The sun was gleaming weakly behind a fine, wispy veneer of clouds. It sat like a pale watery disc behind an army of moisture, and from the looks of the darkened tufts of cotton lying on their sea of blue, it wouldn't be coming out again for quite a while.
The stadium was pulsing with enthusiasm: to the left was the proud, searing gold and crimson of the cheering Gryffindors. To the right, the brooding emerald and inky black of the glowering and jeering Slytherins, shouting audibly at their opponents. At the top of the mammoth pitch sat the rippling indigo of the Ravenclaws, thrumming like a hive of agitated bees. Opposite them, the yellow and black Hufflepuffs joined the Gryffindors in their cheers and hoots, as the outcome of the game would decide their placement in the Cup.
Harry turned to address his team, who were huddled together beneath the oncoming storm. Ron, as usual, looked as if he'd rather go dancing with the giant squid than play Keeper against Slytherin just then. Harry began doling out orders just as the first raindrops began to plummet to the ground.
"Alright," he said. "Katie and Angelina, you're going to have to really push toward those goalposts. They're going to have intensified their guard after your great performance last time." He gave a reassuring smile. "Ron, you can do this, just stay in front of those goals, whatever you do." Ron nodded mutely.
After directing each player with in-depth instructions, Harry turned and waited nervously for the opening signal. Far above, the angry clouds sifted together and darkened as one. A glass-shattering rumble of thunder vibrated the wooden walls around him. He nearly kicked his Firebolt when Madam Hooch blew on her whistle. Inhaling deeply, Harry led his team forward onto the pitch and shook hands with the Slytherin captain. As usual, his knuckles felt as if they had been set on fire. He flopped his wrist and straddled his broom.
Madam Hooch launched herself from the ground and inspected that each player was prepared, then pealed on the whistle again. As the teams rose into the air, she scooped low out of the way.
As he was accustomed to doing, Harry thrust his Firebolt forward to widely circle the stadium. The gradually thickening rain collided with his lenses, then ricocheted off in spattering droplets; he inwardly thanked Hermione for the clearing spell she had so often performed on his glasses.
It was odd, hearing the sounds below meld into one as he continuously sped around and around: the cursing and booing of the Slytherins, slipping into the constant impassive buzzing of the Ravenclaws, melding into the excited cheering of the Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs.
A gold flicker caught Harry's eye, just behind the Slytherin hoops. Frowning, he edged closer on his broom. Sure enough, there it was: the Golden Snitch, fluttering smugly behind its glittering camoflage. But Harry's trained eye wasn't fooled. Feeling a tide of adrenaline, he rocketed the Firebolt toward the goalposts.
As he sped along, a faint whirring sound caught his ear, growing louder and louder by the second. Harry turned around in his seat for a brief moment. And he soon wished he hadn't.
When the Bludger struck, it hit him full force in the nose, breaking it on contact. There was a collective gasp of disappointment and sympathy from the Gryffindor and Hufflepuff sides. Crying out in agony, he clutched his face with both his gloved hands. But the loss of balance sent the Firebolt pitching forward and tumbling down, down, into the white sands below the Slytherin posts.
The air was driven violently from Harry's lungs. He tried to sit up, failed, and fell onto his back. All around him was the worried pounding of the professors' feet, the hems of their robes lifted so that they could hasten to his aid. Blood was streaming from his shattered nose and staining the immaculate sand around him. Grimacing, he opened his bleary eyes and rolled over, hissing in and out through his teeth.
Wait - what was that? Within the combed brown stalks of the Firebolt's bottom end, there was a flickering and a humming. The broken hay quivered and buzzed. Harry propped himself up on one elbow and heaved himself forward, threading his fingers in between the stalks. Something metallic, cold and slippery with rain brushed lightly against his knuckles. A broad grin broke out across his face, despite the blood arching widely around his nostrils. He drew out his hand and held his arm weakly above him. Clutched in the black leather of his glove was the Golden Snitch. Filled with a familiar satisfied warmth, he waited patiently as Professor McGonagall tutted and mended the broken bone of his nose.
Wormtail's Son by sobiad
Chapter Notes: This is my first ever FanFic, so I'd like some brutally honest reviews.