Blood & Quidditch
BLOOD & QUIDDITCH
A few weeks later I was hurt in the quidditch match at Durmstrang Preparatory School.
My face was badly cut and the officials gave me the penalty for starting the fight.
Five minutes! I sat quietly in the penalty box while the team manager cleaned the blood off my face.
I was ashamed to look out into the open air. But the shouts of the crowd told me everything. Durmstrang scored a goal. The score was 3-3 now.
'Damn', I thought. We're going to lose this match, because of me.
Across the ground, among the crowd, I saw him. My father Harry Potter himself. Four-eyes was my pet-name for him. He was looking straight at me.
'If my bank meeting finishes in time, I'll come to Durmstrang and watch you play,' he had told me in an owl.
And there he was, Mr. Harry Potter. What was he thinking about? Who could say? Why was he here? Family pride, perhaps. 'Look at me. I am a very busy, important man, but I have come all the way to Durmstrang, just to watch my son play in a quidditch match.'
We lost, six goals to three. After the match the doctor fused several open wounds together on my face with his wand. When I got to the changing-room, it was empty. They don't want to talk to me, I thought. I lost that match.
I felt very ashamed as I walked out into the winter night.
o0o
'Come and have dinner, son,' said a voice. It was my father, Mr. Harry Potter, himself.
We ate dinner at a nearby restaurant. While we were there we had one of our non-conversations. We spoke to each other, but didn't actually say anything.
These non-conversations always started with 'How have you been, son?' and ended with 'Is there anything I can do for you?'
'How have you been, son?' my father began.
'Fine, sir.' I said (I told you).
'Does your face hurt?' my father asked.
'No, sir.' (It hurt terribly.)
o0o
Next, Four-Eyes talked about 'Playing the Game.'
“All right, son, you lost the match.” (How clever of you to notice, Father.) 'But after all, in sport, the important thing is the playing, not the winning,' spoke my father.
'Wonderful,' I thought. Father was chosen for the Tri-Wizards Tournament. And now he says winning is not important!
I just looked down at my plate and said 'Yes, sir' at the right times.
o0o
Our non-conversation continued. After 'Playing the Game,' he discussed 'My Plans.'
'Tell me, Albus, has the Lorcan & Lysander Law Firm contacted you yet?' asked my father.
He was referring to the bigwig law firm on Diagon Alley. 'Not yet, sir.' I said.
'Would you like me to send them an owl?' asked my father.
No!' I said at once. 'I want to get an owl like other people, sir. Please.' I said.
'Yes, of course. Fine. After all, they're sure to accept you.'' spoke Harry Potter.
Why? I thought. Because I'm clever and successful? Or because I'm the son of Harry Potter?
The meal was as uninteresting as the conversation.
o0o
After dinner I walked with him outside the restaurant.
'Is there anything I can do for you, son?' he asked.
'No, thank you, sir. Good night, sir.'
Our non-conversation was finished: he took several steps away and then disapparated. I soon disapparated after him and wound up in Hogsmeade, from there I could return to Hogwarts.
o0o
I was glad when I returned to Hogwarts because I could talk to Pia. That was the only good part of the evening.
I went to the Hufflepuff Library and waited for her shift to end. I told her about the fight. She enjoyed that because she and her musical friends never got into fights.
“I hope you got the guy back who hit you,” Pia said.
“Oh, yes.” I bragged to her.
Pia said, “Good! I'm sorry I couldn't be there to watch you.”
“Don't worry about it,” I said, “It was just a bunch of guys smacking each other and getting smacked with bludgers and quaffles.”
“Perhaps you'll really smack somebody in the American match?” Pia joked.
I smiled. Pia really made me feel better.