Whispers in Her Hair

by Indygodusk


Chapter 4: Second Year - The Quidditch Game


As luck would have it—bad luck, that is—the day of the Slytherin vs. Gryffindor Quidditch game matched the mood of Harry's previous week perfectly. Rain drizzled constantly from the grey sky, making his hair drip, Quidditch robes cling, and broom handle slippery. The few sports charms he'd learned helped, but not nearly enough. As if that wasn't bad enough, the autumn wind whistling down from the Scottish Highlands sent icy fingers sliding up his cuffs and down his collar until his bones ached with it. Harry didn't know if there just weren't any magical spells to make playing in weather like this more comfortable or if wizards just thought it a point of pride to be slightly miserable while playing Quidditch. The older boys just laughed when he asked. At least the Gryffindor team had to be just as uncomfortable.

Slytherin had the advantage in brooms with the whole team being mounted on the cutting edge Nimbus 2001s Mr. Malfoy had gifted to the team, though Harry had to wonder if the broom meant for the Seeker might've gotten lost in shipping if Mr. Malfoy had known in advance that the broom would end up in the hands of Harry Potter—the boy he didn't want his son to be friends with. Most of the Gryffindor team seemed to be flying Cleansweep Fives with the exception of Oliver Wood on one of the newer Nimbus 2000s, though that still wasn't as good of a broom as the Nimbus 2001. Even with the broom advantage, Harry couldn't help but feel nervous, though he was excited too. In his first game he felt a burning need to prove himself.

As it began to rain harder, Harry found himself practically blind. His glasses made it harder instead of easier to see. Realizing he'd forgotten to charm them and feeling like an idiot, he quickly took them off his face and cast an anti-fogging charm along with a water repellant charm before putting them back on and casting the strongest sticking charm he knew. Silently he thanked Hermione for researching and teaching him the spells.

He looked for her in the stands, knowing there was probably no way she'd be sitting on the Slytherin side, much less wearing a bit of green to show support for Harry in his first official game, not when he was competing against Gryffindor, but still secretly hoping he was wrong. At the very least he wanted to exchange a smile. Unfortunately, he couldn't see her wild curls anywhere. His stomach soured and his nerves rose even higher. However, he didn't have time for nerves.

Once the game started, Harry shoved everything down and gave himself over to the rush of competition. There was nothing quite like the thrill and freedom of flying. As the two Seekers took up position high above the stands and circled for the Snitch, Harry found the other boy to be much more conservative in his flying and search patterns, despite being older. Gryffindor's Seeker was a fifth or sixth year with dark blond hair and heavily freckled cheeks. Harry had been distracted looking for Hermione while the Gryffindor team was announced and couldn't exactly remember his name. He didn't bother trying too hard as he needed all of his focus for searching. The other boy hadn't been on the team last year, at least he knew that. The rain lightened to a thin drizzle, making it easier to distinguish the flutter of a Snitch's wings from the reflection of flapping Quidditch robes in the puddles down below.

Flint was taking no chances with losing this year and had his team flying in brutal formations. Gryffindor was used to brutality when it came to Slytherin, but what they'd forgotten to guard against was the combination of brutality and cunning. Flint and Terence worked together seamlessly in the sky, almost seeming to read each other's minds as they passed the Quaffle back and forth in the complicated maneuvers that Terence had pushed for this year after his move from Seeker to Chaser.

Despite being the youngest and smallest Chaser on the field, Draco didn't hold his team back. Flint had adapted their team plays away from the maneuvers he'd favored with Pucey to better fit with Draco's strengths. Although the weakest flyer on the team, Draco had no scruples when it came to running borderline illegal plays that risked injuring other players. He was also loud mouthed, adept with his insults, and flashy, successfully distracting the Gryffindor team at several critical moments to allow Flint and Terance to race past and score a goal. The Weasley twins got so red at one point Harry could practically see the rain steaming off their skin. Harry was grateful Draco was on his side because he'd probably lose his temper just as easily as the Gryffindors did.

Not to be outdone by the Slytherin Chasers, Beaters Artemis and Dulcina made it their mission to be more miserable and distracting than the stormy weather. They sent Bludgers zooming hard at the Gryffindor players, making them frantically swerve to try and avoid injury and creating openings in their defense (though Harry found himself constantly bombarded by Bludgers too, which was a lot less brilliant). The Slytherin Beaters cut in front of Gryffindor players and sandwiched flyers between their brooms in ways that could be excused as accidental but which quickly racked up injuries for their opponents and points for their own team.

Harry sent his own broom weaving unexpectedly through the Gryffindor line, keeping them off balance and almost causing several accidents as they swerved to avoid him or found their brooms knocked into unexpected spirals. Gryffindor pushed back with their own dirty tricks, especially the Weasley twins, who could be absolutely wretched. A couple of fouls were called by the referee against both sides, but much fewer than actually deserved and nothing that got a player kicked out of the game.

Slytherin dominated the field and racked up the points, which just made the Gryffindors more frustrated and sloppy. It looked like they'd really needed those extra practices Flint had denied them by using Professor Snape to book the Quidditch pitch so often in the weeks leading up to the game, especially their novice Seeker (named Skipper as Harry finally learned from the announcer ten minutes into the game).

Maybe if the weather had been better or if Skipper had been playing against a different house for his first game, maybe then it would've been different for Gryffindor, but after almost getting knocked off his broom twice in the first ten minutes and then almost slamming into the ground following Harry's dive when the Snitch appeared for a brief second before disappearing again, Skipper completely lost his nerve. Gryffindor's Seeker spent more time wringing out his robes and watching Harry than looking for the Snitch himself and kept falling for Harry's fake outs, not to mention that he jerked away blindly everytime the Bludger came near (which happened every time he got close to Harry) and kept getting in the way of his own team, inadvertently helping the Slytherins score. As the game went on and he racked up more mistakes, Skipper just got worse and worse. It was almost painful to watch, even as a member of the opposing team. Gryffindor probably would've played better without a Seeker on the field at all. If that had been Harry, he'd have worried about getting beaten up by his teammates in the locker room after the game and then having his body tossed in the Forbidden Forest to be eaten.

The scoreboard reached Slytherin 130 to Gryffindor at a big fat 0.

Even with Skipper's incompetence, it was a tough game. Hours had passed. Almost everyone was exhausted and sporting cuts and bruises. In Gryffindor, Chaser Alicia Spinnet was flying with a grossly swollen knee, Chaser Katie Bell had a twisted wrist, Beaters Fred and George Weasley sported a split lip and a bloody ear between them, and Keeper Oliver Wood's left eye had swollen shut completely with his right eye more angry pink than healthy white.

Not that Slytherin had gotten by unscathed. Flint's forehead and scalp were covered in mottled bruises and thin red scratches after getting whacked overhead by the bristles of Wood's broom. Miles had several crooked and swollen fingers on his left hand, Artemis and Dulcina had matching lumps on their jaws, and Draco's normally immaculate white-blond hair had become plastered down the sides of his face like a dirty grey headkerchief. To no one's surprise, Draco complained the loudest out of everyone on the pitch.

Harry got more and more frustrated as the game dragged on. He wanted Slytherin to win and Gryffindor to lose, but he rather wished the Beaters were a bit less enthusiastic with the Bludgers. It felt like everyone was targeting him instead of each other. He hadn't caught sight of the Snitch since the start of the game because he'd been too busy flying in crazy loops and zigzags to avoid getting hit by the constant bombardment from both teams. If he hadn't gone through Valeria's training he'd probably have puked, passed out, or broken a bone by now.

He tried to turn the situation to his advantage. The next time the Bludger zipped his way, he dived down right into the path of Chaser Angelina Johnson. The Bludger glanced off her shoulder, making her drop the Quaffle. Draco scooped it up and zipped forward, sending it soaring through the hoop on Wood's blind left side and bringing the score up to 140, though the fact that Wood still almost blocked it was a testament to his skill.

Several minutes later Harry repeated the same maneuver. Johnson dodged the Bludger this time, but her shoulder injury had weakened her goal throw enough that Miles was able to intercept it and toss it behind his back to Terence, who zoomed forward. Dulcina's bat slammed the other Bludger straight down the Gryffindor line, making them scatter, while Flint barrelled through, bashing both Bell and a Weasley to the side in wobbly rolls that cleared a path for Terence to shoot through and toss the Quaffle through the goal hoop.

The boos and groans from Gryffindor were drowned out by the screaming cheers of Slytherin as the scoreboard ticked up to 150-0 for Slytherin. Skipper must've realized that if he didn't catch the Snitch before Slytherin made another goal it would no longer matter if he caught it at all. When the whistle blew again Skipper flew right up on Harry's tail and refused to be shaken off, much like that stupid Bludger still trying to kill him.

However, the only way Harry was letting Skipper get the Snitch first was over his dead body. Finally catching a flutter out of the corner of his eye, Harry dived, the other Seeker bolting after him in hot pursuit. When Harry realized a second later that the fluttering he'd seen wasn't the wings of the Snitch but just an oversized feathered headdress on a pale-haired Ravenclaw girl in the stands, he pulled up sharply in frustration.

Before he could catch his breath, he saw a Bludger whistling straight for his face. Crying out, Harry sloth-rolled under his broom and dived, skimming over the heads of the spectators and knocking off someone's hat with his head before he managed to pull up again, forehead stinging and heart racing. Skipper was too close on Harry's heels and too poor of a flyer to do the same. The Bludger glanced off the tip of Skipper's broom and sent him sideways into one of the sopping wet flags above the stands, tangling him in the cloth and spinning him around the pole until he slammed into it face-first with a loud crunch that made Harry flinch in horrified sympathy.

Obviously fed up, Wood tucked the Quaffle he'd just caught under one arm and called a time out. Skipper was freed from the flag by Madame Hooch and floated down to Madame Pomfrey while the rest of his team gathered around dolefully. Thankfully the crunch seemed to have come from a broken broomstick, not a broken neck, but Skipper was obviously injured as blood poured down his face. Once they figured out that he wasn't dead, the rest of the Gryffindor team gathered in another area, seemingly more grateful for a breather than concerned about their teammate.

The Slytherin team gathered by their goal hoops. The rain chose that moment to pause for the first time since the game started. It could be a good omen but Harry was too frustrated for optimism. He saw his future fate in the body of the battered and bloody Seeker and spoke up before anyone else could. "Look guys, I'm not saying you aren't playing great, but could you please stop knocking the Bludger straight at me every sodding second?! We're on the same team, remember?"

The Beaters exchanged a quick look before Dulcina spoke. "That's not us, Harry. Promise. Something's wrong with one of the Bludgers. One of the Gryffs must've charmed it to chase you around. We've been trying to keep it off you, but no matter how hard I crack it or how good my aim, one of the Bludgers always goes straight back at you."

Artemis nodded. "It's true. I saw it make a ninety degree turn and go straight up to try to knock out your teeth as you flew past. Bludgers don't move like that, or at least they shouldn't without outside help."

"Those cheats!" Draco snarled, punching a hand into his fist.

Huffing mirthlessly, Harry sluiced his dripping hair back off his brow, too tired to care that it probably made his scar more prominent. "To be fair, we probably cheated a whole lot more first."

"But!" Miles pointed a finger in the air using his uninjured hand, "Madam Hooch has the equipment warded with the same anti-cheating spells used by the International Quidditch League. No student, nor even most adults, should be able to get around wards like that. It's probably why everyone's ignoring it. It shouldn't be true so they won't believe it's true. Adults are often stupid like that."

Flint crossed his arms and nodded. "Generations of Slytherins have tried and failed. I wonder how they did it?" he grumbled, glancing across the field at a flurry of movement around the downed Seeker, who was weaving on his feet as blood covered his mouth and chin and trying to mount back up on his broom without much success. Madam Pomfrey was angrily berating him. "Skipper's not coming back up," Flint said.

"Luckily for Gryffindor," Draco sneered.

Terence chuckled. "I swear I saw the Weasley twins aim Bludgers at his back at least twice, trying to bring him down themselves." He craned his neck to see into the shadowed archway leading to Gryffindor's locker room. "They'll probably send out their reserve Seeker. I heard they found someone this year, though I wasn't able to get any names. Whomever it is will be fresh and probably loads better than that loser Skipper."

"Hard not to be. You up to it Harry?" Miles asked.

"Of course," Harry said staunchly, pushing back his shoulders and trying not to look as tired as he felt.

Obviously he failed as Artemis looked him over and pursed her lips. "Harry looks exhausted." She wrung water out of her dark braid. "Not that I completely blame him with that cursed Bludger nipping at his heels the whole time and him with no bat."

Flint looked over at Harry, eyes hard. "We're all tired, but I need you to catch that Snitch for us, Harry. How do you want to play this? You want a Beater on your tail to help you out?"

Frowning, Harry shook his head. "No, that'll weaken our defence too much. I don't want us losing our lead and, no offense, but both Artemis and Dulcina have trouble keeping up with me." The Beaters looked at each other and shrugged agreeably. Everyone on the team thought Harry was a bit insane with his flying, though they couldn't agree if it was due to Valeria's training breaking him mentally or Harry's unfortunate Gryffindor ancestry. "I'll just have to fly too fast for the Bludger and catch that Snitch as soon as it makes another appearance." Harry shook out his wrists and rolled his shoulders and neck, trying to work out the tension. "I can do it."

"Okay." Flint sent him a nod, believing in him. It filled Harry with much needed warmth.

Hooch blew her whistle to signal an announcement. Madam Pomfrey had Skipper laying on a stretcher with a cloth pressed against his bloody nose and his feet elevated. Floating the stretcher up, she disappeared with him into the medical tent.

Announcer Lee Jordan's voice filled the stadium, "With Skipper too injured to continue, Gryffindor has decided to substitute in another player. Please put your hands together for Gryffindor's reserve Seeker... Hermione Granger!"

Harry froze in midair, shocked and disbelieving as out of the Gryffindor tunnel zipped a familiar head of bushy brown curls. "Wha...?" He blinked and pinched himself, but nothing changed.

"Is this a joke?" Draco cut in front of Harry's broom with a glare. "Why didn't you tell us she was on their team?"

"I—I didn't know," Harry said hollowly. Was this why she'd been avoiding him lately? Trying to keep her new status secret? His chest hurt.

Artemis looked Hermione over and wrinkled her nose. "She doesn't look like much. Is she as good as Harry?"

Clenching his teeth, Harry adjusted the fit of his gloves. "No. I'm better."

"She doesn't change anything. Stay focused, keep up the good work, and go win this," Flint said, sending them forward.

Everyone resumed their positions on the field. Harry refused to look at Hermione, instead keeping his gaze roaming for the Snitch and the approach of that rogue Bludger despite play not starting yet. For some reason, he was having trouble catching his breath.

As he circled near the Gryffindor line, one of the Weasley twins looked up and caught his eye, immediately straightening on his broom. "Ha! Bet you didn't expect her, did you Potter?" He smirked widely, making the split on his lip start bleeding down his chin again. He lifted bruised knuckles to his face and dabbed at his mouth with a grimace, shoulders starting to droop before he remembered himself and straightened them again as he returned his attention to Harry, plastering a confident look on his face. "Right George?"

George Weasley stopped picking at the scab on his ear to lean back on his broom and give an over-exaggerated laugh, pointing up at Harry. "And she told us all his secrets too!" He turned to his brother but kept watching Harry from the corner of his eye as he spoke. "Potter's so pitiful, Fred. It's sad. Can you believe it? The freak didn't even notice it was all an act? After all, why else would she ever hang out with a Slytherin? Why would anyone unless they wanted something?"

"Which she got," called Fred with a snigger. He swung his bat through the air and laughed loudly in concert with his brother.

It was so over the top that Harry knew they were just trying to get inside his head. Nevertheless, it was working. Teeth clenching, he looked away, feeling hot and itchy beneath the skin as he tried to catch his breath. He wanted it to be a lie but there was too much that made sense. And how did they know to call him a freak, just like the Dursleys? Somehow he must've slipped at some point and accidentally mentioned it to Hermione, not realizing it. What else had he said in secret that she'd laughed about behind his back with her housemates? Each inhale burned like an ember scraping down his throat. He felt devastated, like something had broken inside and he was bleeding out.

The whistle blew to restart play, releasing the Bludgers and Quaffle and restarting the Snitch from wherever it had been hiding. Feeling like he was about to shatter, Harry jerked his broom away from the Gryffindor line and circled the pitch in a standard search pattern. He didn't have the focus to get creative.

"Harry," Hermione called out from behind him. Her voice sounded sincere and pleading, but obviously he didn't know how to tell her truth from her lies. He had no interest in listening to whatever she had to say right now. Obviously he couldn't trust it. Couldn't trust her. Using the excuse of the rapidly approaching Bludger, he spun away in the opposite direction.

The rain started up again, drizzling off his hair and down his neck to slide past his collar and over his back in icy rivulets that he welcomed for the first time, hoping it would cool the humiliation burning in his veins. He made another sharp turn and rolled to get away from the hexed Bludger. He was so done with this game. He just wanted to catch the Snitch and leave, go find somewhere small and dark to curl up in and be alone.

Looping away as the Bludger returned, Harry found himself unexpectedly facing Hermione. Rising up to get farther from the Bludger, he jerked his face away to avoid seeing the mocking look probably lurking in her eyes and found himself staring at the Snitch. It fluttered just behind her shoulder. His stomach lurched, praying she hadn't noticed it yet.

Doing his best not to react, Harry held position as his mind raced. He had to figure out how to get it without letting her know it was there. No way was he letting Hermione of all people catch the Snitch, not after the way she'd tricked and betrayed him.

Unfortunately in his distraction, he hesitated in one place too long. Harry only had a split second to notice the Bludger whistling towards him before it slammed into his arm with a *CRACK* he both felt and heard. Pain reverberated through his entire body. Harry cried out in shock and agony as he fell across the handle of his broom, almost falling off. The pain throbbed sharp and unrelenting. He knew his arm had to be broken. It hurt too much to be otherwise, not to mention the unnatural shape it made inside his sleeve when he forced his watery eyes to open and look down at it. He tried to move his arm and instantly regretted it as the pain spiked and his vision tunneled.

Sucking in whimpering breaths through his clenched teeth, Harry closed his eyes again and pressed his cheek to his rain-slicked broom handle, fighting to stay conscious. The arm of his glasses cut into his face, but it was a small pain compared to the white hot throbbing in his arm. Hoping the pain wouldn't feel so overwhelming if he had something else to focus on, he forced his eyes to open and saw it.

Miraculously, the Snitch was still there. Harry blinked furiously to clear the tears from his eyes. Hermione hadn't noticed and was flying away from the Snitch and up towards where Harry lay folded over his broom. This was his chance.

Ignoring the pain as best he could, numbing his thoughts, Harry gritted his teeth, pushed himself upright, and focused everything he had on the Snitch. He had to catch it before Hermione. He had to show everyone that he wasn't a freak and earn their respect. He had to win. From the corner of his eye he saw the Bludger rapidly approaching him again, but Harry planned to be gone by the time it got here. He tipped his broom down almost vertically and dived, pushing the speed, knowing he was a better flyer with a better broom, knowing he had to prove that he was a better Seeker than Hermione—who had tricked him and laughed at him behind his back with the other Gryffindors.

Hermione's eyes went wide as Harry flew straight at her, but Harry wasn't focused on her face. He didn't want to see her face. He only had eyes for the Snitch. Seeing the direction of his gaze, she looked over her shoulder and saw the Snitch. Her broom jerking sideways in the air as she started to turn. The Snitch abruptly zipped over Hermione's flapping curls and up towards Harry. She yelped and, quick as a snake, corrected course and took off after it.

Harry was now closer to the Snitch than Hermione, though not for long. Hermione would be here in a second and she had two good arms, not just one. Harry had to hurry.

Letting go of his broom, pushing it to go as fast as possible and stay stable, Harry stretched out his good hand, fingers trembling with the strain… but the fluttering Snitch stayed just out of reach. His fingertips grazed the Snitch's rain-slick golden body... almost closing around a wingtip once, twice—so close—but then he saw Hermione in the corner of his eye and his eyes flicked over to her her rain-soaked curls for a split second—those cursed curls—just long enough that the Snitch escaped and swerved into a downward spiral. Harry's eyes snapped back to it as he followed, leaning forward and lunging to the side to try and grab it, forgetting that he was only holding onto the broom with his knees.

Without warning, gravity ripped his broom away from his body. Harry instinctively reached back to catch himself with his broken arm and screamed when his forearm banged against the handle, sending the broom spinning away and filling his body with excruciating pain that blotted out everything else.

Harry fell through the air.

Something slammed into him, driving the air from his lungs and cutting off his scream. Warm arms closed tightly around his body, covering his head and bracing his arm just before they slammed into the ground and rolled off the broom together, skidding across the muddy grass until friction tore them apart. Harry slid to a stop, robes soaked and tangled around his body.

Fighting not to black out against the agony or puke at the pain, Harry wrenched open his eyes and fought for air. His vision was filled with a patchwork of dark spots and dark clouds dimly seen through his mud-splattered spectacles. He couldn't hear anything through the roaring in his ears. As his body finally started to listen and inhaled a sweet lungful of air, the charms he'd cast at the start of the game kicked in and forced the mud to ooze off his lenses. It plopped onto his cheeks and slid down his face in gritty trails.

Hermione's face appeared overhead, blocking out the grey sky with tear-bright eyes, bloody lips, and white cheeks coated in streaks of brown mud and flecks of yellowed grass. Her red lips moved as her hands cupped his cheeks, infusing him with life and warmth. He couldn't hear her at first but slowly the sound started coming back as if she was melting away the ice numbing his ears. "—arry! Are you alright? Please be okay. Please, Harry!" Tears dripped off her cheeks onto his face in hot little splashes. He could hear the roaring crowd.

Harry opened his mouth, trying to gather his thoughts enough to say something to get her to stop crying, only to lose them again when he saw the matted mass of her curls rising up around her head like the flaring hood of a cobra.

"Ouch!" Rearing back, Hermione stuck a hand into her floating hair and yanked it back out with a wince. In her hand rested the golden Snitch. Its wings fluttered weakly against a cage of entangling brown strands ripped from her head. "I caught it?" Eyes wide, she looked at Harry and then up at Professor McGonagall high above in the announcer box. A grin split her face. She lifted her hand into the air and waved it wildly. "I caught it!"

Harry's stomach dropped. "No," he breathed shakily, feeling sick.

"What's that in her hand?" Lee Jordan's magically amplified voice boomed across the pitch. "I don't believe it! Granger caught both Potter and the Snitch! Game over! Gryffindor and Slytherin are tied 150 to 150! Game over and Granger saves the day with a tie!" Over the renewed shouts, cheers, and screams, Jordan added, "I guess Skipper might not get killed today after all."

Skipper might not be killed, but Harry wasn't so sure about himself. Maybe it would be better to just roll over face-first into the mud puddle soaking through the back of his hair and robes and drown.

"Inappropriate, Mr. Jordan," Professor McGonagall snapped before adding in a completely different tone, "but well done Miss Granger and Gryffindor!"

"It's a tie, not a win," Professor Snape growled loud enough for the mic to pick up and Harry knew that even if his peers somehow miraculously didn't kill him, Snape would happily correct the oversight.

Blinking rapidly against the sting in his eyes but unwilling to give them the satisfaction of seeing him so obviously defeated, Harry pressed his lips tight and pushed himself up with his good arm until he was sitting instead of laying pitifully flat on his back. The world spun and his vision tunneled again.

Maybe he'd already passed out and Hermione catching the Snitch was just a hallucination? But if today had proved nothing else, Harry knew that he really wasn't that lucky. His broken arm hung from his shoulder like a dead weight, dead to everything except pain. He hurt too much for this to be a dream. Nausea flexed its claws and tore through his stomach. He swallowed hard, acid burning his throat. Experience had taught him that throwing up with a broken bone just made everything hurt worse. He swallowed again.

Hermione turned back to look at him, smiling proudly with teardrops still trembling on her lashes. "I caught it, Harry!"

"With your hair," he snapped, sounding like he was gargling gravel. Harry glared until her smile faltered and her eyes dropped from his face to his arm.

Lower lip trembling, nose red, she wiped the back of her hand across her cheeks to wipe away her tears. "I—I'm glad you're okay. That looks really painful."

"It is," he said curtly.

Hermione flinched. "Harry…?"

She reached out to touch him but he slapped her hand away. "Don't touch me! You—you—" he barely swallowed back the cauldron full of spiteful words hissing like acid in his throat, wanting to splash out and burn away her happiness until she felt as miserable as he did. Words like traitor and troll or, even worse, the forbidden Mudblood. He knew that one would sting, would probably even make her run away crying, but even with how bitter he felt he couldn't bring himself to use something so awful and so untrue.

Before she could react, Professor Lockhart appeared and abruptly yanked Harry to his feet. "That was a nasty fall, Harry my boy. Let's take a look at you."

Not expecting to be standing so quickly, Harry swayed and swallowed hard. He tried to breathe shallowly to avoid passing out as spots once more dominated his vision.

"Broke your arm, did you? I'm well-known for my healing prowess. I'll have that fixed up in a shake of a hippogriff's tail." Even with spotty vision Harry could see the bright glint of Lockhart smiling towards the stands and tossing back his gleaming hair. The sunlit look was even more obviously a glamour than usual considering the sun hadn't come out from behind the dark clouds once all day. Lockhart turned to Harry with his wand raised. "Now just hold still, Harry."

Harry took a step back. "No, please don't! It's fine! Madam Pomfrey is comin—" he turned to get away but was too slow. Ignoring his objections, Lockhart swished his wand and cast a spell.

Harry's arm flopped forward grotesquely, the bones seemingly gone. He touched his arm and it squished beneath his fingers, making Harry feel even more queasy. He lifted it and it bent in several places where arms were never meant to bend.

"What did you do?!" Hermione shrieked, grabbing at her hair.

In the stands, the crowd got louder. They were probably pointing and laughing at Harry's predicament.

"Ah well, yes, sometimes... that… happens." And with a fake smile, Lockhart stepped back, twirled his cape, and disappeared into the crowd just as Madam Pomfrey and several other Professors finally reached them.

-oo0oo-

At some point Hermione disappeared off with her new friends and Harry ended up in the hospital wing, where he spent the rest of the day drinking regular doses of a putrid potion called Skele-Gro to regrow the bones of his arm. From the way the vein throbbed in Madam Pomfrey's temple and the fixed smile on her face, he could tell that she was almost as irritated by Lockhart's intervention as Harry was. Several people tried to visit him, including Hermione, but he turned them all away, not wanting to hear her lies or their recriminations on top of his own.

Harry's sleep was fitful as his bones regrew. In the middle of the night, he woke to a strange sensation. His brow was being sponged by none other than Dobby, the strange house elf from the summer. The emotional elf spewed apologies while hitting himself over the head and pinching his large floppy ears, in the process revealing that he was the one responsible for both the closed gateway at King's Cross Station and the rogue Bludger during the game. Before the exhausted Harry could get revenge, Dobby revealed that he'd only been trying to protect Harry from the Chamber of Secrets, which was real and had been opened before, allowing terrible things to happen.

"Dobby knows Harry Potter is a great wizard. Sir made Britain a better place for House Elves. Dobby is sorry, but better a grievous injury that sends Sir home than a hideous death." Big fat tears dripped pitifully from Dobby's bulbous eyes.

Harry really would prefer to avoid an even more grievous injury, thanks, but he could tell that Dobby sincerely meant well even if he was a bit crazy.

When Dobby started punishing himself again for being a bad elf, banging his head against the wall and side table loudly, Harry couldn't take it anymore. "It's alright, Dobby, I understand that you were trying to help me, even if I don't want that kind of help going forward. I forgive you. Please stop hurting yourself. You're a good house elf."

Wringing his hands, Dobby sobbed and wailed even louder. "Dobby is not worthy of the great goodness of Harry Potter!" And with that, the elf popped away before Harry could ask him any more questions.

Mind racing, Harry tossed and turned for over an hour before finally falling asleep, only to be woken up again when he heard Madam Pomfrey and several professors bringing in another patient. Harry felt chilled even beneath the thick hospital blanket on hearing that another student had been petrified.

The victim, Colin Creevey, was the annoying first year Gryffindor with the camera who kept bothering Harry for pictures and autographs and insisted on interrupting Harry all of the time to merely ask, "All right, Harry?" and then giggling or looking awed at Harry's response, which was usually just a terse, "Yeah." His friends always teased him when that happened and Merlin forbid Snape see Harry being treated like a celebrity by the kid—by a Gryffindor—because that just made him act even more sour, as if it wasn't obvious that Harry hated it himself.

By the time Harry was released the next day with a fully healed arm, everyone had heard about Creevey being petrified and the gossip bounced between the outcome of the Quidditch game to who was the heir of Slytherin and how to keep yourself safe. Within hours, a busy trade in protective amulets and talismans had sprung up. Unfortunately, someone remembered Harry's irritation with Creevey's behavior, put it together with his hatred of Mrs. Norris (though really, everyone hated that cat but Filch) and his anger over losing the Snitch, and decided that made Harry, who'd survived the last Dark Lord under mysterious circumstances, the most likely person to be attacking Gryffindors as the heir of Slytherin.

On his way to the Slytherin dungeons from the hospital wing, Harry was jinxed three times, though luckily they were all minor. Not knowing any of the counter spells and being alone against a group of bullies each time, he'd had to run away to get them to break eye contact so the spells would end. Trying to run while your legs were dancing wildly was not easy, nor was running with honey drizzling out your nose and making the floor slippery. He was just lucky that none of his attackers knew more serious spells.

He could only imagine what awful state his body would be in if he'd been stupid enough to eat anything from that box of treats he'd been offered by that group of earnest first year Hufflepuffs, especially after one of them mentioned getting it from the Weasley twins with orders to share it with poor injured Harry Potter.

Of course, just when he thought he was finally safe on reaching the familiar dank corridors in the dungeons, he was ambushed by Pucey, Bole, and Derrick. If Harry hadn't been so paranoid after the other attacks he would've fallen right into their trap. Seeing the hems of their robes peeking out from behind a statue, he jerked to a stop, eyes darting wildly. Too impatient to keep waiting, they jumped out of hiding. "There's Potter. Get him!"

Harry pivoted on his toes and pelted around the corner, the sound of their drumming feet hot on his heels. They probably would've broken his arm all over again or turned his tongue into a large snake if Peeves hadn't flown by cackling, followed by a group of shrieking students covered in pungent purple liquid and being chased by a flock of pink moths. In all the commotion Harry managed to escape and double back to the door of the Slytherin common room.

Expecting to be greeted by a lynch mob after all of that, Harry found himself pleasantly surprised. Instead of everyone immediately ganging up to roast his body in the flaming hearth, he was merely met with sneers, scowls, and insults from half of his house. The other half being made up of various factions: some who thought him unworthy of their attention, others who didn't notice or care about anything unless it directly affected their schemes, those who decided to stay neutral and gather more information, and a very small but special number of friends and allies who supported him.

Then of course there was Draco, who arrogantly acted like he got to be the special exception to everything and flit from faction to faction and mood to mood according to his whims. Over the course of that first day, Draco acted mad at Harry and spewed cutting insults until he got bored of Harry's lack of reaction, then switched to acting like Harry's friend again and demanding entertainment, telling other people to shut up when they repeated the same insults Draco had been spewing only an hour before. This irritating pattern kept up over the following weeks. Draco mocked Harry during meals, classes, and training, but wouldn't put up with anyone else doing the same (unless it was his father, who had scathing things to say about Harry every time Draco made the mistake of mentioning Harry in a letter home). Harry didn't know why Mr. Malfoy hated him (though it was probably a former Death Eater thing) or why Draco had decided to not hate Harry and chose instead to be a crappy and inconsistent friend.

At first Harry suspected that it was some sort of complicated plot on Draco's part, but then Draco tried to confront Bole and Derrick for lying about Harry in what could only be termed an act best suited to a Gryffindor and that theory fell apart. In the common room, Bole and Derrick were loudly gossiping about how Harry was actually a spy for the muggles and had purposely lost the Snitch to kiss up to his mudblood girlfriend. Harry, studying nearby in a chair with his head down, set his jaw and did his best to ignore them. It wasn't even the craziest of the rumors they'd started, but somehow it made Draco feel the need to go up to them right away and defend Harry's honor like he was some kind of dark knight and Harry a damsel in distress.

With Greg and Vincent being distracted on the far side of the room, Draco strutted up to the two older boys all alone and boldly demanded they stop cashing in on lies everyone knew their families were too poor to pay for. In response, Bole and Derrick stood up, stole Draco's wand, jinxed Greg and Vincent when they tried to run over to protect Draco, and started rearranging Draco's face into a fruit bowl. Before Harry could join in, the fight was broken up by Artemis and Dulcina, who luckily knew the counter-jinxes to restore Draco's appearance without making him go up to the hospital wing to get his nose to stop looking like a pear, his cheeks like apples, and his eyebrows like bananas.

When the bewildered Harry followed Draco back to their room to say thanks, Draco just gave a jerky nod and grumbled, "Of course. I'm not going to let people say things like that about my friends, though I'm going to get back at Bole and Derrick for this, you'll see."

Needless to say, Harry didn't get Draco at all.

-oo0oo-

When Harry finally got up the courage to approach Valeria the next day, she surprisingly enough didn't kill or hex him. What she did was in some ways worse. Closing the book in her lap, she slid it into her bag and stood up, staring straight into his eyes. "You disappointed me, Harry."

Feeling slapped, Harry tried to explain. "It wasn't my fault. The Bludger was hexed to specifically chase me and—"

The corners of Valeria's mouth twisted down as she cut a hand through the air. "And nothing. Here's a life lesson: someone's always cheating. Always. Usually us, sometimes them. That's a distraction and an excuse. Here's a better question for you—how did you react?"

She gave him only a beat of silence to think before continuing. "I'll tell you. You were doing fine, adapting your flying and search patterns to make up for it until that Granger girl came out of the tunnel. It rattled you. Even down in the stands we could see that. Whatever the Weasley Beaters said next shook you worse. You let everyone see that too. You let them get into your head," she tapped his forehead with a sharp nail, "and that's why you lost—not the Bludger, not your broken arm, and not Granger. You'd already left the game before that Bludger even hit or the Snitch was caught. If you'd kept your focus like I trained you to, you'd have caught the Snitch and Slytherin would. have. won." She punctuated each word with a poke in the chest, hard enough to leave bruises.

Feeling like he was bleeding from a thousand cuts, Harry swallowed to bring moisture to his dry mouth and struggled to produce words. He had more excuses and justifications—especially since Hermione had only caught the Snitch by accident in her hair and not even on purpose—but he swallowed them down despite the action feeling like he swallowed shards of glass, knowing Valeria didn't want to hear them and would start jinxing him if he tried. As angry as he was at Hermione, a part of him knew that what Valeria had said was true. He had become rattled, letting the Weasley twins' words take root in his heart and distract him. He had wanted the game over and done so he could retreat to privately lick his wounds.

At that moment, Flint came strolling into the room. Valeria turned away from Harry dismissively and moved to join him. Looking past her to Harry, Flint's expression went tight.

Lungs tight and stomach burning, Harry turned both of them. There was only one thing he could say that they might accept. "I'm sorry."

Wrapping herself around Flint's arm, head level with his chest, Valeria stared at Harry for a long, drawn out moment before nodding curtly. "Good. Feel sorry and use that as a goad to get better. Slytherin can still win the House Cup. Thanks to Flint's strategy and great plays from the rest of the team, we had enough points to tie the game. Stay focused, do everything Flint says, don't let someone else catch the Snitch, and win the rest of our matches. Maybe then I'll think about forgiving you."

"I will," Harry promised fervently, looking from her to the still silent Flint.

Brow furrowed, Flint met Harry's eyes and finally spoke. "I put out my neck for you and chose you for my team. You made me look bad." Harry flinched, wanting to sink through the floor and disappear. "I'm not happy, but at least we didn't lose. I expect better from you." Flint took Valeria's bag from her hand and slid it over his opposite shoulder before pausing. "That said, don't let this break you. I'm glad you didn't get hurt worse. Crap happens during a game, but you're still my choice for Slytherin Seeker. I'll see you at practice." Inclining his head, Flint put his hand on Valeria's lower back and ushered her out.


AN: Sometimes, life just isn't fair. Poor Harry and poor Hermione! Thanks to my awesome beta readers! Check out my Indygodusk tumblr for images of characters. Please review as I love and adore reading them!