The Man Who Knew Almost Nothing

Chapter Twenty-four

Fateful day

The day of the game was overcast and several members of the team were saying that rain was a possibility as they all stood near the locker room, leaning on their brooms and speculating about the condition of the skies. The wind had died down a bit, but there were still unexpected gusts. Harry glanced into the stands and saw Gilderoy, Remus, and Sirius, the later two of whom had apparated in from Hogsmeade. They were all sporting team colors, blue and red, in support of the home team. Harry grinned as he watched Sirius and Remus pinning on buttons as well. He stood there watching them until Blackwood nudged him.

“Get your head in the game, Potter,” he warned sternly before grinning and laughing. “Oh, go on, take a nice long look. He is very easy on the eyes for his age,” said Arnie.

“For any age,” chuckled Harry.

“Yeah. Say, are you bringing him with you to France in just two days, assuming that they beat Armenia?”

“He was at almost every practice. He wouldn’t miss a game for anything.”

“Good,” he nodded. “We’re up now.”

“Let’s get going then,” said Harry.

From their seats, Remus, Sirius, and Gilderoy cheered wildly as England’s team took to the air. A familiar voice, that of Lee Jordan, began calling out the names of the players as both teams took their positions.

“And here comes the new seeker for England, Harry Potter.”

The crowd, both supporters of England and Ireland, cheered for the Boy-Who-Lived, the young man who had saved them all from Voldemort a little more than a year earlier. Even the most avid Quidditch fan could not begrudge him that. Of course, when the balls were put into play, that would be forgotten, but for the moment Harry Potter was famous for other things besides just Quidditch.

“And the game begins! Andrews has the Quaffle! Andrews to Blackwood! Blackwood rushes to score! Denied! Ryan blocks nicely! The Quaffle goes to ...Troy!”

Gilderoy thought he had seen Quidditch when he saw Hufflepuff beat Gryffindor or when the team went all out one day during a rainy practice session, but this was ten times more gut-wrenching and the speed of it all made his heart pound.

“Troy to Mullet to ...! Wait! That was a close one! Blackwood has the Quaffle again. Can he score this time?”

A Bludger hit by Neil Abernathy, the blond beater who had wanted a ride in Harry’s car, had nearly scalped Mullet, giving Blackwood an opportunity that would have been unheard of just a few years before. He seized it and the ball, diving toward the opposing team’s goal with both Irish beaters on his tail.

“England scores!”

Ryan had been unable to block Blackwood’s speedy and powerful throw. The first points of the game went to England.

“Moran has the Quaffle!”

“I say, Harry’s team looks awfully good out there,” Gilderoy said to Sirius over the crowd.

“That they do. Ireland’s team sat on their duffs too long after they won that Cup,” said Sirius in agreement.

Pointing upward toward Harry, he asked, “How long do think it will be before Harry spots the Snitch?”

Sirius shrugged, “You can never tell. But look at that poor girl on Ireland’s team. She looks far too desperate. Now look at Harry. Relaxed, but attentive. A true seeker.”

Gilderoy smiled as he saw what Sirius meant. Harry was gliding back and forth across the pitch, scouring the ground and keeping an eye on the Irish seeker. His movements were methodical. He wasted no energy, save to dodge an occasional Bludger, which were few because of the intensity of the game below him. It was like watching a master at work. There was something almost artistic about it.

“Ireland scores! The Quaffle goes to Troy. Mullet! Troy again? And denied! Ames blocks that shot effortlessly. Blackwood! Tibbs! Blackwood! Tibbs! These guys know their stuff. Another goal for jolly old England!”

Gilderoy suddenly found himself on his feet with the crowd, applauding the tremendous teamwork that the chasers had just shown.

The game progressed with Ireland rallying and racking up a few points using their powerful Hawkshead Attacking Formation, which England just couldn’t seem to stop. England was relying on the strength of their team captain. It was proving to be a long game, at least from Gilderoy’s perspective. Ireland was leading by sixty points despite England’s best efforts when the announcer began to bellow:

“The Snitch has been spotted! The Snitch has been spotted!”

Gilderoy looked up just in time to see both Harry and Magilly, the Irish seeker, dive toward the center of the pitch like two bolts of lightning, one blue and one green as they streaked toward the earth. Gilderoy felt his heart in his throat as they dived at full speed toward the ground.

“It has to be a feint,” Sirius muttered, though he had missed who had initiated it. Such things usually weren’t Harry’s style.

Gilderoy felt his eyes close as they approached the ground. There was a sickening thud, louder and harder than when the Gryffindor seeker had been unseated at the house match. Half the crowd cheered, and half the crowd wailed. But they suddenly seemed too far away to hear them properly.

“Harry?” he questioned.

Just before he fainted.

To Sirius’s credit, he was the first notice that Gilderoy had passed out and toppled between the seats even as Remus and he were applauding England’s win. That had been no feint. Harry had spotted the Snitch first and had done what he had to do to catch it. Magilly had hit the ground with so much force that her broom, a Firebolt 3000 from the third year of its production, snapped in half under her hands just before she hit the ground too. Her predecessor had walked away from at least a dozen such crashes, but many in the stands wonder if Magilly would prove as hardy. The mediwitches flooding the field looked rather grim. But Harry had caught the Snitch.

“I think he’s fainted!” yelled Sirius to Remus over the screams of the nearby fans, who were watching their national team take a victory lap around the pitch with Potter holding the Snitch high even as he glanced down at Magilly and the medics with a worried expression.

“Fainted?” questioned Remus, leaning around Sirius, who was prodding Gilderoy with his shoe.

Sirius knelt and shook Gilderoy as he rolled him onto his back between the narrow bleachers. Suddenly he felt something sticky and damp on his fingers. It was blood.

“He caught his head on the way down. Get a mediwizard, Remus,” he told his companion, holding up his fingers.

“Right,” he nodded, eyes widening as he dashed to find one in the crowded arena.

Sirius looked out over the field at Harry, who was just finishing his lap with his teammates and was searching the crowd for his family. Their eyes met as Harry swung closer to the stands, unable to find Sirius and Remus or perhaps more importantly Gilderoy. Sirius, watching the rest of the team head for the ground to glory in their first season win, stood and motioned for Harry to fly closer.

“Where’s Gilderoy?” Harry yelled over the noise of the fans, many of whom were watching the Irish seeker being treated on the field.

Sirius pointed and called out, “He passed out, Harry!”

The amount of concern and worry on Harry’s face doubled as he brought his broom over the stands and made a tricky landing on the stairs. Dozens of people clapped him on the back and congratulated him as he struggled through them and around them toward Sirius and his lover.

“What happened?” asked Harry breathlessly, kneeling between the seats and taking Gilderoy’s head and shoulders into his arms. He felt the warm moisture of blood on his arm. “He’s bleeding!” he exclaimed, pushing Gilderoy into a seated position with help from Sirius. He could see where the blood had begun to stain his lover’s blond locks red.

“That dive. It may have given me butterflies in my stomach for a moment, but, oh, no, not Gilderoy. He up and passes out! Oh, to hell with it! He fainted like a school girl,” said Sirius, trying to mask his worry with bad-temper.

“I should have known. He nearly fainted at the house match,” said Harry, leaning Gilderoy back again and wrapping his arms around him.

“Remus is getting someone to come and take a look at him. I sent him as soon as I knew he’d hit his head,” Sirius assured him.

Harry glanced toward the field and looked a little pale as he shook his head.

“All the mediwitches and wizards will be attending to Irene Magilly. He shouldn’t have bothered. We can manage this well enough on our own.”

Harry slapped Gilderoy very lightly to try and bring him around.

“Harry ... I don’t know about that. Remus will find someone to look after him for us. He’s resourceful. And he knows a lot of people,” Sirius reassured him.

Gilderoy groaned, and for an instant Sirius thought that Harry looked a little smug before relief washed over his face.

“Gilderoy? Are you all right?” he questioned.

“What? What’s going on?” he asked, opening his eyes slowly. They were badly focused and bleary.

“Take it easy,” Sirius cautioned. “You only fainted, but you’ve got a nasty cut on your head and maybe a concussion.”

Gilderoy looked up at Harry’s face and jerked away from him.

“You!” he spat, scuttling back against the seats and as far from Harry as possible. His face was full of anger and an almost murderous rage.

Hurt, confusion, and anguish washed over Harry’s pale, sweaty features.

“Gilderoy? Love?” he questioned.

“Harry? I don’t know what just came over me,” said Gilderoy, rubbing his eyes.

“You hit your head, but you’re going to be fine. Remus is getting help. You will be all right,” Harry told him slowly, reaching for his hand.

Gilderoy slapped Harry’s hand away, but he could see surprised anguish in Gilderoy’s eyes even as he did so. His stomach lurched. He didn’t know what was happening.

“Harry, love, I can’t help it. I ... I don’t know ... I don’t understand. Love?” said Gilderoy suddenly beginning to sob. Then he stiffened and his face turned ugly. “Stay away!” he hissed, touching his injured head and looking at the blood on his fingertips. “Stay away from me!”

The look on Harry’s face was one of absolute and unmitigated torture. The Cruciatus curse would have hurt less than those words.

“Harry? Please, he’s been hurt. He doesn’t know what he’s saying,” Sirius assured Harry, pulling his wand from his robes. “Let me put him down until we can get someone to look at him.”

“Sirius, you can’t put a body bind on him. He would never recover from the shock. Not after the hospital, Sirius,” said Harry frantically.

“I’ll just stun him. Don’t worry.”

Gilderoy started to go for his wand, but Sirius was already prepared.

“Stupefy!” Sirius said, pointing his wand at Gilderoy.

Gilderoy sank back to the ground with a soft, sighing moan, almost as though he had merely fainted again. Harry reached toward him and softly stroked his hair, tears filling his eyes.

“It was for the best. He might have tried to hurt one of us or inadvertently harmed himself. At least he’s still and quiet now,” Sirius assured Harry, squeezing his shoulder and putting his wand away.

“I know,” Harry whispered.

The minutes seemed to drag as they awaited the return of Remus and some assistance. He returned with a familiar, although considerably paler than normal Madam Pomfrey, who was, of course, an ardent supporter of the national team, though her position caused her to miss many games each year.

“That poor girl ...” she was saying to Remus as they approached.

“Is she all right?” Sirius asked, moving out of her way. It was clear that Harry would not be budging.

“It’s too soon to say, I’m afraid. They should enchant the field or do something to stop these terrible things from happening. Driven into the ground like a nail. I have seen my share of Quidditch games, but I never saw anything quite like it. That poor girl ...” sighed Poppy. “I can understand why someone might faint at the sight,” she said sympathetically.

“He came to for a few minutes, but he was acting strangely and saying things that just didn’t sound like him,” said Sirius.

“Oh, a head injury can do that,” said Pomfrey as she began examining him.

“I stunned him,” Sirius admitted.

“For the best. Couldn’t have him thrashing about or cursing someone unintentionally. Very sensible, Mister Black,” she commented.

“Is he going to be all right?” asked Harry.

“One moment, Mister Potter,” she said, waving her wand over Gilderoy’s head. “Quite a nasty knock, but, yes, he should be fine,” she told him. “I can give him potion for the pain and other side effects, but that shouldn’t be necessary. Just keep him still and quiet until he seems like himself again,” Poppy advised.

“That’s it?” questioned Harry.

“Unless you want to bring him to the castle.”

“No, but thank you,” he said.

“Chin up, Mister Potter. You’ve had worse than this yourself. And Gilderoy may not be made of so stern of stuff, but he is certainly strong enough to handle this,” she said.

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