Chapter Fourteen: Just a Friendly House Competition
Harish was finally granted the permission to reform the Slytherin team, so as the first match of the season grew nearer, the DA meetings were put on hold because the days Slytherin weren't practicing, Gryffindor was. Of course Harish forbade the members on his team from hexing the Gryffindors, as most of them were now his allies.
October ended in a flood of rain and howling winds, and November arrived bringing in the cold. The rain was turned to ice, and the winds brought in droves of snow instead of rain. The skies in the Great Hall turned a pale, pearly gray, the mountains around Hogwarts became snowcapped, and the temperature in the castle dropped so far that many students wore their protective dragon skin gloves in the corridors between lessons.
The morning of the match dawned bright and cold. When Harish awoke, he saw that no one was quite awake yet. He shook the twins, and the three of them headed to the Great Hall for breakfast.
The rest of the Quidditch team joined them not much later, and once everyone had eaten, Harish led the team down to the changing rooms. The frosty grass crunched under their feet as they walked down the sloping lawns toward the stadium. There was no wind at all and the sky was a pearly white, which meant that visibility would be good without the drawback of direct sunlight in the eyes.
They changed into their Quidditch robes before they all sat down and Harish talked to the rest of the team about the upcoming match, encouraging them and pointing out the good conditions. As Harish went on into the usual pre-match talk, the babble of voices outside grew steadily louder as the crowd came pouring out of the castle toward the pitch.
"Okay, in the official line-up for the Gryffindor team there is one new adjustment. Their new Keeper is Ron Weasley, who apparently did not gain the twins' Quidditch skills. All you have to do is make him feel nervous and he'll botch any saves."
They could now hear hundreds of footsteps mounting the banked benches of the spectators' stands.
Harish glanced at his watch and said, "It's time. Come on everyone…"
The team rose, shouldered their brooms, and marched in single file out of the changing room and into the dazzling sky. A roar of sound greeted them, a mixture of cheer and whistles.
The Gryffindor showed up at least five minutes later.
"Captains shake hands," Madam Hooch ordered.
Harish and Angelina shook hands, him saying playfully, "I bet you'll lose."
"If we do, we'll make a come-back," Angelina said seriously.
"Mount your brooms…"
Madam Hooch placed her whistle in her mouth and blew.
The balls were released and the fourteen players shot upward. He zoomed higher, dodging a Bludger, and set off on a wide lap of the pitch, gazing around for a glint of gold; on the other side of the stadium, Dean was doing the same.
"And it's Johnson, Johnson with the Quaffle, what a player that girl is, I've been saying it for years but she still won't go out with me—"
"JORDAN!" McGonagall yelled.
"Just a bit of fun fact, Professor, adds a bit of interest—and she's ducked Warrington, she's passed Malfoy, she's—ouch—been hit in the back by a Bludger from Fred Weasley…Malfoy catches the Quaffle, Malfoy heading back up the pitch. He passed to Ginny Weasley. Ginny's approaching the goals—so it's the first test for new Gryffindor Keeper, Weasley, from his own sister—come on Ron!"
But a scream of delight came from the Slytherins. Ron had dived wildly, his arms wide, and the Quaffle had soared between them, straight through Ron's central hoop.
"Slytherin score!" came Lee's voice amid the cheering and booing from the crowds below. "So that's ten-nil to Slytherin—bad luck, Ron…"
Harish turned from the match to search for the Snitch once again. He went into a dive and started circling the pitch again, staring around, fighting his usual battle to ignore the match.
There was no sign of the Snitch anywhere he looked; Dean was circling the stadium as well. They passed midway around the pitch going in opposite directions and nodded to each other.
"—and it's Warrington again," Lee bellowed, "who passes to Ginny Weasley, who passes to Malfoy. It's Malfoy, come on Angelina, you can take him—turns out you can't—but nice Bludger from Bole, and Malfoy drops the Quaffle and Katie Bell—er—drops it too—so that's Warrington with the Quaffle, and he's off up the pitch, come on now Gryffindor, block him!"
Harish zoomed around the end of the stadium behind the Slytherin goal hoops, still searching.
"—and Warrington's dodged Alicia again, and he's heading straight for goal, stop it, Ron!"
Harish smiled, not even having to look as he heard fresh screams and applause from the Slytherins, accompanied by a loud groan from the Gryffindor end. He bobbed and weaved through the other players in pursuit of what turned out to be a watch strap…
Twenty-nil soon changed to forty and Slytherin was still in the lead. Gryffindor still had yet to score, so Harish was looking for the Snitch so that he could end the game before they had any points…
"—and Katie Bell of Gryffindor dodges Malfoy, ducks Weasley, nice swerve, Katie, and she throws to Johnson, Angelina Johnson takes th Quaffle, she's past Warrington, she's heading for the goal, come on now Angelina—GRYFFINDOR SCORE! It's forty-ten to Slytherin and Malfoy has the Quaffle…"
Harish was now searching as hard as he could—they could not let the Gryffindors catch up. He flew to the Slytherin end and muttered from behind Bletchley, "Remember to be where you can move to either goal at a moments' notice!"
He ducked a Bludger from Kirke and resumed his near-frantic scouring of the pitch for the Snitch, keeping one eye on Dean in case he spotted it, but Dean, like him, was continuing to soar around the stadium, searching fruitlessly….
"—Malfoy throws to Warrington, Warrington to Weasley, Weasley back to Malfoy—Johnson intervenes, Johnson takes the Quaffle, Johnson to Bell, this looks good—I mean bad—Bell's hit by a Bludger from Fred Weasley—no George Weasley—well, one of the Slytherin Beaters and it's Malfoy in possession again…"
And Harish had seen it at last: the tiny fluttering Golden Snitch was hovering feet from the ground at the Slytherin end of the pitch.
He dove…
In a matter of seconds, Dean was streaking out of the sky on Harish's left a gold-and-red blur lying flat on his broom…
The Snitch skirted the foot of one of the goal hoops and scooted off toward the other side of the stands; its change of direction suited Dean, who was nearer. Harish pulled his Firebolt around, he and Dean were now neck and neck…
Feet from the ground, Harish lifted his right hand from his broom, stretching toward the Snitch…to his left, Dean's arm extended too, reaching, groping…
It was over in two seconds—Harish's fingers closed around the tiny, struggling ball. Harish and Dean both landed on the lawn and Harish held the Snitch up for the whole stadium to see and the Slytherins screamed their approval.
"Good game," Dean said, holding out his arm.
"And you," Harish replied, shaking Dean's hand.
The rest of the Slytherin team landed around them and began to congratulate him.
In between pats on the back, Harish heard a snort behind him and could see Ron landing, white faced, feet away from them.
"Ah, the traitors!" Ron said angrily. "This should have been our victory!"
The twins stiffened in shaking Harish's hands and looked over.
"Don't mind him," Dean muttered. "He's just sore we lost."
"You're one to talk," Harish said to Ron nonetheless. "As I recall, you betrayed your own friend. Besides, you didn't manage to save a single goal out there, so—perhaps it's all your fault."
"Pride always comes—"
"Before the fall," the twins sneered.
"You could write Mum and Dad about this!" Ron said in mock excitement. "Oh, wait, I forgot! Mum doesn't love you."
Harish had to grab the twins as they both tried to leap forward.
"Maybe you should get Harish's Death Eater of a father to take you in. I hear Mum's ready to disown you."
"Get off me," George growled, trying to pry his hand out of Harish's while Fred was being held down by the entire Slytherin team.
"Oh, but I forgot!" Ron shouted over the noise. "Harish's father such a horrible parent that he would never be able to take in two more!"
Harish was never aware of releasing George, all he knew was that a second later both of them were sprinting at Ron. He had completely forgotten the fact that all the teachers were watching: All he wanted to do was to cause as much pain for Ron as possible for insulting his father. No one insulted Voldemort and got away with it. With no time to draw his wand, he merely drew back the fist clutching the Snitch and sank it as hard as he could into Ron's stomach—
"Harish! HARISH! GEORGE! NO!"
He could hear girls' voices screaming, Ron yelling, George swearing, a whistle blowing, and the bellowing of the crowd around him, but he did not care, not until someone in the vicinity yelled "IMPEDIMENTA!" and only when he was knocked over backward by the force of the spell did he abandon the attempt to punch every inch of Ron he could reach…
"What do you think you're doing?" Madam Hooch screamed, as Harish leapt to his feet again; it was she who had hit him with the Impediment Jinx. She was holding her whistle in one hand, and a wand in the other, her broom lay abandoned several feet away. Ron was curled up on the ground, whimpering and moaning, his nose bloody; George was sporting a swollen lip; Fred was still being forcibly restrained by the three Chasers. "I've never seen behavior like it—back up to the castle, both of you, and straight to your Head of House's office! Go! Now!"
Harish and George marched off the pitch, both panting, neither saying a word to each other. The howling and jeering of the crowd grew fainter and fainter until they reached the Entrance Hall, where they could hear nothing except the sound of their own footsteps. Harish became aware that something was still struggling in his right hand, the knuckles of which he had used to bruise Ron's jaw; looking down he saw the Snitch's silver wings protruding from between his fingers, struggling for release.
They had barely reached the dungeons when Professor Snape came gliding along the corridor behind them. He wore a Slytherin scarf, but tore it from his neck as he strode toward them, looking disappointed.
"In!" he said furiously, pointing to the door. Harish and George entered. He strode around behind his desk and faced them silently. His face betrayed no emotion, but the two could tell he was angry.
"Well?" he drawled. "I have never seen such a disgraceful exhibition. A childish brawl in the middle of the Quidditch pitch! Explain yourselves!"
"He provoked us," Harish said stiffly.
"Provoked you?" Snape said, deadly quiet. "He'd just lost, hadn't he, of course he would provoke you! But what on earth can he have said that justified—"
"He insulted my father," Harish snarled.
"I know you respect your father, but I do not think he would approve of your Muggle methods of dueling. You could have let Madam Hooch sort it out! Have you any idea what you've—?"
"Hem, hem."
George and Harish both spun around. Dolores Umbridge was standing in the doorway wrapped in a green tweed cloak that greatly enhanced her resemblance to a giant toad, and smiling in the horribly sickly, ominous way that Harish had come to associate with imminent misery.
"May I help, Professor Snape?" Umbridge asked in her most poisonously sweet voice.
"Help?" he repeated in a constricted voice. "What do you mean 'help'?"
Umbridge moved into the office, still smiling her sickly smile.
"Why, I thought you might be grateful for a little extra authority."
"You thought wrong," he said, turning his back on Umbridge. "Now, you two had better listen closely. I do not care what provocation Weasley offered you, I do not care if he insulted every family member you possess your behavior was disgusting and I am giving each of you a week's worth of detention! And if either of you ever—"
"Hem, hem."
Snape closed his eyes as though praying for patience as he turned to face toward Umbridge again.
"Yes?"
"I think they deserve rather more than detentions," Umbridge said, smiling even more broadly.
"It does not matter what you think, Dolores," Snape said. "But what I think, as they are in my House."
"Well, actually, Severus," Umbridge simpered. "I think you'll find what I think does count. Now where is it? Cornelius just sent it…I mean," she gave a little false laugh as she rummaged in her handbag, "theMinister just sent it…Ah yes…"
She had pulled out a piece of parchment that she now unfurled, clearing her throat fussily before starting to read what it said.
"Hem, hem…. 'Educational Decree Number Twenty-five…The High Inquisitor will henceforth have supreme authority over all punishments, sanctions, and removals of privileges as may have been ordered by other staff members. Signed, Cornelius Fudge, Minister of Magic, Order of Merlin First Class, etc., etc…"
She rolled up the parchment and put it back into her handbag, still smiling.
"So…I really think I will have to ban these two from playing Quidditch ever again," she said, looking from Harish to George and back again.
Harish felt the snitch fluttering madly in his hand.
"Ban us?" he asked, his voice sounding strangely distant. "From playing…ever again?"
"Yes, Mr. Blake, I think a lifelong ban ought to do the trick. You and Mr. Weasley here. And I think, to be safe, this young man's twin ought to be stopped too—if his team-mates had not restrained him, I feel he would have attacked young Ron as well. I will want their brooms confiscated, of course; I shall keep them safely in my office, to make sure there is no infringement of my ban."
"But you can't!" Harish protested. "I'm the Captain!"
"I'm sure Mr. Malfoy can step in as Captain. I saw no signs of violence from him. Well…good afternoon to you."
And with a look of utmost satisfaction Umbridge left the room, leaving a horrified silence in her wake.