Seekers Play Rough

(Adrenaline, Gavin Rossdale)

SEEKERS PLAY ROUGH

Too much is not enough
Nobody said this stuff makes any sense
We're hooked again

Too much is not enough
Nobody gave it up
I'm not the kind
To lay down and die

Adrenaline
Screaming out your name
Adrenaline
you don't even feel the pain
Wilder than your wildest dreams
When you're going to extremes
It takes adrenaline

Chapter 3:

Of Pitches And Snitches

Everyone needs a refuge, Draco thought to himself as he hesitated at the heavy door to the Owlery. He looked over his shoulder, certain he had heard someone in the dark corridor behind him, be it Filch, Mrs. Norris, or even Peeves. Adept though he was at gliding through Hogwarts after hours, the nervousness never left him. The fear that he would be caught. Caught, embarrassed before the entire school for being found doing something he was rumored to be an expert at. Draco Malfoy, they'd whisper incredulously, in trouble for sneaking about the school? But that's what happens to Potter, not Malfoy!

Draco snarled. If he was going to get in trouble for doing anything late at night, he preferred it not be for visiting the Owlery.

"Lumos," he hissed, holding his wand high. The light illuminated the long hall behind him, the shadowed carvings, the sleeping paintings. No one, the corridor was empty. After muttering "Nox" distractedly and pocketing his wand, he returned his attention to the Owlery door. Casting one last hesitant glance over his shoulder, Draco pushed it open.

Moonlight streamed through the large windows, falling on the restless owls, the empty perches. No one else was here. He was alone. He sighed, thankful for the reassuring silence of isolation.

All night, Draco had lain awake in bed, unable to stop thinking about the day's events, and finally had decided to come to the quiet tower to relax. Whenever his turbulent thoughts denied him sleep, Draco would pay a visit to Tyrannus in the Owlery. Something about the familiarity of the bird he'd had since childhood composed Draco and calmed his unsettled mind.

As he approached a large perch, the enormous Eagle owl seated atop it swiveled his head and contemplated Draco with shockingly large and orange eyes. Those eyes never ceased to enrapture Draco. They seemed to be old and wise, overflowing with quiet calm and disdain. They were cold and erudite, and they hypnotized him.

"Hey, Tyr," he breathed. The owl muttered a coarse "kraaah" in greeting, waddling awkwardly along the length of the perch to Draco. "I bet you're bored in here." The eagle owl regarded him somberly, considering, then turned to nibble affectionately at a bit of Draco's cloak.

Careful not to disturb the other birds around him, Draco reached up an arm for Tyrannus. The huge owl stepped solemnly onto the proffered perch, tightening strong feet on Draco's forearm. Ever mindful of the powerful talons piercing the heavy leather of his glove, Draco drew the owl over to an open window, as Tyrannus flipped his wings slightly to maintain balance. It was always a struggle for Draco to handle to great bird, as Tyrannus weighed at least ten pounds, with an enormous wingspan.

Even though it was ultimately pointless, as the owl could come and go as he willed, Draco needed to make himself feel useful, to do something that would occupy his mind. Setting Tyrannus down on the wide windowsill to give his arm some respite, Draco considered the high-flying moon, letting the chill breeze wash over him, pouring through the wooden frames. Tyrannus watched him with somber eyes, muttering a deep and prolonged "oo-hooooh."

Draco smiled. "Feels good doesn't it?" He placed his hands of the cold stone and leaned out precariously into the wind, looking up at the clear night sky, the full moon. "Must be nice to be able to just fly away..." he murmured, half to himself, half to the still form perched beside him. The owl studied him, cocking his head, then muttered to himself, before righting his head and clicking his beak in apparent annoyance. With a sigh, Draco reached out and gave the downy breast feathers a quick stroke. "Wish I could go with you," he whispered to the soft ear tufts, before the owl turned and launched himself noiselessly from the ledge. With a few rapid flaps of the huge wings, Tyrannus gained proper height and soared into the night air. Draco watched him disappear in silence, then, with a shudder for the cold air streaming through the open window, seated himself on the window ledge, tucking his long legs under him. Leaning his back against the solid stone, Draco risked a glance at the ground, the frost gilded grass far below. Briefly, he wondered what it would be like to fling himself off the edge, to soar like Tyrannus, to have that fleeting moment of exhilaration, before coming to a quick and painless end at the bottom. He leaned further out. That's all life really is, after all, a voice hissed in his ear. A short and dangerous ride with an abrupt end.

He forced himself to look up, look away, anywhere but the ground below and the possibilities of satisfying termination it offered.

All around him, owls shifted and muttered among themselves. Draco yawned and brushed a thread of platinum hair out of his eyes. He wanted desperately to confide in someone, he needed someone to talk to, plain and simple. The thought of confiding in either Crabbe or Goyle forced a familiar sneer onto his face, and that left him--what? His owl? He scoffed aloud. What would they think of the great Malfoy boy then, reduced to divulging his innermost thoughts to a mere beast?

...not that Crabbe and Goyle are any better than beasts, he thought bitterly of his Neanderthal cronies.

With a petulant toss of his head, Draco eyed a wisp of silver- edged cloud scudding by on the brisk breeze.

And if you did have someone to talk to? The hissing voice was back. What then? What would you say?

The sneer faded, and his brows furrowed with a sincere anxiety. I have no idea.

Bet Harry would make a good listener...

Shush.

Ever since what had happened on the pitch, Draco had found his thoughts wandering to Harry Potter, more than ever before. It was most unnerving.

You can't get enough of The Boy Who Lived, the voice accused. Ever since first year, your pranks, your jokes, your taunts, they all were an excuse to spend time with him.

And you loved it. Every minute of it. Every second of every battle of wits, every moment his eyes spend locked with yours. You love it.

Draco drummed his fingers irritably against the cold stone. Alright, he admitted inwardly. Maybe I always have enjoyed picking on Potter. I've always been intoxicated by the power I have over him, the way a small gesture from me can make him feel whatever I want. I enjoy manipulating him and I relish the very thought of being under his skin. I always have and I always will.

The voice persisted irritatingly. Then what changed today? What made your heart skip a beat when he looked at you? What made you linger a moment too long when he was supporting you?

What changed?

Draco stared up at the moon without really seeing it, finding his memory returning inexorably to those moments on the pitch, those intense green eyes boring into his, the way Potter's arm had felt around him. There was something different about Potter. He had noticed it the moment he saw the boy with Weasel and Frizz in compartment 2A of the Hogwarts Express. He had... changed. He was no longer quick to anger, his eyes had grown--well--deeper, if that was at all possible. He was no longer the uncertain eleven-year-old Draco had met six years ago.

What's he now, then?

Draco sighed. Confusing, that's what he is.

Tyrannus' low, prolonged call echoed through the silent night sky. Draco bit pensively at a hangnail, suppressing a sudden urge to dash into the Gryffindor tower, pull Potter from his bed and scream "What the fuck is going on?"

Much to his annoyance, the thought combination of "Potter", "bed" and "scream" sent his mind swirling merrily away on another track altogether.

Bloody hell...

As if he could physically dislodge the thoughts, Draco shook his head forcefully, eyes squeezed shut. Fuck, this is getting crazy. What is he doing to me? How could I have slipped so far out of control that I allowed him the upper hand ? Aren't I the one in power, getting under his skin? Obviously not. He's so far under mine I can't think about anything else.

Tyrannus swept suddenly through the open window, spiraling down among the perches to land lightly on the floor of the Owlery. Startled by the bird's swift and silent appearance, Draco stared down at him, all thoughts jarred from his mind. In the sudden, deafening silence, a single memory made its way to the surface of his mind.

Potions class.

The amorelation elixir.

That had to be it.

That's the reason I fell off my broom, that's the reason I broke my wrist, that's the reason I blacked out.

This revelation dug up another set of memories that made Draco snarl in pure rage and humiliation, hands balled into fists. He couldn't believe what had happened that afternoon, couldn't believe he had actually allowed himself to pass out, allowed himself to be so distracted by Potter that he had fallen off his broom. Couldn't believe he had broken his wrist. And the worst part--he had been helped by that, that filthy Mudblood, Granger.

Snarling in the silence, Draco barely restrained himself from throwing a punch at the solid stone wall.

Smart, Malfoy. Break your wrist again, and she'll heal you again. Now that's what you need. More of that vile bitch's smart-ass attitude.. Fucking brilliant

Even in the cool air, even though he was all alone in the darkness, Draco felt his cheeks flush hot with shame. He, a Malfoy, had accepted help from a Mudblood. Not just any Mudblood, but Know-it-all Granger. Wouldn't Father Dear be proud. Already, he could hear Lucius' cold disdainful voice in his mind, the lack of emotion more disturbing that any screamed curses or threats.

What have I wrought? What kind of wizard are you? Needing help from a Mudblood just because your silly little wrist hurt. You could have healed it yourself. Anything. But no, you let Potter force the plebe into healing you. You're pathetic. No better than a child, a weeping babe crying a plea for its mother.

With an inarticulate sound deep in his throat that was half growl of range, half sob of shame, Draco clenched his teeth, watching Tyrannus preen himself calmly in the corner. He could taste bile on the back of his tongue as his disgust mounted the more he thought about it. That Granger had seen him in a moment of weakness. He had lowered himself, he had let her help him.

Fuck, I didn't need help, he thought furiously.

Then why did you follow Potter like a docile little puppy? Why did you let him convince you to let her heal you?

Why did you almost pass out when she actually did?

With another strangled snarl, Draco tossed his head, rubbing the wrist he had broken without even realizing it.

You truly are a pitiful little sod.

Without a defense against the accusations in his own mind, Draco sat in sullen silence for several minutes, refusing to think of anything, trying to clear his mind.

Despite his efforts, however, he found his mind wandering back to the Quidditch pitch and the way Potter had helped him.

I thought we were enemies, he thought, numb with confusion. Yet, he did everything he could to help me. Predictably, his mind flared up in distaste for the oh-so-decent Boy Who Loves Everything, always trying to be the bloody hero, but it seemed half- hearted, faded away quickly as he realized he admired Potter for that.

He admired Potter.

With distant calm, Draco considered this thought, held it up to the light, squinted at it, turned it over to look at it from all angles, then pocketed it for consideration later on. As it was, Tyrannus was pecking impatiently at Draco's boot. Draco was tired, and though he hadn't really resolved anything, he felt ready to return to the Slytherin dorms. Scooping up the owl distractedly, Draco settled Tyrannus on a perch, then turned with a shudder and left the Owlery without a backwards glance.

Tomorrow would offer plenty more time for worrying, anyway.

~*~

The sun poured in a warm cascade onto Harry's bed. With a yawn, he stretched luxuriously under his warm, thick blankets, not quite ready to move anywhere. Though the sun made his bed hot, he knew the cold stone walls and floors of Hogwarts would remind him sharply that it was autumn the moment he left the thick cocoon of blankets. No, no need to move just yet. The bed was too warm, the sun felt so nice. He'd get up and brave those cold floors with his bare feet eventually...

"Harry! Get up, you lazy git!" Ron's voice came muffled through the heavy door of Harry's small room. "We'll be late for breakfast!"

A groan was the only reply.

"Oi, Harry!" A fist joined in, banging against his door. "Come on!"

"Alright!" Harry hollered back, irked into sitting up. "I'm up! I'm up, you bloody impatient blight--"

"Less chat! I'll be in the common room." With a final decisive blow to the door, Harry listened as Ron's footsteps receded down the corridor lined with the private rooms reserved for the seventh years.

With a regretful sigh, Harry threw aside the heavy blankets and slid from the bed, gasping as his bare feet hit the cold stone floor with the shock he had been expecting. With a muttered "miserable, drafty castle", Harry tiptoed over to his small chest, distractedly pulling out a set of robes. After getting dressed and making a half-hearted attempt at calming his wild hair, he padded down the spiraling staircase to the Gryffindor common room.

Much to his surprise, he found it entirely deserted, except for Ron, who was sitting perched on the back of a large armchair, leafing through a battered copy of An Encyclopaedia of Poisonous Fungi. When Harry entered, looking around owlishly, Ron snapped the book shut and grinned. "Weird, innit? To have the word 'quiet' associated with Gryffindor in any way, shape, or form."

Harry ran a hand through his hair and yawned. "What's up?" he asked simply.

Ron clambered down from his precarious perch, slipped the encyclopedia back in it's accustomed place under one of the short legs of a table, then turned with a profound shrug. "Ever since we got those potions yesterday, people have been acting truly bizarre."

Harry nodded, not really processing the statement, and blinked bleary eyes. "Man, I'm tired."
Ron smiled and began walking towards the door. "Rough night?"

"I guess..." Harry quickly changed the subject, steering it away from his disturbing dreams from the night before, involving a certain Slytherin, a large amount of whipped cream, cherries and Trevor the toad, oddly enough. He followed Ron automatically as they slipped past the Fat Lady. "That potion's been buggering with people's heads, eh?"

Ron's smile faltered slightly. "Yeah." He was just as pleased to see the subject veering away from the night before, as he had been plagued by disquieting visions of Hermione wearing nothing but a mischievous smile.

Harry eyed him suspiciously. "Each person thinks they got it?"

They filed down a long staircase as Ron studiously examined the paintings. "Yeah," he repeated. His eyes turned distant briefly, then he tossed his head and smiled slightly at Harry. "What, doesn't it worry you that you might've gotten it?"

Harry shrugged. "Not really. I'm not about to go acting like a fool over some trick of Snape's. Besides, even if you did get the elixir, you only have to stand it for--what?--four days, until Snape reveals who got it and administers the antidote."

Ron stuffed his large hands into his pockets and considered this in silence as they continued to make their way to the Great Hall.

"I can't stop thinking about what might happen if I were the one who got it," he admitted after a few moments, eyes fixed on his feet.

Harry smiled. "That's what Snape wants. A whole lot of angst over nothing."

They stepped through the double doors into the crowded Great Hall, immediately assailed by the sights, sounds, and smells of breakfast at Hogwarts. From the Gryffindor table, Hermione raised a hand and waved cheerily to them. At the site of her, Harry thought he saw Ron tense, but ignored it as he made his way to the empty seats on the bench she had saved for them.

"Good morning Harry, Ron." She smiled cheerfully as they settled in beside her. "Finish writing your Herbology papers?"

Harry nodded and reached for a roll as Ron's eyes widened. "What Herbology paper?"

Hermione sighed a sigh of long- suffering patience, rolling her eyes Heavenward in silent supplication. "We were supposed to write a detailed report about the proper way to re-pot Tentacula seedlings, remember?"

Ron groaned and lay his forehead on the table. "I forgot."

She smiled, snagged a small biscuit and slid it into his hands. "Relax. You know Sprout, she'll give you an extra day to work on it if you say you got quite carried away with it and couldn't fit in all the information in one night."

"Then she'll be quite confused when I pass in a ruddy, crumpled half page tomorrow," Ron replied miserably, biting into the biscuit.

"I'll help you with it, then." She turned to Harry and didn't see the way Ron's face flushed at this last. "I bet Malfoy will fail," she spat spitefully, narrowing her eyes. "The way he was tormenting that poor seedling yesterday!"

Unconsciously, Harry raised his eyes to the Slytherin table, searching for the slick blond head. Malfoy was sitting between Crabbe and Goyle, per usual, but he looked absolutely miserable. There were dark circles under his eyes, and his hair wasn't patted into place with its usual perfection. When Harry looked at him, he was surprised to see Malfoy leveling a resentful glare in his direction, as if blaming him for his state. When Harry met his eyes with no small amount of surprise, Draco held his gaze for a moment longer, then turned purposefully away to have a word with Goyle. With a snort of frustration, Harry lowered his eyes as well, taking a swig of orange juice.

Prissy bastard.

It promised to be a long day.

~*~

It was an odd sensation to be dreading Potions class. Ever since first year, Potions had been Draco's absolute favorite, and he excelled in it. He loved the way Snape favored his Slytherins, the opportunities for tormenting Potter. And yet, today, all he could think about was talking to Potter.

As he slid into his usual seat in the back, Draco found himself thinking of last Potions class, the amorelation elixir. He cast a covert glance around at the students, Gryffindor and Slytherin alike, settling into their seats and chatting loudly. None seemed particularly worse for the wear, except for the Weasel, who was looking particularly disheveled this morning, and kept looking at Granger. Draco sniggered. So, Weasel thought he was the one who got it.

Tough luck, Red. It was obviously me.

With a sneer, Draco turned his attention to Potter, who was chewing on his quill distractedly. Draco studied his profile in silence, wondering just what he was going to do. He couldn't get Potter out of his head, ever since he had woken up on the pitch with the Gryffindor leaning over him. He had long ago calculated the time elapsed in his head and found that Potter had indeed been the first person he had seen after two hours. Cocking his head, Draco watched the boy as he set up cauldron, ink well, books and parchment on his table, quill still protruding adorably from the corner of his mouth. There were worse people one could find themselves enamored with, Draco decided. Potter wasn't positively heinous to begin with. In fact, he was quite attractive.

Better than the alternatives...

Draco's cold eyes swept over Longbottom, Weasel, Granger, Bulstrode, Crabbe and Goyle as one, suppressing a shudder.

Much better than the alternatives.

With a jolt, Draco realized that Snape had long since begun his rapid- fire lecture, still centered around the elixir they had--or hadn't--sampled yesterday.

"--varied symptoms. I'm sure you've all been feeling some." His cold eyes flicked contemptuously over the nervous students. "But, whether what you've been feeling is a construct of your own mind, suppressed emotions finally surfacing, or the effects of the actual elixir, well--" he smiled fiendishly "--you'll just have to wait and see."

Several students groaned in response. Weasel lay his ugly face on his desk, the picture of dejection.

"Now." Snape, ignoring the complaints, settled himself on the edge of his desk and folded his hands calmly. "Let's discuss some of the symptoms you all have been feeling."

There was a moment of uncomfortable silence as students glanced back and forth at each other, all unwilling to be the first to speak. Finally, Zabini piped up from the back of the class.

"Insomnia."

This began a torrent of symptoms, as students clamored to be heard, all wishing to be reassured that they didn't have the true elixir.

"Anxiety."

"Trouble breathing."

"Trouble focusing eyes."

"Hysterics."

"Nervousness."

"Inability to concentrate."

"Perpetual discomfort."

Draco sat in silence in the back of the class, arms folded over his chest, feet resting casually on the desk as he listened to all the indications listed off by the others, mentally checking them against what he had and hadn't been feeling.

Interesting.

Finally, Snape raised his hand for silence.

"Your assignment..." he began quietly and dramatically, meeting each student's eyes in turn.

"Should you chose to accept it..." muttered Dean Thomas from his seat. Both Granger and Potter snickered.

Snape's eyes barely flickered. "Five points from Gryffindor for disrupting class." Groans of dismay from the Gryffindors. Someone smacked Thomas. Slytherins grinned. "Your assignment is to do research, to find the true symptoms of the amorelation elixir." He cast dark eyes around the class, as quills trembled. "It is to be completed on your own time, and passed in on Friday." He rose gracefully to his feet. "If you are so incredibly dense that you are unable to find the true symptoms, you will suffer for your idiocy, and will only know if you have the true elixir at the end of the week, when I announce it." The grin showed pointed teeth as it widened slightly more, before he snapped back into his normal, sneering self, barking: "Understood?" at them, daring anyone to say otherwise

Heads bobbed.

"Now." He turned away with a flourish. "Turn to page one hundred and three in your Components books, and--" With that, the true class began. Draco found Snape's voice was reduced to little more than an annoying buzz whenever he looked at Potter. The boy was hunched studiously over his books, copying out a list of potion ingredients. Draco wondered why he had never noticed how Potter's tongue stuck slightly out of his mouth when he was concentrating, the way the furrowed brows made an adorable dimple in his forehead, making him look like an anxious puppy, the fact he was right- handed, the way the fingers of his left hand drummed restlessly as he thought.

He was quite attractive.

Draco sighed and shook his head in annoyance, twirling his large eagle owl quill in his fingers distractedly.

You need to do something about this.

But what?

He bit his lip.

That was the problem. He knew he had become infatuated with Potter, and it was all this blasted elixir's fault. But what to do about it? Confront Potter?

He watched as Potter dipped his quill in the inkpot, then turned and had a quick word with Hermione who smiled and ducked her head in response.

I need to talk to him...

~*~

The sun shone brightly, but there was a nip to the wind that whistled through the stands of the Hogwarts Quidditch pitch. Students from every house, waving appropriately colored and blazoned flags, cheered loudly as they awaited the beginning of the long- anticipated match between the Gryffindor and Slytherin teams. Harry, wondering idly how he had ever forgotten about this match, was going over the strategies with his team.

If Hooch hadn't accosted you in the hall after potions, you would have forgotten utterly, you bloody air-head. And here, you've barely given a second thought to the trials for the professional team!

Harry berated himself in this manner for a while, until he recalled why the other six people were gathered in front of him. He had to tutor his players on the weak points of the team they were about to battle. Pushing thoughts of a most indecent sort to the back of his mind, Harry focused on the faces, some new, some familiar.

Wouldn't they be thrilled to hear their team captain was too busy fantasizing about the other teams captain to remember about a little Quidditch match!

"Now, I realize that for some of you, this is a little scary, seeing as it's our first match of the year." He glanced around, meeting each one of their eyes purposefully. Some looked absolutely awe- struck to be on the same team as Harry Potter. Harry found this exceedingly disquieting. He cleared his throat and shifted his weight. "In all honesty, I still get nervous before every match." He smiled a self- depreciating smile, seeing some of the younger players relax, to his profound relief. "But, this is just one game, ladies and gents. Our first game of the season. We still need to get the feel of the pitch, our teammates, so don't go beating yourself up if you mess up." He paused to tap pensively at the diagrams of feints and moves he had sketched on the board before them. "I have confidence in you guys though," he looked back at them, tossing a lock of black hair out of his eyes in a manner that made the younger girls blush brightly. "You're here because you're good at Quidditch, and that's what matters."

"Besides," piped up Cullen Bree, in his sixth year and new to the team. "It's only the Slyth team!" He snorted in good- natured contempt. Harry smiled blandly in response, suppressing the urge to warn them about the skill of the Slytherin seeker (who was, at the moment, dominating his thoughts in a most dangerous manner), the ruthlessness of the new Slyth beaters, Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle. He leaned instead on his old Firebolt, lost in thought. Truthfully, Harry was surprised at how calm and detached he felt. Usually, right before a Quidditch match, especially right before a Quidditch match against the Slytherin team, Harry was a bundle of nerves and energy, bouncing off the walls and chomping at the bit to get started, to get out in the air. Suddenly, it felt as if it didn't quite matter. That there were more important things for him to be worrying about than a little match- up against Draco.

You should be worrying about the little match- up against Draco for the seeker trials!

And yet... I'm not.

What happened to you? Quidditch used to be what you lived for, it was what made you you. Not the Famous Harry Potter, not the Boy Who Lived, but just plain old Harry, the Gryffindor seeker, who happened to be exceptionally good at what he did.

Harry looked out at the chatting Quidditch players, rookie and veteran alike, sitting easily on benches as they discussed the upcoming match. He marveled at how excited they were, remembering how he used to feel the same way. He recognized the bright eyes, the flushed cheeks, the taut bodies and the flamboyant gestures as his own.

Am I a tired old curmudgeon already?

He smiled. With a final glance at the board of strategies, Harry raised his hand for silence and got it immediately. It never ceased to amaze him. Thoughts slightly scattered by the attentive eyes on him, Harry dropped his arm and cleared his throat several times before starting.

"Watch out for the Slyth beaters, will you? They're as strong and vicious as their bludgers, though maybe not quite as intelligent." A nervous titter of laughter rippled through the attending players as they gathered up their brooms. Harry stepped to their head and led them into the drafty wooden waiting stall, listening to the murmurs and thudding footsteps as they players took their positions behind him. Abruptly, he felt a pang of guilt.

Listen to how subdued they are. This is their first game, they should be wild to get out there. But because of how quiet you are, they aren't revved at all. If we lose, it's entirely your fault, Potter. You're bringing them down.

With an inward sigh, Harry mounted his broom, then turned with a falsely bright smile on his face.

"Alright, guys. Let's kicks some Slytherin ass." The Gryffindor team cheered spontaneously as the doors to the stall flew open apparently of their own accord and the brisk breeze flooded in with the golden afternoon sunlight. The cheers of the crowd spiraled upwards as the Gryffindor and Slytherin teams launched themselves simultaneously from opposite sides of the pitch. Harry gripped his Firebolt firmly as the strong September wind tugged at his Quidditch robes, eyeing the Slytherin team flying in cocky formation to their side of the pitch.

There were two new players on the Slyth team this year, both chasers: one, a petite, pale and rather unimposing second year girl, by the name of Raethe Nethane. Apparently an excellent flyer and even better with spells, she was rumored to easily "forget" the rule that no magic was allowed on the Quidditch pitch. The other was called Zander Balin. A slender and graceful Latino, and a transfer from another school, Balin was rumored to be cold and relentless on the pitch, stopping at nothing to get a goal. Due to some unpleasantness at his first school (Harry assumed it was the same reason he had been transferred) Balin had been held back a year, and was thusly a year older than both he and Malfoy, though he was in his seventh year as well.

Harry's mind quickly stacked up what he had heard about these players against what he knew about his own. Besides the two rookies, there were faces on the Slytherin team that, though they were new to the pitch, Harry knew well. Blaise Zabini, sitting jauntily on her broom, placed herself before the three goal hoops, catcalling to the other players and sending murderous glances towards Malfoy. Harry had heard the rumors of the fight between the keeper and captain. Blaise wanted to be out in the game as a beater, or a chaser. She wasn't terribly talented at either position, and tended to be to into beating the other players, rather than helping her own or scoring. So, she was stuck as the keeper, much to her disgust. She had said that the chosen beaters were only picked since they were Malfoy's cronies. Those very same cronies, Crabbe and Goyle, sat awkwardly on their brooms, gripping the shafts with huge hands, looking about without a word. Harry was dubious about their flying skills, but had no doubt that they could be murderous with clubs and bludgers. He was glad he'd warned his team about them. Pansy Parkinson, seeming to be nothing but a giant sneer on a broom, placed herself in proper formation with the two new Chasers. And finally, the Slytherin Seeker. Harry groaned as his eyes traveled inexorably over to the platinum head. Perfectly coifed, Malfoy sat carelessly on his broom, eyes boring into Harry's. Quickly, Harry looked away under the pretense of checking his team's formation, assuring himself that everyone was in his or her proper place.

Brianna Aine was the new Gryffindor keeper. An extremely promising fifth- year, Brianna was jovial and good humored, sharp and quick, not to miss anything that came at her, be it in words or quaffle form. She tossed Harry a wide grin as she settled herself before the goals, trying to pick the best position to start from. Both of the beaters were rookies but, again, showing promise. Cullen Bree, a tall, well- muscled blonde boy who was apparently a Baseball pro before coming to Hogwarts, was testing the heft of his club, swinging it experimentally---much to the delight of many of the female members in the crowd---while he exchanged tactics with his tiny fellow beater, Raelin Ferguson. Ferguson was a bright boy in his forth year, finely boned with tidy chestnut hair, sparkling blue eyes and highly polished flying skills, seeming to glide effortlessly while the rest of them zipped about madly. He was always succinct in his efforts, never wasting a movement. The three chasers were sitting easily nearby, in an unconscious formation that assured Harry they'd work well together. Parvarti Patil, a determined Chaser, the most experienced, was laughing and joking, succeeding in relaxing the two other chasers, Ginny Weasley and Fiona Brice. Fiona was a beautiful girl in her seventh year. A tactical flyer, Fiona was systematic, planned and deliberate in her moves for the goal posts, and a superb player, owing to the fact that her mother played on the Irish pro team.

Harry paused to flash a wide and confident smile and Ginny when she glanced his way. Ginny was a hard- working, aggressive little player, loosing all self- consciousness when she kicked off in a match, using her size to her advantage. She smiled in response, and Harry dared another look in Malfoy's direction. The Slytherin seeker had thankfully removed his eyes from Harry's and was instead staring intently down at Madam Hooch as she made her purposeful way across the grass of the pitch, box of Quidditch balls in hand. She set the heavy chest down as Parvarti and Zander slid into place, ready to face- off for the Quaffle.

"Welcome, ladies and gentlemen, to the first official Quidditch game of the new year at Hogwarts!" Seamus Finnigan's voice boomed out over the roaring crowd. "This promises to be a thrilling match as, after an entire summer apart, the famous rival teams of Slytherin and Gryffindor square off to kick off the Quidditch season, each boasting a new set of players!" Cullen Bree waved cheerily to the crowd with his club in response. Another gust of wind tore through the assembled players, making them duck and tilt their brooms, as Parvati and Zander squinted purposefully through watering eyes at the Quaffle held in Hooch's hands.

With a sharp glance around at every player that said clearly "play nice or I'll have your ears off", Hooch leaned back and tossed the Quaffle into the air. In a flurry of green robes, Balin was upon the Quaffle, snatching it and speeding away as every player in the air sprang simultaneously into motion. Crabbe, Goyle, Ferguson and Bree sent the wild bludgers flying in all directions, as the chasers all tore about the pitch, Quaffle bouncing madly among them. Harry pulled his broom upwards, angling out of the chaos of the game, so he could look down at the pitch in peace.

Suddenly, Pansy tore away from the group of chasers, Quaffle tucked safely under her arm as Raethe and Fiona trailed her.

"Pansy Parkinson breaks away from the pack, tearing for the Gryffindor goals!"

With a powerful swing of his club, Cullen sent a bludger speeding at the Slytherin chaser. Pansy yelped and dodged narrowly, spiraling down and away as a Slytherin beater belatedly hit the ball back at the Gryffindor side. Ginny pursued Pansy closely, zigzagging back and forth in the larger Slytherins wake, as Parvarti dove at her from the side. In desperation, Pansy tossed the Quaffle away, aiming for a fellow Slytherin, but the throw was intercepted by Fiona who spun and tore for the Slytherin end of the pitch.

"Brilliant interception by Brice!--"

A Gryffindor beater surged forward to deflect a bludger sent at Fiona, but the Slytherin Chasers converged on her, jostling her roughly until she fumbled and dropped the Quaffle. "--Oh! Upset for Gryffindor!--" With a triumphant yell, Zander caught the Quaffle before it had fallen more than four feet, "--Now Slytherin has the Quaffle--" and pulled up to speed over the other chasers. Parvati body- checked a smaller Slytherin aside and began throwing barely- legal blows at Zander, who zigzagged in response. Pansy sped up from beneath to fend off Parvati. Peeling away, Zander kicked up a burst of speed, leaning over his broom as he dodged a bludger sent at him by a Gryffindor beater. At the Gryffindor goals Brainnna watched attentively, keeping her eyes on the red ball at all times. With a rough elbow to a Gryffindor chaser, Zander swerved away and threw the Quaffle towards the uppermost goal.

"Slytherin tries for the first ten points of the game--" Springing into action, Brianna stuck out one leg and spun on a dime, kicking the Quaffle away. "Save by the new Gryffindor keeper, Brianna Aine!" Cheers and hisses erupted simultaneously from opposing sides of the stands.

Reacting quickly, Ginny caught the rebounding Quaffle and sped to the opposite side of the field. "Gryffindor strikes back!--" The tiny Weasley dodged a bludger and squeezed past Zander Balin, eyes trained with determined concentration on the goal posts guarded by Zabini. Zipping around a Slytherin chaser, Ginny tossed the Quaffle to Fiona. Fiona caught it and in turn tossed it up to Parvati, who, without hesitation, sent it flying to the goal hoops. Zabini caught the Quaffle easily and punched it towards Raethe, who caught it, dived under the advancing Gryffindor Chasers, and passed it to Pansy. Zander however, intercepted the pass and sped to the Gryffindor side.

"Balin seems to have forgotten that he is on the same team as Parkinson!" Seamus bellowed as the Slytherin Chaser dodged a hurtling bludger, closing in on the goals. In frantic defense, the Gryffindor beater, Cullen, hit another bludger at Zander who dodged easily and threw the Quaffle at the lower goal. It whipped in, just out of Brianna's reach and the Slytherin side of the stands erupted into cheers.

"Chaser Balin scores the first ten points of the game for Slytherin!" Zander raised his arm high and waved to the Slytherin spectators as he flew leisurely back to his side of pitch, where Pansy was screaming "Hey! What are you playing at?! I'm on your team!"

From his vantage point high above the other players, Harry shook his head and watched his team pass the Quaffle among themselves, preparing for an attack on the Slytherin side. Gripping his broom against the strong wind that pulled persistently at his robes, Harry scanned the pitch for that telltale glint of gold, one eye on the Slytherin seeker. Malfoy was hovering a few feet below him and had been pointedly ignoring him the entire game, watching his team with a fierce gaze. Harry pulled a bit higher, sharp eyes darting around, scanning the surrounding stands with determination. Below him, Ginny and Raethe, the smallest players from each team, were battling each other for the Quaffle, as the beaters from each side sent vicious bludgers hurtling at each other. Suddenly, he thought he saw it-- a flash of gold at Brianna's shoulder, as she sat at the goals, watching the battle in the center of the pitch. With an abrupt drop, Harry turned and sped past a startled Malfoy, hurtling towards his keeper. Brianna looked up in surprise to see Harry stooping at her with a grim expression. For a moment, their twin green eyes locked, and she suddenly understood, swerving away in attempt to clear the path for Harry, though she had no real notion of where he was going. Much to her surprise, Harry angled and flew at her again. She looked around quickly, certain the Snitch was somewhere nearby, and saw the tiny gold ball hovering placidly by her shoulder, humming musically in a flurry of wings. Immediately, she froze, hoping Harry would angle away just enough to not strike her in his grab for the snitch. Harry dove at them both, but while Brianna froze, the Snitch reacted in quite the opposite manner. With a tiny chirp like a bird, it sped away in a flash of gold glinting in the sun. Harry rushed past Brianna in a gust of wind that rocked her on her broom, concentrating now on only the glint of gold before him. The Slytherin seeker, now seeing what his rival was after, followed closely behind, robes whipping in the wind.

"The seekers from both sides spring into action! Potter has seen the snitch, and Malfoy is close on his tail!" The loud voice of Seamus sent the players of each team into a frenzy, battling as though their combined efforts for the Quaffle would give their Seeker a boost in his chance for the Snitch. Harry tore after the tiny orb, following it's every dive and climb fluidly, slowly gaining on it. He could sense Malfoy behind him and spurred his broom onward, trying to pull ahead of the Slytherin seeker even more, put more space between them. Instead, Draco pulled up beside Harry and they flew side by side, shoving and jostling, neither daring to remove his gaze from the flashing snitch ahead of them. Finnigan's enthused voice tore over the roaring crowd, proclaiming a goal for Gryffindor, but Harry never blinked, putting every ounce of his focus into battling Malfoy and following the golden snitch. Without warning, a heavy body slammed against his as both he and Malfoy, who had been hit by a bludger, went spiraling towards the turf. The force of the impact stole Harry's breath away as he skidded roughly across the grass, coming to an abrupt stop when he hit the stands, Malfoy beside him.

"A blow from a poorly aimed Slytherin bludger sends both seekers sprawling in the grass!" The crowd erupted in yells, as Malfoy lay dazed for a moment, holding his stomach where Harry assumed he had been hit, eyed wide, gasping for breath. With a grunt, Harry pulled himself to a sitting position, rubbing his sore shoulder. Draco rolled over onto his side with a snort, then pushed himself to his knees, shaking his head. "--The seekers are slow in getting up and -oh! Another goal for Slytherin, care of Zander Balin! Twenty- ten for Slytherin!" These words seemed to rouse Malfoy, who tossed his head, straightened his hair, and met Harry's eyes with a challenging smile. Draco's silver eyes on his stole the breath that Harry had been struggling to regain. With a final malice- filled smirk, Malfoy mounted his broom and kicked off into the air, leaving Harry sitting limply in the grass, wondering why Draco was suddenly acting like his old, spiteful self.

Fine, he growled inwardly. All the more reason to kick his ass.

Harry kicked off into the air, "--and both Seekers are back on the move--" and glided upwards in lazy arcs as his team continued to battle the Slytherin team for the Quaffle. Fiona had the ball and was dodging gracefully between Pansy and Raethe, as Ginny and Parvati harassed Zander. All at once, Raethe drew something from her robes, pointed it at Fiona and yelled something indiscernible over the roaring of the crowd and the wind.

"Oh! The Slytherin chaser uses magic on the Quidditch pitch! This is strongly frowned upon, ladies and gents!" Fiona froze and plummeted downwards on her broom, as both Cullen and Parvati dashed forward to catch her, to slow her descent. As the three of them landed heavily on the ground, the game froze as Hooch came striding angrily onto the pitch, waving her arms and yelling. Every Gryffindor player dropped from the sky, clustering nervously around the rigid body lying on the ground at the feet of Cullen and Parvati, as the Slytherin team stayed crowded together in the air, heads ducked as they spoke rapidly. Madam Hooch shoved her way through to Fiona and snarled something as she gazed at the motionless seventh- year. She then stepped back, raised both her arms for attention and yelled: "The Gryffindor Chaser has been hit with a Full Body Bind! A bonus twenty points will be awarded to Gryffindor, the Slytherin Chaser, Raethe Nethane, will be receiving detention for the next week, 75 points will be taken from Slytherin house and the game will continue, with Gryffindor in possession of the Quaffle!" The crowd erupted into cheers and jeers as Hooch bent to reverse the effects on Fiona.

"There you have it!" Seamus sounded triumphant. "The stinking, cheating Slytherin will be given a penalty for using magic on the pitch, and the advantage goes to Gryffindor!"

Snarling for revenge, the Gryffindor team glared up at the Slytherin team, waiting impassively in formation for the game to begin again. Shaking slightly, Fiona mounted her broom with the rest of them, her face the same, serene mask of calm that she perpetually wore, but her eyes blazed with a fire that demanded retaliation. She received pats and encouraging words from her devoted teammates as the seven of them took to the air once more.

"You'd better watch yourself, Nethane!" Cullen shouted angrily to the Slytherin chaser as the Gryffindor team took up it's wedge- shaped attack formation. "I've a bludger with your name on it!"

"You gotta be faster that that to touch her!" Pansy yelled back, making an obscene gesture in their direction.

"That little bint couldn't out-fly us if her life depended it!" Spat Ginny, to the surprise of both teams.

"--Which it does!" Added Parvati, cracking her knuckles in a menacing manner.

"Oh, and nice aiming with that bludger, Goyle!" Brianna called, thoroughly enjoying herself. "You should be on the Gryffindor team, if you're that bent on taking out Malfoy!" The Slytherin beater turned red- faced with fury as the Gryffindor team laughed.

"Both teams seem intent on exchanging insults before getting this match started!" Seamus said in an amused voice, as the crowd called out irritably, jeering the players as well.

"Okay team!" Harry called, who had been having a menacing, if silent, battle of wills with Malfoy throughout the argument. "Rub their noses in it the only way they'll understand!"

He pulled up and away, followed by Malfoy as his team broke into wild cheers, oddly in higher spirits than they had been before, absolutely gagging to do some damage to the Slytherin players in revenge. Chaos erupted below the two seekers as the teams clashed with angry yells, beginning one of the most physical Quidditch matches Harry had ever seen. The bludgers were constantly in motion, breaking brooms and delivering glancing blows to each side, the players were all over each other, kicking and throwing punches savagely as the Quaffle passed among them. Thrilling in the absolute adrenaline rush of the anger and speed, Harry tore through the sky above them, dodging bludgers and keeping an attentive eye open for the snitch, as Malfoy, with icy calm, sat above them all, watching. Injuries were ignored, points were scored, insults flew through the air faster, stronger and more often than the hurtling bludgers. Raethe was awarded more detentions than anyone could remember a single person getting during one Qudditch match. She would soon put the long-standing Weasley twin's record to shame.

Soon the two teams were tied at sixty points and Harry still hadn't spotted the snitch. Ginny pulled up beside him, taking a brief breather from the wild insanity below them, breathing heavily, eyes flashing as she rode high on adrenaline. She shot him a berserk grin, then dove straight into the writhing mass of players, delivering a painful blow to Pansy as she dashed through them, stealing the Quaffle from Zander. Harry watched as another battle erupted, shocked that this was the same shy, reserved Ginny he knew off the pitch. Suddenly, something bright whizzed past his ear with a metallic trill. Without thinking, he pulled himself in an about- face and shot off in the direction of the buzzing. Just out of his reach, the Snitch cavorted in the wind, swooping and spinning like a playful--if over- excited--hummingbird. He reached out an arm and grabbed at the snitch, which danced predictably out of his reach and sped away. He sped right after it, blood pounding along with the whistling wind in his ears, one arm outstretched, straining for the little ball that would give his team the game. He pursued it doggedly, dodging players and balls, weaving in and out of the chaos of the game, around the goal posts. Eventually, Malfoy caught on and began pursuing Harry in turn, trying to cut him off as they both dashed after the tiny glint of gold. The afternoon sun was fading around them into dusk, as the wind picked up, howling through the stands, pulling balls and players in all directions, and still Harry chased the snitch, still Draco chased Harry.

Harry was tiring, every muscle crying out in complaint as he hunched over his broom, squinting in the cold wind. The snitch would be right in front of him, attainable, then suddenly gone, hurtling wildly through the wind at the opposite side of the pitch, apparently delighting in the merry little chase it was leading the Seekers on. He was struck at least twice by a bludger, once in the thigh, and once on the shoulder, and though pain lanced through him, his world was narrowed on the flash of gold in the dying light. It was all that mattered. Not Draco, not the game itself, even. Just the little bright ball before him. All that mattered was catching it.

Abruptly, the snitch was right in front of him. It hovered before his face as he panted for breath. The world slowed as he watched it, the cheers of the crowd died away, the sound of the wind faded. Everything was in slow motion. His arm was moving for the snitch much too slowly, he'd never get it. He could see each of its wings beats individually, usually nothing more than blurred halo of movement around the ball. He reached for it--

--and something struck him from behind. Time returned with a vengeance and suddenly, things were moving too fast. Pain fired through his every nerve and he fell forward on his broom, arm still outstretched for the snitch. Sound returned, the crowd was howling wildly, louder than ever before, the sound of the wind, the other players around him. He toppled forward over the end of his broom and fell, gripping it frantically with one hand as the other held--

He had it.

Harry hung limply from his hovering broom by one hand, dangling in the air as the crowd yelled and cheered, unaware of what had happened, focused on a battle between Raethe, Goyle, Cullen and Ginny. He tightened his fist on the tiny ball. He was content to hang there for the moment, catch his breath, assure himself that he really held the snitch. Abruptly, he remembered being stuck from behind, and wondered what had happened. Looking down, he got his answer. Draco Malfoy lay face- down in the grass beneath him, broom beside him. Despite himself, even as a crow of victorious laughter tore itself from his lips, Harry was worried. He felt it as a painful stab to his gut, coupled with guilt.

I must have stopped abruptly when the snitch was in front of me. He must have ran right into me.

He's not moving.

Uncurling his fist, Harry raised the snitch distractedly into the air, as the crowd erupted into wild cheers.

"Harry Potter has caught the snitch!" Seamus's thrilled voice rang out over them all. "The game goes to Gryffindor! Gryffindor wins!"

With wild yells that weren't entirely sane, the Gryffindor team jostled around him, hauling him back onto his broom, clapping his sore back painfully, hugging and laughing. The Slytherin team landed on the ground of the pitch, looking at their fallen Seeker. Not really registering the congratulations of his team, Harry swept down to land in the wide circle the silent team of Slytherin had made about their captain. Kneeling down, Harry pulled Draco roughly onto his back, getting a distinct feeling of déjà vu. The Slytherin seeker came awake suddenly in Harry's hands, eyes flying open as he sucked in a huge breath of air. The silver eyes locked with his. Blood was running down Draco's forehead from a slash under his hairline and one eye was swelling painfully. But the eyes that met his were perfectly clear, unclouded by the pain he must have been feeling.

"Hello, beautiful," Malfoy breathed, so that the only ears that heard him were the shocked ones of Harry Potter. Before Harry's jarred mind could even formulate a coherent response, a heavy hand wrenched him away, pulling him to his feet.

"Get away from him, Gryffindor!" Zabini spat out the name like an insult, shoving Harry roughly out of the circle of Slytherins.

"Don't push him, you bitch!" Brianna yelled, shoving Blaise so hard the girl stumbled.

Chaos erupted.

Yelling curses, Gryffindor and Slytherin alike waded into the fist- fight. Teeming around one another, the students swung and kicked savagely, as a very jarred Harry stumbled out of the way of the fighting, still stunned. Madam Hooch, Professor McGonagall, and Professor Snape all walked briskly onto the field and had the students divided in short order, tearing them apart as the players shouted threats and curses at each other.

Once they were entirely separated, the Gryffindor team stood proudly under the stern eyes of McGonagall, battered and weary, but exulting in their win. Brianna had a cracked lip and someone had turned her hair green during the brief fight, Raelin was cradling one arm, but grinning widely as his hair fell in his eyes. Cullen was sporting a black eye and a twisted ankle, and Parvati was holding a wrenched neck and dabbing at a slash on her upper arm. Fiona had a cut on her cheek from which blood issued slowly, a tear-like drop of it rolling down one cheek, strangely suiting her constant dramatically attractive air. Unlike her teammates, she was slightly somber, but her eyes shone with a satiated, pleased look. Ginny was wild- haired and wild- eyed, sporting several bruises, a swelling eye to match Cullen's, and a grin to match Raelin's. All looked fiercely satisfied.

The sullen Slytherin team, standing behind Snape, was a bit worse off for the wear. Blaise was lying unconscious on the ground, and Raethe's wand had been snapped in two, much to her fury. This was indeed lucky for the Gryffindor team, for it was quite evident, that, if it had been usable, there would be more than a few fatalities. Pansy had a twisted wrist and Zander wore two black eyes and held his arm painfully but haughtily at his side. Crabbe and Goyle were ignoring their cuts and bruises, looking instead at Draco, who stood stonily silent, battered face a mask.

"Never have I seen such appalling behavior among Gryffindors!" McGonagall had been lecturing for several minutes, but her students were busy exchanging meaningful glances with the opposing team. "I am shocked and disgusted! Imagine the example you're setting for the first years!" She carried on in this vein for some time, as she led her students off the pitch. When she paused for breath, Cullen took the opportunity to look about at the other players with a proud smile and declare "We won!" in a loud voice. The cheers of the Gryffindor team echoed through the dusk air, as wind whistled about them, as students filed back to the Great Hall for supper, and as the sullenly silent Slytherin team limped along behind the dangerously calm Snape.