Chapter 1
Harry is racing towards the snitch, he can see the golden glint in front of him, flying higher and higher.
Behind him, Draco is hot on his heels, trying to overtake him, both their eyes locked on the glittering golden ball as it tries to evade them. It’s racing higher, and then a sharp turn down that sends them both almost tumbling off their brooms. The world around almost fades away entirely.
Almost, Harry is still trying to dodge that damn bludger that seems insistent on knocking him off his broom. He knows his team are keeping it away as much as they can, but it keeps racing back. Like it’s targeting him.
His feet brush the grass, the snitch darting further down, but Harry is relentless. He reaches forward, further, further, until his fingers brush the snitch.
The next thing he knows, the bludger slams into his arm, and a searing pain rushes through him. Harry tumbles to the ground, trying to protect the rest of his body as he rolls, his hand still clutched around the snitch, if that even matters anymore. He can hear another body hit the ground next to him, probably Draco, too close to weave around both Harry and the bludger, and also knocked to the ground.
At least he didn’t get to the snitch first.
When Harry finally manages to sit up, a gaggle of students and teachers surround him, praising him for catching the snitch and worrying over his very obviously broken arm. Lockhart manages to remove his bones, which finally gets Madame Pomfrey to take him to the medical wing.
The constant chattering around him is broken by a wail from further away. Harry can’t see what the problem is, the crowd around blocking his view.
“Madame Pomfrey!” He hears the sharp voice of Snape call, “We need medical assistance.”
“Professor Snape,” Madame Pomfrey chides sharply at Harry’s side, “unless it is more serious than missing bones I will have to-“ she stops abruptly, obviously having seen whatever issue Snape needed help with, and inhales sharply.
She dashes forward, leaving Harry with Ron and Hermione, and comes to a stop next to a mess of green robes on the pitch. Snape is standing over it, his wand out and his skin paler than normal. Harry can see some of the Slytherins standing around too, faces in shock.
Madame Pomfrey stands shakily, and looks towards Snape, before turning back to the group. She looks at Dumbledore and softly shakes her head.
“Everyone off the field,” Dumbledore orders, “anyone who needs medical attention please make your way to the medical wing and we will be with you soon.”
Everyone begins to shuffle off, and Ron gently tugs on Harry’s shoulder.
“C’mon mate,” he says, “let’s get you inside to fix that arm.”
Harry turns to go, with one last look across the field at his three professors huddled around what he can only assume is Draco Malfoy lying on the ground in a heap.
—
Madame Pomfrey comes to the medical wing almost an hour later, with very obvious tears on her cheek that she wipes away.
“Let’s have a look at that arm then,” Madame Pomfrey says, in a fake cheery tone.
“What happened?” Harry asks and Madame Pomfrey smiles at him.
“Oh, nothing too bad,” she murmurs as she casts a few spells, “Lockhart made my job a lot harder, but you should be good after a night of regrowing. Here,” she pulls out a potion and places it on the bedside table.
“No,” Harry says quickly, “I mean, what happened on the field. Was someone hurt?”
Madame Pomfrey stills, and looks away, “someone was hurt,” she confirms, “we’re making a proper announcement about it later at dinner.”
“I won’t be at dinner,” Harry challenges, “and I won’t be able to tell anyone before then anyway.”
Madame Pomfrey's lips press together in a line, “it’s not happy news,” she says.
“I didn’t think it was,” he replies, “besides, I was there, I think I ought to know if someone else got hurt from that bludger. Especially because I think it was coming at me.”
“It’s not your fault,” Madame Pomfrey says quickly, “if the bludger was cursed to go after you, anyone else’s injury isn’t your fault.”
Harry looks down, “the bludger hit Malfoy too, didn’t it?”
“Yes,” Madame Pomfrey says softly, carefully, “he fell off his broom, and hit his head on the goalpost.”
“Oh,” Harry says, “but you can fix it with magic, right?” he looks up at her, “if he’s in a coma or something?”
Madame Pomfrey puts her hand over his healthy one, “Harry, I can’t help heal Mr Malfoy.”
Harry frowns, his eyebrows drawing together in confusion, “but I thought healing magic is super advanced.”
“Mr Malfoy, his,” she takes a breath, “his neck broke when he hit the bottom of the ring, he was gone by the time he hit the ground.”
“Oh,” Harry breathes, his heart sinking. He and Draco had never really gotten along, they had been enemies, but he never wanted Malfoy dead. They hadn’t even ever hurt each other. He couldn’t imagine Malfoy not being there anymore.
“Have your skelegrow,” Madame Pomfrey tells him, “I’ll send up Ron and Hermione after dinner.”
“Thank you,” Harry replies, “is there a funeral?”
“I don’t know,” she sighs, “I assume the Malfoys will organise something, you’ll be well enough to attend if you want.”
Harry nods and watches as Madame Pomfrey leaves the medical wing for the great hall. He swallows down the potion with a wince, and lies down. He closes his eyes and tries to sleep, pain radiating through his arm.
——
Two days later, Harry is pulled out of class to Dumbledore’s office. When he enters, he finds Dumbledore standing at the door, with Professor McGonagall.
“Mr Potter,” Professor McGonagall starts, “there are a few Aurors here to see you about your last quidditch match.”
“Just a few questions,” Dumbledore adds, “nothing to worry about.”
“But, Professor Snape, and Mr and Mrs Malfoy have requested to sit in,” Professor McGonagall tells him, “if you are uncomfortable at any point we can escort them out.”
“It’s okay,” Harry says, “I can answer questions with them there.”
Professor McGonagall smiles at him and leads him further into Dumbledore's office. There’s a chair free for him, and Dumbledore and McGonagall sit on either side. Across from him are three professional-looking wizards, and then slightly further away in the corner sits Professor Snape, with what Harry assumes is the older Malfoys.
“Harry Potter,” one of the strange wizard's greets, “my name is Kingsley Shacklbolt, I’m an auror with the department of magic, and these are my two associates, Nymphodora Tonks and John Dawlish. We’re here today to investigate a recent passing on Hogwarts grounds.”
“The accident with Malfoy?” Harry asks, “And the bludger?”
“Yes,” Kingsley confirms, “I’m sure you can understand that we are keen to figure out how the accident occurred. Can you tell me about the game?”
“Malfoy and I are seekers, so we’re both chasing the snitch most of the game,” Harry starts, “it was normal in that way, Malfoy sticks near me ‘cos he knows I usually find it first. But this game I had to keep dodging this bludger, it was always coming for me.”
“This isn’t usual?” One of the Aurors, Nymphadora, asks, “The bludger being hit towards the seekers?”
“Not at all,” Harry says, “sometimes we get a stray one but I know the Gryffindor team avoids it cos Malfoy and I are the youngest on the team, they don’t want to risk it. Besides, this one was moving almost as wildly as a snitch, it was like it was chasing me on purpose.”
“Interesting,” Kingsley says, “would you say it was aiming for you?”
“Yeah,” Harry says, “definitely, it broke my arm that game.” He stops, “it hit Malfoy after that right? He was beside me?”
Kingsley falters, looking to McGonagall, who speaks first.
“Yes,” she confirms gently, “Mr Malfoy was flying next to you. The bludger hit your arm, and flew into Mr Malfoy’s side.”
Harry nods, “I thought so,” he says, “I think I heard him hit the ground but I can’t remember.” He hears a shaky breath from behind him and turns to see Mrs Malfoy with her hand to her mouth, a handkerchief held delicately in her hand. “I didn’t want Malfoy to get hurt,” he tells her as earnestly as he can, “honest, I didn’t know the bludger would even hit him, I thought he was behind me.”
“We know,” Kingsley says, bringing Harry’s attention back to them, “we have reports you two had little fights but we also have reports that you and Mr Malfoy were only fighting verbally.”
“This isn’t an interrogation of you,” Nymphadora adds, “we just want to get your view, as the bludger was aiming at you. Whoever cursed it is who we’re trying to catch. Do you have any idea who may have done it?”
Harry frowns thinking, “A lot of people try and hurt me cos I’m the chosen one. Ron and Hermione said they thought Professor Snape might be doing it, like in first year but that doesn’t make much sense.”
“Was anyone in particular being weird around you, casting spells, as far as you can remember?” Kingsley asks.
“Well,” Harry hesitates, “over summer I saw an elf, who told me not to come to Hogwarts, and bad things might happen to me. He wouldn’t tell me what, but he might know who it was?”
“An elf?” Kingsley asks, “Do you know whose family he belongs to?”
“Hmm, no,” Harry says, “but his name was Dobby, and he-“
He’s cut off by a sharp scrape as Mr Malfoy stands out of his chair, Snape rising gracefully next to him, “Dobby was his name, are you sure?”
“Yeah,” Harry nods, “he was like, grey, and kind of young? If that makes sense?” He looks between the two adults, “do you know him?”
“We have an elf named Dobby at the manor,” Mrs Malfoy says, still sitting, a slight waver the only betrayal she has emotion, “we can summon him for questioning.”
“Are you happy to stay, Harry, so you can confirm if this is the same elf?” Kingsley asks, and Harry nods. Kingsley and John go to talk with the Malfoy’s and Snape, and McGonagall turns to Harry.
“You are being a wonderful help,” she says, “we know you and Mr Malfoy did not get along, but we are so proud that you would assist.”
“Of course,” Harry replies, “I don’t want anyone dead. He got hurt because of me. Just like last year with Ron and Hermione.” He looks down at his hands and swallows, “I can’t believe he’s…”
“It’s hard,” Dumbledore tells him, “we all understand if you need some time off class, even Professor Snape is taking time off.”
“I don’t know,” Harry admits, “we’ll see.”
“Mr Potter,” Kingsley calls, and Harry stands, “could you come here and confirm if this is the house elf?”
He rushes over, almost in a jog, and comes to a stop in front of the house elf. “Yeah, that’s the one I saw over the summer.”
“Thank you, Mr Potter,” Kingsley says, “you are dismissed, we will let you know if we need to ask anything further.” He shakes Harry’s hand, and Dobby begins to wail.
“Dobby is sorry!” He cries, “Dobby didn’t mean to upset Harry Potter! Dobby just wanted to warn Harry Potter of the danger!”
“What danger?” Harry asks exasperated, “Because it’s already hurt me! And it’s hurt someone else!”
Dobby pulls his ears down, as if he can hide from everyone, “someone else is hurt?”
“Yes,” Kingsley says, “Draco Malfoy has been killed by the actions of a cursed object intended to harm Harry Potter. Do you know-“ He can’t finish the sentence as Dobby begins to wail even louder, a long unbroken scream that echoes through the room as Dobby throws himself to the ground.
“Little Malfoy,” he sobs, “Dobby is sorry, Dobby is so so sorry,” he shakes, “Oh little Master Malfoy!”
“We know you spent time with Draco,” Mrs Malfoy says softly, visually swallowing her own grief, “Dobby, tell us who did this.”
Dobby shakes and stands, he trembles, grief in every line of his small frame. “Mistress Malfoy,” he says, “Dobby is so so sorry, Dobby did not know Little Master Malfoy would be hurt by the bludger, Dobby did not mean for anyone but Harry Potter to get hurt, Dobby-“ he breaks down into sobs and Mrs Malfoy pulls back as if burned.
“Dobby,” she says sharply, “answer honestly, did you curse the bludger?”
Dobby shakes and sobs, and then slowly, nods.