Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Author's Note: A massive thanks to silentclock, who I asked to help beta this chapter after reading a segment of his upcoming one-shot. Keep a look out for his work; I think he could be something special. Huge thanks to Benevolent Abyss as well, who is currently my beta. Both of them caught some disappointing mistakes. And finally, I can't thank Nerox511 enough for his thoughts and help so far. I feel like half of the upcoming chapters could be credited to him. The best German I've ever spoken to!
Let me know what you think!
Chapter Three
"3… 2… 1, GO!"
Harry and Ackerley shot off into the lead. They were halfway down the pitch in less than five seconds.
At the last second, Harry chose to go over the posts and under, but it was a move that lost him the lead. Both the twins and Ackerley went through the hoops, using a leg to hook around the post and kick themselves back down the pitch. If you got the angle wrong when flying through the hoops, or didn't make yourself small enough to fit through them, it could potentially be highly dangerous, which was why it was strictly forbidden at Hogwarts.
Instead of moaning at his mistake, Harry tried pressing himself even further on to his Firebolt. Ollie turned at the post just as Harry picked up speed, leaving the Keeper behind. Harry hit the posts just as the twins turned back, but Ackerley had already passed Harry back up the field.
Using the method he had seen the twins and Ackerley use, Harry caught up to the tail-end of the twins' brooms. They were expert flyers; there was no doubt about that. It was as if the two flew with a sense of anger about them, bullying their brooms to do what they wanted. Due to Ollie being forced to drop out because of the two-lap rule, Harry knew he needed to make the next turn count.
He knew what he was about to do would be risky, but he also knew it had to be done.
Seeing Fred pick the middle hoop to fly through, Harry flipped his broom upside down as he came back around, allowing him to effectively block Fred's path.
"Shit!"
Harry had no time to celebrate his victory, and chose instead to race ahead of George, who must have wondered where his brother had gone. As Harry hit the halfway point of the pitch, Ackerley flew through the left hoop and arced back around through the right goal, a large grin on his face. As he passed, Harry noticed Ackerley wasn't using the Seeker's Grip that he had initially applied to control the broom. Both of his hands were held tightly near the tip of his handle.
With nothing to lose, Harry applied the same technique, but he wasn't prepared for his broom to suddenly lurch forward. The Firebolt took him past the posts, but it turned expertly as soon as Harry realised what had happened.
The last two laps were done out of a formality rather than anything else, but Harry was more than happy to see he'd beaten out the twins and Ollie. The new grip he'd applied had also done something he couldn't quite explain, but it was definitely something to look into.
"Nice flying, Potter!" Ackerley said, flying up to Harry and high-fiving him. "I watched you on that turn. You copied my grip, didn't you?"
Harry nodded, still buzzing from the race. "How is it possible? I mean, everyone has different grips, but I've never had that reaction before."
Fred and George, who had slowly flown over to Harry and Ackerley, looked on in interest.
Ackerley was the one to tackle Harry's question, though. "I think it's all to do with belief, really. Brooms have always been designed to have top speeds, good handling, and all the rest of it, but it always comes down to the person controlling the broom."
"I know my Firebolt has picked up speed in the last few years," Harry said. "I mean, when I first flew it, it was lightning fast. Now that I've got used to it, it seems almost easier to maintain that speed, and it's like it can go faster."
The three professionals nodded in unison.
"It's natural, Harry," George said. "The more you fly, the better you'll be."
"Not just that, but the faster the broom will go, and you'll have better handling," Ackerley said. "It's not exactly a secret, and players have different opinions on the matter, but that's why some players are so much better than others. They put more time in and they practise harder, it's as simple as that."
Taking that information on board, Harry adjusted his grip a few times on the handle of the Firebolt.
"So, does where you grip the broom really matter?"
"It depends on what position you play," Fred said. "George and I hold a bat, so we can only use one hand to control the broom. We have to adjust our grip throughout a match."
"It's the same with a Keeper," Ollie said, joining the group in the air. "We have to assert control with just our legs, but we don't have to race down the pitch and back."
"You know how to play Chaser, Harry, just think of it like that," George said. "They have to switch hands, sometimes they only hold with their legs, but they have to be good all around."
"Seekers, on the other hand," Ackerley said, "are considered to be the fastest and most agile players on the pitch. Use a grip you feel is the best, but experiment as well. You'll figure it out."
The trial had yet to start, but Harry had already found his complete flying skills questioned. Before he'd flown alongside Ackerley, he'd thought he was a skilled flyer, but there were so many different things he had never thought of. Harry was already planning on visiting Viktor Krum in the summer, if he got on the team that was.
"All right," Ollie said, taking charge. "Bludgers, if you let them, can be a big problem during a game."
"I know…" Harry said slowly, the stirrings of irritation already beginning to show. It wasn't enough that he was unsure if he was holding his broom correctly, but now basic knowledge of the game was being explained to him.
"Look, you don't understand, Harry," Ollie said irritably. "Professional Quidditch is a lot different to what you're used to. Trust me, I was in your position. I thought I knew it all, but I quickly learnt that it's fucking difficult with the big boys. If you don't start learning and adjusting, you won't make it."
Harry was well-aware of Oliver Wood's intensity on the Quidditch pitch, even if he was a nice guy off it, so he just nodded.
"Anyway, Bludgers are a lot faster than what you're used to," Ollie started again. "The players hit them harder, with more precision, and a head shot is not a foul against outfield players."
Harry knew the rules well. Deliberately aiming for the head in a Hogwarts match was an instant foul, but players had to be on a constant lookout in professional matches.
"I just want you to dodge for as long as you can, Harry," Ollie said. "Fred and George will be aiming for you. Like in a match, they won't be able to physically touch you; they'll just be trying to take your head off with the Bludgers. There won't be a Snitch, so all you have to do is avoid getting hit. Got it?"
Harry nodded, more determined than ever. As Fred and George flew down to the pitch to let loose the Bludgers, Ackerley slung his arm over Harry's shoulders again.
"Your best bet is to go for pure speed," Ackerley said. "You're faster than them. If you just try to dodge, they'll team up on you in an instant and you won't be able to get away. Fred and George can hit them as fast and as hard as just about anyone. Just fly as fast as you can for as long as possible. Keep your chin on the side of the wood. It'll keep your head down and your eyes forward. It's good for gaining speed quickly."
"Thanks," Harry muttered, unable to say much else.
Ackerley touched down on the side-line next to Ollie. The two weren't involved in this drill; it was just Harry versus the Weasley twins, a two on one situation that had Harry slightly worried.
"You ready, Harry?" George called from the ground. He was the one to let the Bludgers loose. Fred was already in the air, swinging his bat loosely around his hand, his eyes already narrowed in on the chest.
Harry gave the thumbs-up to George, adjusting his grip to a loose-hold, towards the tip of his handle. It served to keep his body flat against the broom, which would hopefully gain him more speed. He also followed Ackerley's advice, lowering his chin to the right of his broom, his eyes looking forward.
The twins weren't going to go easy on him, and Harry wouldn't have expected them to.
George clicked open the lock of the chest, before letting the Bludgers loose. They shot out with a bang, straight up in the air, where Fred diverted one towards Harry with ease.
"Shit, they're fast," Harry muttered, already on the move. He dodged the first shot, which only missed him by inches. The second clipped his ankle, sending a wave of pain shooting up his leg. He gritted his teeth in anger, pain, and mostly frustration, but stuck to his task.
Fred and George quickly worked on their own tactics, ones they were starting to gain a reputation for using. Bludgers never stopped moving, which meant they were hard to control, but Fred and George controlled them, hitting them back and forth to each other. They'd gotten the idea from twin Beaters who played in the late sixties, and the move was known as 'ping-pong'.
Harry didn't drop his speed as the twins came straight for him. Fred missed a shot, but George was on hand to smack it back towards Harry, who had to adjust quickly to stop the hit. Fred had anticipated where Harry was going, already sending a Bludger into Harry's downward path. Harry swerved out of the way, kicking on the pace to get as high as possible.
Fred and George were used to aiming for seven players, so focusing on one was easy for them. Harry felt like he was the prey and his predators were playing with him.
Fred whacked a Bludger straight at Harry's chest. Harry darted through the goal, hearing George's other Bludger ping off the outer ring. Harry had no time to breathe a sigh of relief, as the twins shot after their Bludgers.
In the middle of the pitch, Harry turned, his eyes widening when he saw the tactic the twins had employed. They were on either side of him. Two Bludgers rocketed towards Harry from both sides. Before he'd even thought what to do, Harry found himself heading for the skies, hearing the Bludgers smash into each other a second later.
A game of cat and mouse ensued, the Bludgers getting nearer to their target with every hit.
It was only a matter of time.
Harry was sure he hadn't been escaping the shots for very long, but he was already drenched in sweat and aching all over. His hair stuck to his forehead, his clothes were uncomfortable as they rubbed against his body, and he couldn't keep still for a minute. The sun only made it worse, the heat starting to burn his skin.
Beyond tired already, Harry turned straight into the path of a Bludger. With a grunt, Harry bent over double as the Bludger collided with his stomach. With his eyes watering heavily, Harry gasped for breath, only to feel another Bludger smack into his already-bad ribs with a crack.
Feeling pain like he hadn't felt in a long time, Harry clutched himself with one arm, keeping his other hand on the broom. His attempt to get away did him no good, as he saw Fred smile, which could only mean his brother was close. Harry felt the Bludger hit dead-centre on his back, sending another wave of sheer pain through him. His vision wavered slightly, and he swayed, gripping the handle of his broom for all it was worth.
"Fuck!" Harry roared from the sheer agony from that last shot.
"You okay, Harry?" Fred asked, sounding completely unapologetic.
Harry wheezed, shooting Fred a thumbs-up.
When the twins stopped trying to kill Harry, they hurried to put the Bludgers away. Ollie and Ackerley were by Harry's side in moments.
"You all right, Potter?" Ollie asked, wincing in sympathy, even if he looked fairly amused.
"I'll live," Harry said, although he wasn't sure if he would if he had to keep taking shots like he had been.
Harry refused to be cowed by pain, though. He held in another wince, removing his hand from him stomach, which felt empty all of a sudden. His ribs were surely broken yet again, and his back was heavily bruised from what he could feel.
"How long did I last?" Harry asked.
Ollie had been keeping an eye on the time. "Just under four minutes."
Harry grimaced. "Shit, I thought I'd do a bit better than that."
"Nah, don't worry about it, Harry," Fred said, coming up behind Harry. "You managed to keep us at bay for longer than most people would."
"You wouldn't have quite that much focus on just you in a match," George said.
"Unless you were going for the Snitch," Ackerley said.
"In which case, we would be on hand to stop anything getting close to you," Fred said with complete certainty.
Harry just nodded, having heard enough. "What's next, then?"
The three men looked at each other in slight surprise.
"All right, now that you're warmed up, you get to try and do what you do best." Oliver pulled a Snitch out from his pocket. "This is your average training Snitch, made to be re-used over and over again. It's exactly the same as a match-day Snitch, so you'll have to be sharp."
Harry eyed the Snitch like a cat eying up a toy ball.
"You and Ackerley can go Seeker crazy over it," Ollie informed him. "I'll be acting as a defensive Chaser, trying to block your path."
"And we'll do what we do best," George said, jerking his thumb towards his brother.
Harry rolled his shoulders, blocking out the aches and pains in his body. He knew what he had to do, what he was expected to do, and he was going to prove himself. They'd all given him advice, today and throughout his Hogwarts matches, and it was time to put it to good use in his biggest test yet.
"Let's go," was all Harry said.
Ollie let go of the Snitch. It tore out of his hands, flying faster than any other ball on the pitch. Harry followed it as it zoomed underneath him, but lost sight of it after seconds.
"Go and search," Ollie said.
Harry did just that. He pushed his broom to its limits around the pitch, following Ackerley and copying some of his movements. Ollie and the twins stayed close to him, the Bludgers being passed around with their bats as if they were Quaffles. They wouldn't intervene until Harry had spotted the Snitch.
Five minutes passed with no sign of the Snitch, with everyone slowed to a crawl and looking bored.
Another ten minutes slowed down everyone's concentration. With the sun lowering in the sky, and after a day in which Harry had been battered, the Snitch finally promised some relief. Like a bird of prey making its dive, Harry followed the Snitch in a vertical drop.
"Oh, no you don't," Ollie said, sticking out an elbow.
Harry felt his nose crush under the hard bone, spraying blood everywhere. Tears streamed down his face as he clutched his face, mixing in with the thick blood pouring over his lips and dripping off his chin.
Swaying in mid-air, Harry felt his whole body shaking. His teeth clenched so hard his jaw ached. Something inside of him ripped practical thoughts away entirely, as Harry opened his eyes.
Ollie was laughing with the others.
Harry lined him up.
Only a few meters away, Harry sent his broom forwards with full acceleration. Ollie turned, only for his head to snap back as Harry swung as hard as he could. The punch against Malfoy had been better, but Ollie still spun violently in the air, clutching his likely-broken jaw.
"You know," Fred said calmly, "that would probably be a foul for excessive use of force. Or violent conduct, if the ref doesn't want fighting."
"So would an elbow to the face," George said with a shrug.
Harry couldn't sit still. On top of the pain in his ribs, his back, and his broken nose, now his knuckles were already starting to bruise.
Ollie held up a hand. "All right, I get it," he said, hardly moving his jaw as he spoke. "You're prepared to fight back."
"You really should've known that already," George said, chuckling happily.
"Let's just get back on with it," Ollie grumbled, gently rubbing his cheek.
Maybe it was because he hadn't expected such a brutal retaliation, but Ollie stayed within the rules as they continued playing. Fred and George took a few shots, mostly to keep Harry lively.
Harry and Ackerley both knew what was happening far better than the other three. Ackerley was tempted to throw in a feint, but he knew Harry was waiting for it. Eventually, Harry threw caution to the wind, diverting straight back to the twins and splitting them as he flew down the middle of the pitch.
As luck would have it, the Snitch glinted at the far end of the pitch, just above the goalposts. Harry raced on, but out of nowhere, Ackerley was at his side, having the gall to turn and grin at him.
Flabbergasted at the pure skill Ackerley possessed, Harry never saw Fred and George attack. A Bludger cut into Harry's blindside, glancing off his lower back. Harry made the fatal mistake of turning around to look, only for Fred to take full advantage and smash another Bludger from his position on Ackerley's other side.
With his body twisted awkwardly, the Bludger collided with Harry's shoulder.
It was pain like Harry had never experienced on a Quidditch pitch before. Every other thought left Harry's brain and he screamed in raw agony. His right arm had been torn out of his socket, he knew for certain. He couldn't move it if he tried, and if he tried he felt like he was about to pass out.
"Can you go on?" Ollie asked unsympathetically.
Harry had never been more tempted to say no. Everything was going against him. He knew Ackerley was toying with him. He could have caught the Snitch at least three times by now, yet he stuck on Harry, practically goading him into making a mistake. Fred and George had been able to strike at will, knowing they'd find their target.
Harry's body was shaking, he felt sick and completely exhausted. He'd never felt so out of his depth before when it came to a game he genuinely loved. It was like Dudley going up against Mike Tyson, it would be a complete and utter mismatch.
In the end, Harry's pride won out. "I want to finish this."
"You're a tough little bastard, I'll give you that," Ackerley said, whistling through his teeth.
And so the game continued, this time at a much slower pace. Harry could hardly move, let alone fly. His right arm was out of commission, which meant he had to do everything with his wrong arm.
Never before had he felt so hopeless on a Quidditch pitch. He felt so… talentless compared to who he was up against.
If anyone thought Harry's trial would be easy because of old friends, Harry would personally tell them where to shove it. This wasn't training, this was an all-out attack. If Harry didn't know any better, he would've sworn they were trying to sabotage his chances.
"Pick up the pace, Potter," Ackerley demanded.
Harry felt like lamping him, but he couldn't have done so if he'd tried.
As if feeling sympathy for Harry, the Snitch showed up right in front of him. He snatched at it, his hand flailing wildly for the catch, when he sensed rather than saw what was coming. He tried to turn, but it was no use.
Fred took his opportunity. The crack of the bat reverberated around the stands as it smashed into the Bludger. Hit with such force, Harry never stood a chance of getting out of the way. It smacked into his chest with such power that Harry found himself looking up at the world above, unable to breath and gasping.
The blue skies blurred with the clouds as Harry simply lay there, his eyes half closed. He hadn't noticed before, but there was soft wind blowing. It swept over his face, inexplicably soothing him somehow.
Surprising even himself, Harry sat up shakily. Even though they were only doing their job, Harry would get his revenge on the twins another day, but for now they could wait. He was going after that Snitch until he physically couldn't move another muscle, which he personally thought wasn't too far away.
"Are you good to carry on?" Ollie asked.
He was ignored. Harry's eyes were darting around the pitch, this way and that, wide and unblinking. Ackerley shifted uneasily.
The Snitch darted straight over Harry's head. Harry and Ackerley turned in unison. Ackerley pulled ahead, which Harry had fully expected. His pain was put to the back of his mind for the moment. He held his worthless right arm close to his chest, his left arm steering him onwards at breakneck speed.
Harry didn't know how he was doing it, but the way he picked up speed was incredible. He refused to back down. He knew he needed a miracle, but he'd experienced enough of those in his life. With his head down, Harry followed the advice of the man he was currently chasing.
The wind hit his arm at unbearable speeds. Tunnel vision started to creep in. Fred, George, and Oliver were nowhere to be seen.
"Come on, come the fuck on," Harry muttered between clenched teeth, refusing to feel any joy as he gained ground on Ackerley.
Puddlemere's starting Seeker glanced back, a look of surprise on his face. Ackerley didn't look back again, instead following his own advice and keeping his body perfectly on the broom.
Harry could practically reach out an arm and touch the twigs on Ackerley's broom when another crack filled the air.
Harry didn't even have time to wince. Darkness filled his vision as he was sent careening through the air. His head felt like it was on fire as his jaw snapped. Harry didn't know how bad the damage was. He felt sick, the familiar taste of blood hitting his taste buds.
He felt someone pulling him through the air as he drifted in and out of consciousness.
"Ah," he said, followed by a deep groan of pain.
He couldn't talk. He could only listen to the people around him.
"Damn, Fred, you just about knocked the poor fucker out!" Ackerley exclaimed.
Harry didn't know if the man was impressed or not. "I okay," Harry said, unable to close his lips.
Someone patted his shoulder, eliciting another groan.
"Watch his fucking shoulder, Fred. You destroyed it," Oliver said heatedly.
Harry felt himself gently lowered to the floor.
"Poppy shall be ready, Harry," Dumbledore's said, his voice soothing. "I'll let you sleep for the journey."
Harry couldn't say a thing. His eyes were already closing of their own accord. Dumbledore stunned him to be on the safe-side, with the red beam of light the last thing Harry saw, before he finally lost consciousness.
"I'm sure you're already aware of Mr Potter and his exploits, girls," Madam Pomfrey said, her voice echoing around the walls of the infirmary. "I'm sure you know of his wish to die before his eighteenth birthday as well. The Headmaster brought him to me last night along with his usual list of injuries."
Harry opened his mouth to talk, but found he could only rub his tongue against the roof of his mouth, his throat completely dry. His head felt like it had been used as a Bludger, his entire upper body screamed in protest any time he so much as twitched, and for some reason, it felt as though a dozen bees were constantly stinging his hand.
"Who did this to him?"
Harry knew the voice from somewhere, but he couldn't quite place it.
"Who did this to him?" Madam Pomfrey snorted. "This, young lady, is from the Weasley twins."
"Why would they do this to him? Aren't they his friends? Isn't he best friends with their younger brother?"
"I'm afraid that's Quidditch for you," Madam Pomfrey said, practically spitting the word out as though it was dirty.
Harry groaned rather pathetically in protest and to show he was awake. A quiet chuckle and a snort of amusement assured Harry that he had been heard.
"How do you feel this morning, Potter?" Madam Pomfrey asked. Her voice was bland, as if she had grown bored of asking him the same question. To be fair to the Healer, she had asked him the same thing a number of times over the years.
Harry wet his lips, wondering how best to answer that question. He had often lied in his younger years, detesting any type of sympathy. Of course, as Harry grew older, hormones started to kick in, and Sirius had taught Harry a few things that a father would probably leave out of his birds and bees talk. Sympathy, Sirius had assured, wasn't always a bad thing, as long as you weren't a Nancy boy over your pain.
"I feel like shit, Poppy," Harry said through a strained a voice. He coughed a little, wetting his lips again.
"No surprise there," Madam Pomfrey muttered. "The Headmaster mentioned this was caused by a trial. Dare I ask, but why was it so brutal? You've never looked as bad coming from a match!"
Harry rubbed his eyes wearily with the palms of his hands, brushing his fringe from his forehead. "Professional Quidditch is brutal. If I couldn't hack it in a trial, how would I manage it in a real game?"
"The whole sport is barbaric!" Madam Pomfrey declared. "They should ban it at once."
"If you say so, Poppy," Harry said.
"As you can see, Mr Potter is far too used to being in my presence."
"Doesn't mean I like it," Harry grumbled. He pressed his thumbs against his temples, attempting to push back the pounding headache he had.
"Then stop trying to kill yourself, boy!" Madam Pomfrey clucked in annoyance.
Harry smiled at the familiar tone. "You love me really, Poppy. You'd be bored without me coming to see you so often." Harry chuckled at Madam Pomfrey's scoff. "Who do you keep talking to, anyway?"
"Why don't you open your eyes and see for yourself?"
Harry, who was still clutching his head in his hands, opened his eyes and looked through his fingers. "Oh," he said.
Two very amused-looking girls stared back at him, their faces lit up from the sun shining through the high windows. Madam Pomfrey wasted no time in treating Harry, immediately setting to work on his ribs, revealing Harry's bare chest for the world to see. Harry, though, was far too used to having himself on show – naked or otherwise – to let it bother him.
The two girls watched in interest as Madam Pomfrey removed the bandages from Harry's heavily bruised chest. As the girls watched her run her wand down the entire length of Harry's side, Harry looked back at the girls, easily recognising them.
Tracey Davis always reminded Harry of a sneakier version of Lavender Brown. The girl's dark eyes squinted as she watched Madam Pomfrey working, her full, deep red lips set in a pout. A lock of curly, brown hair fell into her face, which she easily brushed back into place like the perfectionist she was. From what Harry knew of Tracey, the girl wanted to be treated like a princess, wanted her own way in everything, but didn't have either.
In other words, she was too high maintenance for any guy.
Madam Pomfrey tapped her wand against the bruises, causing Harry to wince. He looked up in a bit of daze, straight into the amused eyes of Daphne.
Harry stopped short, his dizziness taken to new heights.
Daphne was a mystery to Harry, but one that he rather enjoyed trying to solve. Her eyes, which were a darker green than Harry's, stayed on his face for a few, fleeting moments, before lowering onto his ribs once more. She smiled in a satisfied way, crossing her arms on her stomach and pushing up her breasts. She glanced back to Harry's face, still smiling, and absently played with a piece of blonde hair around her finger, knowing exactly what reaction she had caused in Harry.
Harry shook his head, unable to keep his smile at bay.
"Hello again," Daphne said in a light voice. It shocked Harry greatly every time he heard her speak, simply because she sounded so… nice.
However, he'd gotten to know her just slightly over the years, and Daphne used that tone of voice in most situations. Harry had seen boys practically run a mile to do what she wanted. It was no different to quite a few of the girls in school. Harry would bet all of his gold that Miss Richards had been the same when she had been at Hogwarts.
"Still here, are you?" Harry scoffed.
"You excite me, Potter," Daphne said dryly as she nodded absently.
A cough suddenly erupted from Harry's chest, causing Madam Pomfrey to tut at him. "Keep still!"
With tears streaming down his face, Harry glared half-heartedly at the now brilliantly-smiling Daphne. Her eyes widened, giving her an almost innocent quality that Harry knew she far from possessed.
Despite what he did know about her, there was still a lot that Harry didn't know about the much-talked about Daphne, apart from what he had overhead guys saying. Guys talked about so many different girls, though, that it was hard to separate who was who after a while. However, he did know that the colour of her hair changed as fast her mood could. She wasn't a Metamorphmagus, and nor was she highly-strung, but she knew what she had and she often used it to her advantage.
"So, how are your apprentices, Poppy?" Harry asked, nodding at the two girls at the end of his bed. "Reckon they could become Healers?"
Madam Pomfrey locked eyes with Harry. "Oh, most definitely. I don't suppose you'd like to follow in such a noble career?"
Harry's eyes lit up, his chest puffing out, which only served to make him flinch. "I'm becoming a Quidditch player," he said with a pride.
Madam Pomfrey scoffed, Daphne snorted, and Tracey said, "You already are a Quidditch player, aren't you?"
As Harry and Madam Pomfrey glanced at each other, making sure they'd heard correctly, Daphne sighed. "What he means, Tracey, is that he's going to play professionally."
"Oh," Tracey said in dawning realisation.
"I'd hardly call that a noble profession, Harry," Madam Pomfrey scolded him, before turning to Daphne. "Could you get the Healing Salve from the cabinet? It's on the middle shelf."
Harry watched her hurry across the room, enjoying the fact she hadn't worn her robes today, before turning back to Madam Pomfrey. "What do you mean it's not noble? Quidditch has been played for centuries!"
"You could do so much more," Madam Pomfrey said with a small shake of her head.
The impending argument was interrupted by Daphne's return, holding out a small pot of Healing Salve.
"If you'd like to do the honours," Madam Pomfrey offered, taking a step away from Harry, allowing a large gap of space for Daphne to step into.
Daphne winced as she took in the state of Harry's ribs. "You really do manage to injure yourself far too often, don't you?"
"I'm glad you've brought it up, Miss Greengrass," Madam Pomfrey said, watching with a critical eye as her apprentice prepared the salve. "Mr Potter, your injuries."
Harry turned to the nurse. "Let me guess. I've been given Pain-Relieving potion and that's why I can talk without any pain. Unfortunately, because of my past addiction to the Potion, I can't be given more than one and that's why my shoulder, back, and ribs still feel fucked up?"
"I wouldn't have put it quite like that." Poppy sniffed. "You are, however, correct. I managed to fix your jaw and put your shoulder back into place, but they'll still feel tender for a while yet."
"Now comes the hardest part," Harry said with a dramatic sigh. "The road to recovery."
"Get on your back," Daphne ordered.
Harry raised an eyebrow. "Do you really want to go there so soon?"
Just as Harry expected, Daphne bit her lip and gave him a significantly different look. Her eyes widened and she chewed her bottom lip. The effect was instantaneous. Harry knew that look well; he'd seen Daphne and countless other girls use a similar technique, but Merlin, it looked good on her.
Harry licked his lips. He doubted Daphne knew exactly what that did to him, although he was certain she had a good idea.
"You have to be on your back so I can rub this in," Daphne said simply. "It's to help you on your road to recovery."
Harry smiled at her tone and refrained from telling her that he was perfectly capable of doing it himself. After all, it was always better when it was rubbed in by someone else, and Harry wasn't going to complain about it being rubbed in by Daphne.
"You do know I'm already on my back, right?" Harry asked.
"What she meant was for you to stop sitting up and get flat on your back," Madam Pomfrey said tiredly, having had the same argument with Harry in the past.
Harry reluctantly allowed Daphne to move the pillows from behind him and did as instructed, staring up at the ceiling.
Daphne nodded and slipped her fingers into the pot, scooping out a large amount of the light green coloured salve. She gently placed it just under Harry's armpit, before rubbing slow circles into his skin. Harry was surprised to find the salve was at room temperature, allowing for a tingling sensation to appear as soon as it touched his skin.
"Keep an eye on him, girls. Make sure he doesn't escape, and give him another Potion in an hour." Poppy glared half-heartedly at him. "Keep doing what you're doing, Daphne," she added before retreating to her office.
Tracey pulled up a chair as soon as Madam Pomfrey had gone, leaving Daphne sitting on the bed to tend to Harry's injured chest. Harry glanced around the infirmary, noticing he was once again the only patient.
"So, any chance of breakfast? I'm starving."
Tracey snorted. "I suppose you've got to build your strength."
Harry's eyebrow rose. "Are you saying I'm not man enough, Davis?"
"Yes, I am."
"What she means, Harry," Daphne said, her hands now working over the most painful part of Harry's ribs, "is the paper."
Tracey picked up the paper on Harry's bedside table and handed it to him.
Potter To Sign For Puddlemere United?
Harry nearly did a double take at the headline.
"Have you actually signed up or is that just journalism at its best?" Daphne asked.
"I haven't signed a thing yet, the fucking liars," Harry said, deciding to read the article, something he usually refrained from doing. He was glad of the distraction, though. Between the pain in his entire body and Daphne's small hands rubbing into his skin, he was thoroughly conflicted.
As Harry read the article and wondered if the saying 'there's no pain without pleasure' referred to him, Daphne tugged on the blanket.
"Oh, shit," Daphne said. Due to her inexperience, she had not only grabbed the blankets but Harry's boxers as well.
Harry looked down in bemusement, wondering what the hell had just happened. Daphne again grasped his boxers, attempting to pull them back up.
"You know, I don't mind what you're doing one bit," Harry said dryly, thanking his lucky stars he was drugged up, "but you could've warned me."
Daphne raised her eyes to him, a noticeable blush across her neck. Her hands worked methodically across Harry's hip.
"What does the paper say, anyway?" Daphne asked quickly.
Harry allowed the change of conversation. "The usual. You know, 'our sources say' and the like. I'll just have to wait for a letter from the club."
"If you do get a contract, get better at flying," Daphne said seriously. "I don't fancy having to do this for you again."
Harry chuckled. "I don't fancy going through this pain again, but I could happily let you do that again."
Daphne rolled her eyes, fighting a grin. "Get on your stomach, Potter."
"Get on my stomach?" Harry repeated her words dubiously. "Why?
"You do realise I'm still here, right?" Tracey interrupted, her arms crossed over her stomach. Harry and Daphne glanced at each other and turned to the girl. "You know, just in case you've forgotten about me!"
"Oh, shut up," Daphne said airily. "Lean forward or something then, Potter, your back was bruised quite heavily. I need to put more of this on you."
Harry leant forward as requested, as the topic of conversation turned, inevitably, to Harry's trial.
"I'm quite surprised you're being so cocky after what just happened," Daphne said.
"Why's that?" Harry muttered.
"Well, I don't know what goes on in Quidditch trials, but I didn't think getting knocked out would be a good thing to happen," Daphne said dubiously.
Harry scoffed, even if Daphne was speaking aloud his inner thoughts. "It shows commitment."
"It shows something, but I'm not sure it's commitment," Daphne mumbled. "Get on your stomach, will you? It would be much easier."
Harry did as he was told without a fight, as the conversation switched to the N.E.W.T.s. It was unsurprising, as no seventh year could stop talking about it, hoping they'd done enough to pass.
"How do you think you've done, Potter?" Tracey asked curiously.
Harry nearly misheard her. Daphne's hands working at his back was causing him to drift off to sleep. A moment later, his eyes widened as a plate of food appeared in front of him, a full English no less.
Harry swallowed the egg he'd just stuffed into his mouth. "Uh, I passed Defence, I'm sure about that. Oh, and Charms, I passed that, too." Harry shrugged at the incredulous look the girls sent his way. "Transfiguration was a breeze as well."
"How the fuck do you know that?" Daphne demanded, now finished with applying the salve on Harry's back. She slumped into a chair next to Tracey, absently cleaning her hands with cleaning charms.
"I don't know for sure," Harry said, stretching his back as he sat back, "but come on, all I had to do for Charms was produce a Patronus." He kept his failed attempt at a Fidelius to himself.
"You're the best in the year at Defence as well," Tracey admitted, clearly not liking that fact.
Daphne glared at him for good measure.
"You should be jealous, I knew the examiner for Defence," Harry said.
"How?" Daphne demanded, crossing her arms.
"I'm surprised you didn't recognise him," Harry said. "It was Kingsley Shacklebolt, who's now the Head Auror. He fought alongside me during the war. Hard as nails, he is. Saved my arse more than once."
"Why is the Head Auror the examiner for Defence?" Daphne asked.
"Ministry's idea," Harry said. "They're hoping that students will actually earn their grade."
"Hang on," Tracey said, holding her hand out. "You had to duel with the Head of the Aurors?"
Harry nodded absently, biting into a piece of toast. "Yeah, but don't worry, he didn't go easy on me. In fact, he's still quite pissed at me for turning down his offer to join the Aurors."
"We didn't have to duel him, though! Why did you?" Tracey's eyes widened at just the thought.
Daphne hit her upside the head. "You do realise that Potter killed the Dark Lord, right?"
Tracey thought about it for a moment, a weak grin following a moment later. "Oh. Yeah."
"I didn't realise you had to duel him, though, Potter," Daphne said, still shooting dirty looks towards her best friend. "We only had to duel animated dummies."
Harry nodded. "So did I, but I offered Shack. He'd been waiting a while to have a go at me."
"Did you win?" Tracey asked in surprise.
"Draw," Harry said, pushing his plate away and leaning back, sighing in contentment.
"All right, you're a good dueller, we all know that. In Charms you showed off a charm you mastered in your third year, was it?" Daphne asked. Harry nodded. "What about Transfiguration?"
Harry tilted his head to the side. "You do realise Dumbledore has taught me personally since the end of fourth year, right?"
"He did?" Tracey asked, looking shocked.
"Of course," Daphne said in dawning realisation.
"Yeah," Harry nodded, completely straight-faced. "Good old Albus said there was very little he could teach me. He said I'd be teaching him in a few years!"
Daphne slapped his leg with the newspaper. "Arrogant bastard."
"Did he really say that?" Tracey asked in awe.
Harry glanced at Daphne, catching her eye, before he burst out laughing. "No, no. He just got me working my arse off, that's all. He didn't start showing me ancient or long-lost magic, he just got told me to master the basics, which I did. Everything else can come later, but you need the basics."
"You've always been a natural when it comes down to it," Daphne admitted.
Normally, Harry would have taken the opportunity to try and impress her, but the moment felt wrong somehow. "Actually, it hasn't always been natural. Not as much as you think anyway. I was always good with a wand…" Harry used the unintended double entendre and winked at the girls, which they completely ignored. "Well, yeah, I was good with a wand, but I wasn't exactly a prodigy child."
"Oh, come on," Daphne said. "Name one person who's better than you? I'm surprised you didn't beat Shacklebolt."
"Well, Snape, Flitwick, and McGonagall. Don't forget that Dumbledore is still the best wizard in the world," Harry said, counting them off his fingers.
"You're better than Snape and McGonagall, surely," Daphne said, completely confident.
"Flitwick would never beat you, would he?" Tracey said.
"I know we've had some bad Professors in our time here," Harry said, "but they've all been teaching for a long time for a very good reason. They know their subjects inside out, they all fought in the war, and Snape is more skilled than he's credited for. The bastard."
"What about out of the students, then?" Daphne continued.
Harry happily counted off his fingers again. "Well, there's Hermione-"
"Oh, please, now you're just blatantly lying." Tracey snorted.
"Fair point," Harry conceded. "Smart girl, yes. Deadly streak? Nasty with a wand? Hell no."
"See, you can't think of anyone, can you?" Daphne said triumphantly.
"What about Fred and George?" Harry said. "They're complete animals with a wand."
"In case you've forgotten, you destroyed them in a mock duel last year," Daphne said.
"Damn," Harry muttered. "Where did you hear about that?"
"The whole school watched," Tracey said.
"It was out in the grounds, remember?" Daphne added.
Harry nodded, the memory bringing a smile to his face. "Ah, yeah, good times." Harry's smile suddenly dropped. "That's probably why they were hell bent on beating the shit out of me. I'll have to get them back for that."
"If you're done talking to yourself," Daphne said, "I still think it was unfair how you beat them."
"Unfair?" Harry asked, perplexed. "I thought you were a Slytherin?"
"I am." Daphne huffed. "I just don't think it's right what you did."
Harry laughed. "I only threw them into the Whomping Willow, nothing wrong with that."
The girls weren't amused. "You nearly killed them!" Tracey said.
Harry shrugged. "They nearly killed me yesterday."
"I'd hate to be a boy," Daphne said, summing it up neatly.
"I'd hate it if you were a boy, too," Harry said, earning himself another glare. He took heart in the fact that it wasn't all that harsh.
As Harry lay back, bored out of his skull and giving serious thought to simply leaving the Hospital Wing, the doors opened.
In strolled Daphne. She looked at Harry and walked straight over to him.
"What're you doing back?" Harry asked, bemused and secretly glad of the company.
"There's been a huge fight in the Common Room," Daphne said, nodding to herself. "I thought I'd just sleep here tonight."
Harry raised an eyebrow at the girl. "You're always welcome to share my bed, Greengrass."
Daphne didn't bother to answer to that, instead sitting herself on the bed to the left of Harry.
"So, what's there to do in here?" Daphne asked, following Harry's example and sitting back, her hands behind her head.
"There's this really interesting game I like to play," Harry said. "What you do is watch the sun fall below the horizon, all the while planning your escape from this hell."
Daphne nodded. "Ever got away with it?"
"Once," Harry said forlornly. "I lasted until three in the morning."
"What happened?"
"I woke up in extreme pain and came back," Harry said.
"Oh." Daphne chuckled.
For the first time in Harry's memory, time in the Hospital Wing actually passed quite fast. Madam Pomfrey came in to inspect the conversation, but upon seeing Daphne in the middle of speaking, soon left them to it. Harry was glad one of Madam Pomfrey's apprentices had been the one to come back, because there was no way anyone else would have been allowed to stay. Even school Healers had a soft spot it seemed.
"School's over next week," Daphne said tiredly.
Harry hummed low in his throat. "I've got a busy summer ahead of me."
"A busy few years, you mean," Daphne said.
Eventually, Daphne Transfigured a simple pair of pyjamas and got under the covers. Harry watched with no shame.
"Do you think you'll miss this place?" Daphne asked as the candles suddenly flickered, flames shooting up and lighting the room.
Harry glanced over at her question, seeing her staring out of the window with a blank look on her face.
"I'll miss some parts," Harry said honestly. "I complain about this place enough, but I suppose it is handy when your name's Harry Potter."
Harry's words earned a quiet laugh. "There's a rumour going around about you, you know."
"Which one would that be?"
"Well, there's actually two right now," Daphne said. "The first one is that you fucked Sally-Ann."
Harry suddenly found himself wide-awake. "Damn, that's got out already?"
"Wait, it's true?" Daphne asked, slight surprise colouring her tone.
Harry nodded. "Yeah. You sound surprised."
"Didn't think anyone would get through her defences," Daphne said.
"Neither did I," Harry said. "She was drunk."
"That's just shameful, Potter," Daphne said, turning to him. "Tell me you didn't get the poor girl drunk?"
"NO!" Harry protested. "She was already drunk when she asked me. She came on to me!"
Daphne shook her head, keeping her eyes on him. "Do you care who you sleep with?"
"If they're pretty and they want it, not really," Harry said in complete honesty.
"So if I came over to you right now, undressed, and got in next to you, you'd fuck me?" Daphne asked.
Harry didn't have to think about it for very long. "You're damn right I would."
"How pissed off would you be if I got in next to you, naked, and refused to let you touch me?" Daphne asked, the amusement in her voice evident.
Arrogance didn't always work out, but sometimes it paid off, especially when the person you were being arrogant with knew you well enough. Either that, or they just didn't care.
"After ten minutes of being in bed with me, you'd be the one begging for it, Greengrass," Harry said with complete certainty.
The Hospital Wing was silent for a while, but with Daphne around, it never stayed that way for long.
"Well, it's always been a fantasy of mine to have sex in a Hospital bed."
"That's a fucked up fantasy, Daphne," Harry said easily. "Some would say more of a fetish, really."
"Don't tell me the thought of it isn't turning you on," Daphne said, her voice teasing.
Harry was actually feeling rather tired. They both knew what game had suddenly been playing between them. Harry decided to play his final hand. If it actually worked, he might just get a hell of a memory in the future. If it didn't, there wouldn't be any harm done.
"All right," Harry started, looking straight into Daphne's eyes. "Come here, undress, get in beside me, and we'll see what happens."
To Daphne's credit, the only surprise she let show came from her bottom lip, which parted from the top one, but only just. She stared right back at him, most likely judging if he was being serious or if it was just part of the game.
Whether she thought it was part of the game or not, her next action had Harry furiously working out his own next plan of action.
Daphne raised her wand, shutting the curtains around her bed, leaving the side facing Harry open. She quickly jumped out of bed, her small shorts and vest leaving very little of her body to Harry's imagination.
A million thoughts, plans, and everything else in-between shot through Harry's mind as Daphne came to stand next to his bed. The smile on her face was confident, as if she had planned it all along.
"What was the next part, Harry?"
Harry recovered quickly, unsure if what was happening would be happening for much longer.
"You're supposed to undress and get in next to me," Harry said quietly.
"Is this not undressed enough for you?" Daphne asked, gesturing at her body.
"Not really," Harry muttered.
Instead of saying anything more, Daphne pulled off her vest, revealing a plain black bra.
"You're lucky, you know," Daphne said, making no move to remove any other clothing. "I wouldn't have gone this far with many people."
Harry smiled. "Game over?"
With a heavy sigh, Daphne sat down on his bed, pulling her vest back over her shoulders.
"Game over, Harry." Daphne's blinked, her dark lashes oddly captivating.
"Why did you come up here?" Harry asked curiously. "Was there really a fight?"
"Nah," Daphne admitted. "It's just boring down in the dungeons. Most of the students in our year are boring enough as it is, and the younger years are too scared of the oldest students to make a fuss."
Harry nodded. Daphne hadn't answered his first question and he wasn't going to press her for an answer.
"I came back up to see you," Daphne said. "You make life interesting, that's for sure."
"I'll take that as a compliment," Harry said.
Daphne smiled as she got up from his bed and got back into her own. "You do that. It's a pity I didn't get to know you before I did. Goodnight, Harry."
The bizarre thought that he'd finally missed the sun dropping below the horizon for once entered Harry's head, but it was accompanied by too many others to stick around for long.
"Yeah," Harry said softly. "Goodnight, Daphne."