Chapter 7
Harry's eyes fluttered open after what felt like an eternity, but in reality, it had only been a minute and a half. His vision was blurry, and the world around him was spinning. He blinked a few times, trying to focus, only to find a crowd hovering over him, concerned faces looking down. It was strange—he even spotted Snape among them, which caught him off guard. Snape’s expression wasn’t the usual cold sneer; instead, there was a glimmer of something protective in his eyes. Harry almost didn’t recognize it.
"Stay down" Snape’s voice was sharper than the others', though it carried a hint of urgency.
Harry ignored him, pushing himself up despite the protests from his teammates and the yells from the Gryffindor stands. His body ached, and his head throbbed, but his gaze was locked onto one thing: Draco Malfoy, still laughing with that smug, infuriating look plastered on his face.
The Gryffindors were screaming for Malfoy’s expulsion, chanting that he’d gone too far, but Harry didn’t care. He barely registered their voices, or the hands reaching out to steady him. His pulse was roaring in his ears, the taste of blood still faint on his lips. Without saying a word, Harry got to his feet, pushing away any attempts to help him, his mind set on only one thing.
Draco didn’t stop laughing until Harry stood over him. Without warning, Harry’s fist connected with Draco’s face, the blow fueled by all his pent-up rage. The force of it sent Malfoy stumbling backward, clutching his nose as blood began to drip down his lip. The crowd gasped, but Harry didn’t stop. He swung again, hitting Malfoy square in the jaw, sending him to the ground this time.
He spat blood. Malfoy’s eyes widened in shock. “My father will hear about this!” he shouted, scrambling to get up
Harry stood over him, fists still clenched, chest heaving. His vision was starting to blur again, however he refused to show weakness. But he swayed, the world began to tilt again, and his knees buckled.
Before he could hit the ground, a strong arm caught him—Snape. Harry looked up, dazed, to see Snape’s stern face, that strange protective edge still lingering in his eyes. “Enough,” Snape muttered, his grip firm yet steadying.
Harry blinked, his head spinning. He clenched his jaw, refusing to back down. “I’m finishing this game."
“Harry, you’re in no condition—” someone began, but Harry cut them off.
“I’m fine,” he said through gritted teeth. His vision was still swimming, and the dizziness made his stomach churn, but he wasn’t about to give up. “I want Malfoy to stay on the field.”
The crowd erupted in murmurs, shocked by his demand. Even Malfoy, still on the ground, looked startled, wiping the blood from his mouth with the back of his hand. Snape gave Harry a hard look, clearly weighing his next words, but Harry didn’t budge.
“If Malfoy stays,” Harry repeated, breathing heavily, “I stay.”
Snape’s eyes narrowed, but after a tense pause, he nodded sharply. “Very well,” he said, his voice low, “but if you collapse again, don’t expect me to carry you off the pitch.”