Harry spent a week trying to be a model patient. It took all his concentration. He was hoping that by not attempting to break out of the hospital wing early the matron wouldn’t preclude him from the first match of the season. As he sat glumly on the window seat on Friday afternoon, he realised it probably hadn’t worked. Classes would finish any moment now and Ginny would be taking the team down to the pitch for a final practice. With any luck she’d have managed to talk Demelza or Dean into Chasing so that she could play Seeker. Madam Pomfrey hadn’t given any hint that he’d even be able to go out and watch the game tomorrow morning.

Harry stretched his left arm in front of himself and sighed. A raised, red scar wound its way across the back of his left hand. The scar disappeared up the sleeve of his pyjama top. Harry knew it snaked all the way up his arm to the new skin across his shoulder. Magical means of healing were much faster than Muggle methods, but even hoping he’d be allowed to play tomorrow was probably fruitless. Harry leaned his head on the window and sighed heavily. He was fed up with the hospital wing.

He hadn’t wanted for company at first. Most of the Weasleys had dropped in for a while on Sunday to sit with him while he’d dozed on and off between potions for the pain. Kingsley had stopped by on Monday with The Daily Prophet which detailed his unfortunate encounter in horrible and exaggerated detail. Thankfully Neville and Luna had enough free time to open the avalanche of Owl post that arrived and to share the mountains of gifts out among the first and second years who hadn’t been able to go to Hogsmeade on the weekend.

Hermione spent a lot of the time after class sitting with him; but it was Ginny who stayed until curfew, curled up next to him on the bed while she ploughed through the notes Hermione had assigned as part of her study program. Hagrid was conspicuously absent. Molly spent most of Sunday berating him and he’d spent most of Monday sobbing into his tablecloth-sized handkerchief. Hermione confessed that she had yelled at him and Professor McGonagall had called in Professor Grubbly-Plank to take Hagrid’s lessons for the week while he ‘sorted out the mess he’d created’.

The Quintaped had been confined and taken to the Ministry but the Committee for the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures was debating with the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes who was exactly responsible for it, while the Aurors tried to find the Unplottable island to take it home.

“It’s a real mystery,” Ron said with relish when he came to visit on Wednesday evening. “No one knows where it is, so how the egg got to the Hogs Head is anyone’s guess. Aberforth’s dead annoyed with the investigation traipsing through his pub and Dad reckons there’s something mysterious going on at the Ministry … in the Department of Mysteries.”

“Well, isn’t that where the mysteries are, Ron?” Ginny smirked.

“No, something more mysterious… there’re Aurors going in and out of there all the time,” Ron said seriously, ignoring her. “Percy came home the other day, reckoned he heard from Stella, that’s his secretary, who heard from the tea lady at St Mungo’s, that there was an Auror on the first floor who tried to tell the Healers he was bitten by a Quintaped. Reckons he went to the island to get an egg back in June. They all thought he was delusional, sent him to the fourth floor. He’s been there ever since.”

“I hope they are taking him seriously now,” sniffed Hermione from behind a large book titled Ancient Runes: Not as Dull as You Thought.

“Not really,” said Ron cheerfully. “He also tried to tell them he’d seen a Crumple Horned Snorkack when he went to get the Quintaped.” Hermione snorted.

By the end of the week the visitors had slowed to almost no one. Harry hadn’t been in any pain for days and he spent most of his time resting dutifully. He did the homework Hermione brought him, read Quidditch magazines and slept.

He was bored.

Harry didn’t bother to turn around when he heard brisk footsteps. Madam Pomfrey often came to check on him and change his bandages at this time of the day. Harry still had his neck bandaged and he waited a moment for the matron to set out her supplies the way she did every day before he turned around. When he did turn he was surprised to see that she was merely standing next to his bed, her usual bottles of potions and rolls of bandages missing.

“Well Mr Potter,” said Madam Pomfrey, “best get a move on if you wish me to remove that last bandage so you can go.” Harry stared at her. She motioned impatiently to the bed. Harry moved over wordlessly and sat down.

“I’m still not convinced,” she muttered as she carefully unwound the bandage from his neck.

“Of what?” Harry asked.

“The Headmistress and Madam Hooch,” said Madam Pomfrey, “have asked that I consider your return to the Quidditch field tomorrow.” Harry held his breath. The matron tilted his chin slightly and peered at the side of his neck where the Quintaped had attempted to decapitate him. She then moved to expose his left shoulder, over which she pursed her lips and muttered unintelligible sounds.

Harry subjected himself to a thorough examination which involved several spells, the movement of his arm into several positions he was sure his arm should not do naturally and a rather embarrassing visual inspection with his pyjama top off. Harry did not utter a sound the entire time despite the uncomfortable nature of most of the examination.

“Well,” Madam Pomfrey pursed her lips. “Considering that for once, Mr Potter, you have behaved admirably while in my care and done everything exactly as you should have done, you may play tomorrow.”

“Really?”

“Yes, Mr Potter, really,” the matron said dryly. “Come and see me tomorrow morning before the game and I will apply some suitable strapping for the duration of the game to minimise any damage you may sustain by engaging in reckless flying.”

“What about practice this afternoon?” Madam Pomfrey pursed her lips and summoned rolls of bandages from her office.

“Do take it easy, Mr Potter,” the matron entreated him. “The skin on these scars is still very new. Don’t push yourself and stop if you feel any pain.”

Harry could barely move his left shoulder when she had finished but he dared not complain. She handed him his robes and some liniment ‘for afterwards’ and bustled back to her office muttering about reckless Quidditch players. Harry grinned at her retreating back, threw his robes on and hurried out of the hospital wing.

The castle hallways were deserted because students were still in classes and Harry made his way unencumbered up to Gryffindor Tower. He unearthed his practice robes before painstakingly removing the ones he was wearing. He grimaced at his reflection in the mirror. He looked paler than he usually did. The white bandage wound around his neck, across his torso and down his left arm almost to his fingertips. He looked like half a mummy, he thought ruefully. His Firebolt was down in the changing rooms so he pulled the practice robes on, gave up on most of the fastenings, threw a cloak haphazardly over his shoulders and made his way to the Quidditch pitch.

He wasn’t sure it was such a good idea by the time he got there. His shoulder was aching a little and he was more out of breath than he would have liked. He’d been through worse, he thought grimly and he really wanted to play Quidditch. The practice Snitch was loose again and Harry watched it idly as he waited for the rest of the team. It didn’t take long before they spilled into the changing room, chattering loudly and laughing. Dean was with them and he stopped dead when he saw Harry.

“How’d you get out of Pomfrey’s clutches?” he asked.

“Professor McGonagall,” Harry grinned.

“Guess you won’t need me then.” Dean chuckled ruefully.

“Unless you can put Lucy Grant’s feet back on the right legs and stop her levitating six feet in the air, you stay!” growled Ginny from the doorway. “There’s a reason magic is banned in the hallways!”

“What happened?” Kyle Thorpe asked.

“Fifth year Slytherins,” Ginny muttered darkly, throwing her bag onto the bench next to Harry. “They’re trying to sabotage the game, I just can’t prove it.”

“Really?” asked Harry, eyebrow raised. Ginny sighed.

“What are you doing out of the hospital wing?”

“I’m better,” Harry grinned at her.

“You look pale,” she said shortly. Harry frowned and glanced at the rest of the team. They had all turned away and were pulling protective gear and brooms out of their lockers.

“What’s wrong?” Harry asked her quietly.

“I told you, they’re sabotaging it,” Ginny said, turning away and opening her locker violently. Harry stood up and wandered over to lean against his locker, which was next to hers. They were standing very close and Ginny was pulling protective gear out of her locker with grim determination. She turned to look at him, one glove dangling from her left hand. With her right she reached out to pick up his bandaged left hand.

“Madame Pomfrey said I could play as long as I was strapped up,” Harry said as she eyed his hand critically.

“Can you stay on a broom like that?” Ginny demanded, looking up at him. He nodded but she only reached out and ran her finger over his neck. His robes hung partially open and she pulled his collar aside. “You look like a mummy.”

“I know, but I want to play,” Harry said quietly. “I catch with my right hand. I can do this.”

“Mum’s going to be so mad if you get on a broom right now,” Ginny said as she trailed a hand down his chest, past the bandages and across his warm skin. He shivered remembering the last time she’d done that. She suddenly buried her face in his robes and mumbled something unintelligible.

“Let’s not tell your Mum,” Harry grinned cheekily. Ginny looked up at him. She looked so serious that Harry faltered. “What’s wrong?”

“I got a letter this morning,” she looked away, toying with the glove in her hand. “You’re going to think I’m terrible.”

“Why?” Harry asked softly. “I haven’t known you to be terrible at anything.”

“You look too injured to play,” Ginny said looking at him seriously. “If I didn’t get this letter I wouldn’t let you play.”

“Let me?” Harry raised his eyebrows. “What’s so special about this letter?”

“It’s from the Harpies,” Ginny said. She pulled a crumpled piece of folded parchment from one of her pockets. “They’re sending someone out to watch me tomorrow. They have Chaser openings.” She handed him the letter.

“That’s great!” Harry exclaimed. His left arm was strapped so tight he found it hard to bend and he struggled to unfold the letter.

“See!” Ginny cried. “You can’t even open it! How can you play Quidditch?”

“But if I don’t,” Harry looked up at Ginny, “you have to play Seeker.” She nodded, looking miserable.

“I just … I figured I wouldn’t worry about it, you know,” she said, staring at the letter. “Maybe they’d understand, send someone else later. Maybe they’d even consider me for Chaser based on the way I play Seeker. Then I thought about getting one of the second years you’ve been training … I’ve been just feeling sick about it all day. I can’t just get one of those second years, who can barely fly, to play Seeker just so I can show off my Chasing skills.

“Then Lucy got hexed and I thought we’d have to forfeit all together. When I saw you I thought … for a moment I thought … I can play Chaser! But look at you! You’re all bandaged up! You can’t play! And I’m standing here thinking ‘I don’t care’ because with you back on the team I can be a Chaser.” She turned away and yanked some of her Quidditch uniform viciously out of the locker.

“That’s not terrible,” Harry said quietly.

“Yes it is!” Ginny cried. “What if you … fell off or something?”

“I don’t fall off!” Harry said indignantly. Ginny just looked at him. “Well, maybe I fell off a couple times.”

“It’s awful of me!” Ginny cried, throwing her uniform back into her locker. “I cannot believe I ever even entertained the thought!” She turned to Harry. She looked furious.

“It’s okay-”

“No!” Ginny said forcefully. “It isn’t. Look at you! You are covered in bandages!” She pushed his robes aside and ran her hands over his chest, across the bandages that Madam Pomfrey had wound around his body.

“It’s just to protect the new skin,” Harry said. “I’m fine.”

“You could have died,” Ginny suddenly sobbed. “There was so much blood. I was kneeling in it!”

Harry reached out and pulled her close, motioning to the rest of the team to go out onto the pitch. They left slowly. Harry had not heard anyone speak of the moment he’d been attacked on the staircase. It had become an event that everyone skirted around. Professor McGonagall had visited with him for nearly and hour on Tuesday morning, making small talk about his grades and Teddy. Hermione talked only of studying and Neville kept up a monologue about plants whenever Harry tried to ask what had happened.

Madam Pomfrey refused to say more than he was quite fine now. Then she would tip another potion down his throat before he could ask her anything else. Dean and Seamus had stopped by Monday night and launched into a recap of the most recent Puddlemere United game. In the end Harry gave up trying to find out what happened after he lost consciousness on the stairs. He had not attempted to ask Ginny after that and she had not volunteered.

“Shhhhh,” Harry whispered into her hair. “I didn’t die. It was just a little bite.”

“Little?” Ginny shrieked suddenly. She pulled away from him. “It tore up your arm! Your robes were shredded and it slashed your neck open. Do you know how close it was to slitting your throat?”

“But it didn’t.”

“Only because Neville ran up there,” Ginny cried. “He blew it off you with some blasting hex or something, I don’t know. I can’t remember what he said.” She shuddered.

“I tried to go but … Hermione held me back,” Ginny sobbed. “She told me you’d be safe with Neville. But it was awful and there was so much blood …

“We didn’t know if you would be all right, you know. Mum and Dad were frantic and Ron was climbing the walls. We had to wait forever and I was still covered in your blood …”

“I know it would have looked bad,” Harry said, “but it was just a bite or two, really.”

“I know,” Ginny said softly. “Once Madam Pomfrey let us back in she explained that a lot of it was superficial bites - they just bled a lot - especially the one on your neck because it got close to some important arteries and things. The worst was your shoulder, where it took a chunk, she said she fixed that. It was the blood loss and the bump on the head that made you pass out.”

“She did fix my shoulder,” Harry said, pulling Ginny close again. “I’m fine, honestly. She said I could play.”

“It’s pretty soon,” Ginny said, running her hands over his bandaged arm. “I can’t believe I nearly talked myself into letting you play, all for a stupid Harpies tryout opportunity.” She shook her head and pulled away dragging her practice robes out again.

“Maybe Demelza will Chase,” Ginny sighed. She pushed her locker door closed. “If I go and talk her into it now we’ve still got time to practice before tea.” Ginny pulled her hair back into a ponytail and turned in the direction of the door. Harry reached out and grabbed her with his left hand. She looked down at where his bandaged hand gripped her upper arm.

“Play Chaser,” Harry said. “We’ve got a Seeker.”

“Harry-”

“I’m still the Captain,” Harry said quietly. “You don’t want to miss this chance. You play Chaser. I’m the Seeker.”

“Harry, look at you,” Ginny sighed. “There will be other chances. I’m not going to put you in any more danger.”

“This is the best chance you’ve got,” Harry said urgently. “I am not in any pain; I have clearance from the matron. You have to do this.”

“Are you sure?” Ginny asked, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth. “You’re not in any pain?” Harry shook his head.

“I swear,” he replied. “Fit as a fiddle, see?” Harry swung his arm experimentally. The strapping pulled a little and a dull pain started in his shoulder but Harry ignored it.

“You’re not going to cause any more damage?”

“That’s what the strapping is for,” Harry said patiently.

“Because my Quidditch career isn’t worth your health.”

“Ginny,” Harry said. “I can do this. I’m the Seeker. I’m the Captain. You are our star Chaser; soon to be star Harpies Chaser.” Ginny stared at him, eyeing his practice robes.

“You couldn’t do your robes up properly, could you?” she asked. Harry shook his head. Ginny sighed and reached out to properly fasten them. “Please don’t fall off.” She looked up at him as she finished smoothing his robes and Harry smiled at her.

“Let’s go,” he said as he opened his locker and pulled out his own protective arm guards. He eyed them warily and Ginny took them wordlessly and began putting them on. Harry smiled at her sheepishly. They followed the rest of the team onto the pitch.

“Don’t fall,” Ginny said as he mounted his broom. Harry rolled his eyes at her and took off. For one terrifying moment he thought he was going to fall off but he righted himself quickly.

'That would have looked bad,’ he thought ruefully as he anchored himself securely, testing how difficult it was to manoeuvre his broom with his left arm strapped up so securely. It seemed fine as he flew a few laps of the pitch and took a few sharp turns. Once Harry was in the air, things loosened up a bit and there was a little more room to move.

“Send some Bludgers at me!” Harry called to the two Beaters. “I want to see if I can dodge them!” Harry had a few close calls but managed to dodge them all. The rest of the practice went relatively well, except when Dean decided Ginny was throwing wrong.

“You can’t throw wrong, Dean,” Ginny shouted sarcastically. “You just aim and throw!”

“Well then your aim is stupid,” Dean said stubbornly.

“Who are you, the Captain all of a sudden?” Ginny flew over to Dean and hovered, hands on hips, in front of him.

“Look, I just care about winning the game-”

“If you really cared you’d have tried out for the team!” Ginny shrieked.

“Oh, and be forced to continually watch you and Harry-” Dean stopped abruptly and whirled around, flying swiftly to the ground before dismounting and stalking towards the changing rooms. Ginny swooped down in front of Dean, leaping off her broom and turning to face him. Harry watched from the air as they exchanged heated words.

Ginny shook her head exasperatedly and started gesturing wildly with her arms, pointing to the Quidditch hoops, the stands and her broom. Harry was too far away to hear but he could tell Ginny had convinced Dean to return to practice. Dean got back on his broom and soared up into the air, Ginny followed. Harry wondered if she’d told him about the Harpies letter. He didn’t ask either of them and just continued practice until it was time to go in for tea.

The rest of the practice went smoothly. Harry caught the practice Snitch without too much trouble and his shoulder seemed fine. Unless there were nasty surprises in the morning, they were a good bet to win the match.

*************

Harry’s first nasty surprise the next morning was how much he ached. Ginny had offered to rub in the jar of liniment Madam Pomfrey had given him. Thinking of the raised, red scars all the way up his left arm and shoulder, Harry went back to his dorm, claiming fatigue, to unwind the bandages, on his bed, with the curtains closed. He hadn’t managed to get everywhere with the liniment but he did the best he could.

Harry took a deep breath and eased himself out of bed. The truth was, he felt like curling up in a comfy chair by the common room fire and not moving all day; but he showered, dressed in his Quidditch uniform and went downstairs to breakfast. He wandered into the Great Hall hiding the discomfort in his shoulder as he forced his left arm to swing by his side naturally. On the surface his arm and shoulder looked fine but he could feel the muscles underneath screaming whenever he moved.

“Good morning, Harry,” Hermione greeted him cheerfully. He waved half-heartedly in return. Hermione eyed him critically. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine, Hermione,” he replied. “I’m great.”

“You look pale,” Hermione returned bluntly. Harry didn’t answer her.

“Ron’s coming with his family,” Hermione volunteered after an uncomfortable silence. “So he’s not here yet.”

“The Weasleys are coming?”

“Oh yes,” Hermione said briskly, “to watch Ginny. I don’t expect they think you are playing at all.”

“Probably not.”

“Why are you playing, Harry?” Hermione asked him urgently. “You look dreadful and you are holding that arm all stiffly.”

“I’m fine,” Harry repeated through gritted teeth. “Madam Pomfrey is going to put a support bandage on before the game.” He swung his left arm. It hurt like mad but Harry plastered a smile on his face.

“Why are you playing?” Hermione demanded again. She eyed him grimly. Harry debated lying to her again and then thought better of it. He sighed.

“Ginny has a chance to play for the Harpies management,” Harry said. “They have Chaser openings. They are coming to watch Ginny play today. Watch her play Chaser, not Seeker.”

“Oh,” Hermione said. She paused. “I won’t be able to talk you out of this, will I?” Harry shook his head. Hermione pursed her lips but did not say any more. Harry returned silently to his bacon and eggs and Hermione disappeared behind the Prophet. Ginny joined them a moment later. She looked preoccupied and absently poured herself a glass of milk and began to eat her cereal dry. She made a face and spat out the cornflakes while Harry tried to keep the smile off his face. Ginny smiled ruefully.

“Bit nervous,” she said, grabbing the milk pitcher and pouring milk into her bowl. Harry patted her leg comfortingly and excused himself to go to the hospital wing. Hermione looked up from her newspaper.

“Harry-”

“Why don’t you come with me, Hermione,” Harry interrupted loudly. “You’ve finished breakfast.”

“But-”

“We can talk on the way,” Harry said cheerfully, grabbing her arm and hauling her out of her seat. Hermione smiled at him sweetly.

“All right, Harry,” she said through gritted teeth, “if that’s what you want.”

“You all right, Hermione?” Ginny looked up from her breakfast with a puzzled expression.

“She’s fine, she’s fine!” Harry said cheerfully. “She’s looking forward to seeing Ron! Well Madam Pomfrey’s expecting me, see you later!” He leant down and gave Ginny a swift peck on the cheek and strode out of the Great Hall, dragging Hermione with him.

“What was that?” Hermione hissed at him, shaking his hand off her arm. She stopped dead, her hands on her hips.

“You were going to say something,” Harry hissed back.

“Can you even move your arm?” Hermione demanded.

“Of course I can,” Harry scoffed, swinging his arm to demonstrate. The muscles screamed at him and it was with great difficulty that he kept a smile plastered to his face.

“You,” huffed Hermione, “are impossible. You’re going to regret this.”

“What if Ginny gets an offer?” Harry asked. “Am I going to regret it then?”

“You could do permanent damage!”

“Madam Pomfrey cleared it,” Harry insisted stubbornly. Hermione sighed heavily. “It’ll be fine, Hermione. You’ll see.” Hermione shook her head but trotted after him to the hospital wing.

She waited while the matron strapped Harry up and tutted under her breath about Quidditch players. His arm felt a little better with the support of the bandage, but Harry could tell that by the end of the day it was going to be on fire. Harry hoped the game was long enough to show off Ginny’s skills but that he could end the game fairly early and catch the Snitch easily.

But first he had to convince Molly Weasley that he was well enough to play Quidditch.

***************

It couldn’t have gone worse. Bill saw him first and indicated the bandages, which could be seen wound up his neck.

“Trying for a mummy impersonation there, Potter?” he called out as he and Fleur wandered up from the main gates while Harry and Hermione waited with Ginny, who was hovering on the front steps like an aimless butterfly.

“Should ‘e be playing like zat?” Fleur demanded as she reached them. Harry elbowed Hermione and smiled sweetly at Fleur.

“Just a precaution,” he said. “Lovely to see you, really glad you could come.” Bill leaned close to Harry.

“Hurts like blazes, doesn’t it?” Bill whispered. Harry smiled frozenly at him but didn’t say anything.

When Ron turned up with George and his parents he seemed to be channelling Hermione. He grabbed Harry and hauled him aside.

“What in bloody hell do you think you’re doing?” Ron hissed. “You’re out of your mind, aren’t you?”

“It’s fine, Ron,” Harry hissed back.

“I know you’re a mental git,” Ron continued, “but this is just bonkers, mate.” Harry glared at him.

“Potty wee Potter,” George sang, in a perfect imitation of Peeves. “Mum’s about to let you have it.”

Harry endured stoically as Mrs Weasley lectured him about being careful, the violent nature of Quidditch and foolish behaviour.

“Are you absolutely sure Madam Pomfrey meant for you to actually play in the match?” Molly asked for the third time in as many minutes. “Your arm is all right?”

“She strapped it up,” Harry explained, not for the first time. Molly pursed her lips and turned her attention to Ginny.

“Now, be careful, dear,” she straightened her daughter’s collar. “Are you warm enough? It’s very cold out here.”

“I’m fine,” Ginny muttered mutinously, twisting away from her mother’s fussing. Ron looked at Ginny carefully as she flapped a hand at her mother and scowled.

“Hey Ginny-”

“Time to go!” Harry interrupted loudly, grabbing Ginny’s hand and pulling her down the steps. “We’ll see you all after the game!” He ignored the sharp sting in his shoulder as he pulled Ginny hastily after him and waved cheerily with his right hand before striding briskly across the lawn.

“Ah, bye everybody!” Ginny called, giggling, before she trotted after Harry.

The Gryffindor changing room was a nervous pit of energy. Kyle Thorpe and Brent Robinson were staring at the door to the pitch, their broomsticks clutched in their hands. Coote and Peakes were pacing relentlessly on either side of the room and Dean was sitting on a bench bouncing his left knee up and down incessantly. He kept blowing bubbles with a large wad of Drooble’s and Ginny was flitting between the toilet and her locker.

Only Harry sat perfectly still. If he sat perfectly still his arm didn’t hurt one bit. He sat on a bench in the middle of the room and breathed slowly waiting for Madam Hooch to call them for the game.

“Do you think Malfoy even bothered to get a good team up?” Dean asked suddenly.

“I heard he put his girlfriend on the team,” Kyle volunteered.

“That priss?” Ginny turned suddenly. “She’s the sort who couldn’t bear to break a nail!”

“So’s Malfoy,” snorted Dean. Ginny dissolved into a fit of laughter and Kyle and Brent grinned at her like madmen. Peaks and Coote glanced at them and resumed their pacing. Ginny sobered and looked seriously at the gathered players

“Look, we’ve trained for this. I know we probably aren’t in the best form, we’ve got new players and our Seeker’s just out of the hospital wing, but we are still better than Slytherin,” Ginny said. Kyle cheered.

“Yeah!” said Brent.

“I thought you were the Captain?” Dean said leaning over to Harry. “How come she’s giving the pep talk?” Harry looked at Dean for a moment.

“She told you about the Harpies?” he asked in a low voice. Dean nodded. Harry glanced at Ginny who was trimming the twigs on her broomstick. “This is her chance. Help her make it happen?”

“Of course,” Dean said. He looked at Harry seriously. “She’s bound to look brilliant next to me though. She always was the better Chaser.”

“Listen, Dean-”

“Don’t worry about it Harry,” Dean cut him off.

“About yesterday,” Harry persisted.

“I was in a foul mood is all,” Dean sighed. “I thought Susan and I had something going but … she dumped me … for Goldstein.” He grimaced.

“That’s too bad,” Harry said as he shifted a little in his seat. Pain shot through his shoulder and he winced.

“You’re faking it, aren’t you?” Dean asked him in a low voice, turning away from Ginny. “How much agony are you in anyway?”

“Oh, I’m fine, just a little twinge,” Harry said quickly.

“You can’t move without pain, can you?” Dean raised an eyebrow at him. “Maybe-” Harry shook his head fiercely.

“We’d have to forfeit-” Harry was cut off as Madam Hooch pushed open the door and told them it was time to play. Ginny froze; her broomstick in her hand. She stared at the door and gulped audibly. Harry fixed Dean with a meaningful stare, willing him to understand. Dean stood up swiftly.

“Come on Weasley,” he cried. “Let’s go get you on that pro team!”

“I think I still have to do a tryout or something,” Ginny mumbled.

“Trial, tryout, trifecta!” Dean called as he dragged her out. “Let’s go, let’s go, let’s go!” Ginny giggled as he caught her arm and turned back to look at Harry. He smiled at her and gave her the thumbs up, sighing thankfully when she was out of sight and he could move gingerly from his seat.

“Are you all right, Harry?” Jimmy Peakes asked him a moment later. “You don’t look at all well.”

“I’m … I just … don’t let the Bludgers near me,” he said. “I don’t know if I can dodge them by myself.”

“Should you be playing?” Ritchie Coote asked concernedly. Harry glanced around the changing room. Kyle and Brent were gone, having followed Ginny and Dean out.

“Madam Pomfrey has cleared me to play,” he said carefully, trying not to wince as he bent to pick up his broom. He could feel them looking at him closely.

“Okay, Harry,” Peakes said quietly. “We’ll look out for you.” The two Beaters picked up their brooms and bats resolutely and led the way out to the pitch.

Harry gritted his teeth as he shook hands with Malfoy and the movement sent shockwaves through his left shoulder even though he had shaken with his right hand. The weather was cold and blustery and Harry hoped that perhaps the frigid weather was enough to numb him, perhaps then he would have less pain. Malfoy fixed him with a predatory glare but Harry didn’t have it in him to reciprocate. He mounted his broom and swooped around the pitch waiting for Madam Hooch to release the Quaffle.

Harry adjusted his seat on his broom and scanned the stands. He could see Professor McGonagall watching the Chasers intently as they went after the Quaffle. Ginny seemed to snatch it out of the air and went tearing down the pitch. Harry saw a couple of unfamiliar faces behind the Gryffindor goals. They were dressed in neatly-pressed robes the same colour as the Harpies uniforms. Badges he was too far away to see glinted on their chests.

Ginny scored the first goal of the match and Harry heard Malfoy swear as he flew past him. A massive cheer erupted from the Gryffindor stands and Harry watched as a group of red-heads in the visitor’s box leapt to their feet. Ginny seemed to block all of that out and was concentrating on the Quaffle with single-minded determination. Harry hovered above the play determined to last as long as he could before catching the Snitch so that Ginny could showcase her abilities.

Ginny scored goal after goal as Dean fed her the Quaffle, easily keeping it from Slytherin’s grasp and Harry began searching for the Snitch. A fifth year Hufflepuff called Peterson was giving a dreary commentary of the game and Harry tuned him out. At one point shortly after Ginny’s fifth straight goal, Harry thought he saw the Snitch and swung around abruptly, pulling up shortly a moment later when he realised it was just the weak sunlight glinting off the badges of the Harpies officials before it vanished behind the clouds. A pervasive chill settled over the game once more.

Harry pulled up short just above the Gryffindor goals and attempted to mask a grimace. He was startled when he heard Malfoy right behind him.

“What’s wrong with you, Potter?” The other Seeker sounded almost concerned.

“Nothing,” Harry replied shortly, ascending a little, then turning to fly back out to the middle of the pitch. Malfoy followed him.

“Have the Seekers spotted the Snitch again?” Peterson droned. “It would be exciting if they did … they are moving very slowly oh look Ginny Weasley’s got the Quaffle again this should be exciting watch this girl go.”

“Your girlfriend’s killing us,” Malfoy commented nonchalantly.

“I heard yours was too scared to break a nail,” Harry retorted but he lacked venom, he didn’t have the energy to concentrate on annoying Malfoy. It was taking all his energy to stay upright on his broom.

“You look like Dragon dung, Potter,” Malfoy said conversationally.

“Would you quit being so amicable?” Harry said irritably. “It disturbs me.”

“It disturbs me that you look about ready to fall off that broom,” Malfoy retorted. Harry turned to glare at him witheringly and suddenly Malfoy pulled hard on the handle of Harry’s broomstick. Harry yelped in pain and Peterson applied his dreadfully dull monotone to the action between the Seekers.

“I think Malfoy is trying to push Potter off his broom,” boomed the magical megaphone.

“I am trying to keep him out of the way of the stupid Bludger, you little turd,” Malfoy muttered as he ducked the Bludger that whizzed right past where Harry had been sitting a moment before.

“Stay alert, Potter,” Malfoy sneered before he zoomed down to berate his Chasers.

Harry took a deep breath and circled the pitch slowly, keeping his eye out for Bludgers and shouting encouragement to Kyle Thorpe in front of the Slytherin goals.

The score was 140-50 when Harry spotted the Snitch. He wove between four Chasers who were vying for the Quaffle and then dodged a Bludger only to lose sight of the winged golden ball. He gripped his broomstick tightly, willing himself not to fall off as he tried to regain his balance. Ginny tore off down the pitch with the Quaffle and Dean swung by where Harry was taking several deep breaths.

“Are you all right, Harry?” he asked in a low voice. However dull Peterson might be he was apparently very observant.

“I think Potter might have been injured in that last play,” the Hufflepuff declared. “He looks like he’s about to fall off his broom.” Harry could feel every eye in the Stadium swivel to look at him. He gritted his teeth and flew over the Slytherin goals and hovered above the pitch. He groaned as Ginny, distracted for a moment, had her elbow clipped by a Bludger and dropped the Quaffle. Dean swooped under her and grabbed it, throwing it through the goals and past the very ineffective Slytherin Keeper.

Ginny was clutching her arm and one of the Slytherin’s Chasers was bleeding from a cut lip, thanks to a very accurate shot by Coote.

“If you don’t call a time out, I will,” Malfoy said grimly a moment later as he flew up to him. “Go get a pain potion or something. You look about ready to vomit.” Harry gestured rudely at him.

“Pain potions knock you out, you git,” he hissed. “I’d fall off anyway!” Malfoy glared at him before signalling Madam Hooch.

Harry descended slowly and nearly tumbled off his broom as he touched down near the rest of his team on the edge of the pitch. A light drizzle was beginning to fall. Ginny was experimentally bending her injured elbow while Dean was gesturing urgently to Brent Robinson, the third Chaser. Peakes sidled up to Harry.

“Are you all right?” he asked. “You look like death.”

“I’m fine,” Harry said. “Malfoy called time out; let’s make the most of it.”

“How’s your arm, Ginny?” Harry asked, striding over.

“Gonna have a massive bruise,” Ginny commented absently as she rolled her sleeve up to inspect it. “I can’t believe I let a Bludger hit me.”

“You two,” Harry barked at Coote and Peakes, “keep the Bludgers away from her. She can’t score with a Bludger through her arm.”

“How are we supposed to keep them away from both of you at the same time?” Coote protested.

“Forget about me,” Harry said impatiently,” I’ll dodge-”

“But Harry, you said-”

“Just do it!” Harry snapped.

“Harry,” Ginny began warningly. “If you are going to catch the Snitch, you need the Bludgers off you as well. Don’t be an idiot.”

“At the rate, I am going I’m never going to find the damn Snitch,” Harry hissed. “The rain’s starting up, it’s getting darker and … just score, Ginny. We need a big lead.”

“Are you all right?” she asked him then. She reached out and touched his bandaged arm. “Is it causing problems?” Harry shook his head impatiently.

“It’s just a twinge, no problem,” he said. “I’ve played in weather like this before; I can’t guarantee finding the Snitch and you need to impress the people from the Harpies. They’re behind the goal posts.”

“I’ve seen them there,” Ginny nodded. Madam Hooch blew her whistle.

“That’s the minute whistle; we’d better get up there,” Dean commented. Harry nodded and the rest of the team took off immediately, Ginny giving Harry a last lingering, worried look. He smiled at her in what he sincerely hoped was a reassuring manner. Harry was about to climb onto his broom and follow them into the air when a hand descended on his shoulder. He spun around to see George, Ron and Hermione.

“What’s this about the Harpies?” Ron asked urgently.

“Are you in pain, Harry?” Hermione demanded.

“They’ve come to watch her play,” was all Harry responded and made to get on his broom.

“Harry!” Hermione hissed. “We’ve been watching you. You look dreadful.”

“Fine! All right, Hermione!” Harry shouted. “I am in a bloody lot of pain and I feel like my shoulder is on fire.”

“So stop,” George shrugged.

“If I pull out we forfeit,” Harry shook his head. “There are people out there watching Ginny play so they can offer her a place on a professional team. I’m playing.”

“Even if you die trying?” Ron asked. Harry rolled his eyes.

“He’s turned into bloody Oliver Wood!” exclaimed George. Madam Hooch blew the thirty second whistle and Harry saw the Slytherin players ascend into the air.

“Is this worth it, Harry?” Hermione asked. “If you lose your grip … if you fall …” Harry grew tired of the questioning.

“I was bloody dead, Hermione,” he snapped. “This is just Quidditch!” She stepped back as if stung. Harry swung his leg over his broom, aware he had only seconds to get back in the air. George put a hand on his arm.

“Hold still,” George insisted. He took his wand out and was muttered a series of incantations Harry had never heard before. The pain vanished almost instantly. He looked up at George incredulously.

“What did you do?”

“Numbing charms,” George answered. “Fred’s invention. When you know you’re about to test something that might blow up, it’s your best friend. It only lasts about twenty minutes. Hurry up and catch the damn Snitch.”

Harry, able to hold onto the broom almost normally, flew rapidly up above the play just in time. The rain was falling heavily now and Harry hoped he’d be able to spot the tiny, winged ball. Harry watched Ginny pass the Quaffle almost effortlessly across the pitch, swoop under the goals and score, again and again. He looked for the Snitch but it was nowhere to be seen.

Twenty minutes passed and then thirty. Harry’s fingers were numb and George’s charm work had worn off. Between the ache deep in his shoulder and his nerveless fingers Harry did not think he could stay on the broom much longer. Ginny made goal after goal and Kyle made save after save. The Gryffindor team was up 250-90 when Harry spotted the Snitch.

He dove for it, not caring where Malfoy was. He twisted and turned past the Chasers and swung wildly around the Quaffle in play. As he ducked both Bludgers, he dimly heard Peakes smashing at them with a barbaric roar and Peterson in the stands droning.

“This is the single most exciting thing to happen in this game,” Peterson’s monotone made watching paint dry sound more exciting. “Harry Potter has seen the Snitch and is flying to get it.”

As Harry focused his eyes on the Golden Snitch, everything else faded from view. His shoulder and upper arm were screaming with pain and his wet fringe flapped wildly in his eyes. He swiped at it frantically with one hand and nearly lost his hold on his broom with the other. Tightening his grip he leant forward, pursuing the tiny, gold ball and ignoring the sickening tearing sensation in his left shoulder as he twisted around the goal posts and shot back across the pitch.

The Snitch hovered uncertainly in the middle of the playing field and Harry bore down on it, his left hand slippery with the rain and his right hand outstretched. The Snitch darted upwards and it was then Harry saw Malfoy. Harry grinned; he could make it to the Snitch before the other Seeker. Putting on a last burst of speed and ignoring the blinding pain in his shoulder, Harry shot upwards lunged forward and snatched the Snitch out of the air.

His nerveless fingers clutched at the handle of his broom but it slipped out of his grip and his forward momentum sent him hurtling as the Firebolt seemed to shoot backwards while Harry went spinning in the opposite direction. Suddenly, with a loud smacking sound and a horrible crunch, he slammed rib first into the handle of Draco Malfoy’s broomstick. The broomstick lurched violently and Malfoy swore. Harry scrabbled to hold onto the broomstick as Malfoy grunted with the effort of holding the broom steady. It was spinning in circles, creating a downward spiral. They were losing altitude fast and Malfoy reached out and grabbed hold of Harry’s robes.

“Hang on, Potter!” yelled Malfoy, pulling up and trying to slow their descent. He was partially successful and they landed heavily, but mostly upright, at the centre of the pitch. Harry tumbled off and fell to the earth in a muddy heap, wheezing and cursing.

“You kiss the Weaslette with that mouth, Potter?” smirked Malfoy. Harry glared at him, holding his ribs.

“I think Potter caught the Snitch but it’s hard to tell because he fell off after that,” Peterson’s voice droned. “Maybe if Malfoy caught him then technically Malfoy caught the Snitch I think we will need Madam Hooch to tell us who the victor is here.”

“Honestly Peterson,” McGonagall’s voice thundered. “Potter caught the Snitch first! I don’t care what happened to him after that! Gryffindor wins!” The stands erupted in cheers and Harry noticed the players begin to land on the pitch and run towards where he and Malfoy sat, filthy and freezing in the mud.

“Thanks, Malfoy,” Harry said quietly. Malfoy held out his right hand. Harry looked at it for a moment; he pocketed the Snitch and shook the other Captain’s hand.

“Good game,” Malfoy said. He turned and picked up his broom and then nodded at Harry briefly before walking off the pitch in the direction of the Slytherin changing room. Harry watched him go.

Draco Malfoy had seemed almost human and … decent.

Harry was brought back to reality suddenly when he allowed Dean to haul him to his feet.

“Harry, we did it!” Dean cried jubilantly. “Four hundred and ten to ninety …” Harry didn’t hear the rest of what Dean was saying because he suddenly felt very faint and white spots began to dance before his eyes. He found it difficult to breathe and it was only the burning sensation in his left shoulder that kept him conscious. Letting out a strangled yelp, Harry sank to the ground, his left arm hanging uselessly by his side and his right hand pressed to the spot on his ribs where he’d hit the handle of Malfoy’s broom.

“Don’t … don’t do that … you git,” Harry breathed.

Ginny reached him next, her long hair flying behind her as she ran towards him. She’d thrown her broom aside as soon as she dismounted and came skidding to stop beside him, spraying mud all over him.

“Harry!” she cried, dropping to her knees. “Are you all right?” Harry looked up at her.

“I think … I think I cracked a rib,” he wheezed, then coughed.

“You’re awfully pale,” Ginny said worriedly. “How’s your shoulder? You’re shivering.”

“Do you think … will they like you?” Harry asked. “The Harpies?”

“Who cares?” Ginny cried, feeling his forehead the way her mother did whenever she checked one of her children for a fever. Harry closed his eyes only to open them a moment later.

“You’re bloody mental!” Ron muttered as he dropped to his knees on Harry’s left side. His family was crowding around behind him. “I thought you were a goner, going for that Snitch! Did you know you were actually swaying in the breeze at one point? I’m surprised you didn’t fall off earlier, you great, bloody git!”

“Ronald! Language!” Molly reprimanded him. She peered at Harry concernedly. “You do look a bit pale, dear. Can you stand?” Harry shook his head ruefully.

“I can walk but I don’t think I can get up,” he wheezed before coughing painfully. “Ribs.”

“That’s all right, Harry,” said George cheerfully. “We’ll set you on your feet and then you can go to the party and be hailed as man of the hour … again.” He crouched down and picked up Harry’s limp left arm and attempted to drape it over his shoulder. Harry bit back a yelp and groaned. His shoulder was agony and he closed his eyes and tried to breathe deeply, which proved completely impossible with cracked ribs. He began to hyperventilate.

“Sweet Merlin,” breathed Molly. Harry opened his eyes and looked over at George whose hands were covered in blood.

“Who’s bleeding?” Harry asked. His own voice sounded distant. He felt Ron tear frantically at the sleeve of his scarlet Quidditch robes.

“You are!” Ron cried. “You’re a mess.” Harry didn’t think to protest when Ron scooped him up and cradled him in his arms.

“Bloody hurts,” Harry grunted, closing his eyes.

“Probably ripped it open, you great prat,” Ron grumbled as he strode towards the changing room.

“I can walk,” Harry said half heartedly. Ron grunted and shouldered the door to the changing room open. Harry heard the rest of the family trooping in as Ron set him carefully on the bench in the middle of the room.

“Did someone get Madam Pomfrey?” Ron asked as he began to peel back Harry’s Quidditch robes.

“Bill went,” Ginny said softly. Harry opened his eyes.

“When do you think you’ll hear?” he asked, wincing as Ron pulled off the protective gear from his left arm.

“Hear what?” Molly asked as she hovered over them like an overanxious mother hen.

“The Harpies were at the game today,” Ron said as he dropped Harry’s gloves and arm guards on the floor. “They were here to watch Ginny, which is why our hero here insisted on playing.” Ron yanked on the sleeve of Harry’s robe, pulling it off to expose the spreading crimson stain on the white bandages. Harry yelped.

“Harry!” Ginny cried, her hands flying to her mouth.

“You bloody, noble git,” muttered Ron, shaking his head. Harry said nothing. Ginny moved over and elbowed Ron out of the way. She knelt beside him and reached out to caress his cheek.

“I knew I shouldn’t have let you play,” she whispered.

“I’m the Captain,” Harry whispered back.

“Idiot,” Ginny said, running her hands through his sodden hair, stroking it back from his forehead.

“It was worth it,” Harry said softly, ignoring the fact that the Weasleys were all standing around. “You played brilliantly. There’s no way they won’t take you.” Ginny said nothing, she just ran her hands through his hair and Harry leaned forward to rest his head oh her shoulder, sighing heavily.

It was only a moment before Madam Pomfrey came bustling in. She took one look at Harry, pursed her lips in a very unpleased manner and ordered everybody out.

“Yes, you too, Miss Weasley,” she said briskly as she waved her wand in complicated patterns over Harry’s ribs. “Five cracked ribs, Mr Potter?” She raised an eyebrow at him as the door swung shut on Ginny. Harry closed his eyes as Madam Pomfrey transfigured the bench into a bed she was able to work on and Harry lay back so she could heal his ribs.

The matron checked him over thoroughly before she began to remove the bandages from his torn and bloodied left side. Harry hissed as the air hit the raw skin and the torn, jagged edges of reopened scar tissue. He was glad Ginny had gone- he didn’t want to look at the scars and he didn’t want her to see them at all. He felt completely irrational; it wasn’t as though he didn’t have any scars already.

Harry couldn’t hold back the short, bitter laugh that turned into a hiss as Madam Pomfrey cleansed and healed the reopened wound on his shoulder. She worked steadily down his arm, muttering under her breath as she repaired the damage caused by his reckless flying.

“You are not to get on a broom again until I say so,” she said, bandaging his neck, shoulder and arm with a series of dressings that covered the worst of his injuries. “And don’t be expecting anything before Christmas!”

Harry nodded meekly. He knew he’d probably be irritated with that rule well before Christmas, but he had little desire at that moment to do anything but rest. He closed his eyes and let sleep wash over him as the matron worked steadily on his injuries.