They Shook Hands: Year Two (Original Version)

They Shook Hands : Year Two

An alternate (but realistic!) universe Harry Potter fic
by Dethryl

Chapter Twelve - The Rogue Bludger

"Potter! Stop that! Stop that right now! I've caught yeh this time!"

Harry groaned. Bugger. Of all the mornings. For a day or so after the petrification of his beloved cat, the caretaker had been inconsolable, but soon the tears had given way to vigilante rage. Though he was usually only a minor annoyance, Filch was now omnipresent and glaring, ambushing innocent students with all sorts of obscene threats. Several students had already been slapped with detention (or worse) for assorted petty offences; Harry had hoped he wouldn't be joining them.

"What do yeh think yeh're doing?"

Walking. "Nothing, Mister Filch."

"I could hear yeh clear up the hall!"

Okay, that should not have been possible.

"I heard yeh breathing too loudly, muttering under your breath, casting evil Dark magic, assaulting innocent cats! My precious Missus Norris!"

Filch was clearly losing his mind. Insane or not though, he was building up a head of steam.

"Mister Filch, I did no such thing," Harry denied firmly. "I was with Mister Lucius Malfoy, one of the school governors, at the time of the attack."

Filch's snarl waned slightly. "Doesn't change what yeh're doing now," he blustered. He obviously wanted to drag Harry to his office and hang him up by his thumbs.

"I'm only on my way up to breakfast. I've got a Quidditch match today, Mister Filch. I can't be bothered with causing trouble."

"Watch your cheek, Potter."

"I will, sir. I'll just be going now. I can have Mister Malfoy stop by to have a chat with you about that night if you'd like. He's a reasonable man, and it would be no trouble."

"Get out of my sight, Potter!"

Gladly. Harry hurried away. It was times like these that Harry was glad to have friends in high places; anything that got him out of trouble was fine in his book.

* * *

The last minutes before a match were always unbearably tense. Despite his confidence in his team and in his own skills, Harry still felt butterflies fluttering around in his stomach. Perhaps that's why he had not been able to eat breakfast.

His uniform just didn't feel right for some reason. Twitching didn't help the robes sit any better. He reached up and scratched at his neck. For the hundredth time he wished they could just go out and play.

With a pair of two-week rookie Beaters, Gryffindor didn't stand a chance. To Harry, it seemed almost as though the match were a formality; they were really only determining how many points would added to Slytherin's hourglass in the castle entrance hall.

"Okay, team, we've got just a few minutes." It was time for Flint's pre-game pep talk; today, his voice was surprisingly calm. "We can do this. Wood is not going to have his team operating as a unit. We are better fliers, harder hitters, and stronger players. The first round at the pub is on me if we beat them by more than three hundred."

"What about if by four?" Bole called out cheekily.

"Shots of firewhiskey," Flint promised.

"Five?" Montague wanted to know.

"Do it and find out," Flint smirked. "Now let's go win!"

As they burst out into the muggy morning air, Harry plainly heard the roar of the crowd. "Here is the Slytherin team!" the announcer called. "Bletchley, Bole, Derrick, Flint, Montague, Potter, and Pucey!" Harry spiralled into the air, his emerald green Quidditch robes flaring out behind him.

Slytherin House had turned out in force to cheer on their team for this match: their section of the stands was a sea of green. In addition to the official scarves, many students sported patriotic green ribbons. A few even had old uniform robes inherited from siblings who had left Hogwarts.

As Harry passed over the waves of emerald Slytherin supporters, his eyes picked out Professor Snape and Mr. Malfoy in the staff section. The former had traded his traditional black for house colours, while the latter was dressed as expensively as usual; compared to him, the staff looked rather shabby (as usual). Harry's smile widened when he saw who sat next to Mr. Malfoy: Draco, still bandaged up, but grinning and waving nonetheless.

Harry took one hand off his Nimbus to wave back. Thank Merlin that Draco had recovered enough to come to the match. He would be as good as new in a few days, otherwise Madam Pomfrey wouldn't have let him out of her sight.

"And here comes the outstanding Gryffindor team!" Jordan crowed. "Bell, Frobisher, Johnson, Panning, Sharpp, Spinnet, and Wood! I'm sure Gryffindor's new Beaters are more than up to today's task! And, to thank for the loss of two of Gryffindor's heroes, sitting pretty with the Slytherins, I give you the traitorous Percy Weasley!"

Harry almost fell off his broom. Weasley was sitting with Slytherins? He supposed anything was possible, but that was definitely something he'd never expected. He'd be more likely to find free-roaming Ice Mice in Hell.

As loud hisses and jeers arose from the scarlet section, there was an interruption in the commentary; McGonagall clapped her hand over the megaphone and, from the looks of it, gave Jordan an extremely thorough tongue-lashing. The black-skinned boy turned pale, and when she finally relinquished the megaphone, his voice was shaking.

Jordan wouldn't say anything positive about Slytherin anyway, no matter how spectacularly they performed: Gryffindors were biased like that. Harry resolved to tune out the commentary.

The teams landed to form a circle while the captains landed in the centre of the pitch for the traditional handshake. Flint and Wood stiffly attempted to crush the bones in each others' hands. Madam Hooch finally told them to break it up.

"Mount!" she ordered. Fourteen players swung a leg over their brooms and gripped the handles tight, tense and ready to tear the other side apart. The seconds seemed to stretch as she readied the Quaffle, regarded the teams, and finally, threw it up into the air-- "Go!"

Gryffindor took first possession of the ball, and Flint must have felt personally offended. He set off after Bell like a hawk after a pigeon. Harry peered around looking for the Snitch. He flew higher than anyone else, but he wasn't afraid.

He wasn't afraid, that is, until a heavy black object went hurtling by his head at high speed. Harry ducked the Bludger just in time and felt it ruffle his hair as it sped by.

"Bole!" he shouted out.

Bole looked up and intercepted the Bludger, whacking it towards Spinnet, who dropped the Quaffle. Pucey snatched it and flew in an attack pattern towards the Gryffindor hoops.

"Go, Adrian!" Harry cheered. The first score would set the tone for the game.

"Harry, look out!"

He darted to his left and rolled. A Bludger went zooming by him again. That was odd. The other Bludger was on the far side of the pitch harassing Montague. Was that the same Bludger?

"Close one!" Derrick called as he flew by and whacked it towards Wood. It should have let Pucey and Flint make the score, but the Bludger changed direction in mid-air. Wood made the block and passed the Quaffle out to Johnson.

"Too close!" Harry agreed. "Was that the same one?"

"Yeah!" the Beater replied. "And here it comes again!"

Harry ducked to avoid it and was barely in time. Derrick whacked it again, and instead of striking Spinnet, it whipped around like a boomerang, coming for Harry again. Harry put on a burst of speed and darted for the other end of the pitch. He could hear the Bludger whistling along behind him. This didn't make any sense at all! Bludgers never concentrated on one player; their job was to try to unseat as many people as possible.

Bole was coming towards him at high velocity. The sound from his hit was tremendous. As the Beater started to cheer, the sound rattled and died in his throat. The Bludger was coming back towards Harry, like they were opposite poles of a magnet!

Drops of rain began to fall from the grey clouds, and Harry's vision started deteriorating. He couldn't see the Snitch, couldn't even look for it. He was too distracted to pay attention to the game. Only when Jordan announced the score did he learn that Slytherin was up only by ten points.

"This thing's been tampered with!" he gasped as he zoomed by Derrick again. "We need to call a time out!"

Derrick screamed in Flint's ear as the captain sailed by, and in a few seconds, Madam Hooch's whistle signalled a halt to the action. The team settled to the ground, and Flint looked askance at his Beaters.

"What's going on, Bole? Why aren't you and Derrick laying waste to those two rookies out there?" Flint sounded irritated, and Harry supposed that he had a right to be.

"Something is wrong with one of the Bludgers, Flint," Bole answered back. "It won't leave Harry alone. We're busy saving his neck up there."

"I can't manoeuvre," Harry complained. "I can't find the Snitch if I have to keep two eyes on a Bludger."

"Nobody can tamper with a Bludger," Flint told them. "I'm sure you're imagining things."

"I didn't imagine nearly getting decapitated three times in less than a minute!" Harry shouted. "We have to stop the match and get an inquiry."

"I'm not going to forfeit to a team with only five experienced players!" Flint exploded. "It's humiliating! Potter, you find that damned Snitch, or I'll see you hanging by your toes from the ceiling in the Great Hall!"

Harry ground his teeth. "Fine," he snapped. "Bole, can you stick with me?"

Bole shook his head. "Your broom is too fast," he admitted. "This One Thousand just can't keep up with your Deuce."

"Who has the fastest broom?" Harry demanded. "If Bole or Derrick can follow me and keep that Bludger away, I can find the Snitch and end this cursed match."

"None of us can match your Two Thousand," Miles Bletchley told him bluntly. "It just won't work."

Harry bit his lip. He could see Madam Hooch walking over. The game would have to resume soon. "Give me a bat," he demanded.

"What?" Flint's eyes went wide.

"Give me a bloody bat!" Harry hissed at him. "There's nothing in the rules that says I can't carry one, is there?"

"Well no, but-"

"Flint, give him the sodding bat! If we can't defend him, he can help himself!" Derrick wiped water off his face. "Let's get this blasted game over with before we drown."

Harry accepted the Beater's bat that Flint handed to him. "Don't get yourself killed out there," was the captain's terse final instruction.

"Ready to resume?" Madam Hooch asked as she broke into their little circle. Her eyes rested briefly on the bat in Harry's hands, but she let it pass without comment.

"We're ready," Flint replied.

"Impervius!" Harry knew that clear vision would be essential to staying alive up in the sky. Protecting his glasses was non-negotiable

As the whistle blew, Harry sensed the Bludger sneaking up on him. He pulled his broom up and spun in the air, whacking it with the bat as hard as he could. It went flying off - and in the distance, he could see the Snitch!

"Potter has just used a Beater's bat to whack a Bludger," Jordan was announcing. "I didn't know the rules allowed Seekers to carry bats, but Madam Hooch has not penalized Slytherin, so it must be allowed. Trust a Slytherin to find a way to cheat within the rules."

If Harry survived this, he was going to take a personal pleasure in ripping Jordan's guts out.

He pointed his broom and took off after the Snitch. All he had to do was catch it and this match would be over. It headed for the stands, and Harry had no choice but to pursue. Precious time was lost as Harry had to spin and hit the Bludger again. The Snitch got that much further ahead of him. He zoomed past Draco in the stands and in a flash of inspiration, called out, "Help!"

Professor Snape was on his feet instantly. Mr. Malfoy also stood up and drew his wand. Harry lost sight as the Bludger arced back towards him. The Snitch was there, right in front of him! If only that demented Bludger would stay off him for a few more seconds!

KABOOM!

There was a thunderous detonation, like a cannon in a Muggle war film. The explosion was deafening; Harry's broom bucked in the shock wave. As he was propelled end over end, Harry felt the Snitch slap into his hand, and he closed his fist tightly. He held onto the little golden ball for dear life as wind whistled past his ears, and he plummeted towards the ground.

Snap! As his left leg broke, Harry felt hot fire sear through his body. He gasped involuntarily and inhaled a mouthful of mud. Choking, spitting, he pushed the pain aside and held up the Snitch. The match was over. He slumped back on the grass, drawing heaving breaths through teeth clenched against agony.

"Harry! Harry!"

Suddenly there were people all around him. Madam Hooch took the Snitch from his clenched fingers. Professor Snape was peering into his eyes. Mr. Malfoy was casting a spell of some sort.

"His leg is broken," the wizard reported. "He needs immediate medical attention."

"Allow me!" a pompous voice ordered loudly.

"No!" Harry protested weakly, struggling to sit up. "Not you. I'll keep it like it is."

"The dear boy is delirious; doesn't know what he's saying," Professor Lockhart dismissed Harry's objections.

Mr. Malfoy's wand was now pointed at Lockhart. "You will not touch the boy!" he declared in a quiet voice. "You are no trained Healer."

"The spell is simplicity in itself-"

"Silence!" Malfoy thundered.

There was a sudden clicking noise, and Harry was half-blinded by a sudden bright flash. "No pictures," he babbled. "No pictures, please."

"Boy! What are you about?"

"M-my name is C-creevey, sir. I'm photographing the match, and-"

"Away with you! This is no time to be stupid! Someone has been injured!"

Professor Snape was fixing Creevey with his stare of doom. He turned to a green-scarfed student whom Harry was too delirious to recognize. "Dolohov, fetch Madam Pomfrey. Run."

"Yes, sir!"

"Everything will be fine, Harry," Mr. Malfoy was saying reassuringly. "Dolor ut mentis!"

"It hurts," he whimpered.

"Don't think about it. Think about History class. Binns is droning on and on about the Goblin Rebellion of Sixteen-Twelve."

Harry struggled to put the pain aside. The rebellion had been planned in the Hog's Head Inn. It had been bloody and violent. Two of the chief goblins had been Bodrod the Bearded and Urg the Unclean.

His eyes were getting heavy, so very heavy. This wasn't normal. He was slipping into the darkness. The pain seemed so very far away. There was a bright light above him. Harry came back to himself in a sudden instant. Instinctively, he tried to sit up, but firm hands held him down.

"Easy, Harry, easy. I've numbed the pain, but you can still damage yourself. Madam Pomfrey is on her way," Mr. Malfoy informed him.

"Madam Pomfrey is here now," the mediwitch said as she knelt down next to Harry. She waved her wand and cast diagnostic spells. "An interesting choice of spell, Mister Malfoy. All the nerves have been deadened. I'll be able to fix him up right as rain. And speaking of rain, let's get out of it. Mark my words, there'll be head colds by the dozen! And you, young Malfoy! Back to the hospital wing at once! Your holiday is over!"

Madam immobilized his body, and Harry was lifted on a cushion of air and directed towards the castle. The crowd began to disperse, and Jordan made one final announcement:

"Harry Potter has caught the Snitch through some, er, unusual circumstances, and Slytherin wins the match by one hundred ninety points to thirty."

* * *

After a brief period of attention by Madam Pomfrey, Harry's leg was supposedly good as new. He wouldn't know, of course; he couldn't feel it. Mr. Malfoy's spell had taken away all his pain. It did mean, though, that he had to stay in bed until the leg would respond again.

Draco lay in the next bed over, still sporting a few bandages, and Harry was glad that he could spend some unrushed time with his best mate, even if the accommodations were a bit austere.

"These pyjamas do itch so," Draco complained.

"You get used to it," Harry told him. "At least you got to escape them for a bit. How by Hogwarts did you convince her to let to you go the match?"

"I didn't convince her of anything," Draco drawled. "I simply told Father that I wanted to see Slytherin demolish Gryffindor, and he arranged it. Nice flying out there, by the way."

"Thanks. I just wish I knew what had possessed that Bludger."

"There wasn't much left to it," Draco admitted. "It was pretty much annihilated by Father's spell."

"And no way to check it for tampering," Harry groused.

"Probably not," Draco agreed. "But who cares? Up Slytherin!"

"Up Slytherin!" Harry cheered.

Someone made a harrumphing noise. Harry leaned over to see Weasley's baby sister kneeling on the floor scrubbing at the tile with a brush.

"Oi, Draco, it's one of your bloody attackers," Harry sneered.

"Which?" Draco asked. "I'll get my wand."

"The girl."

"I never did like her."

"I can see why, with a name like 'The girl' Weasley."

"Oh stop it!" she told them crossly. "My name is Ginny."

"You have names? I thought Weasleys just had numbers," Harry drawled.

"Shut up."

"Got a spot of detention, have you?" Draco asked brightly.

"Leave me alone."

"You didn't leave me alone!" he snapped. "I think you deserve far, far worse than detention!"

Ginny flushed as red as her hair. "Wasn't my idea," she muttered. She continued scrubbing at the tile.

"I fully intend to drown your miserable brother in a vat of glue," Draco glowered.

"Which one?" she said half-heartedly.

"Ronald," he ground out between clenched teeth. "It was his idea, wasn't it?"

Ginny didn't answer. She pushed her bucket of soapy water a few feet and continued scrubbing tile.

"You missed a spot," Draco taunted.

"No, I didn't," she denied.

Draco tossed his water glass on the floor where she'd been kneeling. "Yes, you did."

The glass shattered. "Stop that!" Ginny shrieked in outrage.

"Make me," Draco invited her.

Ginny glared up at the blond Slytherin. She drew her wand, pointed it at the shards without looking, and uttered, "Reparo!" She placed the restored drinking vessel on a table and used her rag to soak up the water.

"Madam Pomfrey!" Draco called out in a sing-song tone.

Seconds later, the mediwitch's starched cap and uniform marched into view. "Yes, Mister Malfoy?"

"How it is," Draco asked softly, "that one of my attackers is permitted to be in unsupervised proximity to my person whilst in possession of a wand?"

Madam Pomfrey drew a frown on her stern face. "Miss Weasley, what were you doing with your wand out?"

Ginny's face blanched. She stuttered for a moment, trying to come up with a good excuse.

"She knocked over the water glass," Harry said helpfully. "And then she repaired it."

"And then she pointed the wand at me," Draco exaggerated. "I simply won't stand for it."

"Miss Weasley, you are not authorized to do magic during your detention," the mediwitch reminded the girl. "Surrender your wand at once."

Her brown eyes filling with tears, Ginny handed over her wand. Madam Pomfrey tucked it away in a pocket of her robes.

"Now, back to work at once," she ordered. "Don't bother the patients again, or it will be extra work for you."

Harry and Draco winked at each other as Madam walked away. They could hear Ginny trying not to sniffle as she worked. When she was finally ordered to go take the sheets down to the laundry, Draco let go a small laugh.

"I enjoyed that," he confessed.

"If she'd attacked me, I don't know if I'd be so calm," observed Harry.

"She got her punishment. Gryffindor got some more of it. I'll take out my wrath on Ronald." Draco said the boy's name in an extremely sissy voice.

"He's having to endure the wrath of Snape," Harry smiled. "He's Snape's errand boy. Has to fetch things and scrub cauldrons; set up the lab and break it down at night. He won't have a spare moment in class if we have anything to say about it."

"I can live with the idea of forcing Weasley to fetch and carry," Draco chuckled and changed the subject. "So I've heard from Elan."

"How is he?" Harry asked. Draco's brother was one of the people Harry looked up to.

"He's got his knickers in quite a twist."

"Of course."

"He blames Father for not being here to protect me. Blames himself too."

"How could he have done anything?"

"If he'd been around, nobody would dare to touch me," Draco told him. "Not even the Weasley collective is stupid enough to cross Elan."

"Ironic it was a Weasley who saved you."

"Elan says he near to puked when he heard. He ran roughshod over that pompous twit Percy for years. Damn Dumbledore anyway!"

"Percy's not such a bad fellow," Harry pointed out. "He did save your neck, and he did bring you a folder of his old notes, and he has been ostracised by his house because of it all. Jordan humiliated him in front of the whole school at the match."

"Father has seen to it that Percy will be handsomely rewarded for his actions. And I've decided to lay off him. He was sitting with Jamie, Samuel, and Elan's other friends at the match, you know."

"I saw."

"So there might be some hope for him after all."

Harry fell silent for a few moments and shifted around. "Oi! My leg's not so numb, but now my bum's gone to sleep!"

* * *

The relative normality of the Quidditch match helped the mood of the castle recover from the funk it had been in since Halloween. The students had been lurking around the school like children in a house after their parents have been fighting. There was laughter in the halls again as nearly every boy and girl discussed the fine Quidditch match.

After being released from the hospital wing, Harry returned to the Slytherin dormitory and relaxed with his friends. He joined Crabbe, Millie, and Jenna for a game of Exploding Snap. Tim questioned him endlessly about the rogue Bludger, and he finally left to go raid the library. Blaise seemed to need constant reassurance that Harry was unhurt, and her touches on his shoulder or arm made him smile.

The celebration of the victory that night was boisterous. The match had been a contest between Chasers, so there was plenty of discussion and re-enactment of the plays. As a result, most of the attention focused on Flint, Pucey, and Montague. Harry was glad to sit to the side and enjoy the treats the older students had pilfered from the kitchen.

The sixth and seventh year students hatched a scheme to decorate the entrance to the Gryffindor dormitory with Slytherin colours. The Head Boy, Abraham Montague, was bursting with pride in his younger brother, and he readily acceded to Flint's suggestion for some pranking. The five boys ducked out of the party early.

Harry still felt tired, so he turned in before his customary time. He was slumbering quite soundly when he was shaken awake most rudely. His head fuzzy, he peered up from the pillow.

"Harry," Draco said urgently. "Get up. There's been another attack!"

Harry's eyes snapped open. "Draco?"

"No, I'm fine. Listen! I couldn't sleep, but I heard Dumbledore and McGonagall bringing a statue into the hospital wing."

That didn't make much sense. "What?"

"Old McGonagall brought Madam Pomfrey, but she couldn't do anything. He was petrified, just like Filch's cat!"

Another attack! "Who?"

"That Gryffindor Mudblood with the camera," Draco sneered. "Stupid fool tried to take a picture of what it was, can you believe? He didn't try to run, but he starts clicking away. Whatever it was fried the film. Dumbledore opened the camera up and this awful-smelling smoke poured out."

"What?"

"I couldn't stay another minute. After Madam went back to bed, I snuck out and back where it's safe."

"You won't be very safe when she finds out," Harry observed. "And what is this talk of 'safe'?" he scoffed. "Your blood is beyond pure."

"I don't like murderous beasts that are not on my payroll."

"First a cat, now a student," Harry mused. "Who could be behind it all?"

"The Heir of Slytherin," Draco shrugged.

"But who is that?"

"Do you remember what Snape said? We should keep our noses out of it."

"But that first year has been petrified!"

"He was a Mudblood, and a Gryffindor besides. No great loss."

Harry considered that. In the grand scheme of things, what did it really matter if there was one less Gryffindor?

"I just wish I knew who it was," Draco sighed. "I'd offer to help, and my first choice of a target would be Granger."

to be continued...