A Dream For The Dead

A Dream For The Dead

Chapter 31

It Was The Roar Of The Crowd

It had been years since Harry had attended a Quidditch match. It had been even longer since he had felt excitement grow in his stomach, threatening to burst out of every inch of him at the prospect of a game. He had once loved the game to the point where he could envision himself playing it for a living. He had fallen instantly for every aspect of it the moment Oliver Wood had brought him out onto the Hogwarts Quidditch pitch and explained the rules.

He remembered that memory in vivid detail. The sun on his face and the wind through his hair as Wood had him try out some drills. He remembered the looming presence of the goalposts at each end, like sentries waiting for an attack. He remembered the strange gurgling whoosh of the Bludgers as they rocketed past his head. He remembered the smell of the leather of the Quaffle and the feel of it under his fingers when Wood had tossed it to him.

Mostly, he remembered the faint buzzing of the Golden Snitch when Wood released it into the air and informed him that this was his ball. His heart had thrummed in his chest, matching the Snitch’s erratic jerks through the air before it was gone and he sought to find it.

He remembered the deep sense of pleasure and pride that coursed through him when he had been given his title. Seeker. The one word was overwhelming and deeply moving. It coursed through his veins and settled in his bones and filled him to the brim. It had been so exciting, so new, so right. Just like the word wizard.

Quidditch had been his only respite from Voldemort in his youth. It had been a chance to be free and escape. Being on a broom was liberating. It was heavenly.

The last Quidditch game he had enjoyed watching or playing, in any way, had been at Hogwarts. In Sixth year.

Sure, he had been to games since then. He had watched from the stands as professional players performed their intricate dance in the air before him. Sixteen years ago, perhaps?

He had been forced to avoid public arenas like Quidditch games for some time after the final battle. There had been Death Eaters still running loose, people awaiting trial and the aftermath to deal with. Once the wizarding world found itself back on its feet, more or less, Harry had been kept away from the stadiums due to the media attention he was getting. He couldn’t step out the door without being mobbed.

He hated it then more than he ever had and, he was sure, ever would.

After the war he wanted nothing more than to have some peace, if only shortly.

But two or three years passed before he was allowed even that. He had joined the Auror corps without completing the required three-year training period. He was Harry Potter. What training did he need, they had asked.

So he worked and tried not to think about Quidditch, or about enjoying himself and living. He had been with Ron, then. He had been with Ginny. He noticed early on that he did not really want to keep fighting all the time. He wanted to play but it was too late. He believed it was too late.

He finally attended a Quidditch match. The tickets had been a gift from Ginny for Harry’s birthday. One of the earliest games in the season. The Caerphilly Catapults versus the Holyhead Harpies. That was the last game Harry had attended.

He remembered sitting in the stands with Ginny, watching the players zoom by and staring through his Omnioculars. He remembered the warmth that settled in him as he watched, thinking I’m home.

“The Harpies are brilliant, aren’t they?” Ginny had asked. Harry was startled by the question and then nodded in agreement. Ginny seemed to be ready to burst with excitement. Harry knew she was a fan of the team, but it seemed excessive. Then she turned to him, her eyes bright, biting her lower lip to fight back the urge to squeal.

“What is it?” Harry had asked, feeling dread grow inexplicably in his chest.

“I wanted to save it for after the game,” she whispered hurriedly. “But I just can’t wait.” She paused and then bounced on the seat. “Harry, I’ve been offered a position on the Harpies’ team!” She had literally burst with merriment then, throwing her arms around him, her hair flying into his astonished face. “I’m going to be a Harpy!”

Harry’s arms had found their feeble way around her but there was no excitement in his embrace. He was dumbfounded.

“You didn’t tell me you were trying out,” he said weakly. She let go of him, apparently finding some way to contain herself. She blushed a little and nodded.

“Well, you were so busy and stressed with work,” she explained slowly. “And I had no idea I would make it. I didn’t want to get your hopes up or anything. I thought I’d try out and be told ‘better luck next time’ and I could just say that I had done it. But then they offered me Chaser and… well, since you’ve got your Auror work with Ron and you’re always out, now I’ll have something to do.” She was smiling so brightly that Harry couldn’t help but return it, despite the coiled snake of jealousy that began to rear its head inside his chest. “We can both live out our dreams, Harry! Together!”

That was the first of many measured slices to Harry’s heart.

He stopped enjoying Quidditch matches from that point on. Ginny chalked it up to his being too focused on work, or growing out of his schoolboy days. She had been wrong. It was because of her he stopped loving Quidditch.

She had stolen is secret dream and Harry had harboured it against her ever since. He knew it was not really her fault, that she had a right to her dreams as well. But he could never bring himself to watch her play.

How ironic, he mused to himself. That Ginny drove me away from the game and Draco Malfoy, of all people, is pulling me back.

Harry stepped out of the Floo in the Catapults’ changing rooms just after Draco, idly wondering what Draco had meant by his last comment. The blond had already pulled off his outer-robes upon stepping out and was dropping his things into his locker. Harry cleared his throat and dusted himself off. The room was buzzing with chaos and excitement.

Players were changing and psyching themselves out. They were muttering to themselves as they stared into the middle distance. Some were attaching lucky charms to themselves in peculiar places. One was arranging every item of clothing in meticulous order before donning them, again in meticulous order. Right sock first. Then left. Then jumper before trousers. Then left glove before right.

Harry smirked to himself, curious as to the details. He turned to Draco and saw that the blond did not seem to have any pre-game rituals to follow. He was tying his trousers as Harry watched and then stopped. He looked up, still shirtless, to a photo he had pasted to the inside of his locker door. It was a photo of Scorpius. He was staring at it so intently that Harry was sure he had just intruded on something powerfully intimate. He blushed and looked away only to see Wood, fully clothed and gazing at him with a curious but warm smile.

“Hey, Potter,” he greeted with a nod. “Come to join the team? I’m afraid we’ve already got a Seeker, but as I remember it,” he said, feigning a thoughtful look. “You were a sight better than he was.” He shot Draco a coy look and the blond’s eyes had snapped to attention, glaring at Wood. Harry wasn’t sure if he should laugh or growl. “Perhaps a switch might do us good?”

Draco opened his mouth to respond but Harry cut him off.

“As much as I would love to give his colossal ego a blow,” Harry mused. Draco turned to him this time, his eyes piercing and narrow. Harry smirked at him. “I’m afraid I already have a job.” Draco eyed him still. “Besides,” Harry added. “It would be a pity to keep him off a broom.”

Wood laughed and nodded but Draco was still gazing intently at him. His eyes were sharp but molten and he licked his lips.

“Quite right, Potter,” Draco hissed. “I was born to ride.”

Harry’s small gasp was cut off by the roar of the crowd outside. It was sudden and deafening. Wood turned to his team to get their attention and Draco gave him a smirk before turning to his captain.

Harry swallowed and retrieved his composure before slipping out of the room to make his way to the ground. His mind was racing and flashing dangerous images in his mind of Draco beneath him, as well as Draco on top of him. He could interpret the loaded comment in any which way and Harry knew that Draco was completely aware of that.

Heat rose and sank in Harry’s body all at once. He felt lightheaded but heavy as he bolted down the stairs. Coming out onto the grassy pitch offered him a much needed breath of fresh air as he made his way to the Healer’s tent.

They gazed questioningly at him for a moment as he found himself a seat among them. Flashing his Auror badge was enough to satisfy them. There were more of them than usual for a Quidditch match and Harry knew why. It was the same reason he was there; the same reason they had not questioned an on-duty Auror’s presence at a match.

It was for Draco.

But his broom had been tested numerous times and he had ridden on it since. He had pulled all his usual tricks after test dummies had pulled the same ones. If there was anything in store this time, it was not the broomstick.


The announcer’s voice rang out and called forth the Harpies’ team. One by one, the all women’s team soared out onto the pitch. Harry forced himself to watch, if only to make sure that none of the players seemed off.

For Draco’s sake… Then Harry froze. For the case.

There was nothing particularly spectacular about their entrance. They seemed to want to convey that they meant ‘business’, as the old saying goes. Harry rolled his eyes. He saw a streak of red hair settle into place up above him and he looked away, his face hot.

The announcer called the Catapults to the field and, one by one, they, too, zoomed out into the air.

When Draco’s name was called the crowd exploded in sound and Harry’s eyes managed to catch a shock of blond hair streak out from the change-rooms. Harry moved to see him better and nearly snorted. Draco had pushed himself off his broom and into the air to flip like a corkscrew before catching the wooden shaft and landing safely back on the Firebolt.

Showoff.

But something at the back of Harry’s mind was proud. He new it was foolish and stupid. He also knew that Malfoy’s trick had probably been a sign to the crowd, to the audience, to his critics and, most importantly, to the letter-sender, that he was completely alright and nothing would keep him down.

As the figures zoomed around the pitch, Harry felt a very familiar feeling grow within him and slowly envelop him.

Excitement.

He smirked and sat back to watch the game, hoping that it would be as the old games had been.

Soon whistle was blown and the Snitch was released. Harry watched Draco carefully. The golden ball whizzed out onto the field and disappeared from sight almost immediately, but Draco’s face was impassive. He looked like a hawk and moved like one too. Harry shifted, watching him while simultaneously gazing around the pitch in search of the Snitch. He couldn’t find the ball but he was certain, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that Draco knew where it was.

He flew around and Harry forgot that the game was about more than just the Seekers. He shook himself and watched the Chasers battle it out. They soared back and forth, tossing the Quaffle and catching it at impossible angles. Harry frowned. He knew that the Harpies were good, that Ginny was good. But he hadn’t wanted to admit it.

Still, Harry also knew Oliver and he was one of the greatest Keepers he had ever seen. Ginny lobbed the Quaffle at him and he moved, smooth as ink, to block it. Wood’s movements were almost as beautiful as Draco’s arcs in the air. The Harpies were technically talented and sharp in their strategy, but the Catapults moved as one. They all operated together but individually, flying like birds of prey and everything blended together, clean motions in a fluid ensemble.

But soon after that, it became clear that this game would be anything but beautiful and clean.

One of the Harpies’ Beaters missed a Bludger completely and knocked James Brookway in the head with the bat instead. A foul was called but Fitzgerald quickly countered by latching onto the back of one of the Harpies’ Chasers brooms to stop her catching the pass Ginny had made to her.

Another foul called. Blagging, Harry distantly remembered.

And so it went on. Harry glared at the players as they zoomed about the pitch, scoring and fouling one another. He wasn’t sure how to feel about the fact that the Harpies seemed to have few scruples when it came to cheating and player dirty.

Harry decided to tear his attention away from the main game and pay attention to Draco instead. He had been weaving in and out of the chaos every so often, clearly trying to confuse Eleanora Getty as she tried desperately to follow him. Apparently a lot of Seekers’ strategies had been to simply shadow Draco the entire game, regardless of what he did.

Draco had jetted straight up into the air, towards the dome before careening off to one end, at one point, just to throw her for a loop. Then, as she had bumbled along behind him, clearly already tired of the dance, he had literally thrown her for a loop and pulled off a complicated corkscrew in the air to see if she would attempt to mimic it, knowing that it was obviously not an attempt for the Snitch.

She had followed him through one loop before realizing the trick and pulling out. Harry could see her blush from the ground. He smirked. Playing at her best, Getty was no match for Draco playing at his worst. Harry knew that. Ginny knew that. Hell, Getty probably knew that.

They must be trying to distance themselves in points enough to win even if Draco catches the Snitch. Which he will. They know he will.

Everyone knew he would. They were just waiting for how.

Draco glanced at Wood who, if one had not been looking for it one might have missed, sent him a short signal. Harry hardly saw the signal itself but he knew when it happened. Draco smirked and then dove straight down toward the group of Chasers fighting for possession of the Quaffle in the centre of the pitch.

He had seen the Snitch and was going for it, no matter who got in his way.

Getty had hardly managed to follow him, clearly unsure of the why of the move, given Draco’s random loops earlier on, when it happened.

Harry watched in horror as Draco, with nothing else in sight but the Snitch, streaked downward and Ginny turned her broom and urged it on, aiming directly for him.

In painfully slow motion, Harry watched as the flash of red hair on the dark green robes collided with blond on pale green and red. Harry hardly noticed the odd matching colours as he watched Draco be thrown violently off-course and collide with still other players.

He accidentally knocked one of the Harpies almost off her broom and Jimmy Peakes was sent into a backward summersault. Draco caught himself and veered back on track but stopped dead.

Apparently, the Snitch was gone from his sights. Getty had not caught it but swerved off when she saw the collision.

The game was still on, but Harry was burning with rage. The referee called no foul. The announcer proclaimed that Ginny’s argument was that she hadn’t seen him in time to stop. She had turned in the confusion. Harry knew it was a bloody lie, but what bothered him most was how the announcer referred to her.

Ginny Potter.

A violent fire roared within him at the image of his name on her Quidditch robes.

He shook with rage and forced himself to look away from her smug face. He was sure that if he did not calm himself down, his magic would explode around him. He couldn’t do that. Not yet.

He needed to let Draco finish his game.

And win.

+++++

Draco was livid. He was raging to the point that his knuckles were stone-hard and white around his broom handle.

That fucking bitch.

He was breathing heavily, trying to catch his breath from the incredible impact of the attack. He was disheveled and in pain and angry.

But most of all, he had lost sight of the Snitch.

He had never lost sight of the Snitch since the start of a game from the beginning of his career. That was his greatest skill, his greatest gift: his ability to know where the Snitch was at any given time during a game.

And that slag had hit him so hard he lost track of his thoughts.

He cursed and swore every which way he knew. Thank the powers that were that Getty was completely useless as a Seeker.

Draco took deep and even breaths, trying to calm down, as his hawk eyes scoured the pitch for a hint of gold.

Then, without warning, he saw something that made his blood run cold.

Getty was flying determinately towards the Catapults’ goalposts. Then, without seeing it, Draco saw the Snitch. He knew it was there and he had to get it first. His entire career depended it on.

He pushed his broom forward, bolting from his position to gain on Getty as she moved. He had not been too far behind when he saw her, but even an inch was enough.

He was a foot higher in the air than she was and he saw her reaching out for the little gold ball. In a flash, Draco decided.

He swerved and plummeted all at once, corkscrewing around her and her arm and swinging his arm and his robes out just in front of her hand before pulling away abruptly with his arm pressed firmly to his chest and a deadly smirk on his face.

Getty stopped abruptly and blinked around, clearly confused.

“It seems that Getty has missed the Snitch,” the announcer was saying. “But… can it be? Does Malfoy have the Snitch?” Draco reached into the arm of his robes and pulled out the struggling golden ball. He held it out for the crowd to see and a roar erupted, almost drowning out the announcer. “Merlin’s pants! He’s caught the Snitch in his sleeve! Draco Malfoy has actually executed an intentional Plumpton Pass! The Catapults win! Three-hundred and eighty to two-hundred and forty!”

But the rest of the announcer’s words were drowned out. Draco felt alive and on fire. He soared toward the ground and his eyes found what he was looking for.

Potter was gazing up at him from the centre of the pitch, a wicked and brilliant smile on his face as he stared right back at Draco.

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A/N: I'm really sorry for the delay here. I went away for the weekend and thought I would have internet but then didn't. T_T Anywho, here you are. Hope you enjoyed the Quidditch fun. I love Quidditch. *runs off*

Reviews = love and keep me going. Seriously, you guys are awesome. *big glomps to all* :D