Chapter 7
The day before the match, the winds reached howling point and the rain fell harder than ever. It was so dark inside the corridors and classrooms that extra torches and lanterns were lit. The Slytherin team was looking very smug indeed, though Y/n was a little proud of herself when she saw that Malfoy looked more hesitant that he normally would have been. Sure, he was still smug—his face always had a sort of permanent smugness on it—but there was a lingering uncertainty in his pale eyes that was just barely visible.
That morning at breakfast Y/n had told Harry what had happened the night before. Fred and George had listened in—the whole thing had been their idea in the first place, anyway. They were disappointed that it didn’t work, but they were also mildly impressed that Y/n had actually been able to reason with Malfoy.
“So what did you say to get him on your side?” Harry asked, curious.
“He wasn’t ‘on my side,’” Y/n said, rolling her eyes. “And I didn’t do much, just…said the right things at the right time.”
Harry had scoffed at that, but Fred and George had both given her identical grins.
“We’ll keep that in mind for the future, then,” Fred said. “You know, in case there’s ever a need for someone ‘saying the right things at the right time’ in the future.” He winked.
“It’s like you read my mind, dear brother,” George said, grinning widely at Y/n.
“Do not expect any other favors from me,” Y/n had told them, but the twins had continued grinning anyway.
The morning passed quickly and soon Y/n found herself heading to Defense Against the Dark Arts with Val, Sol, and Emi. However, when they arrived, they found someone very unexpected at the front of the room.
“Take your seats and pull out your textbooks,” Snape instructed, watching as the Slytherins chose their usual spots.
“Where’s Lupin?” Emi asked the group in a whisper.
Val shrugged.
“He gets sick sometimes,” Y/n offered. “Maybe he’s just feeling under the weather?”
“Professor Lupin has not left any record of the topics you have covered so far,” Snape was saying. “And that is only a reflection of—”
Y/n raised her hand.
Snape raised an eyebrow. “Yes, Miss Potter?” he asked in his slow drawl.
“I’d be happy to tell you what exactly we’ve done so far.”
“I did not ask for information.”
Y/n plundered on anyway. “We’ve done boggarts, Red Caps, kappas, and grindylows, and we’re just about to start—”
“Be quiet,” Snape said coldly. “I said I did not ask for information. I was merely commenting on Professor Lupin’s lack of organization.”
Y/n narrowed her eyes. She was about to speak up again, but Sol tugged on her shirt and shook her head. With a sigh, Y/n slumped back in her seat.
“Now, as I was saying,” Snape said. “Today we will discuss—”
Y/n watched him flick through the textbook, to the very back chapter, which he must know they hadn’t covered.
“—werewolves,” said Snape.
“But, sir,” said Y/n, unable to restrain herself, “we’re not supposed to—”
“Shut up, Potter,” Malfoy said, rolling his eyes. “Would it kill you to listen for once?”
“Thank you Mr. Malfoy, that is enough,” Snape said absentmindedly. He was still looking at Y/n.
“Miss Potter,” said Snape in a voice of deadly calm, “I was under the impression that I am teaching this lesson, not you. And I am telling you all to turn to page 394, now.”
The class did as they were told. After a moment, Y/n grumbled but did the same.
“Which of you can tell me how we distinguish between the werewolf and the true wolf?” said Snape.
Everyone sat in motionless silence.
“Anyone?” Snape said. His twisted smile was back. “Are you telling me that Professor Lupin hasn’t even taught you the basic distinction between the two?”
This prick, Y/n thought. This nasty, greasy little prick.
“Well, well, well, I never thought I’d meet a third-year class who wouldn’t even recognize a werewolf when they saw one. I shall make a point of informing Professor Dumbledore how very behind you all are…”
“A very good idea, Professor,” Malfoy said, beaming.
No one made a sound throughout the rest of the lesson. They sat and made notes on werewolves from the textbook, while Snape prowled up and down the rows of desks, examining the work they had been doing with Professor Lupin.
When the bell rang at last, Snape held them back.
“You will each write an essay, to be handed in to me, on the ways you recognize and kill werewolves. I want two rolls of parchment on the subject, and I want them by Monday morning. It is time somebody took this class in hand.”
Y/n and the others left the room. When they were out of earshot, Y/n finally let herself loose.
“Snape’s never been like this with any of our other Defense Against the Dark Arts teachers, even if he did want the job,” Y/n said. “Why’s he got it in for Lupin?”
“I don’t know,” said Emi pensively. “But I really hope Professor Lupin gets better soon. And you’re lucky you didn’t get any points taken away for speaking out, Y/n.”
“We’re in Slytherin. That man would rather get bitten by a snake than take points from his own house,” Y/n replied lowly.
***
The next day, Y/n made it very very obvious that she loved Harry with all her heart, because she willingly went out into the pouring, thundering rain to watch his Quidditch match. Sol and Emi stayed behind, not thinking it was worth it, but Val came along, though she forewent her usual eye-lined look. It would have gotten ruined within moments.
A lot of students still did show up for how bad the weather was. Everyone ran down the lawns toward the Quidditch field, heads bowed against the ferocious wind, umbrellas being whipped out of their hands as they went.
Soon both teams were meeting on the field—Gryffindor in scarlet red, Hufflepuff in canary yellow. The Captains walked up to each other and shook hands; Diggory smiled at Wood, the Gryffindor captain, but Wood now looked as though he had lockjaw and merely nodded.
Y/n saw Madam Hooch’s mouth form the words, “Mount your brooms.” Madam Hooch put her whistle to her lips and gave it a blast that sounded shrill and distant—they were off. Y/n watched as Harry rose fast, but his Nimbus was swerving slightly with the wind.
“Never again,” Val said loudly to her over the wind as rain pelted both their faces. “I am never doing something like this for you ever again.”
It was hard to see anything. They could hardly hear the commentary, and Y/n could have sworn that once or twice Harry came very close to being unseated by a Bludger.
What she’d said about him seeing in the rain had been mostly to manipulate Malfoy, but now she really was worried….
“I’ll be right back,” she shouted to Val as the teams landed for a time-out. She climbed down the stands and hurried over to the cluster of scarlet robes.
“...fifty points up,” Wood was saying. “But unless we get the Snitch soon, we’ll be playing into the night.”
“I’ve got no chance with these on,” Harry said exasperatedly, waving his glasses.
At that very moment, Hermione appeared at his shoulder; she was holding her cloak over her head and was, inexplicably, beaming. “I’ve had an idea, Harry! Give me your glasses, quick!”
He handed them to her, and as the team watched in amazement, Hermione tapped them with her wand and said, “Impervius!”
“There!” she said, handing them back to Harry. “They’ll repel water!”
Wood looked as though he could have kissed her.
“Brilliant!” he called hoarsely after her as she disappeared into the crowd. “Okay, team, let’s go for it!”
Harry waved at Y/n as he passed, and Hermione and she headed back for the stands.
“You had the same idea?” Hermione asked.
Y/n nodded. “Yeah. Thanks for helping him.”
“Of course.”
“Hey, did you have Snape for Defense Against the Dark Arts last class, too?”
Hermione rolled her eyes. “Ugh, he was insufferable. Going on about how disorganized Lupin was…”
“And giving us two rolls of parchment,” Y/n sighed. “Anyways, I was asking because I wanted to know if you’d give my essay a look over once I’m done.”
“Sure, if you do mine.”
Y/n smiled.
Hermione’s spell seemed to have done the trick. Harry’s movements in the air were more sure now, and he flipped and spun with confidence.
Harry and Cedric both pulled into a dive at the same time. The stands went wild, students screaming and yelling as the two raced for the Snitch. Harry was almost there….
An eerie silence began to stretch over the stadium. A moment later, Y/n felt that eerie coldness.
Her heart dropped and her skin went clammy as at least a hundred dementors, glided onto the field. It was as though freezing water were rising in her chest, cutting at her insides.
Y/n screamed as she watched a Quidditch player fall from the sky, like a drop of scarlet blood against the gray clouds.
“Harry!”
He hit the ground.
“HARRY!” Y/n raced down the stands, nearly slipping. She felt frozen inside and out, but she fought against it, those damn dementors making her so cold and miserable and anguish, but she fought against it because Harry was hurt and in trouble and was he—?
Tears raced down her cheeks as she sprinted across the field to the place where Harry lay.
Someone grabbed her and she shrieked, struggling. “No, let me go—let me go!”
“Do you want to get eaten alive by those things?” Malfoy’s voice was somehow shaky, terrified, and yet harsh in her ear all at once. In her haste and worry, she hadn’t realized she’d been dashing right towards where the bulk of the dementors were.
She swung her elbow around and back. Malfoy cried out as Y/n heard the crack of his nose breaking. His arms released her and she was about to continue running, but already she saw Harry being picked up and hurried towards the castle for the hospital wing.
The dementors were fleeing, having been sent away by Dumbledore. When had he arrived?
Y/n didn’t care. She started running after Harry again, shaky legs carrying her the whole way to the castle.
***
“Lucky the ground was so soft,” George said. He was the closest to Y/n, who was the closest to Harry. The Gryffindor team—plus Y/n, Ron, and Hermione—were all around Harry’s bedside, waiting for him to wake. Y/n had nearly cried with relief when Madam Pomfrey told him he’d be okay.
“I thought he was dead for sure,” Y/n said softly, shaking her head.
“I know,” Hermione said, brow scrunched in worry. Her eyes were bloodshot from crying. Y/n probably looked the same. “But he didn’t even break his glasses.”
“That was the scariest thing I’d ever seen in my life,” Y/n whispered.
“We saw you run,” Hermione said. “God, what were you thinking? The dementors could have…..well they could have done something!”
“And she still went.”
Y/n turned to Ron, surprised at his words.
He looked embarrassed. “It was…it was pretty good of you, Y/n. To go after Harry like that, even with the dementors.” He met her eyes. “Pretty brave.”
Y/n blinked, then smiled softly. Ron returned the expression and Y/n was about to say something else, but she heard a groan.
She gasped and turned to see Harry stirring.
Everyone went quiet.
Harry blinked awake, green eyes flashing with surprising alertness.
“Harry!” Y/n exclaimed. “How are you feeling?”
“What happened?” he said, sitting up so suddenly they all gasped.
“You fell off,” said Fred. “Must’ve been — what — fifty feet?”
“We thought you’d died,” said the chaser—Y/n thought her name was Alicia—who was shaking. Hermione made a small, squeaky noise.
“But the match,” said Harry. “What happened? Are we doing a replay?”
No one said anything. Harry’s face fell. “We didn’t — lose?”
“Diggory got the Snitch,” said George. “Just after you fell. He didn’t realize what had happened. When he looked back and saw you on the ground, he tried to call it off. Wanted a rematch. But they won fair and square . . . even Wood admits it.”
“Where is Wood?” said Harry.
“Still in the showers,” said Fred. “We think he’s trying to drown himself.”
Harry put his face to his knees, his hands gripping his hair.
Fred grabbed his shoulder and shook it roughly. “C’mon, Harry, you’ve never missed the Snitch before.”
“There had to be one time you didn’t get it,” said George.
“It’s not over yet,” said Fred. “We lost by a hundred points, right? So if Hufflepuff loses to Ravenclaw and we beat Ravenclaw and Slytherin . . .”
“Hufflepuff’ll have to lose by at least two hundred points,” said George.
“But if they beat Ravenclaw . . .”
“No way, Ravenclaw is too good. But if Slytherin loses against Hufflepuff . . .”
“It all depends on the points — a margin of a hundred either way —”
Harry lay there, not saying a word. Y/n could tell how important this had been to him.
After ten minutes or so, Madam Pomfrey came over to tell the team to leave him in peace.
“We’ll come and see you later,” Fred told him. “Don’t beat yourself up, Harry, you’re still the best Seeker we’ve ever had.”
The team trooped out, trailing mud behind them. Madam Pomfrey shut the door behind them, looking disapproving.
Ron, Hermione, and Y/n moved nearer to Harry’s bed.
“Dumbledore was really angry,” Hermione said in a quaking voice. “I’ve never seen him like that before. He ran onto the field as you fell, waved his wand, and you sort of slowed down before you hit the ground. Then he whirled his wand at the dementors. Shot silver stuff at them. They left the stadium right away. . . . He was furious they’d come onto the grounds. We heard him —”
Is that what had happened? Y/n thought. No wonder he wasn’t dead. But she’d been too distraught to see everything clearly—she’d started sprinting the moment he’d hit the ground.
“Then George picked you up and carried you off. Walked up to the school,” said Ron. “Everyone thought you were . . .”
Ron’s voice faded. Hermione went on. “Y/n tried to run after you before the dementors even disappeared,” she said. Y/n shot her a look, but Ron suddenly started laughing.
“Malfoy tried to hold her back, but she—but she—”
“It’s not funny, Ron,” Hermione said. “Y/n could get in serious trouble for breaking his nose.”
Harry sputtered a laugh. “You did what?”
Y/n embarrassedly showed him her sleeve, which was spattered with Malfoy’s blood on the elbow. “I….yeah. He was in here for a bit while you were out—Madam Pomfrey healed him up pretty quick.”
Harry didn’t seem to care. He looked absolutely delighted. “Can’t believe I missed it.” He chuckled again. “Oh hey, did someone get my Nimbus?”
Ron stopped laughing. Hermione and Y/n looked at each other.
“Um…”
Harry’s smile fell. “Guys,” he said, “where…where’s my broom?”
“Well . . . when you fell off, it got blown away,” said Hermione hesitantly.
“And?”
“And it hit — it hit — oh, Harry — it hit the Whomping Willow.”
Harry’s face went white. “And…?”
“Well, you know the Whomping Willow,” said Ron. “It — it doesn’t like being hit.”
“Professor Flitwick brought it back just before you came around,” said Y/n quietly.
Slowly, Hermione reached down for a bag at her feet, turned it upside down, and tipped a dozen bits of splintered wood and twig onto the bed, the only remains of Harry’s faithful, finally beaten broomstick.