Losing Harry Chapter 10
Story: Losing Harry
Chapter: Ten
Rating: PG
Characters: Harry, Ginny, Hermione, Ron, Draco, Albus, Scorpius, Lorcan, Lysander, James, Lily, etc.
Summary Things are just as they should be - except for siblings in opposing houses, wizards gone missing, quarrels with old professors, the Ministry's obvious favoritism, and the weight of the world resting upon two Potters' shoulders. HPDH+Epilogue compliant.
Written: 15 Jan., 25 May 2009
Notes: It’s a future fic. Beta-ed by Coshie.
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Previous Chapters: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 |
--
“You’ll eat your words when Potter catches the Snitch right in front of your face!” the captain of the Slytherin Quidditch team shouted across the pitch at the jeering Gryffindor team.
Though Albus could play Quidditch well enough on his recreational team, he didn’t think he was ready to lead the house team to victory. How he had landed himself in such a position was still a mystery to him, even as he stood with the over-large Quidditch robes draped on his frame, and his broomstick clutched in his shaky grip. He was competitive and he loved the sport, but he couldn’t help feeling like he was being pushed into shoes that he could never fill.
The whole of the Slytherin house had considered it a great catastrophe when the Seeker for their team had fallen ill earlier in the week after a potions experiment gone wrong. Albus had bemoaned the loss with the rest of his peers, wondering how they would ever find a good replacement that could pull off a victory against their rival team.
Then Albus had, quite literally, fallen out of his chair when his Head of House had called him out in the middle of Transfiguration class, requesting to speak with him privately.
Al gathered up his books and his bag, cast a mystified glance toward Scorpius, an apologetic one to his Transfiguration professor, then followed his Head of House down toward his office in the dungeons. He fought off the tremors in his legs as he stood in the middle of the stone office, alone and the subject of Professor Raek’s long gaze. He was expected to proudly represent himself at all times, and Al tried his hardest, despite wondering what it was that had brought him not only to his Head of Houses’s office, but was bad enough to have dragged him out of one of his classes.
“Potter, you’re going to play Seeker this weekend,” Professor Raek ordered.
“What?” Albus squeaked.
Then a rap sounded sharply on the door and the Professor permitted the disturbance. Marks, a forbidding Slytherin seventh year, stepped into the office.
“Well, sir, what did he say?” Marks said the moment he shut the door behind himself.
Albus glanced back and forth between the two. Raek’s expression was expectant.
“What? Me??” Al asked, his eye huge in disbelief. Belatedly, he wondered why Marks had asked about him, as if he hadn’t been sitting right there in the room. Albus frowned.
“Marks has kept an eye on the weekend Quidditch tournaments that the students claim are ‘just for fun’.” Raek looked at Albus with a calculated gaze. “A clever wizard always has a back-up plan,” Raek said, in a low voice, fit with cunning.
“The Quinstar 500 doesn’t hurt either,” Marks jeered, grinning covetously.
“But I’m just a fourth year!” Albus protested.
“Yes, and your father was Seeker for his house team as a first year. What’s your point, Potter?” Raek barked.
Albus blinked. He didn’t think anyone had ever expected so much of him.
“Youngest player on a house team for decades.”
“In over a century. Get it right, Marks,” Raek reprimanded.
Al swallowed nervously. He wasn’t Harry Potter. Albus played Quidditch in the summers with his dad and siblings. He couldn’t, not in a million years, play as well as his father played. He had never even seen his dad at the top of his game, never mind actually won a match against him.
“Come on, Potter. Don’t sissy-out,” Marks pressured. “We just need you to fill in for the weekend. Keep the Gryffindor Seeker away from the Snitch long enough for us to get a large margin. Then it won’t even matter if you catch the Snitch or not.”
“You can do this, Potter,” Raek echoed. “Practice with the team all week and you’ll win us the match.”
It didn’t seem as though Albus really had a choice.
So he agreed.
..:..
“Seeker for this weekend’s game?!” Lorcan repeated loudly over the Great Hall as he plopped down amidst grumpy fourth year Slytherins over breakfast the next morning. His brother, Lysander, was already seated at the Ravenclaw table next to a cute blond they all knew he fancied. Perhaps today would be his lucky day.
Sometimes Al wished ‘getting lucky’ for him didn’t mean being pushed onto a Quidditch team he was bound to fail. He thought he might be happy enough just to have the attention of someone he fancied.
“News travels fast,” Albus said without enthusiasm.
“Come on, it’s bleedin’ awesome!” Scorpius said, swinging an arm around Albus as he enthusiastically tore off a bite of sausage with his teeth.
“Don’t say bleeding,” a girl’s voice echoed sharply.
“Ouch!”
Albus looked over as Scorpius removed his arm from Al’s shoulders. Instead his fingers rubbed his other arm in pained annoyance as he scowled at the girl.
“It’s so unrefined,” Raven LeCrough said as she glared back at him. She was a girl in their year who had always been in the majority of their classes. She was Slytherin to the core, but Al thought she also made a pretty good Prefect-in-the-making.
Scorpius rolled his eyes and turned his back to her, motioning for Albus and Lorcan to lean in.
“Marks picked Albus out to play for the team! Out of everyone in Slytherin!” Scorpius beamed.
“You’re gonna kill ‘em,” Lorcan said. “You’ll get the Snitch inside four minutes, I just know it!”
Albus appreciated the vote of confidence, but he had only managed to catch the Snitch so quickly just one time - during one of their weekend games, and the other team had been one-player down.
“I’m just glad Slytherin already played Ravenclaw, so I don’t have to decide who to cheer for.” Lorcan smirked as he ate some of his toast.
“Are you telling me you cheered for Ravenclaw?” Scorpius looked scandalised.
“They’re muh house team,” Lorcan said through the food in his mouth.
Scorpius looked slightly ill, and turned back to his own breakfast.
Albus, on the other hand, didn’t just look ill; he was starting to feel it, too. He pushed his breakfast away, disinterested. How could he possibly play Seeker for the house team against the Gryffindors, with his whole family cheering against him?
“Oh, Merlin,” Scorpius breathed, dragging Albus from his thoughts. His voice sounded alarmed, and Al’s gazed immediately snapped over to see the Daily Prophet lying where Scorpius’s breakfast plate had been.
“What is it?” Al asked, leaning over to see what Scorpius was looking at.
“What, what?” Lorcan asked, stretching across the table.
“It’s… Someone wrote in a letter to the editor about my dad,” Scorpius said.
“What does it say?” Lorcan asked.
“Give it here,” Albus said, pulling the paper over and reading it aloud quietly for the three of them.
“Dear Editor,
Since it seems that the Ministry is no longer in the business of listening to the voice of the public and providing them with the equality, fairness, and respect they once claimed we all deserved, it is my hope that the editor of the Daily Prophet will take it upon himself to let the truth win out.
It recently came to the attention of the Ministry that a particular high-name wizard went missing, despite the fact that this wizard was one if its very own, and therefore should not have been easily misplaced to begin with. Nevertheless, every effort has, reportedly, been made to track him down. It seems their resources simply can not be exhausted when it comes to this wizard. While the world, no doubt, hopes for the best outcome, at the same time, all remain ignorant that he was not the first to go missing.
The Ministry, not for the first time, has refused to conduct itself according to those laws by which it governs that all wizard-kind should behave. Fairness to all creatures, and equality of life, regardless of the shape in which it comes.
Then why does the Ministry not conduct as thorough a search for Mr Draco Malfoy? It may come as a shock to the wizarding world to learn that this wizard has been missing for over seven months, and yet not one report, not one paper or article has bothered to search for him and find out what happened. The Ministry has enough evidence to suspect that foul play was involved in the disappearance, and yet they sit idly by and allow any other excuse to fill the gap, so as not to waste precious resources on a wizard they apparently deem not to be important enough. Not to hold enough value. Not to be worth the work.
I ask you - what happens when one of us ‘normal’ wizards or witches goes missing, is injured, abducted, maimed, or killed? Will the Ministry bother to do anything for its people, the general public, or is its only concern for money, paperwork, and fame?
Sincerely,
A Very Disgruntled Reader”
The three boys blinked and looked around at each other, stunned.
“It… It mentioned both our dads,” Albus said, glancing at last to Scorpius.
“This is the first time anything’s been printed about my father missing,” Scorpius said so quietly it sounded like a whisper.
“Maybe more people will start looking,” Lorcan added hopefully, his eyes large and soft as he glanced between the two of them.
“Who do you think wrote the letter? Do you think it’s someone you know? Like your mum maybe?” Albus asked Scorpius.
“I…I don’t know. It doesn’t sound like her. Do you think someone else out there cares about my father?” Scorpius asked, skeptical but for the smallest trace of hope.
“Of course. Like the person said, what if it was one of us, and not one of the Ministry’s Aurors who disappeared? We want to know that the Ministry is a government we can trust, and the fact that they’ve done nothing about your father doesn’t seem promising at all,” Albus said.
“Hey,” Lorcan interrupted, peering at the paper for a second look at the letter Albus had read. “What do you think they mean when they say that the Ministry has enough evidence to suspect that foul play was involved…?”
Scorpius looked up at him, brow suddenly knit deeply.
“I don’t know,” he breathed.
Albus glanced at him, but could tell that Scorpius had just delved deep into his own thoughts, his eyes moving back and forth as he dug into his mind for whatever clues or information might shed some light on the subject. He said nothing for several minutes, by which time they realised that the others around them were getting up from the table, packing their bags and departing for classes.
“Come on, we’ll meet at lunch and talk about it then,” Lorcan said as he folded up the paper and stood to gather his things. “I’ll tell Lysander and see if he has any ideas.”
Scorpius nodded his head wordlessly, and followed Al to their first class.
..:..
Albus shook his head, forgetting the images of his friends and the Great Hall. The week had flown by, and he was standing next to Marks and the other wizards on the Slytherin House Quidditch team. It was comprised of all very hulking and gargantuan wizards - not a single witch on the team. He felt small compared to them, and couldn’t imagine his father being a mere first year, in the shadows of such larger teammates - and opponents.
“Are you sure about this?” Albus questioned Marks uncertainly. With two minutes to go, it probably wasn’t the time to be casting doubt, but he really wasn’t sure that everyone had thought this through very thoroughly.
“Don’t question me,” Marks grunted, turning back to his team and herding them into a huddle for a pep talk.
It was the Slytherin way, not to coddle, and Albus made it a point to raise his chin and instead repeat the mantra he had running in his head about catching the Snitch and not being a loser.
As they made it out onto the pitch, his ears perked up when he heard familiar voices cheering his name, loud enough to rise above the general roar of the whole school gathered on the pitch. On the other hand, the Gryffindor shouts were also blaring, and he could picture his whole family turned against him and his team.
He didn’t have long to ponder it, however, as the game started and the players were in the air, racing to and fro, throwing the Quaffle and beating Bludgers. Al kept his eyes darting around the pitch, expecting to see a flash of reflected light at any moment. The Gryffindor Seeker was keeping a close eye on him, but also appeared to be watching carefully for any sign of their prize.
Al spotted a fleck of light, convinced at first that it was probably a reflection from someone’s spectacles in the stands, but then he thought he also saw the flutter of wings. Albus took off, racing across the pitch, as cheers echoed behind them, the audience taking note of his move. The Gryffindor seeker was close on his tail, the two competing and urging their broomsticks further and faster. Al was proud of the performance of his new broomstick, which seemed to be outstripping its lesser opponent.
Until it suddenly halted in midair.
Al flew over the end, barely hanging onto the stick with one hand, and clambering quickly to get back on the broom again, worried over the prospect of falling to the ground, several feet below.
Jeers rose from Gryffindor team members and their supporters in the crowd. Al struggled to get seated on his broom, not understanding why it had stopped moving without reason. He thought he must have knocked some special switch or automatic halt.
He pressed on, the Snitch now lost, feeling extremely lucky that the Gryffindor Seeker had lost sight of it as well.
But the rest of the game turned out to be even more disastrous.
The Quinstar 500, which Al had been unbelievably proud of, began to stall repeatedly, sometimes making it feel as though some kind of magic was fighting back against Albus. He couldn’t understand what the problem was, and to make him even more miserable, half of the school was laughing at him and his ridiculous display, barely being able to hang onto his broomstick.
Marks was none too happy with their errant Seeker, but Albus tried as hard as he could to master his rebellious broomstick.
Finally, in one long fight to reach the Snitch before the Gryffindor Seeker did, Al stretched his arm out, urging the broom on faster with his knees. He felt wings flutter by his fingertips, heard the other Seeker growl, and finally Al’s hand closed around the tiny ball.
Roars and cheers erupted, a sore-loser of a Beater vented his anger upon one of the Bludgers, and then, riding victoriously on his broomstick, glorious grin plastered on his face, some fifty feet above the pitch, Al felt the magic under him suddenly surge and then completely disappear.
Someone screamed, wind rushed by Al’s ears and his hair was whipping around his face, his stomach dropping in fear as his body began to plummet to the earth, the broomstick no longer providing any support for his flying.
More screams and shouts echoed in his ears, but all he could feel was himself falling, and falling, and falling.
‘Mum’ll kill me,’ Albus thought to himself.
Then he blacked out.
Next: Chapter 11
Chapter: Ten
Rating: PG
Characters: Harry, Ginny, Hermione, Ron, Draco, Albus, Scorpius, Lorcan, Lysander, James, Lily, etc.
Summary Things are just as they should be - except for siblings in opposing houses, wizards gone missing, quarrels with old professors, the Ministry's obvious favoritism, and the weight of the world resting upon two Potters' shoulders. HPDH+Epilogue compliant.
Written: 15 Jan., 25 May 2009
Notes: It’s a future fic. Beta-ed by Coshie.
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Previous Chapters: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 |
--
“You’ll eat your words when Potter catches the Snitch right in front of your face!” the captain of the Slytherin Quidditch team shouted across the pitch at the jeering Gryffindor team.
Though Albus could play Quidditch well enough on his recreational team, he didn’t think he was ready to lead the house team to victory. How he had landed himself in such a position was still a mystery to him, even as he stood with the over-large Quidditch robes draped on his frame, and his broomstick clutched in his shaky grip. He was competitive and he loved the sport, but he couldn’t help feeling like he was being pushed into shoes that he could never fill.
The whole of the Slytherin house had considered it a great catastrophe when the Seeker for their team had fallen ill earlier in the week after a potions experiment gone wrong. Albus had bemoaned the loss with the rest of his peers, wondering how they would ever find a good replacement that could pull off a victory against their rival team.
Then Albus had, quite literally, fallen out of his chair when his Head of House had called him out in the middle of Transfiguration class, requesting to speak with him privately.
Al gathered up his books and his bag, cast a mystified glance toward Scorpius, an apologetic one to his Transfiguration professor, then followed his Head of House down toward his office in the dungeons. He fought off the tremors in his legs as he stood in the middle of the stone office, alone and the subject of Professor Raek’s long gaze. He was expected to proudly represent himself at all times, and Al tried his hardest, despite wondering what it was that had brought him not only to his Head of Houses’s office, but was bad enough to have dragged him out of one of his classes.
“Potter, you’re going to play Seeker this weekend,” Professor Raek ordered.
“What?” Albus squeaked.
Then a rap sounded sharply on the door and the Professor permitted the disturbance. Marks, a forbidding Slytherin seventh year, stepped into the office.
“Well, sir, what did he say?” Marks said the moment he shut the door behind himself.
Albus glanced back and forth between the two. Raek’s expression was expectant.
“What? Me??” Al asked, his eye huge in disbelief. Belatedly, he wondered why Marks had asked about him, as if he hadn’t been sitting right there in the room. Albus frowned.
“Marks has kept an eye on the weekend Quidditch tournaments that the students claim are ‘just for fun’.” Raek looked at Albus with a calculated gaze. “A clever wizard always has a back-up plan,” Raek said, in a low voice, fit with cunning.
“The Quinstar 500 doesn’t hurt either,” Marks jeered, grinning covetously.
“But I’m just a fourth year!” Albus protested.
“Yes, and your father was Seeker for his house team as a first year. What’s your point, Potter?” Raek barked.
Albus blinked. He didn’t think anyone had ever expected so much of him.
“Youngest player on a house team for decades.”
“In over a century. Get it right, Marks,” Raek reprimanded.
Al swallowed nervously. He wasn’t Harry Potter. Albus played Quidditch in the summers with his dad and siblings. He couldn’t, not in a million years, play as well as his father played. He had never even seen his dad at the top of his game, never mind actually won a match against him.
“Come on, Potter. Don’t sissy-out,” Marks pressured. “We just need you to fill in for the weekend. Keep the Gryffindor Seeker away from the Snitch long enough for us to get a large margin. Then it won’t even matter if you catch the Snitch or not.”
“You can do this, Potter,” Raek echoed. “Practice with the team all week and you’ll win us the match.”
It didn’t seem as though Albus really had a choice.
So he agreed.
..:..
“Seeker for this weekend’s game?!” Lorcan repeated loudly over the Great Hall as he plopped down amidst grumpy fourth year Slytherins over breakfast the next morning. His brother, Lysander, was already seated at the Ravenclaw table next to a cute blond they all knew he fancied. Perhaps today would be his lucky day.
Sometimes Al wished ‘getting lucky’ for him didn’t mean being pushed onto a Quidditch team he was bound to fail. He thought he might be happy enough just to have the attention of someone he fancied.
“News travels fast,” Albus said without enthusiasm.
“Come on, it’s bleedin’ awesome!” Scorpius said, swinging an arm around Albus as he enthusiastically tore off a bite of sausage with his teeth.
“Don’t say bleeding,” a girl’s voice echoed sharply.
“Ouch!”
Albus looked over as Scorpius removed his arm from Al’s shoulders. Instead his fingers rubbed his other arm in pained annoyance as he scowled at the girl.
“It’s so unrefined,” Raven LeCrough said as she glared back at him. She was a girl in their year who had always been in the majority of their classes. She was Slytherin to the core, but Al thought she also made a pretty good Prefect-in-the-making.
Scorpius rolled his eyes and turned his back to her, motioning for Albus and Lorcan to lean in.
“Marks picked Albus out to play for the team! Out of everyone in Slytherin!” Scorpius beamed.
“You’re gonna kill ‘em,” Lorcan said. “You’ll get the Snitch inside four minutes, I just know it!”
Albus appreciated the vote of confidence, but he had only managed to catch the Snitch so quickly just one time - during one of their weekend games, and the other team had been one-player down.
“I’m just glad Slytherin already played Ravenclaw, so I don’t have to decide who to cheer for.” Lorcan smirked as he ate some of his toast.
“Are you telling me you cheered for Ravenclaw?” Scorpius looked scandalised.
“They’re muh house team,” Lorcan said through the food in his mouth.
Scorpius looked slightly ill, and turned back to his own breakfast.
Albus, on the other hand, didn’t just look ill; he was starting to feel it, too. He pushed his breakfast away, disinterested. How could he possibly play Seeker for the house team against the Gryffindors, with his whole family cheering against him?
“Oh, Merlin,” Scorpius breathed, dragging Albus from his thoughts. His voice sounded alarmed, and Al’s gazed immediately snapped over to see the Daily Prophet lying where Scorpius’s breakfast plate had been.
“What is it?” Al asked, leaning over to see what Scorpius was looking at.
“What, what?” Lorcan asked, stretching across the table.
“It’s… Someone wrote in a letter to the editor about my dad,” Scorpius said.
“What does it say?” Lorcan asked.
“Give it here,” Albus said, pulling the paper over and reading it aloud quietly for the three of them.
“Dear Editor,
Since it seems that the Ministry is no longer in the business of listening to the voice of the public and providing them with the equality, fairness, and respect they once claimed we all deserved, it is my hope that the editor of the Daily Prophet will take it upon himself to let the truth win out.
It recently came to the attention of the Ministry that a particular high-name wizard went missing, despite the fact that this wizard was one if its very own, and therefore should not have been easily misplaced to begin with. Nevertheless, every effort has, reportedly, been made to track him down. It seems their resources simply can not be exhausted when it comes to this wizard. While the world, no doubt, hopes for the best outcome, at the same time, all remain ignorant that he was not the first to go missing.
The Ministry, not for the first time, has refused to conduct itself according to those laws by which it governs that all wizard-kind should behave. Fairness to all creatures, and equality of life, regardless of the shape in which it comes.
Then why does the Ministry not conduct as thorough a search for Mr Draco Malfoy? It may come as a shock to the wizarding world to learn that this wizard has been missing for over seven months, and yet not one report, not one paper or article has bothered to search for him and find out what happened. The Ministry has enough evidence to suspect that foul play was involved in the disappearance, and yet they sit idly by and allow any other excuse to fill the gap, so as not to waste precious resources on a wizard they apparently deem not to be important enough. Not to hold enough value. Not to be worth the work.
I ask you - what happens when one of us ‘normal’ wizards or witches goes missing, is injured, abducted, maimed, or killed? Will the Ministry bother to do anything for its people, the general public, or is its only concern for money, paperwork, and fame?
Sincerely,
A Very Disgruntled Reader”
The three boys blinked and looked around at each other, stunned.
“It… It mentioned both our dads,” Albus said, glancing at last to Scorpius.
“This is the first time anything’s been printed about my father missing,” Scorpius said so quietly it sounded like a whisper.
“Maybe more people will start looking,” Lorcan added hopefully, his eyes large and soft as he glanced between the two of them.
“Who do you think wrote the letter? Do you think it’s someone you know? Like your mum maybe?” Albus asked Scorpius.
“I…I don’t know. It doesn’t sound like her. Do you think someone else out there cares about my father?” Scorpius asked, skeptical but for the smallest trace of hope.
“Of course. Like the person said, what if it was one of us, and not one of the Ministry’s Aurors who disappeared? We want to know that the Ministry is a government we can trust, and the fact that they’ve done nothing about your father doesn’t seem promising at all,” Albus said.
“Hey,” Lorcan interrupted, peering at the paper for a second look at the letter Albus had read. “What do you think they mean when they say that the Ministry has enough evidence to suspect that foul play was involved…?”
Scorpius looked up at him, brow suddenly knit deeply.
“I don’t know,” he breathed.
Albus glanced at him, but could tell that Scorpius had just delved deep into his own thoughts, his eyes moving back and forth as he dug into his mind for whatever clues or information might shed some light on the subject. He said nothing for several minutes, by which time they realised that the others around them were getting up from the table, packing their bags and departing for classes.
“Come on, we’ll meet at lunch and talk about it then,” Lorcan said as he folded up the paper and stood to gather his things. “I’ll tell Lysander and see if he has any ideas.”
Scorpius nodded his head wordlessly, and followed Al to their first class.
..:..
Albus shook his head, forgetting the images of his friends and the Great Hall. The week had flown by, and he was standing next to Marks and the other wizards on the Slytherin House Quidditch team. It was comprised of all very hulking and gargantuan wizards - not a single witch on the team. He felt small compared to them, and couldn’t imagine his father being a mere first year, in the shadows of such larger teammates - and opponents.
“Are you sure about this?” Albus questioned Marks uncertainly. With two minutes to go, it probably wasn’t the time to be casting doubt, but he really wasn’t sure that everyone had thought this through very thoroughly.
“Don’t question me,” Marks grunted, turning back to his team and herding them into a huddle for a pep talk.
It was the Slytherin way, not to coddle, and Albus made it a point to raise his chin and instead repeat the mantra he had running in his head about catching the Snitch and not being a loser.
As they made it out onto the pitch, his ears perked up when he heard familiar voices cheering his name, loud enough to rise above the general roar of the whole school gathered on the pitch. On the other hand, the Gryffindor shouts were also blaring, and he could picture his whole family turned against him and his team.
He didn’t have long to ponder it, however, as the game started and the players were in the air, racing to and fro, throwing the Quaffle and beating Bludgers. Al kept his eyes darting around the pitch, expecting to see a flash of reflected light at any moment. The Gryffindor Seeker was keeping a close eye on him, but also appeared to be watching carefully for any sign of their prize.
Al spotted a fleck of light, convinced at first that it was probably a reflection from someone’s spectacles in the stands, but then he thought he also saw the flutter of wings. Albus took off, racing across the pitch, as cheers echoed behind them, the audience taking note of his move. The Gryffindor seeker was close on his tail, the two competing and urging their broomsticks further and faster. Al was proud of the performance of his new broomstick, which seemed to be outstripping its lesser opponent.
Until it suddenly halted in midair.
Al flew over the end, barely hanging onto the stick with one hand, and clambering quickly to get back on the broom again, worried over the prospect of falling to the ground, several feet below.
Jeers rose from Gryffindor team members and their supporters in the crowd. Al struggled to get seated on his broom, not understanding why it had stopped moving without reason. He thought he must have knocked some special switch or automatic halt.
He pressed on, the Snitch now lost, feeling extremely lucky that the Gryffindor Seeker had lost sight of it as well.
But the rest of the game turned out to be even more disastrous.
The Quinstar 500, which Al had been unbelievably proud of, began to stall repeatedly, sometimes making it feel as though some kind of magic was fighting back against Albus. He couldn’t understand what the problem was, and to make him even more miserable, half of the school was laughing at him and his ridiculous display, barely being able to hang onto his broomstick.
Marks was none too happy with their errant Seeker, but Albus tried as hard as he could to master his rebellious broomstick.
Finally, in one long fight to reach the Snitch before the Gryffindor Seeker did, Al stretched his arm out, urging the broom on faster with his knees. He felt wings flutter by his fingertips, heard the other Seeker growl, and finally Al’s hand closed around the tiny ball.
Roars and cheers erupted, a sore-loser of a Beater vented his anger upon one of the Bludgers, and then, riding victoriously on his broomstick, glorious grin plastered on his face, some fifty feet above the pitch, Al felt the magic under him suddenly surge and then completely disappear.
Someone screamed, wind rushed by Al’s ears and his hair was whipping around his face, his stomach dropping in fear as his body began to plummet to the earth, the broomstick no longer providing any support for his flying.
More screams and shouts echoed in his ears, but all he could feel was himself falling, and falling, and falling.
‘Mum’ll kill me,’ Albus thought to himself.
Then he blacked out.
Next: Chapter 11