CHAPTER 28: JEALOUSY AND QUIDDITCH
"Harry," came a soft whisper, sweet yet insistent.
"Huh?" Harry stirred groggily, his mind still hazy from sleep. Blinking a few times, he saw Hannah Abbott peeking out from behind the curtains of her bed, gesturing towards him with a slight tilt of her head.
The morning was alive with the sounds of birds chirping outside the window and the bustling chaos of the girls in the dormitory beginning their daily routine. The rustling of clothes, the murmur of conversations, and the clatter of items on the vanity all filled the air. Yet, in the middle of it, all Harry could focus on was Hannah.
She leaned in, her lips brushing against his in a quick kiss. "Ready?" she whispered, her voice light but laced with expectation.
"Not really," Harry muttered, his stomach twisting uncomfortably. His thoughts were all tangled up with guilt. Susan's too important to lose, he thought to himself. But is making her angry really the right way to handle this?
Sensing his hesitation, Hannah cupped his face in her hands, forcing him to meet her gaze. Her wide, sea-blue eyes were pleading, yet filled with determination. "Trust me, okay?" she urged, her thumb lightly brushing against his cheek.
Harry hesitated for a second longer, then gave in with a reluctant nod. "Okay."
Without missing a beat, Hannah threw open the curtains with a dramatic flourish—right into the wide, shocked eyes of Susan Bones. The poor girl stood frozen, midway through buttoning up her skirt, her face draining of color before rapidly turning red.
Harry grimaced, feeling the tension spike. "Morning, Sue," he offered awkwardly, attempting a casual tone that immediately fell flat.
Susan's face twisted in disbelief. "What the hell?" she spat, her voice trembling with anger.
Hannah, acting quickly, feigned innocence as she leaped to cover herself, though there was little point now. "Oh, shit!" she exclaimed with an exaggerated gasp.
Susan, however, was not fooled. Her face grew even redder, her eyes narrowing as they flicked from Hannah's disheveled form to Harry's presence. Her mouth opened, but for a moment no words came out, only shock. Then, her fury found its voice.
"What the fuck?!" Susan exploded, her voice loud enough to make some of the other girls in the room fall silent and stare. Her fiery red hair seemed to match the rage burning in her eyes as they zeroed in on Hannah. "You... you... slut!"
Hannah, to her credit, didn't flinch. Instead, she squared her shoulders, her lips curling into an unapologetic grin. "Harry's slut," she replied coolly, throwing the words back with deliberate provocation.
Harry stifled a groan, sensing the storm was far from over. Not helping, Hannah, he thought. Not wanting to get caught in the crossfire of what was clearly turning into a catfight, he quietly spelled his clothes on, hoping to slip away unnoticed.
Susan, on the other hand, was too enraged to notice his subtle escape tactics. She was trembling, her eyes still glued to the tangled bedsheets and the unmistakable signs of what had transpired. "You..." she stammered again, her voice barely containing her anger, "You're both disgusting!"
"Listen, Sue," Harry began, raising his hands in a placating gesture, but before he could say another word, Susan cut him off with a venomous glare.
"Get the fuck out!" she snarled, her voice sharp and cold.
Harry stood up slowly, hands still raised in surrender, ready to back away and give Susan the space she clearly needed. But Hannah, ever defiant, reached out and stopped him with a firm hand on his shoulder. She pulled him back down, planting a deliberately slow and lingering kiss on his lips.
"Thanks, Harry," she murmured, her voice sweet but laden with mischief. Her eyes sparkled with amusement as she glanced over at Susan, who looked on the verge of exploding.
Hannah gave Harry a naughty smile, completely unapologetic about the chaos she had stirred. "See you later," she whispered before finally letting him go, leaving Harry to face Susan's blazing eyes once more.
Harry sighed internally, already dreading the fallout that would undoubtedly come. Things were far from over. "Thanks," he muttered, still somewhat bewildered by the situation. Even with all of Tom's memories swirling in his head, even with the plan to provoke Susan into jealousy clearly working, he still found himself completely lost when it came to understanding the intricacies of women.
As Susan grabbed her wand, her eyes blazing with fury, Harry took the opportunity to scamper out of the room. Behind him, the sounds of an inevitable screaming match began, echoing through the dormitory. He grimaced but held onto the hope that they'd eventually be able to rekindle their friendship. They'd have to, he reasoned. The entire plan depended on Hannah talking him up and stoking Susan's jealousy enough to spur her into action. For now, though, he didn't have the energy to think about it.
Because today was the Quidditch match against Slytherin.
His lips curled into a smirk. Draco's out of the hospital wing—just in time to get beaten right back into it.
Quidditch, however, didn't ignite the same thrill it once had. Ever since he'd inherited Tom's memories, the game didn't carry the same luster, the same fiery passion. Power, fighting, magic, and death—those were the things that called to him now, far more intoxicating than chasing after a Snitch. But one thing remained unchanged: victory. The sweet taste of triumph would never lose its spark.
As Harry entered the Great Hall for breakfast, the usual morning buzz greeted him, but something was off. Ron, sitting at the Gryffindor table with his usual plate of sausages, gave him a queasy glance. "Didn't see you come in this morning," Ron mumbled, accidentally spitting out a bit of pumpkin juice onto Seamus, who shot him an irritated look.
Harry brushed it off casually. "Got in late, left early," he replied shortly, avoiding too many details. "What's up with you?"
"It's his first Quidditch game, Harry," Hermione chimed in, sitting across from Ron, her brow furrowed in disapproval. "What do you think is wrong with him?"
Ron waved her off dismissively, though his face paled slightly as the reality of his first game sank in. Then, his mood brightened as he grinned cheekily. "For a second there, mate, I thought you might've gotten lucky last night." He erupted into laughter, slapping his knee in amusement.
Harry, caught off guard by the comment, couldn't help but chuckle. "Yeah, right," he muttered under his breath, but the laugh was real enough. Hermione, on the other hand, didn't find it quite as amusing.
"Honestly, Ron, do you have to be so crass?" she huffed, clearly unimpressed with the conversation, as usual.
But Ron was far too entertained to care. Just as Harry was about to reply, the Great Hall doors slammed open with a loud bang. Every head turned as Susan Bones stormed in, her expression murderous, and her robes flaring behind her like a cape. Her eyes locked briefly with Harry's, burning with unspoken anger before she marched to the Hufflepuff table without a word.
Ron frowned, glancing between Susan and Harry with a puzzled expression. "What's her problem?"
Harry shrugged, trying to play it off. "Hufflepuffs, eh?" he quipped, clapping Ron on the shoulder with a forced grin.
"Right…" Ron's tone was skeptical, but he let it drop as his attention returned to the plate of food in front of him.
Meanwhile, the rest of the Gryffindor Quidditch team sat nervously nearby, their faces pale, barely touching their buttered toast. They were silent, their nerves clearly getting the better of them. Harry, noticing their unease, decided to step in. He casually draped his arms around Fred and George, leaning in between the twins with a confident grin.
"Relax, guys," he said smoothly. "Don't worry. We're going to win today."
Katie Bell, sitting across from them, looked at Harry with wide, astonished eyes. "What… what happened to you?" she asked, genuinely bewildered by his sudden surge of confidence.
Fred and George exchanged speculative glances. "Maybe he really did get lucky," Fred muttered under his breath, eyeing Harry curiously.
George nodded sagely, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "His hair does look a bit more… wild than usual, doesn't it?"
Fred tilted his head, studying Harry's notoriously untidy hair. "True. You know how the girls love that devil-may-care look."
George sighed dreamily, putting on an exaggerated voice. "What girl wouldn't want to run their hands through his bed hair?"
Fred snorted. "Bed hair? Or sex hair?" he added, grinning as George playfully waggled his eyebrows.
Harry rolled his eyes but laughed along with them. "Alright, alright. Enough with the hair talk," he said, though a small part of him found their banter oddly comforting. It helped take the edge off the lingering anxiety from his encounter with Susan.
But the brief moment of levity was interrupted by a sharp clatter behind them. Turning around, Harry caught sight of Susan again—her fists clenched, her face still flushed with anger as she angrily jabbed her fork into a slice of toast.
Harry smirked as he watched his team file out of the locker room, the echoes of their rallying cry still ringing in his ears. Gryffindor! The energy from his little speech had clearly fired them up, but he couldn't help but shake his head at Fred and George's earlier teasing.
"Nonsense," he muttered, clipping both twins on the back of their heads. "I'm just ready to beat Malfoy yet again. My favorite time of the year—apart from Christmas, of course."
Angelina Johnson, their team captain, stood from the table, her stern demeanor softening into a playful grin. "Beat Malfoy to the Snitch," she said, crossing her arms, "and maybe I'll dump Fred and you really will get laid."
The table exploded into laughter, with toast flying through the air as Fred spluttered in mock offense, clutching his chest dramatically. "Angelina! How could you?"
"Love's a fickle thing, Fred!" George added, wiping a fake tear from his eye, only to duck as a slice of toast came hurtling in his direction.
The laughter faded quickly as Professor McGonagall swept into the room, her expression severe as always when it came to Quidditch discipline. "That's enough, Gryffindor!" she barked. "If you've got that much energy to waste, you'd best save it for the match! To the lockers—now!"
As they filed out, Hermione appeared, giving Harry and Ron quick kisses on the cheek for luck. But Harry noticed her nose wrinkle as she leaned in a little closer to him, her brow furrowing suspiciously.
"Good luck, Harry," she said sweetly, though her voice had an edge of curiosity. "And by the way… you smell different. New soap?"
Harry felt a jolt of panic. Oh no… Detective Granger's on the case. He'd have to tread carefully—Hermione was nothing if not persistent. If she caught even a whiff of his late-night activities, he'd never hear the end of it.
Once inside the locker room, the team quickly dressed. Harry bounced on his feet, his body practically vibrating with anticipation. He barely listened as Angelina went over their strategy, her voice little more than background noise to him. His mind was a whirlwind of disjointed memories, a side effect of Tom Riddle's presence in his head.
Occlumency, he reminded himself, struggling to shut out the storm of images.
Old Quidditch matches flickered through his mind—Tom watching a World Cup match decades ago, his focus more on the crowd than the game itself. Narcissa Malfoy, seated primly at an Arrows game, whispering ignored advice to Lucius as he talked business. Then, a much simpler memory—Hannah Abbott, no more than five years old, gazing up at the sky in awe as her parents took her to her first match.
None of it mattered now. Quidditch was instinct, not memories.
As Angelina's speech ended, the team began to head for the door, but Harry stopped them with a raised hand. "One last thing," he said, his voice cutting through the rustle of jerseys and gear. His teammates turned to him, curious.
"We're better than them," Harry said firmly. "All of us. You're better Chasers, Beaters, and Keepers, and I'm definitely better at Seeker than Malfoy. The only way they're going to beat us is if they get inside our heads. They'll foul, they'll cheat, but if you can tune it all out—if you don't let them drag you down—we'll win. No question. Don't walk back into this locker room realizing we lost because you couldn't control your emotions. Keep your heads, and we'll crush them."
"Hear, hear," Fred and George chorused, their faces serious for once, nodding along with Harry's words.
"Hands on mine," Harry ordered, extending his hand into the middle. The others followed, pressing their clammy hands atop his.
"Gryffindor on three. One, two, three—"
"GRYFFINDOR!"
The roar echoed around the locker room as they charged out into the open air. Angelina gave him a sideways glance as they headed for the pitch. "Maybe you should be the one giving the speeches from now on."
Harry shrugged with a grin. "Anytime, Cap."
The sky was an ominous gray, the heavy clouds threatening to burst open with rain at any moment. But the weather hadn't discouraged the crowd. They were already roaring, their cheers blending into a deafening hum of excitement as both teams took to the skies.
Harry barely registered the noise, his focus already zeroed in on his true target—Draco Malfoy.
High above the pitch, Draco hovered on his broom, his face tight with concentration, though Harry could see the nerves creeping into his expression. Harry met his gaze, smirking as he ascended higher, his movements as casual and confident as ever.
"Ready to lose again, Malfoy?" he thought to himself, not needing to say it aloud. The challenge was written all over his face.
Draco scowled, gripping his broom a little tighter, but Harry didn't care. Today wasn't just about winning—it was about proving that he was in control. That he could hold onto the edge, the raw power that surged through him, even with the weight of Tom's memories pressing down on his mind.
Harry couldn't help the grin that spread across his face as Pucey scowled in frustration. His plan was working perfectly. Every time Pucey attempted to rejoin the game, Harry was there, blocking him, cutting him off, or simply forcing him into a dead stop. And all the while, Fred and George were sending a relentless barrage of Bludgers in his direction, making it impossible for Pucey to focus on anything but staying in the air.
"Oi, Potter!" Pucey snapped, his face flushed with rage. "You think you're clever, don't you?"
"Not really," Harry said, feigning innocence. "Just faster than you."
Pucey cursed under his breath, his eyes darting around the pitch as his teammates struggled without him. Slytherin's defence was in disarray, and Gryffindor was racking up points with ease. Katie, Angelina, and Alicia were a blur of red and gold as they shot past Bletchley time and again, each goal sending the Gryffindor stands into a frenzy.
40-20 to Gryffindor. 50-20. 60-20.
Pucey's face twisted in frustration as he watched his team fall further behind. The crowd was roaring now, sensing blood. Gryffindor was in control, and it was only a matter of time before Harry spotted the Snitch.
"Ignore him, Pucey!" Malfoy yelled from across the pitch, his voice tight with desperation. "Focus on the game!"
But it was no use. Harry was too fast, too sharp. Every time Pucey tried to slip away, Harry was right there, forcing him back, his Firebolt weaving effortlessly through the air like an extension of his body.
It wasn't just about speed—it was about control. Harry had mastered the art of flying, and today he was using every ounce of that skill to keep Pucey off-balance and out of the game.
"Fred! George!" Harry called, glancing over his shoulder at the twins, who were circling like vultures. "Now!"
The twins didn't hesitate. With a synchronized swing, they sent both Bludgers hurtling toward Pucey, one from the left and one from the right. Pucey barely managed to dodge the first, but the second caught him on the shoulder, sending him spinning off course.
The Gryffindor crowd erupted in cheers, while the Slytherin side booed loudly, jeering at Hooch for not calling a foul.
Pucey recovered quickly, but it was too late. Gryffindor had already pulled ahead by fifty points, and the Slytherins were scrambling to regain control of the match.
Harry glanced up at Malfoy, who was hovering above the chaos, his eyes scanning the pitch for the Snitch. Perfect. Harry needed to end this soon before Slytherin resorted to more desperate tactics.
Then, out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw it—a glimmer of gold, flitting just above the stands near the Ravenclaw section.
There you are.
Without a second thought, Harry dove, his Firebolt streaking through the air like a bolt of lightning. Malfoy, seeing Harry's sudden movement, reacted a split second later, but it was too late. Harry's lead was too great, and the Firebolt too fast. The wind whipped through his hair as the Snitch came into view, closer and closer until—
Got it!
Harry's fingers closed around the Snitch, and the stadium erupted in an explosion of sound. The Gryffindor stands went wild, roaring with triumph as Harry pulled up into the sky, holding the tiny golden ball aloft.
"Gryffindor wins!" Lee Jordan's voice boomed over the cheers, barely audible over the deafening noise. "210-20! Gryffindor wins!"
The rest of the team swarmed him in midair, Fred and George whooping as they slapped him on the back, while Angelina and Alicia cheered, their faces flushed with victory. Ron was grinning ear to ear, pumping his fist in the air, despite having let in a couple of goals earlier.
Draco Malfoy, meanwhile, landed with a thud on the ground, his face pale with anger and frustration as he stomped off the field.
"Well done, Potter," Fred said with a grin as they landed back on the ground. "I'll never get tired of watching you humiliate that ferret."
"Yeah, that was brilliant!" George added. "Especially that bit about—you know—"
Harry smirked, knowing exactly what George was referring to. "It was worth it just to see the look on his face," Harry admitted.
The team gathered around, their faces glowing with the thrill of victory. Harry glanced up at the Gryffindor stands, catching sight of Hermione and Ginny, both cheering wildly, their smiles bright as they waved down at him.
Harry grinned back at Fred, the thrill of dominance surging through him. It wasn't often that the game came this easily. Gryffindor was completely in control, and the Slytherins were floundering. Even with the Snitch still at large, the match felt as good as won.
From his position high above the pitch, Harry watched the chaos below. Vaisey, clearly out of his depth, fumbled another pass, and Alicia wasted no time in capitalizing on the mistake. She streaked toward the goalposts, scoring effortlessly past Bletchley, who looked more demoralized with every goal that flew past him.
120 to 30.
Harry glanced over at Malfoy, who was hovering aimlessly near the Slytherin stands, his eyes darting around in search of the Snitch. It was clear he was trying to salvage the match for his team, but even Malfoy knew the truth—there was no way to win this. Catching the Snitch would only spare them from further humiliation.
"Keep it up!" Harry shouted to his teammates below, his voice barely audible over the roar of the crowd. Gryffindor was in full force now, and the stands were erupting with cheers every time another goal sailed through the Slytherin hoops.
Another goal from Katie. Another from Angelina. Gryffindor was on fire, and the scoreboard reflected their dominance: 130 to 30.
Malfoy looked more and more desperate, his pale face growing red with frustration. He glanced at Harry, who met his gaze with a smug smile.
"Giving up, Malfoy?" Harry called, knowing full well it would rile him up.
Malfoy snarled in response but didn't bother with a retort. Instead, he turned sharply on his broom and shot forward, as if he had spotted the Snitch. Harry immediately gave chase, but as he followed, he quickly realized there was no golden glint in sight. Malfoy was bluffing, trying to pull Harry out of position.
"Nice try," Harry muttered under his breath, pulling back and returning to his previous spot, scanning the skies for the real Snitch.
The minutes ticked by, and Gryffindor continued to dominate. Harry couldn't help but feel a sense of satisfaction as the score climbed higher and higher, the gap between the two teams growing insurmountable. It was no longer about catching the Snitch for victory—it was about ending the match with style.
Finally, a flash of gold caught his eye near the Hufflepuff stands. There it was, fluttering near the ground, practically begging to be caught. Harry's heart raced as he leaned forward on his Firebolt, diving toward the Snitch with laser-like focus. Malfoy, realizing what was happening, tried to follow, but Harry was already too far ahead.
The wind whipped through Harry's hair as he hurtled toward the ground, his hand outstretched, fingers inches away from the Snitch. With one final burst of speed, he closed his hand around the tiny golden ball, feeling its familiar fluttering against his palm.
The stadium erupted in deafening cheers, the Gryffindor stands roaring with triumph as Harry pulled up from his dive, holding the Snitch high above his head.
"Gryffindor wins!" Lee Jordan's voice echoed over the din. "Gryffindor wins, 280 to 30!"
Fred and George swooped in beside him, both of them laughing and cheering, their faces lit up with pure joy. The rest of the team soon joined, and before long, Harry was surrounded by his jubilant teammates, all of them shouting and whooping in celebration.
"We absolutely destroyed them!" Fred shouted, slapping Harry on the back.
"Best match of the season!" George added, grinning from ear to ear.
Harry couldn't help but laugh as they descended to the ground, the victory sweet and overwhelming. He could see McGonagall in the distance, her lips twitching in what he knew was an attempt to suppress a proud smile. Even she couldn't hide her delight at Gryffindor's resounding victory.
As the team landed, they were immediately swarmed by Gryffindor supporters, all eager to congratulate them. Hermione and Ginny were at the front of the crowd, both beaming with pride. Hermione threw her arms around Harry in a tight hug, while Ginny stood a little off to the side, her smile a bit more subdued, though no less genuine.
"You were amazing!" Hermione gushed as she pulled back. "I've never seen you fly like that!"
Harry smiled, still feeling the adrenaline from the match coursing through him. "Thanks, Hermione. It was a good day."
Ginny stepped forward then, her eyes meeting his. "You were brilliant, Harry," she said softly, her voice full of admiration.
Harry's heart skipped a beat. "Thanks, Ginny."
Harry nodded, his brow furrowing in concentration. "Let's finish it. Do me a favor and pretend you've found the Snitch in about a minute. Then point toward our goalposts."
Fred's eyebrows shot up in confusion, lines creasing his forehead. "What? How's that gonna help?" he asked, clearly skeptical.
"Just trust me on this one," Harry insisted, giving a confident smile. He adjusted his grip on his broom, scanning the field as the game raged on. Gryffindor was ahead, but not by much. If he didn't catch the Snitch soon, things could take a turn.
Exactly a minute later, Fred caught Harry's eye and jerked his head repeatedly toward Ron's goalposts. With Draco Malfoy hovering nearby, it was a risky move, but Harry knew he had to take the chance. He glanced up, noticing Draco eyeing the same motion. Perfect.
As Harry shot toward his own goal hoops, he saw Draco overshoot him, trying to keep up. The Slytherin Seeker flew ahead of Harry, smugly thinking he was cutting Harry off from the Snitch. What Draco didn't know was that Harry was luring him into a trap. They both zoomed toward the heavy metal hoops, and just as Draco began to circle behind them, Harry nudged his broom forward and clipped the back of Draco's broom with a calculated tap.
Draco spun out, swerving and nearly colliding with the goalpost. He barely recovered, his face contorted in fury. Too gentle, Harry thought, wincing at how easily Draco had shaken off the hit. He needed to be faster, sharper.
"Bloody hell, Potter!" Draco spat as he steadied himself, glaring back at Harry.
Harry muttered a curse under his breath and checked the pitch again. Fred was still frantically gesturing, but this time, his movements were toward the opposite end—the Slytherin goalposts. Harry's eyes widened.
Draco caught Harry's fleeting glance toward the goals and snorted dismissively. "I'm not falling for that again, Potter!" he sneered. But before he could react, Harry shot off like a rocket, his head down, body pressed tightly to his broomstick. The wind howled in his ears as he sped across the pitch, the field blurring past him.
"And Potter's off!" Lee Jordan's voice boomed over the stadium. "He's seen something—Malfoy's trying to catch up, but it looks like he's too far behind!"
Harry's heart pounded in his chest as he hurtled toward the Slytherin goals, his eyes scanning frantically. Fred wouldn't have been signaling without reason, but where was it—there! Right behind the Slytherin Keeper, Bletchley, the Snitch was hovering innocently, unnoticed by the opposing team.
Harry's pulse quickened. Malfoy was gaining, his broom cutting through the air like a knife, but he was too slow. The distance between them was still wide.
A Bludger whizzed past Harry's ankle, narrowly missing him, and he spun sharply to avoid the next one. His focus remained razor-sharp. No distractions now. The Snitch was right there, gleaming like a beacon just over Bletchley's head, as oblivious as a Weasley brother in a family photo.
"Come on!" Harry muttered to himself, leaning lower on his broom as the gap closed.
"Malfoy's catching up!" Lee's excited commentary continued. "But it looks like—yes! Potter's leading him! Malfoy's right on his tail!"
Harry could almost feel Draco's breath on his back as the Slytherin Seeker used Harry's speed to slipstream, reducing the wind resistance and gaining an advantage. Smart tactic. Malfoy was right on top of him now, close enough to overtake him and grab the Snitch. But there was one problem for Malfoy—he couldn't see what was ahead. He was relying on Harry's moves entirely.
Harry smirked, knowing he had the upper hand. As they neared the goalposts, he saw the moment of realization hit Bletchley's face. The Slytherin Keeper's eyes widened in horror as he noticed Harry's trajectory.
Harry gripped his broom tightly and yanked it upward into a sharp stop just feet from Bletchley's head.
Malfoy didn't have the time to react. He barreled straight into his teammate with a sickening thud, sending both of them tumbling from their brooms, spiraling toward the ground.
"Unbelievable! Malfoy's crashed into Bletchley!" Lee shouted, his voice nearly breaking with excitement. "And Potter's closing in on the Snitch—he's done it! Potter's caught the Snitch! Gryffindor wins!"
Harry felt the small, fluttering Snitch slip into his hand, its wings beating helplessly against his palm. The roar of the crowd was deafening, but all he could think of was the ridiculousness of it all. He could hardly contain his laughter as he floated down to the ground.
"And that's it! Gryffindor wins by over 300 points! Slytherin's going to have a tough time bouncing back from that one!" Lee shouted triumphantly as the stadium erupted into cheers.
The moment Harry's feet hit the ground, Fred and George were on him, tackling him into a rough embrace, their knuckles rubbing his head furiously.
"Harry, you absolute legend!" Fred hollered, ruffling his hair.
"Get off, you lunatics!" Harry laughed, trying to shove them off.
"That was killer, mate!" George added, clapping Harry's back so hard he nearly knocked the breath out of him. "That's some serious Victor Krum-level stuff!"
"Total no-mercy play!" Fred agreed, still beaming.
Angelina and the rest of the girls soon joined, surrounding him with hugs and shouts of excitement.
"Now that's what I'm talking about!" Angelina cheered, nearly knocking Harry over with her enthusiasm.
Katie Bell smiled up at him, eyes gleaming with admiration. "Best you've ever played, Harry," she said warmly, her cheeks flushed. Without thinking, Harry wrapped his arms around her in a hug, giving her a cheeky little squeeze. Katie squeaked in surprise before giggling, "Growing up fast, Potter," she teased, her voice low.
Harry barely had time to process the moment when Ron grabbed him in a bear hug. "Did you see that? Did you see that?! That was bloody incredible!" Ron yelled, thumping Harry on the back.
"I saw it, I saw it!" Harry laughed, catching his breath. "And you were brilliant too—nice saves, Ron!"
Ron snorted, looking slightly embarrassed. "I didn't do anything. You're the one doing professional-level Seeker stuff!"
"Eh, it was just Malfoy," Harry shrugged, grinning as they both looked over at Draco, who was now being chewed out by a furious Captain Flint.
Fred punched Harry's arm playfully. "Party tonight, right?"
Katie caught Harry's eye again, a sly smile playing on her lips. She raised an eyebrow suggestively.
Harry grinned back, feeling a rush of excitement. "Definitely. Party tonight."
Narcissa's smile deepened as she slid a delicate finger down his chest, her nails dragging just enough to send a shiver through him. "Yes, a gift," she purred, her lips hovering near his ear, her breath warm against his skin. "Something only a woman like me can give you."
Harry's pulse quickened. Despite the game of control he played, she always knew how to test his resolve. Every touch, every word, was designed to bring him to the edge of wanting, and though he tried to remain in control, Narcissa had a way of bending him in her favor.
She pulled back slightly, meeting his gaze again, her eyes flashing with something more primal beneath the refined exterior. "Come to the Manor tonight. You'll see what I mean."
Harry's grip on her waist tightened, the wolfish grin returning to his lips. "You've piqued my curiosity, Narcissa."
"Good," she whispered, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to his lips before pulling away completely, leaving him standing alone, the scent of her perfume still lingering in the air. She turned, her skirt swishing elegantly as she walked toward the exit, her heels clicking against the stone floor. Just before she disappeared from view, she cast one last glance over her shoulder, eyes glinting mischievously. "Don't keep me waiting."
And with that, she was gone.
Harry took a deep breath, trying to steady the hunger that surged through him. Narcissa always left him wanting more, and that was precisely how she liked it. She was a master at playing the game, and for now, he was more than willing to let her lead.
Harry shook his head, pushing aside the concern. Nothing would dampen his victory today, not even the risk of someone stumbling upon his secret rendezvous with Narcissa. The thrill of the match still pulsed in his veins, and he could practically hear the cheers of the crowd echoing in his ears. He'd won, and that was enough to lift his spirits.
He stepped out of the locker room and was immediately greeted by the raucous sounds of celebration. His teammates were gathered near the pitch, their laughter and shouts creating a festive atmosphere. Fred and George were already in the middle of a raucous retelling of the match, their voices rising above the din.
"—and I swear, he just flew right into his own keeper! I've never seen anything like it!" Fred exclaimed, animatedly mimicking Draco's crash with exaggerated flailing arms.
Harry chuckled, joining the group. "What did I tell you? Malfoy's ego got the better of him."
Ron clapped Harry on the back, nearly knocking him off balance. "Mate, you were brilliant! The way you led him into Bletchley was genius! He didn't stand a chance."
"Yeah, well, it wasn't just me. Ron's saves were incredible too. We wouldn't have won without you," Harry replied, giving Ron an appreciative nod. He felt a warm glow at their camaraderie; this was what he loved about Quidditch—the teamwork and the thrill of the game.
"Speaking of which," Fred said, his eyes glinting with mischief, "we've got a little something planned for the victory celebration. You in?"
"Of course I am! What do you have in mind?" Harry asked, intrigued.
"Let's just say it involves plenty of Butterbeer and maybe a little firewhiskey," George chimed in with a smirk. "And we've got a few other surprises lined up."
"Sounds like a party," Harry said, his excitement bubbling. He could use a good celebration, especially after the tense moments with Narcissa.
Just then, Angelina swooped in, her face glowing with enthusiasm. "Harry! You were absolutely phenomenal! We should have a toast to the best Seeker Hogwarts has ever seen!" She threw her arms around him in a tight hug, and he felt a wave of warmth wash over him.
"Thanks, Angelina," he said, grinning at her. "I couldn't have done it without the team backing me up."
"Right!" she declared, a playful light dancing in her eyes. "But you definitely need to let loose tonight. You earned it."
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