Chapter 35: Quidditch is Violent

The next morning, the Gryffindor Quidditch team ate breakfast earlier than usual, their excitement buzzing through the Great Hall as they prepared for the much-anticipated game against Slytherin. By eleven o'clock, nearly the entire school was making its way down to the Quidditch pitch. The weather was thick and stifling, with heavy, dark clouds hanging low over the grounds. A muggy heat clung to my skin, making me feel sticky and irritable, but the thrill of the match kept my spirits up.

Ron and I stopped by the Gryffindor locker room to wish Harry good luck. He was sitting on a bench, gripping his broom tightly, his expression focused and determined.

"Good luck, Harry," I said warmly, giving him an encouraging smile.

"Knock Malfoy off his broom, yeah?" Ron added with a grin, clapping Harry on the back.

Harry chuckled lightly but looked a little nervous. "Thanks," he muttered before disappearing into the locker room with the rest of the team.

We hurried up to the stands, managing to snag seats near Dean, Seamus, Parvati, and Lavender. They were in the second row, giving us a clear view of the pitch. The massive stadium was alive with energy—students were waving flags, banners were fluttering in the humid breeze, and the distant sound of chatter and cheers echoed around us. But I couldn't help glancing up at the sky. The ominous gray clouds seemed to be closing in, and the air felt so heavy it was almost hard to breathe.

"Hopefully I don't catch a cold," Ron muttered, pulling his jumper higher around his neck.

I couldn't resist correcting him. "Actually, contrary to popular belief, it isn't the weather that causes the common cold."

Ron turned to me with a bemused look. "I'm sorry?"

"You mostly contract it through skin-to-skin contact, saliva, touching contaminated surfaces, or airborne respiratory droplets," I explained matter-of-factly, glancing back at the pitch.

Ron gawked at me for a moment before smirking. "You sound just like a textbook."

"Why, thank you," I replied with a small, satisfied smile.

Any further discussion was drowned out by the roar of the crowd as the Gryffindor team stepped onto the field. The stands erupted into cheers, with the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs clearly on our side. The Slytherins, of course, booed loudly, their jeers cutting through the cheers. When the Slytherin team entered the pitch, their brand-new Nimbus 2001s gleamed in the dim light, drawing both admiration and scorn from the crowd.

Madam Hooch stepped forward, calling for the captains to shake hands. Flint and Wood practically crushed each other's fingers in a show of mutual hostility. Then Madam Hooch blew her whistle, and the game began.

It was obvious from the start that Slytherin's superior brooms gave them a ridiculous advantage. They quickly took the lead, much to the dismay of everyone except the Slytherins. It was frustrating to watch, and my heart sank as the scoreboard climbed to sixty-zero in Slytherin's favor. To make matters worse, Harry seemed to be the target of a rogue Bludger, which relentlessly chased him around the pitch. Fred and George were doing their best to keep it at bay, flanking Harry protectively, but even they looked like they were struggling.

"That's weird, how that Bludger seems to be following Harry like that," Ron said, frowning as he leaned forward in his seat.

"I noticed that too," I replied, my brow furrowing. "Do you think someone's controlling it? Like Quirrell did with Harry's broom last year?"

Ron shrugged, his expression dark. "Dunno. Possibly. Let's keep a lookout."

The teams resumed play after a short timeout, and once again, the Bludger was locked onto Harry like a heat-seeking missile. The crowd started laughing, as Harry's desperate dodging did look a bit ridiculous, but I couldn't join in. Something was definitely wrong.

I scanned the stands, trying to spot anyone who might be tampering with the Bludger. "I don't see anyone doing anything suspicious," I said, frustrated.

"Well, somebody's doing something!" Ron exclaimed, pulling out his wand. "I'm going to shoot it!"

"Are you mad?" I hissed, grabbing his arm and forcing it down. "You could hit Harry! Not to mention your wand is broken, Ron!"

Ron groaned, lowering his wand. "Right. You're right."

We could only watch helplessly as the Bludger continued its relentless pursuit of Harry. Malfoy, meanwhile, was circling above, clearly enjoying Harry's struggles and yelling taunts at him.

Suddenly, Harry shot forward, his gaze locked on something. "He's seen the Snitch!" I cried, grabbing Ron's arm.

Harry streaked across the pitch, dodging the Bludger as best he could. But just as he stretched out his arm to grab the Snitch, the Bludger slammed into his elbow with a sickening crunch. The sound echoed across the stadium, and I gasped, clutching my hands to my chest.

"OH NO, HARRY!" I shouted, watching in horror.

"Look at him go!" Ron yelled, pointing.

Despite the obvious pain, Harry pushed on. With his uninjured arm, he reached out and closed his fingers around the Snitch. The moment he caught it, he lost control of his broom and crashed into the muddy pitch, rolling to a stop. The roar of the crowd was deafening, a surge of cheers erupting from Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, and Hufflepuff alike. The Slytherins sat stone-faced and silent, their green scarves doing nothing to dull their disappointment. My heart was pounding as Ron and I leapt to our feet and scrambled down the stands. Harry had just made the most incredible catch, but at what cost? His collision with the pitch had been brutal, and from where we were, he didn't look as though he was moving much.

Ron and I weaved through the throng of students pouring onto the field, breathless and panicked. By the time we reached Harry, Lockhart had already arrived, sweeping in with his usual theatrical flair. His immaculate robes billowed as he knelt beside Harry, a wide and utterly unnecessary grin plastered across his face.

"Oh no, not you," Harry groaned, his voice faint but laced with dread.

"Doesn't know what he's saying," Lockhart announced loudly, addressing the growing crowd of Gryffindors gathering around us. He waved his hand dismissively, as if Harry's protest were nothing but delirium. "Not to worry, Harry. I'm about to fix your arm."

"No!" Harry protested weakly, trying to sit up but clearly in too much pain. "I'll keep it like this, thanks."

I winced at the sight of him—his face was pale, his jaw clenched tightly as he cradled his injured arm. Colin Creevey had appeared, camera at the ready, snapping pictures like an overeager journalist.

"I don't want a photo of this, Colin!" Harry barked, his voice strained.

"Lie back, Harry," said Lockhart in what I'm sure he thought was a soothing tone. "It's a simple charm I've used countless times—"

"Why can't I just go to the hospital wing?" Harry asked through gritted teeth, clearly exasperated and desperate to escape Lockhart's clutches.

"He should really, Professor," chimed in Oliver Wood, who had joined the circle around Harry. His tone was a mix of concern and pride as he added, "Great capture, Harry, really spectacular, your best yet, I'd say!"

Meanwhile, Fred and George were wrestling with the rogue Bludger a few feet away, struggling to shove it back into its box. The violent ball thudded and rattled as it resisted containment, almost as if it were still intent on finishing the job it had started.

Lockhart, however, was undeterred. "Stand back!" he declared dramatically, rolling up his sleeves as if preparing for some great feat of heroism.

"No, don't!" Harry winced, his eyes wide with alarm.

But Lockhart was already twirling his wand with unnecessary flair. Before anyone could intervene, he directed it at Harry's arm with a flourish and muttered a charm. There was a loud, unpleasant squelching sound, and the next moment, Harry's arm collapsed like jelly.

It was horrifying. I clapped a hand over my mouth, trying not to gag. Harry's arm flopped unnaturally, the bone completely gone. Ron turned an alarming shade of green beside me.

"Ah," said Lockhart, blinking at the result as if he couldn't quite believe it himself. "Yes. Well, that can sometimes happen. But the point is, the bones are no longer broken. That's the thing to bear in mind. So, Harry, just toddle up to the hospital wing—ah, Mr. Weasley, Miss Granger," he said, pointing a shaky finger at us, "would you escort him? And Madam Pomfrey will be able to—er—tidy you up a bit."

I bit back the sharp retort rising in my throat and nodded curtly. Ron and I each took one of Harry's arms—well, one arm and one floppy sleeve—and helped him to his feet. He wobbled unsteadily, his face contorting with a mix of pain and disgust as he caught sight of his boneless hand dangling limply.

"Let's get you to Madam Pomfrey," I said firmly, shooting Lockhart a glare as we turned away. The crowd parted to let us pass, murmurs of disbelief and dismay following us all the way to the castle.

Harry was silent for most of the walk, his expression a grim mixture of exhaustion and irritation. Ron, however, couldn't help muttering under his breath.

"Can't believe that git thought he'd help. Should've just kept his wand to himself."

"Not helpful, Ron," I snapped, though I couldn't entirely disagree. "Let's just focus on getting Harry sorted."

Harry let out a low groan, and I tightened my grip on his good arm. "You'll be fine," I assured him, though I wasn't entirely sure how Madam Pomfrey was going to fix this.

Madam Pomfrey wasn't at all pleased.

"You should have come straight to me!" she raged, holding up Harry's arm and somewhat flailing it around."I can mend bones in a second - but growing them back-"

"You will be able to, won't you?" said Harry desperately.

"I'll be able to, certainly, but it will be painful," said Madam Pomfrey grimly, throwing Harry a pair of pajamas. "You'll have to stay the night..."

I waited outside the curtain drawn around Harry's bed while Ron helped him into his pajamas. It took a while to stuff a boneless arm into a sleeve.

"How can you stick up for Lockhart now, Hermione, eh?" Ron called through the curtain. "If Harry had wanted deboning he would have asked."

"Anyone can make a mistake," I said. "And it doesn't hurt anymore, does it, Harry?"

"No," said Harry, getting into bed. "But it doesn't do anything else either."

When they were done, Madam Pomfrey and I came around the curtain. Madam Pomfrey was holding a large bottle of Skele-Gro.

"You're in for a rough night," she said, pouring out a cupfull and handing it to him. "Regrowing bones is a nasty business."

Harry gulped the seemingly disgusting liquid down. I handed him a glass of water to wash it down, while Pomfrey left us alone.

"We won, though," Ron said encouragingly. "That was some catch you made. Malfoy's face... he looked ready to kill..."

"I want to know how he fixed that Bludger." I said. Seemed like it was looking more and more that Malfoy was up to no good.

"We can add that to the list of questions we'll ask him when we've taken the Polyjuice Potion," said Harry, sinking back onto his pillows. "I hope it tastes better than this stuff..."

"If it's got bits of Slytherins in it? You've got to be joking." Ron said.

Soon, the Gryffindor team came to congratulate him. Ron and I left him to his team and made our way back to the common room.

"You're right." Ron said, seemingly trying to stay on my good side so I would calm down. "It could very well be him. A lot of strange shit is happening at this school. I'm still angry at you though, Mione."

I stopped walking. "Why? What did I do?"

"Lockhart was fucking barmy." Ron said.

Language Ron!" I protested.

"He didn't know what the bloody hell he was doing. What if that was more than just Harry's arm?"

I hesitated a bit. I didn't want to think of if that spell went even more horribly wrong than it did. "Maybe he was so anxious, he missaid a word." I said as we climbed the steps.

"Or maybe he's a git who doesn't know what he is doing and shouldn't teach!" Ron yelled.

"You are the one who sounds like a git!"

"Oh really, Hermione? I'm the git? That wanker removed Harry's bones, but I'm the git?!"

"Okay!" I said, putting up my hands in defeat. I really couldn't defend the man. Not this time, at least. "Alright. Maybe, maybe he just didn't do it right. He should have let Madam Pomfrey handle it."

Ron nodded, seemingly satisfied that I hadn't tried.

"Think he will be okay?" I asked, semi changing the subject.

"Pixie dust." Ron said to the Fat Lady, who opened and let us in. "Yeah, he should be alright. Harry has been through worse, you know?"

"Yeah." I said, nodding. "He has."

Madam Pomfrey was livid, and honestly, I couldn't blame her. She was standing over Harry, holding up his arm—or what was left of it—and waving it slightly to make her point clear. The sight of it was enough to make me nauseous. His arm was like a limp sleeve, dangling in a way no arm ever should.

"You should have come straight to me!" she raged, her voice sharp enough to cut through the murmurs of the hospital wing. "I can mend bones in a second—but regrowing them back…" She trailed off, shaking her head in sheer exasperation.

"You will be able to, won't you?" Harry asked, his voice filled with worry.

"I'll be able to, certainly," Madam Pomfrey said grimly, pulling a pair of pajamas out of a cupboard and tossing them onto Harry's bed. "But it will be painful. You'll have to stay the night."

I stepped outside the curtain drawn around Harry's bed, giving him some privacy while Ron helped him into the pajamas. I couldn't help but wince as I heard Harry mutter complaints about stuffing his boneless arm into a sleeve. The entire situation was awful.

"How can you stick up for Lockhart now, Hermione, eh?" Ron called through the curtain, his tone dripping with incredulity. "If Harry had wanted deboning, he would've asked."

I folded my arms and scowled, though I knew Ron couldn't see me. "Anyone can make a mistake," I shot back. "And it doesn't hurt anymore, does it, Harry?"

"No," Harry admitted, his voice resigned. "But it doesn't do anything else either."

When they were done, Madam Pomfrey and I stepped back behind the curtain. She was holding a large bottle of what I instantly recognized as Skele-Gro, the potion infamous for its vile taste and the unpleasant process it set in motion.

"You're in for a rough night," Madam Pomfrey said matter-of-factly, pouring out a measure of the potion into a cup and handing it to Harry. "Regrowing bones is a nasty business."

Harry grimaced as he brought the cup to his lips, clearly bracing himself for the taste. He swallowed the potion in one big gulp, gagging slightly as he handed the empty cup back to Madam Pomfrey. I quickly passed him a glass of water, which he accepted with a grateful nod.

"We won, though," Ron said, ever the optimist as he stood at the foot of Harry's bed. "That was some catch you made. Malfoy's face… he looked ready to kill…"

I couldn't help but frown. My mind was already turning over the match, particularly that rogue Bludger. "I want to know how he fixed that Bludger," I said, my voice firm with determination. It felt like one more piece of evidence piling up against Malfoy.

"We can add that to the list of questions we'll ask him when we've taken the Polyjuice Potion," Harry said, leaning back against his pillows, his expression tired but resolved. "I hope it tastes better than this stuff…"

"If it's got bits of Slytherins in it? You've got to be joking," Ron quipped, pulling a face.

Soon, the Gryffindor Quidditch team arrived to congratulate Harry on his catch, crowding around his bed and filling the air with laughter and backslaps. Ron and I took that as our cue to leave, quietly slipping out of the hospital wing and heading back toward the common room.

"So you really think Malfoy did it?" Ron asked me as we walked down the dimly lit corridor that led toward the staircase up to Gryffindor Tower. His tone was unusually curious, almost cautious, as if he were testing the waters of my conviction. "You're usually not the one to accuse so quickly."

"Who else, Ron?" I shot back, my voice sharper than I intended. My frustration was bubbling over, and I couldn't help it. "Who else would do something as foul as that? Who else would want to hurt Harry that badly in school? We'll find out soon enough,"

My tone was firm, resolute, but I could feel the heat rising to my cheeks, a telltale sign that my anger was reaching its boiling point. My hair was frizzing more than usual, as it always did when I was particularly upset. I could feel the tension in my jaw as I ground my teeth.

Ron seemed to sense my mood and tread carefully. "You're right," he said, his tone almost placating. "It could very well be him. A lot of strange shit is happening at this school. But I'm still angry at you though, Mione."

That stopped me in my tracks. I turned to him, my eyes narrowing. "Why? What did I do?"

"Lockhart was fucking barmy," Ron said bluntly.

"Language, Ron!" I scolded, crossing my arms.

He ignored me. "He didn't know what the bloody hell he was doing. What if that spell had done more than just Harry's arm?"

I hesitated, chewing on my lip as I considered his point. "Maybe he was just anxious and misspoke a word," I suggested weakly as we began climbing the steps toward the tower.

"Or maybe he's a git who doesn't know what he's doing and shouldn't teach!" Ron retorted, his voice rising.

"You're the one who sounds like a git!" I snapped back, glaring at him.

"Oh, really, Hermione? I'm the git? That wanker removed Harry's bones, but I'm the git?" Ron shouted, throwing his hands in the air.

"Okay!" I said, holding up my hands in surrender. "Alright. Maybe… maybe he just didn't do it right. He should have let Madam Pomfrey handle it."

Ron nodded, clearly satisfied that I'd admitted as much. We continued walking in silence for a moment before I broke it.

"Think he will be okay " I asked, my voice softer.

"Pixie dust," Ron muttered to the Fat Lady, who swung open to let us into the common room. He turned to me as we stepped inside. "Yeah, he'll be alright. Harry's been through worse, you know?"

I nodded, my mind still whirring. "Yeah… he has."