Chapter 29: Quidditch
In the quiet sanctuary of Buffy's suite, after his first detention with Umbridge, Harry, in compliance with Buffy's request, cautiously revealed his hand to her. The words etched into his skin told a tale of a punishment far more sinister than the ink on parchment. Buffy's expression flickered between concern and understanding as she observed the consequences of Umbridge's disciplinary methods.
At first, Harry chose to confide only in Buffy. Hermione, Dawn, and Ron eventually discovered the haunting words etched on his hand, a testament to the intimacy of their friendship and the shared burdens they bore. Despite Hermione's earnest insistence that Harry reveal this to Dumbledore, the only professor, apart from Umbridge, who knew about the mysterious lines on Harry's hand, remained Buffy.
Harry, for reasons known only to him at the time, requested that Buffy withhold this information in her reports. A layer of secrecy surrounded the distressing truth etched into his skin, and he was determined to keep it concealed. Buffy, though concerned about Harry's decision to keep Dumbledore in the dark, respected his wishes and refrained from including this detail in her reports to the Order.
It didn't take long for Buffy to notice a disturbing pattern emerging. Other students, too, were bearing the marks of Umbridge's cruel detentions, though the words etched into their hands were often different. The realization deepened Buffy's unease with the situation. While she kept Harry's secret, she couldn't ignore the injustice unfolding around her.
Despite her reservations, Buffy continued to report on the other students who suffered under Umbridge's regime, withholding the crucial detail of Harry's unique punishment. The conflicting emotions of concern for her friend and the duty to uncover the truth created a complex tapestry of emotions for Buffy.
September 7, 2002 – Saturday
Gryffindor Tower
Dawn was the first to awake in her dormitory. She lay for a moment watching dust swirl in the chink of sunlight falling through the gap in her four-poster's hangings and savored the thought that it was Saturday.
The first week of term seemed to have dragged on forever, like one gigantic History of Magic lesson. It was as if time had slowed its pace, each day unfolding with a languid monotony that left Dawn feeling as though the minutes were eternities. The weight of academic lectures and the routine of early morning awakenings had created a sense of temporal stretching that made the first week a relentless ordeal.
Judging by the sleepy silence and the freshly minted look of that beam of sunlight, it was just after daybreak. Dawn, feeling the subtle pull of the awakening world, pulled open the curtains around her bed, the soft light casting a gentle glow on her surroundings. She moved with a quiet determination, the hush of dawn accentuating the solitude of the moment.
The only sound, apart from the distant twittering of birds, was the slow, deep breathing of her sister and her fellow Gryffindors, lost in the blissful realm of dreams. Dawn, wrapped in the cocoon of her thoughts, headed out of the dormitory for the common room.
Making straight for her favorite squashy old armchair beside the now extinct fire, she found Harry settled there, bathed in the warm hues of early morning. The remnants of the fire's ashes whispered of a night now gone, a tranquil scene for a moment of quiet contemplation. Harry was engrossed, a quill dancing on a piece of parchment as if weaving words into a tapestry of emotions.
"What are you writing?" Dawn asked, her voice a gentle melody that broke the stillness as she settled into the chair next to him.
"Letter to Sirius," Harry replied, his eyes lifting from the parchment to briefly meet hers. The weight of unspoken sentiments lingered in the air, a connection forged in shared struggles and triumphs. "Are you ready for the tryouts?"
Dawn's face lit up with excitement at the mere mention of the Gryffindor Quidditch tryouts later that day. The anticipation sparkled in her eyes, a radiant glow that mirrored the morning sun. "Ready, not sure about that. But definitely excited."
"Well," Harry said, his brow furrowed in concentration after he had reread his letter several times. "You want to accompany me up to the Owlery?"
"Sure," Dawn replied, her voice filled with a casual warmth as they heard the distant sounds of movement from the dormitories above. A subtle excitement tinged her words, a shared journey into the castle's heights awaiting them. They climbed through the portrait hole, leaving behind the sanctuary of the common room, and headed off for the Owlery.
As they walked down the passage, the echo of their footsteps mingling with the distant murmurs of the castle, Nearly Headless Nick drifted disconcertingly through a wall just ahead of Harry and Dawn. His spectral form bore an air of casual detachment, a seasoned observer of both the living and the ethereal.
"I would not go that way if I were you two," said Nearly Headless Nick, his voice carrying a ghostly resonance. "Peeves is planning an amusing joke on the next person to pass the bust of Paracelsus halfway down the corridor."
"Does it involve Paracelsus falling on top of the person's head?" inquired Harry, a wry smile playing on his lips.
"Funnily enough, it does," replied Nearly Headless Nick in a bored voice, the centuries of experience evident in his nonchalant demeanor. "Subtlety has never been Peeves's strong point. I'm off to try and find the Bloody Baron… He might be able to put a stop to it… See you, Harry, Dawn…"
"Bye, Nick," Dawn said with a nod of acknowledgment as she and Harry turned left instead of turning right, opting for a longer but safer route up to the Owlery.
Something brushed Dawn's ankles, a fleeting touch that pulled her attention away from the majestic expanse of the Hogwarts castle. She looked down and saw the caretaker's skeletal gray cat, Mrs. Norris, slinking past her and Harry with an eerie grace. The feline form moved like a shadow, its lamplike yellow eyes briefly fixing on them before disappearing behind a statue of Wilfred the Wistful. Dawn shivered involuntarily, the presence of the watchful cat adding an element of otherworldly mystery to the castle's corridors.
Owlery
The sun had ascended to its zenith, casting a radiant glow upon the castle grounds. When Harry and Dawn entered the Owlery, the absence of glass in the windows allowed the sunlight to flood the circular room. Thick silvery beams crisscrossed the air, creating an ethereal dance of light in which hundreds of owls nestled on rafters. The room buzzed with a quiet restlessness, some owls just returned from their nocturnal hunts, their keen eyes scanning the newcomers with an air of avian curiosity. The straw-covered floor beneath their feet crunched ever so slightly, tiny animal bones giving voice to the life cycles intertwined with the magical realm.
"Sometimes I wish Buffy, Hermione, and I had an owl," Dawn mused wistfully, her gaze lingering on the magnificent creatures that filled the room. "Don't get me wrong, I love Crookshanks. But I would love to have an owl so I wouldn't have to borrow the school owls just to send a letter to the gang back in Sunnydale."
"You can borrow Hedwig anytime you want, as long as she's willing to fly the distance," Harry assured, a fond smile playing on his lips. They craned their necks, searching for a familiar snowy owl amidst the varied plumage of the owl community.
"There you are. Get down here, I've got a letter for you," Harry called out as he spotted Hedwig perched somewhere near the very top of the vaulted ceiling. With a low hoot, Hedwig stretched her great white wings, gracefully descending to land on Harry's shoulder.
"Right, I know this says 'Snuffles' on the outside," Harry spoke softly to Hedwig, passing her the letter to clasp in her beak. Without knowing exactly why, he whispered, "but it's for Sirius, okay?"
Hedwig blinked her amber eyes once, a silent acknowledgment that carried the weight of understanding. Harry, attuned to the subtle cues of his loyal companion, took it to mean that she grasped the unspoken sentiments woven into the fabric of the moment. The air in the Owlery held a bittersweet tension, unspoken truths lingering like the echoes of footsteps in a deserted hallway.
"Safe flight, then," Harry said, his voice carrying a hint of both farewell and longing. He cradled Hedwig gently in his arms, carrying her to one of the windows that framed the castle against the backdrop of the blindingly bright sky. With a moment's pressure on his arm, Hedwig launched herself into the expanse of open air. Harry and Dawn watched, their eyes tracing her ascent until she became a tiny black speck, vanishing into the vastness of the sky.
Their attention shifted to Hagrid's hut, a solitary structure standing resolute on the grounds. Its chimney was smokeless, and the curtains drawn, revealing an emptiness that echoed in the quiet stillness of the castle. Dawn, her heart entwined with unspoken emotions, broke the silence. "I would love to know where he is."
"So would I," Harry agreed, the longing in his voice mirroring the unanswered questions that lingered between them like uncharted territory.
The Owlery door creaked open behind him. Both Harry and Dawn leapt in shock, the unexpected intrusion shattering the fragile bubble of solitude. Turning quickly, they were met with the sight of Cho Chang, holding a letter and a parcel in her hands. "Hi," Harry greeted automatically, his tone polite but carrying a subtle unease.
Dawn, on the other hand, remained silent, her gaze fixed on Cho with an intensity that spoke volumes. Behind her stoic exterior, a storm of conflicting emotions raged. She wished for Cho's quick departure, an unspoken plea for a retreat into the sanctuary of privacy where the complexities of unrequited love could be grappled with in solitude.
"Oh… hi," Cho breathed out, her words catching slightly as she entered the Owlery. Her gaze scanned the room, and there was a breathless quality to her voice. "I didn't think anyone would be up here this early… I only remembered five minutes ago; it's my mum's birthday." She held up the parcel, a tangible representation of familial ties in the magical world.
"Right," Harry responded, a polite acknowledgment of the occasion. "Nice day," he added, gesturing towards the windows, the brilliant morning light streaming into the circular room.
Dawn's eyes flickered to Harry for a moment, a fleeting glance that masked the complexity of emotions within. Without a word, she abruptly barged past Cho, a deliberate act that carried an undercurrent of frustration and unspoken longing. The collision was not accidental, a rudeness fueled by the turbulence of emotions swirling within her.
As Dawn exited the Owlery, leaving a baffled Cho in her wake, the air seemed to shift. Cho, recovering from the unexpected encounter, muttered to herself, "Wonder what her problem is." She shifted her attention, her eyes scanning the array of owls for a suitable messenger. "Good Quidditch conditions. I haven't been out all week, have you?"
"No," Harry replied, his mind momentarily preoccupied with the mystery of Dawn's abrupt departure.
0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0
Dawn felt an ache deep within her, an ache that had taken residence in the chambers of her heart. The weight of unspoken emotions pressed against her chest, and the unrequited love she harbored for Harry threatened to overflow like a dammed river seeking release. With a heavy heart, she made her way through the labyrinthine corridors of Hogwarts, seeking solace in the quiet recesses hidden away from prying eyes.
Away from the bustling common rooms and the crowded hallways, Dawn found a secluded nook, a refuge shrouded in shadows and silence. The air was thick with the scent of ancient stone and the distant echoes of laughter, a backdrop to the emotional storm that raged within her.
As she sank down against the cold stone, the tears that she had held back for so long finally spilled over. The quiet sobs escaped her in soft, stifled waves, the vulnerability of her heart laid bare in the solitude she had sought. Each tear was a silent confession of the love she couldn't voice, a love entangled with the complexities of friendship and the painful awareness of Harry's affections for someone else.
In the cocoon of her solitude, Dawn let the waves of emotion wash over her, the echoes of heartache resonating in the quiet alcove. She traced the patterns of the worn stone with tear-streaked eyes, the pain of unspoken words and unfulfilled desires etched into the very fabric of her being.
The solitude embraced her, offering a space for the rawness of her emotions to unfold. In the quiet, she allowed herself the luxury of feeling, of acknowledging the depth of her emotions for Harry. The tears, glistening like liquid crystals, carried with them the weight of unspoken confessions, the ache of a heart yearning for something that seemed just out of reach.
Great Hall
"Morning," Harry greeted with a bright smile as he approached Ron and Hermione, taking his place at the Gryffindor table in the bustling Great Hall.
"What are you looking so pleased about?" Ron inquired, a note of surprise in his voice as he eyed Harry.
"Erm… Quidditch later," Harry replied, his happiness evident as he pulled a large platter of bacon and eggs toward him.
"Oh… yeah…" Ron responded, his attention momentarily shifting to the delicious breakfast spread.
"Harry," Hermione interjected, her tone tinged with concern. "Have you seen Dawn? She was already up when I got up. But I haven't seen her."
Harry's expression shifted, a flicker of uncertainty clouding his features. "She accompanied me to the Owlery," he explained. "Then she left when Cho came in. I don't know where she's at now."
Hermione's brow furrowed with worry as she glanced between Harry and Ron. The unspoken complexities of the situation lingered in the air, and Hermione, ever attuned to the emotions of those around her, sensed that something was amiss.
Without another word, Hermione stood up hurriedly, her chair scraping against the stone floor. She left the Great Hall, her purpose clear — to search for her twin sister. The corridors of Hogwarts unfolded before her, and the weight of concern propelled her forward. As she navigated the familiar passages, Hermione's thoughts raced, a multitude of scenarios playing out in her mind.
0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0
Hermione's hurried footsteps echoed through the dimly lit corridors as she ventured deeper into the heart of Hogwarts. The usual buzz of student chatter faded into the background, replaced by the palpable tension that seemed to hang in the air. She rounded corners, her mind racing with concern for Dawn.
As she approached a secluded alcove, a soft sound reached Hermione's ears—a muffled sob that resonated with heartache. Her instincts guided her, and with each step, the urgency to find Dawn intensified. The hushed sobs grew clearer, pulling at Hermione's heartstrings.
And there, in the quiet alcove, Hermione found Dawn curled up against the cold stone. Tears glistened on her cheeks, reflecting the vulnerability that she rarely showed to the world. Hermione's heart tightened with empathy, understanding the depth of emotions that had brought Dawn to this secluded refuge.
"Dawn," Hermione spoke gently, her voice a soothing melody that cut through the silence. She knelt beside her sister, offering a comforting presence without uttering a word. The unspoken understanding between them held more weight than any words could convey.
Dawn looked up, her tear-streaked eyes meeting Hermione's gaze. In that shared moment, Hermione saw the pain etched across Dawn's features, a pain that mirrored the complexities of unspoken emotions and unfulfilled desires.
Without hesitation, Hermione enveloped Dawn in a warm embrace, a silent gesture that spoke volumes.
In the embrace of her sister, Dawn felt the weight of her emotions lessen, the tears becoming a shared catharsis. 8
Quidditch Pitch
On the Quidditch pitch, the brisk wind tousled Harry's hair as he collected Quidditch balls from the cupboard in the changing room. The anticipation of the upcoming tryouts hung in the air, and Harry and Ron were determined to make the most of their practice session. The sun cast a golden hue over the field, promising a day of spirited flying.
With a sense of purpose, Harry set to work, organizing the Quidditch balls. Ron, clad in his Quidditch robes, stood tall between the three goalposts, ready for the challenge. The Quaffle, vibrant red against the vivid blue sky, felt weighty in Harry's hands as he took on the role of Chaser, aiming to get it past Ron.
As they played, the camaraderie between friends became evident. Ron showcased his skills, blocking three-quarters of the goals Harry attempted to score. The rhythmic thud of the Quaffle echoed against the backdrop of their laughter and friendly banter. The Quidditch pitch, a realm of shared passion and teamwork, provided a brief respite from the complexities of their magical world.
After a couple of hours of spirited practice, they returned to the school. The exhilaration of the game still lingered, the scent of grass and the distant echoes of laughter clinging to them. Lunch awaited in the Great Hall, and they joined their friends, eager for a nourishing meal before the Quidditch tryouts later in the day.
Great Hall
However, as they entered the Great Hall, a shift in atmosphere was palpable. Dawn sat beside Hermione, her presence a quiet storm amid the usual bustle. Her gaze remained fixed on her untouched plate, and a veil of distance enveloped her. The bonds of friendship felt strained, and an unspoken tension settled around the table.
Concern etched Harry's features as he noticed Dawn's demeanor. Seeking answers, he turned to Hermione. "Is she alright?" he inquired, his voice laced with worry.
"No," Hermione replied, her response succinct but carrying the weight of unspoken concerns. "And don't ask any more about it. It's for Dawn to reveal when she's ready." Hermione's protective stance affirmed the importance of allowing Dawn the space and time to navigate the complexities of her emotions.
Quidditch Pitch
When Harry and Ron returned to the Quidditch pitch, Dawn trailed behind them, a silent figure determined to navigate the tumult of emotions swirling within her. Despite the morning's emotional upheaval, the desire to try out for Quidditch remained resolute within her. The golden glow of the late afternoon sun cast long shadows on the pitch, creating a surreal backdrop to the unfolding drama.
As they reached the pitch, the Gryffindor team, except for Angelina, had already gathered in the changing room. Dawn slipped in quietly, her entrance going unnoticed amidst the spirited banter that filled the air.
"All right, Ron?" greeted George, winking in a playful manner.
"Yeah," replied Ron, his voice carrying a subdued undertone, a stark departure from his usual exuberance. Dawn, too, remained hushed, her eyes revealing the turmoil beneath the surface.
"Ready to show us all up, Ickle Prefect?" teased Fred, emerging tousle-haired from the neck of his Quidditch robes, a mischievous grin on his face.
"Shut up," Ron retorted, his expression stony-faced, a protective shield against the good-natured ribbing.
Dawn, standing on the periphery, felt a mix of apprehension and determination. She pulled on a set of Quidditch robes with a steady hand, the fabric a shield against the vulnerability that lingered within.
0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0
The Quidditch pitch echoed with the sound of broomsticks slicing through the air as Gryffindor prepared for their Keeper tryouts. Dawn, donned in her Quidditch robes, stood between the goalposts, a mix of determination and nervous energy coursing through her. The late afternoon sun cast a warm glow on the proceedings, but for Dawn, the shadows of doubt lingered in her gaze.
As the first Quaffle was thrown toward her, Dawn's reflexes kicked in, and she moved swiftly to block the incoming ball. The familiar thud of the Quaffle hitting her gloved hands resonated through the air, but the victory was short-lived. The next shot sailed past her, and the subsequent attempts proved equally challenging. Each miss, a pang of disappointment; each successful block, a fleeting triumph.
Ron, on the other hand, showcased an impressive display of Keeper skills. His tall frame moved with agility, deflecting shots with a practiced ease that spoke of his dedication to the position. The cheers of encouragement from the Gryffindor team fueled Ron's confidence, making each save seem effortless.
Despite her best efforts, Dawn found herself outmatched by Ron's proficiency. The realization settled in as the last Quaffle slipped past her fingers. The Quidditch pitch, once a realm of hopeful aspirations, now bore witness to the sting of disappointment.
The tryouts concluded, and Angelina, the Gryffindor Quidditch captain, approached the two contenders. Her expression was a mix of sympathy and encouragement as she addressed Dawn first.
"Good effort, Dawn. Your determination was evident, and we appreciate your commitment," Angelina said, a genuine acknowledgment of the passion Dawn had brought to the pitch.
Dawn managed a small, appreciative nod, the weight of unfulfilled expectations heavy on her shoulders. The disappointment was palpable, but she was determined to face it with grace.
Turning to Ron, Angelina's tone shifted. "Ron, excellent job. You've earned the Keeper position for Gryffindor. Keep those reflexes sharp, and we'll have a formidable team."
Ron's face lit up with a mix of surprise and joy.
0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0
The Quidditch pitch, bathed in the soft hues of twilight, lay deserted as Dawn walked away, her steps heavy with the weight of unspoken burdens. The echoes of the failed tryout lingered in the still air, and the shadows cast by the setting sun seemed to mirror the darkness that crept into her heart.
Depression settled in like an unwelcome companion, its cold fingers tightening around Dawn's chest, suffocating the hope that once soared within her. With each step toward the castle, self-loathing whispered its venomous refrain in her mind. It wasn't just about the Quidditch tryout; it was the reluctance to share her feelings with Harry that gnawed at her from the inside.
The castle loomed ahead, its towering silhouette a stark reminder of the secrets Dawn held close. She replayed the scenes in her mind—the missed opportunities, the unspoken words, and the fear that gripped her heart. The weight of her emotions, tethered to unexpressed love, felt like an anchor pulling her deeper into the abyss of despair.
As the castle doors loomed before her, Dawn hesitated, feeling the emptiness of solitude seeping into her very core. The stone walls seemed to bear witness to the internal struggle that waged within her—a silent battleground of emotions. The evening sky, once a canvas of possibility, now mirrored the storm brewing within.
The Great Hall, usually a haven of warmth and camaraderie, awaited, but Dawn felt like an outsider to her own story. Each step echoed in the cavernous corridors, a lonely melody playing out her internal turmoil. The portraits on the walls seemed to scrutinize her with knowing eyes, amplifying the isolation that wrapped around her like a suffocating cloak.
In the solitude of her thoughts, Dawn grappled with the self-loathing that clawed at her, blaming herself not just for the Quidditch setback but for her inability to share the truth with Harry. The weight of unspoken confessions hung heavy in the air, and the castle, once a sanctuary, felt like a labyrinth of regrets.
She questioned her worth, dissecting the failures and the insecurities that had led her to this point. The castle corridors, usually familiar and comforting, now became a maze of self-reflection, amplifying the inner voices that whispered doubt and reproach.
As Dawn moved through the castle, the darkness within mirrored the night settling outside, and the stars, once beacons of hope, seemed to dim in the wake of her internal storm. The journey back toward her dormitory became a silent pilgrimage through the labyrinth of self-discovery, a journey in search of a light that seemed elusive in the corridors of her own mind.
Dawn walked briskly through the Hogwarts corridors, trying to keep her focus and shake off the weight of the emotions that had been dragging her down. However, her attempt at a moment of respite was shattered by the unmistakable drawl of Draco Malfoy's taunting voice.
"Hey, Summers, how's your mind? Had a psychotic break yet?" Malfoy jeered, a malicious glint in his eyes. "Sure you don't need a lie-down? It must be, what, a whole week since you were in the hospital wing. That's a record for you, isn't it?"
The words, like venom, seeped into the wounds of Dawn's already battered emotional state. Her jaw tightened, her fists clenching in response to the relentless taunts. The lingering echoes of her struggles with her mental health were now being used as weapons against her.
Unable to bear the onslaught any longer, Dawn's temper ignited. She spun around, fueled by a surge of anger, and without a second thought, her clenched fist collided with Malfoy's stomach. The impact sent him doubling over, gasping for breath.
"Leave me alone, Malfoy," Dawn snapped, her voice laced with a fiery determination. The anger burned in her eyes as she glared at him. "Or the next time I will do more than hit you."
The threat hung in the air, a promise born from the frustration and pain that Malfoy had unwittingly exacerbated. Dawn, though fierce in her defense, turned on her heel and stormed away, her steps echoing the pulsating rhythm of her racing heart. The corridors seemed to close in around her, the weight of the confrontation still heavy on her shoulders.
Gryffindor Tower
The soft glow of the dormitory's dimmed lights revealed the hushed stillness of the room as Hermione entered. The air was heavy with the quiet aftermath of the day's trials, and the sight that greeted her tugged at Hermione's heartstrings. Dawn lay in her own bed, a vulnerable silhouette beneath the covers, her slumber marked by the traces of unshed tears on her cheeks.
The telltale signs of an emotional storm played out in Dawn's peaceful facade. Hermione hesitated for a moment, taking in the sight of her twin sister, a silent witness to the battles fought within. With a sigh, Hermione moved to her own bedside, exchanging her day clothes for the comfort of a nightgown.
Unable to ignore the palpable distress that clung to the room, Hermione made a decision. The silent support she could offer to her sister felt like a small yet significant act of love. Padding softly across the room, she approached Dawn's bed and carefully slipped under the covers beside her.
The warmth of shared blankets cocooned them, creating a haven in the dimly lit dormitory. As Hermione settled in beside Dawn, she draped an arm protectively over her sister, offering the solace of a comforting embrace.
In the shared silence, Hermione sought to be a pillar of strength for her sister, bridging the gaps of unspoken pain with the unyielding support that only a twin could provide. As sleep reclaimed them both, the dormitory stood witness to the quiet resilience of sisterhood—the solace found in shared dreams and the unspoken language that bound the Summers twins in a tapestry woven with threads of love and understanding.