"You seem to be in quite a bind, Potter," Draco drawled in the Slytherin common room, his voice dripping with mock concern.
Harry didn't need to ask what he meant. Colin Creevey was still dogging his every step.
"No need to worry," Draco continued, a smirk curling his lips. "I'll make sure that filthy little Mudblood learns his place."
"Draco, I don't want you doing anything like that," Harry said sharply, steering the conversation elsewhere. "And I don't want to hear that word. I'm done caring about that attention-seeking pest. Right now, I'm only thinking about the Quidditch Seeker tryouts. It's going to be a great match against you."
Harry's rebuke was firm, but his excitement for the tryouts—set for Saturday, just two days away—bubbled beneath the surface. The anticipation and nerves had him buzzing.
"I'll wipe the floor with you, Potter," Draco shot back. "You'll regret challenging me."
"I don't do regrets," Harry replied. "I'll just give it everything I've got."
Despite his words, Harry burned to beat Draco. Quidditch meant freedom, soaring through the sky unburdened. Surely Draco felt the same. Up there, a Quidditch player was free.
Harry, as the study group's leader, firmly rejected Colin's application to join. Seeing the boy's crestfallen face gave Harry a fleeting sense of satisfaction, and he drove the point home: "Stop doing things people hate, Colin."
But Colin, undeterred, shifted his focus to Zabini. During Quidditch practice, both Zabini and Azrael found themselves targeted by Colin's relentless camera flashes mid-flight.
"That kid's insane…" Zabini groaned, veins bulging as he turned to Hermione. "Granger, do something!"
Hermione couldn't stop Colin, but she uncovered the reason behind his antics. "Apparently, some girls have been clamoring for photos of you all… because, well, you stand out."
"Human desire is terrifying," Harry muttered, a sour taste rising at the thought of Pansy. It wasn't about girls specifically—people could be cruelly inventive without a second thought.
"Even generous folks like us have limits," Azrael said, his tone laced with sarcasm as he glanced at Ron. "There's a cap on this 'celebrity tax,' you know. Not blaming Gryffindor or you, Granger, of course."
Farkas, less tactful, nearly set Ron off. "Colin makes you want to bully him, even if you know it's wrong."
"He's not even a real Gryffindor to us," Ron snapped. "But don't you dare actually bully him, or we're done."
They're not so bad when you talk to them… Ron thought, seeing Azrael and Farkas as friends despite their Slytherin edge. But their casual inclusion of "bullying" as an option grated on him.
"Farkas didn't mean it, Ron," Harry said, keeping the tension in check. "The prefects are handling Colin. He'll bounce back soon, but for now, we're safe. Zabini and I need to focus on Quidditch."
"Yeah…" Ron agreed reluctantly.
Harry and Zabini were set for the tryouts—Harry for Seeker and Chaser, Zabini for Chaser. The open Seeker position pitted Harry against fierce competitors like Draco, while Chaser hopefuls had to outshine the regulars. There was no time to waste on Colin.
Farkas, despite being more skilled than Zabini at Quidditch, couldn't afford the gear and had given up on the sport. Though it clearly weighed on him, he smiled, having found his place in the Duelling Club.
"I'll cheer you on with Azrael," Farkas said.
"I'm rooting for Harry to snag Seeker, not Malfoy," Ron added. "Zabini, you'd better make regular too."
Ron was trying, in his own way, to bridge the gap with Slytherin. "If you guys make the team… I'll cheer for Gryffindor in our matches, but maybe Slytherin against Ravenclaw or something."
"Did you eat something weird?" Harry teased, embarrassed.
"Don't mock me! I'm trying to be nice!" Ron huffed.
"We'll be there to cheer too," Hermione said. "Good luck, Harry, Zabini."
"Wait, Granger, are you trying to get yourself killed?" Zabini asked, wide-eyed.
Harry grinned. "I'll lend you my Invisibility Cloak. It might be warm, but I'd love it if you watched."
"Thanks, Harry," Hermione said. "We'll manage the heat with magic."
And so, Harry and Zabini had the support of Azrael, Ron, Farkas, and Hermione. The weight of their expectations was new for Harry, fueling a fierce desire to win. Dodging Bludgers in practice with Zabini, he felt his focus sharpen.
"I want both Zabini and Harry to win," Farkas said, watching their practice with Azrael. Zabini's Cleansweep outmaneuvered Harry's Nimbus, scoring through the hoop.
"Luck plays a part," Azrael replied, his usual smirk in place. "I can only watch from the ground and hope they pull it off."
Azrael's eyes lingered on Harry's Nimbus. Its performance was free advertising for his family's company, and he quietly rooted for Harry's victory.
"If Harry wins…" Farkas whispered, checking for eavesdroppers, "he could rise to the top of Slytherin."
Farkas held pureblood beliefs but came from a family of former Aurors. He resented the dominance of Death Eater heirs in Slytherin.
"I get it," Azrael said gently, "but it's not that simple. Remember last year's Seeker?"
Slytherin's previous Seeker had faltered against Gryffindor, and the house's power dynamics were rigid. Harry's fame and Black family backing helped, but becoming Seeker could amplify his influence—though Azrael doubted Harry cared for such power.
"Harry's too kind," Azrael added. "Even if he beats Draco, he'd probably let Draco take the spotlight."
Farkas nodded, disappointed but hopeful. Harry could change Slytherin.
Azrael, watching the practice, thought, But what's in it for Harry? No one takes on that kind of hassle.
Saturday morning, Harry barely registered his breakfast, tastelessly shoveling it down with Zabini before grabbing his Nimbus and heading to the Quidditch pitch. Over thirty Slytherin hopefuls gathered, including fifth-year Ricardo Marthinus. Nearby, McGillis Karo clutched a Transfiguration book, joined by Isabella Selwyn and a spruced-up first-year, Elai Brown, there to cheer friends despite no interest in Quidditch. Other hopefuls' friends dotted the stands, the air thick with anticipation.
Harry spotted Azrael and Farkas, with Ron and Hermione likely hidden under the Invisibility Cloak nearby. As he and Zabini warmed up, camera clicks rang out—Colin and Lockhart were watching the tryouts.
Across the pitch, Draco prepared meticulously, his usual arrogance replaced by focus. Crabbe and Goyle, aiming for Beater, stood with him, along with Pansy, Daphne, Tracey, and Millicent, dragged along to support him.
As the hopefuls jogged to warm up, Marcus Flint, Slytherin's hulking captain and Chaser, strode in.
"Welcome, Quidditch lunatics!" Flint bellowed, his presence commanding. A fierce competitor, he rallied the crowd with a speech. "Today, we choose Slytherin's glorious Quidditch team! We swallow our grudges daily to get along, but today, unleash every ounce of resentment! Everyone's your enemy!"
Pointing his wand at the pitch, Flint roared, "Wingardium Leviosa!"
The ground rose, revealing seven gleaming brooms. The crowd erupted.
"Seven Nimbus 2001s!" Flint shouted. "Donated by our esteemed alumnus, Lucius Malfoy! The honor of riding these belongs to Slytherin's regulars. Rejoice, you fools! Crush your rivals and claim these brooms!"
The pitch's energy surged, but the Seeker hopefuls' enthusiasm cooled. So it's rigged for Draco, most thought, resigning themselves. Only Harry and Draco burned with determination.
"That's cheating!" Ron hissed from under the cloak, glaring at Azrael and Farkas.
"It's obviously set up for Malfoy," Hermione fumed. "Buying victory with fancy brooms? Shameless!"
"I should've tried out…" Farkas muttered, eyeing the Nimbuses wistfully.
Azrael chuckled. "Building a stronger team is the point. Quidditch isn't so easy that brooms alone win. Slytherin's just going all-in."
Even I didn't expect seven Nimbuses, Azrael admitted inwardly, surprised Lucius bought eight, including Draco's. Guess we lean into it.
"It's dirty," Ron growled.
"Is it?" Azrael countered. "Seven Nimbuses mean everyone tests on them. Look—Harry and Draco have Nimbuses, but most others have Cleansweeps. This levels the playing field."
"You can't perform at your best on an unfamiliar broom," Ron argued.
"Then you don't deserve to be a regular," Azrael shot back.
Ron groaned, knowing Slytherin's edge would crush most teams this year.
"Call it what you want," Azrael said. "If we win because of broom quality, that's a win for my company."
"Are you invincible or something?" Hermione asked, awed by Azrael's brazen confidence.
Thick skin's a must for running a business, she thought, watching the tryouts with a mix of fascination and unease at Slytherin's ruthless tactics.
Harry threw himself into the tryouts. The first test was a short-distance sprint, followed by a long-distance race.
Flint raised his wand and cast Bombarda, the explosion signaling the start. Harry launched perfectly, his summer training with Cedric Diggory and the Weasley twins paying off. He'd learned how to angle his broom for maximum speed, even if he hadn't mastered every trick.
Harry won the sprint, with Draco a split second behind, followed by Marthinus and the others.
"This is rigged, isn't it?" Ron muttered, watching from afar.
"Some are trying," Farkas said. "Marthinus might be shady, though."
"You two know Quidditch well," Hermione noted.
"We've watched matches since we were kids," Ron said. "You can tell who's slacking from a distance."
Ron noticed one hopeful deliberately lag at the start. Harry and Draco, skilled and familiar with their Nimbuses, outclassed most. They might've won without interference, but seeing blatant sandbagging soured Ron's mood. That can't feel good to fly in.
Damn you, Potter… don't you dare win! Flint thought, nerves fraying.
His plan was to let Draco win narrowly, boosting his confidence as Seeker. He'd arranged shills to ensure it. Any Slytherin should've sensed the tryouts were skewed for Draco.
But Harry didn't play along. Ignoring the rigged atmosphere, he flew with pure joy, focused on winning through skill.
That spelled trouble for Flint. If Draco lost, Lucius might retaliate—revoking the Nimbuses, targeting Flint, or worse, his family and teammates. Signaling his shills and Marthinus, who harbored a grudge against Harry from a past incident, Flint sent a clear message: Crush Potter.
"Bombarda!" Flint roared, starting the long-distance race.
Draco dominated the early race, pushing his broom faster to reclaim his sprint loss. Harry paced himself for the final stretch, but a shill blocked his front, with Marthinus tailing him, thwarting his speed.
Annoying… fine, I'll use them as a windbreak, Harry thought.
Compared to the Weasley twins or Cedric, their moves were clumsy. Harry slipped behind the shill, minimizing drag. Marthinus, frustrated, grabbed at Harry's broom.
"Damn it, Potter! You always get in my way!" Marthinus shouted, lunging.
Harry deftly swerved, causing Marthinus to lose balance and fall. McGillis Karo's levitation spell saved him. Harry, conserving energy, surged forward, closing the gap with Draco. Azrael's group cheered; Pansy's screamed.
The race ended in a tie. Harry and Draco locked eyes, breathless.
"Not bad… for an amateur, Potter," Draco panted.
"I thought I had you… you're really strong," Harry replied.
Flint stepped in. "Draco, Harry, hydrate and rest. In five minutes, you'll hunt the Snitch with Bludgers in play. First to catch it is Seeker. Got it?"
"Yes!" they shouted in unison, retreating to strategize.
"Watch out, Harry," Ron warned, handing him a towel. "Someone might pull something dirty. That blond guy tried grabbing your broom!"
"It's unfair!" Hermione added. "You could've won!"
Harry thanked Zabini for a lemon tea. "I know. Marthinus is like that."
He'd noticed the rigging but accepted it as Slytherin's way. Without countermeasures, he had to play their game.
"A year ago, I crossed him," Harry explained to Ron's confusion. "He's got a grudge."
Zabini sighed, resigned. Farkas stayed quiet, sparing Harry pressure.
"They might tamper with the Snitch or Bludgers," Azrael warned. "Be careful."
"No," Harry said firmly. "The one I need to watch is Draco."
Flint's third Bombarda unleashed the Snitch and Bludgers. Harry and Draco dove for the Snitch, alone in the sky.
Then, a Bludger veered erratically, targeting only Harry.
"Whoa!" Harry dodged by instinct, the Bludger swerving back at him.
Draco, distracted by Harry's shout, lost sight of the Snitch. Glancing over, he saw the Bludger hounding Harry relentlessly.
No… this can't be… Draco thought, looking at Flint, wand in hand but unmoving. From Draco's angle, it looked like Flint was controlling the Bludger.
Was the whole tryout rigged?
Doubt flooded Draco's mind. During the break, his housemates' encouragement felt hollow, except for Pansy's. They'd seen the tampering he hadn't. Lucius's gift of seven Nimbuses, meant to secure his spot, now felt like a chain. Draco wanted to win as himself, not as a Malfoy pawn. A fair fight with Harry could've fulfilled that dream.
Tears welling, Draco searched for the Snitch, driven by his father's expectations.
McGillis Karo, watching, bristled at the Bludger's unnatural targeting. "Who's sabotaging a fair fight? Why isn't Flint stopping this?"
A staunch pureblood, Karo loved Slytherin and its students, despising tainted victories. Unaware of Marthinus's role, he raised his wand. "Protego!"
Isabella Selwyn's plea to "read the room" went ignored. To Karo's shock, the Bludger pierced his shield, still chasing Harry.
"Zabini, stay with Weasley and warm up," Farkas ordered. "Azrael, let's scour the stands for the culprit!"
They searched frantically but found no one casting spells.
Sweat poured off Harry as he dodged the Bludger, eyes locked on the Snitch. He wasn't surprised—just prepared. His focus was Draco and the prize.
Leaping off his broom to evade a Bludger, Harry spotted a glint behind the goal hoop.
Go… no, wait!
He knew charging now wouldn't beat Draco with the Bludger in play. He needed to throw him off. Feinting a Snitch chase, Harry rocketed upward.
Draco, fooled, tilted his broom skyward. Now! Harry braked sharply, redirecting toward the Snitch. The Bludger pursued, but Harry spun left, dodging it—and briefly losing the Snitch.
Where is it?
A golden blur flashed past, heading for Draco's hand. The Bludger ignored him. Harry surged upward, vision darkening, arm outstretched. A sickening crunch rang out as he grabbed the Snitch's wing—just as Draco seized the orb.
"Stop! It's over!" Flint shouted. "The winner… Draco Malfoy!"
By a hair, victory favored Draco. Harry held only a wing, Draco the golden prize. Draco's face, pale and hollow, wasn't that of a victor. He stared at Harry, then the Snitch.
"Congratulations, Draco," Harry said, voice trembling with suppressed tears. "You won."
Colin's camera clicked, narrowly escaping Zabini and Azrael's wrath.
"What's that supposed to mean?" Draco snapped, advancing on Harry. "Are you mocking me? This… this kind of win…!"
"You beat me!" Harry shouted, anger flaring. "Act like it! What's with that face? The winner's right, isn't that our rule? So stop looking like that! What does that make me, the loser?"
Harry had thought he'd outsmarted Draco, but Draco's refusal to quit won out. That result was everything. Alone in the stadium, Harry truly felt the sting of defeat.
I can't end like this. I can still fly!
Rage and adrenaline surged. "I'm trying out for Chaser," Harry declared. "Get out of my way, Draco."
"What? Potter, you need the hospital wing—"
"There's no quitting in Quidditch!" Harry roared. "As long as I can fly, I'll keep going! I'm taking that test, and I won't end a loser!"
"You've got guts, you little brat!" Flint bellowed. "Don't let a one-armed kid beat you! That'd shame Slytherin!"
With the crowd stunned and Chasers glaring, Harry, left arm broken, competed for Chaser. Targeting Cassius Warrington, whose weaknesses he'd studied, Harry relentlessly outplayed him, claiming a regular spot. His skills, though raw, showed promise.
As adrenaline faded, Harry nearly collapsed, steadied by Zabini. Gilderoy Lockhart appeared. "My, Harry, your arm's a mess! Let me fix it!"
"No, thank you," Harry said quickly, face paling. Lockhart's spell record was abysmal.
"No need to be shy!" Lockhart insisted, raising his wand.
"Protego!" Karo and Selwyn's shields blocked Lockhart's spell, which rebounded, deboning his own arm. Amid Slytherin's laughter, Harry and Zabini limped to the hospital wing, chuckling.
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