turned around and Lee urged Harry on. Harry flattened himself against his broom, for once grateful for his short, skinny frame as he put on a burst of speed. He gripped the handle tight and rolled, pulling hard to the left as Flint rose up in front of him, eyes still fixed on the tiny ball that was now darting along the field a few feet from the ground.
"Slytherin Captain attempting to foul a first-year there, but Potter's avoided the block and is still heading towards the snitch, Higgs lagging far behind." Lee said, to loud cheers.
Harry felt his broom lurch in his hands, and spared the teacher's stand a scathing glare, forcing the handle downwards. The snitch suddenly veered to the right and he followed, swerving out of the way of an errant bludger, gritting his teeth as he fought against the pitching and juddering of his broom.
"Finite Incantatem." He muttered. "Finite. Finite." It seemed to help a little, and he started to gain on the tiny golden ball as it dropped lower. He could see the Slytherin seeker coming towards him.
Harry's toes were practically brushing the grass the snitch was so low, and he raised his hand, coinciding with a particularly sharp jolt from the cursed broom. He lost his grip on the smooth handle as he was flung upwards, and cried out in surprise.
He landed in a heap and gagged, his broom rising upwards erratically now he was no longer fighting it, and the snitch dropped into his hand.
Harry swore.