Quidditch distasters and dreams
Still checking the Map every chance he gets and often making detours to wherever Malfoy happens to be, Harry is becoming more and more obsessed with the blonde Slytherin and those inexplicable times when he seems to vanish from the Hogwarts grounds completely, the dot that represents him on the Map nowhere to be found, which is alarming to say the least… However, between Quidditch practise, homework and lessons, Harry barely has time to consider the problem, especially now that he’s being followed almost whereever he goes by either Cormac McLaggen or Lavender Brown.
He’s just enduring yet another one-sided, in-depth discussion about Won-Won’s feelings with Lavender when he spots McLaggen heading his way and quickly excuses himself and slips through a door pretending to be a wall before the other boy can reach him.
On the morning of the Quidditch match against Hufflepuff, Harry pays Ron a brief visit before heading down to the pitch. Madam Pomfrey has refused to let Ron go down to watch the match, claiming that it would likely overexcite him.
”Well, good luck”, he says glumly when it’s time for Harry to leave again. ”Hope you hammer McLag— er, I mean, Smith.”
”I’ll try”, Harry says and shoulders his broom. ”See you after the match, okay?”
As he hurries down the deserted corridors, he peers out the windows he passes, trying to gauge how much wind they’ll be facing, when a sudden noise ahead startles him and he looks up. Malfoy is walking right towards him, flanked by two sulking girls that Harry doesn’t remember ever seeing before. All three stop short at the sight of Harry, but then Malfoy huffs out a humourless laugh and continues walking again, avoiding eye contact with Harry. The two girls glares resentfully at him for a moment, then stares at the ground instead.
”Where are you going?” Harry demands.
”Yeah, I’m really going to tell you, because it’s your business”, Malfoy sneers without meeting Harry’s eyes. ”You’d better hurry up, they’ll be waiting for the Chosen Captain, or The Boy Who Scored, or whatever it is they’re calling you now…”
One of the girls lets out an unwilling giggle, then blushes when Harry looks at her. Finally the trio reaches Harry and Malfoy pushes past him, making sure to knock his shoulder hard against Harry’s, then turns a corner and disappears. Harry stays rooted to the spot for a moment, torn between running down to the pitch before the match starts without him and getting out his Invisibility Cloak and following Malfoy, because it suddenly clicks into place; this is the perfect opportunity for Malfoy to carry out his task, with the whole school down at the Quidditch pitch, he’ll have the whole castle to himself. This is Harry’s best chance yet of discovering what the other boy is up to…
In the end he decides he can’t let his team down like that and hurries to the changing rooms. Everyone else is already changed and waiting for him when he gets there. Ginny demands to know where he’s been and tells her he bumped into Malfoy, but she doesn’t seem to understand what the big deal is.
”I wanted to know how come he’s up at the castle with a couple of girlfriends while everyone else is down here… Oh, nevermind… Come on then, everyone!”
Harry leads his team out onto the pitch to deafening cheers and boos from the bleachers. As soon as he’s shaken hands with the Hufflepuff Captain, Harry kicks off the ground and rises into the air, higher than anyone else in his team, streaking round the pitch in search of the Snitch, thinking if only he could catch it really early, he might have time to get back up to the castle and catch Malfoy red-handed…
His thoughts are interrupted by an unmistakably dreamy voice echoing across the pitch, ”That’s Smith of Hufflepuff with the Quaffle”
Harry swerves around to stare at the Commentator’s podium… Surely no-one in their right mind would let Luna commentate? But even from this high up, there’s no mistaking that long dirty-blonde hair, or that necklace of Butterbeer corks.
”He did the commentary last time, of course, and Ginny Weasley flew into him — I think on purpose, it looked like it — Smith was being really rude about Gryffindor, I expect he regrets that now he’s playing them…”
Next to Luna, Professor McGonagall sits, looking decidedly uncomfortable, as though she was indeed having second thoughts about offering Luna the job.
”—Oh look, he’s lost the Quaffle, Ginny took it from him, I do like her, she’s very nice…”
Harry can’t help but to laugh. For all her eccentricities, there’s something refreshingly genuine about Luna and she is funny, whether or not she means to be is another question, but sometimes Harry wishes he could be more like her.
”…Now that big Hufflepuff player’s got the Quaffle from her, I can’t remember his name, it’s something like Bibble — no, Buggins —”
”It’s Cadwallader!” Professor McGonagall exclaims loudly next to her and the crowd laughs.
Harry forces himself to focus on finding the Snitch once more, but he’s barely circled the pitch once when he’s again distracted, this time by McLaggen who, having been too busy shouting at Ginny for letting the Quaffle out of her possession, completely misses said ball as it comes hurtling through the air towards the goal next to him, allowing Cadwallader to score.
”McLaggen, will you pay attention to what you’re supposed to be doing and leave everyone else alone!” Harry bellows, the Snitch momentarily forgotten again.
”Harry Potter is now having an argument with his Keeper”, Luna comments serenely while the Slytherins and Hufflepuffs in the crowd cheer and laugh. ”I don’t think that will help him find the Snitch, but maybe it’s a clever ruse…”
Harry swears and swerves around again, scaning the sky for a sign of something glinting in the sun, vaguely aware Luna’s continued commentary as it drifts completely off-point, until McGonagall leans in to bark the current score into Luna’s megaphone.
”Is it, already?” Luna says. ”Oh, look! The Gryffindor Keeper has got hold of one of the Beater’s bats!”
Harry spins around in mid-air and stares incredulously, and sure enough, McLaggen has pulled Peake’s bat from him and seems to be giving the other boy a demonstration.
”Will you give him back his bat and get back to the goalposts!” Harry roars, pelting towards his team mates just as McLaggen takes a swipe at an oncoming Bludger and mis-hitting it…
Blinding, sickening pain
A flash of light
Distant screams
And finally the sensation of falling, like he’s falling down a long, dark tunnel
The next thing Harry knows, he’s lying in a remarkably warm and comfortable bed, almost as familiar to him as the fourposter in the Gryffindor dormitroy at this point. He doesn’t even have to look around him to know that he’s in the hospital wing.
”Nice of you to drop in.”
Harry raises his head awkwardly and turns towards the voice and is immediately met by a grinning Ron Weasley sitting up in the bed on Harry’s left. Harry groans, then carefully turns his head the other way to peer out the window. The sky is decidedly darker now, streaks of indigo and crimson bruising the clouds. The match must have finished hours ago, he thinks. And any hope of cornering Malfoy…
Harry sighs.
”What happened?” he asks dully, not really wanting to know.
”Cracked skull”, Madam Pomfrey informs him as she bustles into the room and then proceeds to push him back against the pillows when he attempts to sit up. ”Nothing to worry about, I mended it at once, but I’m keeping you in overnight all the same. You shouldn’t overexert yourself for a few hours.”
”I don’t want to stay overnight, I want to find McLaggen and kill him!” Harry says angrily and hauls himself to sitting once more.
”That would come under the heading of ’overexertion’ I’m afraid”, Madam Pomfrey says and pushes him back down again. ”You will stay here until I discharge you, Potter, or I shall have to call the Headmaster.”
After she’s left again, Ron tells him how much they lost by. He seems apologetic about it, but Harry can also detect a glint of triumph and barely suppressed glee in his eyes, probably relieved that McLaggen messed up so spectacularly. After the worst of his rage has simmered down, Harry tells Ron about bumping into Malfoy.
”Wish I’d followed him now, the match was a fiasco anyway…”
”Don’t be stupid”, Ron says. ”You couldn’t have missed a Quidditch match just to follow Malfoy, you’re the Captain!”
”I want to know what he’s up to!” Harry growls in frustration. ”And don’t tell me it’s all in my head—!”
”I never said it’s all in your head, Harry. But you’re getting a bit obsessed with Malfoy… I mean, to even think about missing a match just to follow him…”
”You think that a Quidditch match is more important than one of Voldemort’s plots do you”, Harry snaps, then immediately regrets it when he notices the stricken look on his friend’s face.
”Mate”, Ron murmurs, his freckles standing out more than ever against his pale skin. ”That’s not… Of course I don’t…”
”Sorry”, Harry mumbles. ”It’s just so frustrating. The Map never lies, but Malfoy has obviously found a way to hide…”
”Maybe he goes to Hogsmeade?” Ron suggests, and not for the first time.
Harry shakes his head, ”No. I’ve never seen him going along any of the secret passageways on the Map…”
The discussion tapers off after that and they fall silent. Before long Ron falls asleep. When Madam Pomfrey comes back to draw all the curtains, Harry pretends to be asleep too and after she’s gone again he continues pretending, hoping it will help him actually fall asleep, but between the throbbing in his head and the thoughts swirling frantically inside it, sleep is miles away.
He thinks about organising some sort of surveillance system with the rest of the DA, between them they would have a much easier time following Malfoy, but no… He can’t ask them to skip lessons for him, besides it would appear suspiscious and it might even alert Malfoy to the fact that Harry is on to him…
Then suddenly, the solution hits him. Kreacher.
Harry sits bolt upright in bed, his heart hammering away in his chest. There is a way for him to have Malfoy tailed wihtout the boy realising. Why hasn’t he thought of it before?
Tentatively, Harry speaks into the darkness, ”Kreacher?”
There’s a loud crack in the silent room, followed by the noise of scuffling and squeaks. Ron wakes up with a yelp and sits up in confusion.
”What’s going on —?”
Harry hurriedly points his wand at the door to Madam Pomfrey’s office and mutters Muffliato before scrambling to the end of his bed to get a better look at the commotion on the floor; two house-elves are rolling around on the floor, wrestling furiously.
With another loud bang, Peeves the Poltergeist appears above the elves.
”I was watching that, Potty!” he tells Harry and points to the wrestling elves, before letting out a cackle. ”Look at the ickle creatures squabbling—!”
”Kreacher will not insult Harry Potter in front of Dobby, no he won’t—!” Dobby cries in his high-pitched voice.
”Kreacher will say what he likes about his master, and what a master he is, filthy friend of Mudbloods, oh, what would poor Kreacher’s mistress say if she knew—!”
Dobby’s little fist connects with Kreacher’s mouth suddenly and half his teeth seem to be flying out. Harry and Ron both scramble to their feet and wrench the two house-elves apart. They continue to kick and scream, egged on by Peeves who has started pelting bits of chalk at them and singing suggestions like Stick your fingers up his nosey or Pull his earsies, until Harry points his wand at him and shouts Langlock, managing to shut him up.
”Nice one!” Ron says, lifting Dobby into the air so that his flailing limbs have no chance of reaching Kreacher. ”That was one of the Prince’s hexes, wasn’t it?”
”Yeah”, Harry says.
Twisting Kreacher around he forbids him to fight with Dobby, then tells him to tail Malfoy. Dobby eagerly volunteers to help out as well.
”Come to think of it, it would be good to have both of you”, Harry agrees. ”Okay then. I want to know where he’s going, who he’s meeting and what he’s doing. I want you to follow him around the clock.”
”Yes, Harry Potter!” Dobby exclaims at once, his large tennis ball-shaped eyes glistening with excitement. ”And if Dobby does it wrong, Dobby will throw himself off the topmost tower, Harry Potter!”
”There will be no need for that!” Harry says hurriedly, well aware that Dobby might do just that.
”Master wants me to follow the youngest of the Malfoys?” Kreacher croaks. ”Master wants me to spy on the pureblood great-nephew of my old mistress?”
”Yep, that’s the one”, Harry says. ”And you’re forbidden to tip him off, or to show him what you’re up to, or talk to him, or write him messages or… or to contact him in any way. Got it?”
After a moment’s hesitation, Kreacher bows and mutters to himself with bitter resentment, ”Master thinks of everything and Kreacher must obey him even though Kreacher would much rather be the servant of the Malfoy boy, oh yes…”
*
Harry sits cross-legged on his four-poster bed, peering at the Marauder’s Map in wand light while nibbling on a Chocolate Frog, the soothing sound of heavy breathing and the occasional snore coming from the other beds in the dorm blanketing him. The dot marked Draco Malfoy sits immobile in the Slytherin boys’ dormitory, in what Harry assumes must be the boy’s bed.
A bit further down the dungeons, in the opposite end of the corridor leading to the Potions classroom, the dot marked Severus Snape is moving restlessly within the confines of the professor’s private chambers. Chambers that Harry can now picture perfectly, having actually been inside and sat in one of the armchairs in front of the fireplace.
Harry throws a cursory glance at Professor Slughorn’s private chambers as well, still feeling dreadfully ashamed after his last meeting with Dumbledore when the old man had favoured him with the coldest look of disappointment that Harry had ever received, and the fact that it came from Dumbledore himself, who always seemed to have a twinkle in his eye, just made it that much worse.
I’ll get the memory, Harry thinks fervently, and not for the first time since leaving Dumbledore’s office the previous week, but in truth he was nowhere near getting his hands on it.
He gives the immobile dot representing Slughorn one last look, then lets his gaze travel back to Severus. He’s still pacing in his livingroom. Harry pictures the orange glow from the fire spreading over the room and giving the man’s skin a slightly healthier hue. He pictures the drawn out, flickering shadows dancing over the walls and over Severus’ face. He pictures the glittering embers reflected in those dark, dark eyes…
The next thing he knows, someone is poking him in the arm and startles awake. Sitting up, he realises that he must have fallen asleep, sprawled on top of the Map and with his glasses still on his face. He rubs the side of his temple and feels the uneven skin where they’ve been digging in.
”Mischief managed”, he mutters and taps the Map.
”I’d say”, Ron says with a snicker. ”Good dream was it?”
Harry gives him a confused look, ”What?”
Ron nods towards Harry’s lap and snickers again when Harry blinks and then becomes painfully aware of his own erection straining against his pyjama bottoms, tenting the material comically. He feels his face flush, and quickly drags his pillow across his lap before shooting Ron a glare. That only makes his best friend laugh harder though.
”So what was it?” he asks once he’s got his sniggers under control again. ”Did you dream about broomsticks and goal hoops, or was it a proper sex dream with another person?”
”I’m not telling you!” Harry says indignantly, even as fragmented images of pale skin and dark eyes flashes through his mind, and long, slender piano fingers reaching out, brushing, caressing, gripping, squeezing…
Harry groans and rubs both hands over his face as if that might also wipe the images from the forefront of his mind, not that he doesn’t appreciate them, but if he’s to have any hope of getting his stiffy under control he definitely needs to think about something else. Anything else really.
”Come on, we’re late for breakfast”, Ron says and tosses an empty Chocolate Frog packet at Harry’s head. It sticks in the mess that is Harry’s hair.
Harry brushes it off with another glare in Ron’s direction which does nothing to wipe the teasing grin of the redhead’s face.
”Bit of privacy please?” he bites out, but Ron just shakes his head and snickers some more.
”No time for that, mate!”
”That’s not what I meant!”
”Yeah, yeah… Just put your robes on, you’ll be fine. Now let’s go!”