Kindred Spirits

by Tailkinker

This is a work of fan fiction based on the Harry Potter series and the Sailor Moon franchise created respectively by J.K. Rowling and Naoko Takeuchi. The characters and settings belong to their respective owners and no copyright infringement is intended. This story is written purely for entertainment purposes and should not be considered as part of the official canon of either series.

Swarm the Seeker

"We've got the best team, with the best seeker," boasted George.

"Slytherin won't know what hit them!" proclaimed Fred.

"All right, you two," said Alicia. "Pipe down. Save that enthusiasm for the game."

Harry set down his last bit of toast. "Don't think I can eat another bite. Not unless I want to see all my breakfast again."

"You should definitely stop, then," said Fred.

"Too right," agreed George. "Nobody wants to see you chunder."

"Five minutes," called Oliver.

Harry glanced over at Ron. His friend's expression was rather downcast, a far cry from his normal excitement over Quidditch.

"Still no sign of Scabbers?"

"No," said Ron morosely. "I think that Hermione's cat just...scared him too much. You know? The thing's massive, and has taken a few jumps at him in the past."

"Yeah, but you can't really—"

"I know, Harry," snapped Ron. "'Cat things.' But still..." He sighed. "I've had Scabbers for years now...maybe the lady at the pet store was right. Maybe he's just...too old."

Harry nodded. "Could be. If so, we'll remember the good times."

"Like when he bit Goyle," said Ron with a chuckle.

"Gonna head down now, if that's all right with you," said Harry. He got to his feet. "Come on. You'll feel better after a good game."

Most of the rest of the team was getting to their feet. Only Katie Bell was still eating, and she hastily began to build her eggs, toast and bacon into a sandwich.

Hotaru tapped Harry on the shoulder, making him jump.

"I'd wish you luck," she said, "but I don't think you need it. You've got this, Harry."

Across the Hall, the Slytherin team was also getting to their feet. The two teams met at the main doors.

"Good day for flying," sneered Marcus Flint, the Slytherin team captain.

Oliver glanced at the ceiling. Its enchantments showed the sky over the castle—dark gray stormclouds and dense rain, falling as much sideways as down.

"Looks like fun," he agreed sarcastically.

Draco Malfoy sidled over towards Harry. "Flint tried to postpone the game, because of my arm. I told him it was fine." He sneered. "Even with only one arm, I could beat you to the Snitch."

"In your dreams," said Harry.

"But I suppose it barely matters," said Draco. "We might be close to equals as Seekers, but the Slytherin team is vastly superior in every other way. Hope you've got your hanky, Potter."

He turned and stalked off. Harry scowled.

"Remember, Harry," whispered Hotaru. "You've beaten him every other time you've faced each other on a broom. Even the first time you sat on one."

Harry grinned. "That's true. I'm surprised you remember that."

"I think everybody in our year remembers that," said Hotaru, smiling. "You kind of made yourself the focus of the entire class."

Harry wasn't sure if the spectators were enjoying the game at all. The rain had escalated into a relentless downpour that soaked everyone to the bone. To make matters worse, a thick fog had rolled in, enveloping the surroundings in a shroud of grey. The combination of rain and fog created a disorienting and eerie atmosphere, making it nearly impossible to see anything beyond the immediate vicinity. The Quidditch pitch had become a hazy, obscured battleground, adding an extra layer of challenge to the already intense match. Harry strained his eyes, squinting through the mist, relying on his instincts and the faint sound of cheering to guide his movements. It would be a test of skill, perseverance, and sheer determination to catch the elusive Snitch in these treacherous conditions.

Luckily, Hermione had charmed his glasses to repel water, saving him from complete blindness. During a quick time-out, she had come to his rescue.

A glimmer of gold appeared in the near distance, causing Harry's heart to skip a beat. He leaned into his broom, willing it to higher speeds, and slashed through the rain and mist in pursuit of the Snitch. Just as he focused on his goal, he heard a yelp and glanced back to see Draco Malfoy maneuvering his own broom, narrowly avoiding a collision in the obscured surroundings.

Draco started to pour on the speed. Harry knew that Draco's newer Nimbus 2001 had a slight speed advantage over his own Nimbus 2000, but he'd caught Draco off-guard. The outcome would be a close call, but Harry believed he had a chance to reach it before Draco.

And then he felt a chilling gust of wind, and saw frost start to form on the handle of his broom. His attenton shifted from the Snitch to the clouds, and saw a spectral figure gliding through the mist. The presence of the Dementor sent shivers down his spine. Its tattered black cloak billowed behind it, and its skeletal hand reached out, as though beckoning to him.

He fumbled for his wand, but already the Dementor's aura was overwhelming him. The wand slipped from his chilled fingers, blown away by the wind. He banked his broom away from the Dementor, but realized that he was turning into at least two more. His hands went stiff, and he was blown off course as he lost control of the broom. He lost his grip, and fell towards the earth below. Yet another Dementor paced him, arms outstretched, and Harry's world once again went black.

He awoke in the Hospital Wing.

This is getting old, he mused. He slowly sat up, his head still spinning, and fumbled around on the nightstand for his glasses.

"Ah, you're awake," said Madam Pomfrey. He managed to get his glasses in place, just in time to see her offering him a large chunk of chocolate. "Well? Take it."

He took the chocolate and took a careful bite.

"Chocolate's the best treatment for short-term Dementor exposure," said Madam Pomfrey. "It helps generate positive emotions, to replace those stolen by the Dementor. Why Albus allows those fiends around the school—"

Harry swallowed the bite of chocolate. "I'm not sure that allows is the best word. I don't think the Ministry's given him any choice. I remember falling, but I figured I'd be hurt worse than this."

"Professor Dumbledore cast the Arresto Momentum charm on you," said Madam Pomfrey. "When you hit the ground, you did so quite gently. I've never seen the man so furious. Over fifty Dementors swarmed the Quidditch pitch, and at least ten of them pursued you." She shook her head. "Your friend, Miss Tomoe, was also brought in."

"Oh, no," whispered Harry. He glanced around the Hospital Wing, but there were at least three beds behind privacy screens, so he couldn't see her immediately.

"She's still unconscious. I've examined her, though, and it seems to be simple exhaustion, not even as severe as last time."

"What did she do?" asked Harry.

"I'm sorry, but they didn't provide me with any details," said Madam Pomfrey. "I knew you'd be concerned about her, so I ran a full battery of tests on her. Anything I could think of that wasn't invasive. Her blood sugar is down and her electrolytes are out of balance. Ergo, simple exhaustion. A good night's sleep and a big meal will fix her right up."

Harry breathed a sigh of relief.

"Now, if you're up for it, a few of your friends want to see you," continued Pomfrey. "But only if you're up for it. Say the word, and I'll kick them all out."

"Sure," said Harry.

Madam Pomfrey moved towards the door of the Hospital Wing. "You've got five minutes."

Ron and Hermione immediately ran in. Behind them, Harry was surprised to see, was Draco Malfoy.

"Mate," said Ron. "What's your secret? Do you carry Dementor bait or something?" He had a rather large cloth-wrapped bundle under his arm, which he shifted nervously.

Harry snorted. "Wish I knew. Then I could get rid of it."

"Thank God you're all right," said Hermione. Her eyes were quite red, as though she had been crying.

"Thank Dumbledore," said Harry. "What happened to Hotaru?"

"When you started to fall, she jumped out of her seat and ran to the edge of the stand," said Ron. "She tried to cast a spell, but a Dementor came after her. She screamed, and did that shield thing again, and it turned and ran."

"She collapsed right after," said Hermione. "We brought her in. Do you know how she's doing?"

"Madam Pomfrey says she's all right, just suffering from exhaustion. She'll be all right after a night's sleep."

Hermione let out a sigh of relief. "That's good to know"

Harry frowned. "Hey...do you know what happened to my wand and my broom?"

"I got your wand," said Hermione, passing it to him. "It landed fairly close to us. But your broom..." She bit her lip.

Harry's heart sank. He was certain that this would be bad news.

"The wind caught it pretty good," said Ron apologetically. "It got blown halfway across the school grounds. And...well...it blew into the Whomping Willow."

He set the bundle on Harry's lap, and opened it. Within were several broken fragments of what used to be his beloved racing broom.

Harry's eyes welled up with tears as he picked up the handle grip. "Maybe...it could be fixed?"

"Sorry, Potter," said Draco. "Even if the pieces could be re-assembled, the charms are certainly broken. I'm afraid it'll never fly again."

Looking up at Draco, Harry found himself taken aback by the absence of his usual scorn.

"Don't look at me like that," Draco snapped. "I'm just gutted to see a good broom destroyed."

Harry snorted. "That's more like it."

Pausing for a moment, Hermione chimed in, her voice filled with sympathy. "Harry, I'm really sorry about your broom. It was a great loss."

Draco glanced at Hermione, his expression softening slightly. "Yeah, Potter. Granger's right. It's a damn shame."

"We lost the game, then?" asked Harry.

"Yeah," Ron admitted with a hint of frustration. "Though when you fell, this git went on to grab the Snitch."

"I didn't realize he'd fallen until after I grabbed it," said Draco, raising his hands defensively. "Once I realized he'd fallen, I let it go, but you know the rules. Game was over, and we'd won. I tried to convince Flint to reschedule, but he wouldn't have it."

"Why?" asked Harry.

"Because this didn't count!" yelled Draco, frustration lacing his voice. "If I'm going to beat you, I want it to be because I properly out-flew you, not because a goddamned Dementor attacked you."

"Nice to know you care," said Hermione waspishly.

Draco seemed lost in his thoughts, addressing Harry as if Hermione hadn't even spoken. "You know, it's odd. Last year, I was convinced I was better than you. This year?" He shrugged. "We should have had a better game."