Vday: fic: Broom Race (Harry Potter)
Written for rageprufrock's 14 Valentines challenge. Please consider donating money and/or time to Vday.org or another women's charity, local or global. You know why.
Title: Broom Race
Author: siegeofangels
Fandom: Harry Potter
Rated G, gen
Disclaimer: Harry Potter is the property of someone not me. No copyright infringement is intended.
Summary: They all have those racing brooms. Don't they ever race?
It wasn't a Quidditch season, Harry thought bitterly, without at least one Gryffindor practice sabotaged by the Slytherins. This time they'd managed to damage the shared practice equipment. There wasn't time to recharm the balls, a delicate operation, in time for practice, and the game ball set was not to be used in practice under any circumstances, not after the infamous Ravenclaw/Slytherin match of 1978.
Which left Harry with seven players, one pitch, no Quaffles, no Bludgers, and certainly no Snitch.
"It's a shame, Potter," Malfoy had sneered as he passed the Gryffindor table during lunch. "You certainly could have used the practice."
It may be noted that in terms of basic tactics, this was Draco Malfoy's first mistake.
By six o'clock, Harry and Ron were on the pitch with ten large brass bells (Transfigured cauldrons, generously donated), the two Beaters' bats, and a team of confused players. As the rest of them watched, Harry and Ron set up the bells in various places on the pitch--the middle of the field, near the hoop posts, at the top of each center hoop.
"Race against the clock," Harry said. "Take a bat, whack each bell in turn as you fly the course: the timekeeping quill will take down your time at each point. Best time doesn't have to fly drills at the end of practice." He gave a bat to one of the Chasers. "Chasers first, then Beaters, Keeper, and I'll go last."
He outlined the course briefly, pointing out each bell in turn. "Start at the base of the home hoops. Once around the pitch, hit the bell at the start. Then the top of the center home hoop, the center of the field on the grass, up again to the center opponent's hoop, then down to the base of the same pole. The four slaalom across the grass, then up to the top of the home hoop again. Time starts when you ring the bell at the start."
Ginny was grinning. It was the kind of thing they'd set up once or twice during the summer--arbitrary points round an obstacle course, as weird as possible to even out the difference between a Firebolt and a Cleansweep--and Harry, Ron, and Ginny had pretty much won an equal number of times each. This wasn't the craziest course they'd seen, but it wasn't bad given the short notice and the large open playing field with little in the way of natural obstacles.
The two younger Chasers went first; they put up respectable times, flying well if not quite as daring as Harry planned on doing himself.
Ginny took up her bat and started from the corner of the pitch so she could hit the starting bell and the time at speed, rather than waste time accelerating. The other two Chasers, who had hit the bell and then kicked off, looked grumpy, but Harry told them, "The point is to ring the bells and finish the race fast. How you do it's up to you."
Ginny was an economical flyer, and had shaved about five seconds off the lowest time. The Beaters were next.
They both repeated Ginny's running start, but (Harry thought) their familiarity with flying with a bat let them hit the bells almost without looking; they'd cut corners and caught the bells with the very tip of the bats.
Ron, a manic grin on his face and tufts of hair sticking out from around the straps of his bizarre Keeper's goggles, wasn't the quickest climber but more than made up for it on the slaalom with an almost out-of-control fishtail across the field, hitting the bells behind him and finishing the section in record time.
A loud clang marked Ron's finish, and he landed to the whoops of his teammates, tossing the bat to Harry. "All right, Seeker, let's see what you can do."
"Yes, Potter, let's see." It was Draco Malfoy. "Can you, for example, remove yourself from the pitch? We've booked it for eight."
"It's seven forty-five, Malfoy," Harry said calmly, thinking about the course. The slaalom would probably give him the most trouble . . . "Didn't your overpriced wizarding primary school teach you how to tell time?"
"I doubted you'd be able to finish the course in fifteen minutes," Malfoy said off-handedly.
"The only person I have to be faster than is you, Malfoy," Harry said. "Oh, wait. I already am."
A soft snort from a Weasley.
Malfoy's eyes narrowed. "Care to prove it?"
Harry smiled.
One minute later, the two Seekers mounted their brooms at the starting point below the home hoops and waited for the signal, the clang of the first bell by Ron. Goggles were adjusted, gloves tightened, a knee-buckle rebuckled.
"Ready," said Ron behind them, all the warning they'd get.
There was a silence that seemed to stretch out forever, and Harry's world slowed down, the way it did when he was deep into a game and the Snitch floated lazily in front of him, and then the sound of wood on brass released him, and Harry and Malfoy shot away from the poles, around the pitch widdershins.
It took the length of the field for either of them to figure out how to race one-handed, holding a bat; Malfoy took a couple of halfhearted swipes at Harry but Harry tucked his bat under his arm and concentrated on flying. They were neck and neck.
Draco was on the left, and as they approached the first bell he was just a bit ahead. The two of them sounded the bell almost simultaneously, but Draco immediately grabbed the pole with his left hand, pulling himself round as he began the climb, spiraling up the pole and whacking the bell at the top. Harry reached the bell a second behind Draco, hitting the bell while it was still vibrating from the first ring.
He thought he could make it up on the dive, a wide parabola the length of the field. He and Draco had been pretty evenly matched when they'd first played Seeker against one another, but now Harry was a bit taller and a bit more solid: twelve stone seemed to plummet better than ten. Harry hit the bell first, slamming it with his bat as he pulled his Firebolt up again. Another clang sounded behind him as Draco's mark rang out.
Draco was catching up to him now, and Harry saw that Draco had dropped his bat. Brooms were easier to control with both hands, and it might mean the advantage in a race such as this, but Harry kept hold of the bat, barely behind Draco to the bell at the top of the hoop.
They both immediately dropped into Wronski feints, flying practically parallel to each other down the pole. Draco pulled out of the fall twenty feet from the ground, circling round, apparently trying to leave Harry with nowhere to go but straight down into the ground. Harry took an opening as soon as he saw it, taking a wider angle and coming back round to hit the bell, a sharp ring following the dull clang of Draco's gloved hand.
The slaalom across the field proved more difficult than Harry had expected; it was equal parts keeping control of his broom at top speeds, Draco Malfoy in his way, and alternately reaching the bat out and crossing it over his body to hit the bells. Draco, ahead of him now, was using either hand. Harry hoped he broke all of his fingers.
Now all that was left was the final bell. Draco had taken the momentum of his last diagonal movement across the pitch and swung out wide to sweep around. With a sinking feeling Harry realized that Draco was fifteen feet ahead and not slowing any time soon. He set out on a straight course up, but there was just no way . . . and as Draco approached the top of the hoop, Harry threw his bat, sending it spinning end over end like a boomerang.
It hit the bell, and the sharp sound rang out over the entire Quidditch pitch, quieting the Gryffindor team and the spectators who had gathered at the regular sound of the bells. Harry floated down slowly, trying to get his breath back and unclench his fingers.
A soft sound: Draco had sounded the last bell and sped down to catch up to Harry. They landed at the same time, and Draco picked up Harry's discarded bat as they walked back to the sideline. The Gryffindor team was already whooping and running toward them.
"Cheating," Draco hissed.
"No more than you," Harry retorted.
Draco sneered. "And you're going to claim you won, because if Harry Potter does it it must be right.
"I did win," Harry said hotly, and Ron reached them and clapped Harry on the back. "Now bugger off, Malfoy; we've still got the pitch till eight."
The rest of the team was around him now, and it wasn't as though they were going to actually practice for another few minutes, but they took their time gathering their things together and retrieving the bells.
The Slytherins were sitting in the stands; one of them leaned over to say something to Malfoy, but he snapped back--Harry couldn't tell what he said--and went back to viciously tightening the buckles on his greaves.
It wasn't cheating; like he'd said, all they had to do was sound the bells. Draco Malfoy of all people should know that the rules mattered little when they came up against each other.
"C'mon, Harry," Ron said, shouldering a bag of equipment. "Think we're done here," and Harry turned and followed him up toward the castle.
Title: Broom Race
Author: siegeofangels
Fandom: Harry Potter
Rated G, gen
Disclaimer: Harry Potter is the property of someone not me. No copyright infringement is intended.
Summary: They all have those racing brooms. Don't they ever race?
It wasn't a Quidditch season, Harry thought bitterly, without at least one Gryffindor practice sabotaged by the Slytherins. This time they'd managed to damage the shared practice equipment. There wasn't time to recharm the balls, a delicate operation, in time for practice, and the game ball set was not to be used in practice under any circumstances, not after the infamous Ravenclaw/Slytherin match of 1978.
Which left Harry with seven players, one pitch, no Quaffles, no Bludgers, and certainly no Snitch.
"It's a shame, Potter," Malfoy had sneered as he passed the Gryffindor table during lunch. "You certainly could have used the practice."
It may be noted that in terms of basic tactics, this was Draco Malfoy's first mistake.
By six o'clock, Harry and Ron were on the pitch with ten large brass bells (Transfigured cauldrons, generously donated), the two Beaters' bats, and a team of confused players. As the rest of them watched, Harry and Ron set up the bells in various places on the pitch--the middle of the field, near the hoop posts, at the top of each center hoop.
"Race against the clock," Harry said. "Take a bat, whack each bell in turn as you fly the course: the timekeeping quill will take down your time at each point. Best time doesn't have to fly drills at the end of practice." He gave a bat to one of the Chasers. "Chasers first, then Beaters, Keeper, and I'll go last."
He outlined the course briefly, pointing out each bell in turn. "Start at the base of the home hoops. Once around the pitch, hit the bell at the start. Then the top of the center home hoop, the center of the field on the grass, up again to the center opponent's hoop, then down to the base of the same pole. The four slaalom across the grass, then up to the top of the home hoop again. Time starts when you ring the bell at the start."
Ginny was grinning. It was the kind of thing they'd set up once or twice during the summer--arbitrary points round an obstacle course, as weird as possible to even out the difference between a Firebolt and a Cleansweep--and Harry, Ron, and Ginny had pretty much won an equal number of times each. This wasn't the craziest course they'd seen, but it wasn't bad given the short notice and the large open playing field with little in the way of natural obstacles.
The two younger Chasers went first; they put up respectable times, flying well if not quite as daring as Harry planned on doing himself.
Ginny took up her bat and started from the corner of the pitch so she could hit the starting bell and the time at speed, rather than waste time accelerating. The other two Chasers, who had hit the bell and then kicked off, looked grumpy, but Harry told them, "The point is to ring the bells and finish the race fast. How you do it's up to you."
Ginny was an economical flyer, and had shaved about five seconds off the lowest time. The Beaters were next.
They both repeated Ginny's running start, but (Harry thought) their familiarity with flying with a bat let them hit the bells almost without looking; they'd cut corners and caught the bells with the very tip of the bats.
Ron, a manic grin on his face and tufts of hair sticking out from around the straps of his bizarre Keeper's goggles, wasn't the quickest climber but more than made up for it on the slaalom with an almost out-of-control fishtail across the field, hitting the bells behind him and finishing the section in record time.
A loud clang marked Ron's finish, and he landed to the whoops of his teammates, tossing the bat to Harry. "All right, Seeker, let's see what you can do."
"Yes, Potter, let's see." It was Draco Malfoy. "Can you, for example, remove yourself from the pitch? We've booked it for eight."
"It's seven forty-five, Malfoy," Harry said calmly, thinking about the course. The slaalom would probably give him the most trouble . . . "Didn't your overpriced wizarding primary school teach you how to tell time?"
"I doubted you'd be able to finish the course in fifteen minutes," Malfoy said off-handedly.
"The only person I have to be faster than is you, Malfoy," Harry said. "Oh, wait. I already am."
A soft snort from a Weasley.
Malfoy's eyes narrowed. "Care to prove it?"
Harry smiled.
One minute later, the two Seekers mounted their brooms at the starting point below the home hoops and waited for the signal, the clang of the first bell by Ron. Goggles were adjusted, gloves tightened, a knee-buckle rebuckled.
"Ready," said Ron behind them, all the warning they'd get.
There was a silence that seemed to stretch out forever, and Harry's world slowed down, the way it did when he was deep into a game and the Snitch floated lazily in front of him, and then the sound of wood on brass released him, and Harry and Malfoy shot away from the poles, around the pitch widdershins.
It took the length of the field for either of them to figure out how to race one-handed, holding a bat; Malfoy took a couple of halfhearted swipes at Harry but Harry tucked his bat under his arm and concentrated on flying. They were neck and neck.
Draco was on the left, and as they approached the first bell he was just a bit ahead. The two of them sounded the bell almost simultaneously, but Draco immediately grabbed the pole with his left hand, pulling himself round as he began the climb, spiraling up the pole and whacking the bell at the top. Harry reached the bell a second behind Draco, hitting the bell while it was still vibrating from the first ring.
He thought he could make it up on the dive, a wide parabola the length of the field. He and Draco had been pretty evenly matched when they'd first played Seeker against one another, but now Harry was a bit taller and a bit more solid: twelve stone seemed to plummet better than ten. Harry hit the bell first, slamming it with his bat as he pulled his Firebolt up again. Another clang sounded behind him as Draco's mark rang out.
Draco was catching up to him now, and Harry saw that Draco had dropped his bat. Brooms were easier to control with both hands, and it might mean the advantage in a race such as this, but Harry kept hold of the bat, barely behind Draco to the bell at the top of the hoop.
They both immediately dropped into Wronski feints, flying practically parallel to each other down the pole. Draco pulled out of the fall twenty feet from the ground, circling round, apparently trying to leave Harry with nowhere to go but straight down into the ground. Harry took an opening as soon as he saw it, taking a wider angle and coming back round to hit the bell, a sharp ring following the dull clang of Draco's gloved hand.
The slaalom across the field proved more difficult than Harry had expected; it was equal parts keeping control of his broom at top speeds, Draco Malfoy in his way, and alternately reaching the bat out and crossing it over his body to hit the bells. Draco, ahead of him now, was using either hand. Harry hoped he broke all of his fingers.
Now all that was left was the final bell. Draco had taken the momentum of his last diagonal movement across the pitch and swung out wide to sweep around. With a sinking feeling Harry realized that Draco was fifteen feet ahead and not slowing any time soon. He set out on a straight course up, but there was just no way . . . and as Draco approached the top of the hoop, Harry threw his bat, sending it spinning end over end like a boomerang.
It hit the bell, and the sharp sound rang out over the entire Quidditch pitch, quieting the Gryffindor team and the spectators who had gathered at the regular sound of the bells. Harry floated down slowly, trying to get his breath back and unclench his fingers.
A soft sound: Draco had sounded the last bell and sped down to catch up to Harry. They landed at the same time, and Draco picked up Harry's discarded bat as they walked back to the sideline. The Gryffindor team was already whooping and running toward them.
"Cheating," Draco hissed.
"No more than you," Harry retorted.
Draco sneered. "And you're going to claim you won, because if Harry Potter does it it must be right.
"I did win," Harry said hotly, and Ron reached them and clapped Harry on the back. "Now bugger off, Malfoy; we've still got the pitch till eight."
The rest of the team was around him now, and it wasn't as though they were going to actually practice for another few minutes, but they took their time gathering their things together and retrieving the bells.
The Slytherins were sitting in the stands; one of them leaned over to say something to Malfoy, but he snapped back--Harry couldn't tell what he said--and went back to viciously tightening the buckles on his greaves.
It wasn't cheating; like he'd said, all they had to do was sound the bells. Draco Malfoy of all people should know that the rules mattered little when they came up against each other.
"C'mon, Harry," Ron said, shouldering a bag of equipment. "Think we're done here," and Harry turned and followed him up toward the castle.