human again / hp.

Chapter 12

The morning air was electric as we made our way to the Quidditch pitch, the roar of the crowd growing louder with every step. Gryffindor's scarlet banners waved proudly in the brisk wind, and I could see the green and silver of Slytherin's supporters across the field. The excitement in the air was infectious, and despite my nerves for Harry, I couldn't help but feel a thrill of anticipation.

We settled into the stands, Hermione clutching a borrowed pair of binoculars while Ron practically bounced with excitement. "This is going to be brilliant," he said, craning his neck to watch as the players filed onto the field.

Harry looked small but determined as he followed the rest of the Gryffindor team onto the pitch. He mounted his new Nimbus Two Thousand, and even from the stands, I could tell he was trying to steady his nerves.

Madam Hooch, the Quidditch referee, stepped forward with her whistle, her stern gaze sweeping across the players. "I want a clean game, all of you," she called out, before releasing the balls.

The Quaffle soared into the air, and the game began.

The match was intense from the start. Gryffindor's chasers—Angelina Johnson, Katie Bell, and Alicia Spinnet—wasted no time, darting around Slytherin's burly chasers with precision. The Quaffle zipped between hands as they sped toward the Slytherin goalposts, and the crowd erupted as Angelina scored the first goal of the match.

"YES!" Ron bellowed, pumping his fist in the air. "Take that, Flint!"

The Slytherin captain, Marcus Flint, scowled darkly and immediately took possession of the Quaffle, barreling toward Gryffindor's Keeper, Oliver Wood. Flint passed to one of his teammates, who attempted a shot, but Oliver deflected it with a skillful save, sending the crowd into another frenzy.

Meanwhile, the Beaters were locked in a fierce battle to control the Bludgers. Gryffindor's Fred and George Weasley worked seamlessly together, aiming the heavy black balls at the Slytherins with precision while protecting their own players. At one point, a Bludger came hurtling toward Harry, but Fred swooped in and sent it careening toward a stunned Slytherin chaser instead.

Harry circled high above the chaos, his eyes scanning the field for any sign of the Golden Snitch. I watched him anxiously, gripping the edge of my seat as the game grew rougher. Slytherin was playing dirty, as usual, and their tactics were only getting more aggressive.

Suddenly, a collective gasp rose from the crowd. Harry's broom, which had been steady and swift all game, began to lurch violently. He clung on tightly, his knuckles white as the broom bucked and twisted in the air like a wild horse.

"What's happening?" Hermione asked, her voice rising with panic.

"I don't know!" I said, feeling helpless as we watched Harry struggle to stay on. The broom seemed to have a mind of its own, jerking him dangerously close to the stands before veering off toward the goalposts.

"It's Snape!" Ron said suddenly, pointing toward the professor in the stands. Snape was seated with the other teachers, his lips moving as his dark eyes stayed fixed on Harry. "He's jinxing the broom—I know it!"

Hermione's face turned pale, but determination quickly replaced her fear. "We have to stop him."

Before I could say a word, she was already moving. Hermione ducked and weaved through the crowd, making her way toward the teacher's stand with surprising speed. Ron and I followed, struggling to keep up as she slipped her wand from her pocket.

Hermione reached the stand and crouched behind Snape. With a quick flick of her wand and a muttered "Lacarnum Inflamarae!" the hem of Snape's cloak burst into flames.

The commotion was immediate. Snape jumped up, frantically trying to extinguish the fire, while several other teachers turned to assist. The distraction worked—Harry's broom stopped its erratic movements, and he regained control just in time to avoid colliding with a Bludger.

Relieved but still on edge, I turned my attention back to the game. The score was close, and the tension in the air was palpable. Harry, now steady on his broom, resumed his search for the Snitch. Below him, the chasers were locked in a fierce battle, with Slytherin scoring another goal to bring the game to a tie.

Then, it happened.

A glint of gold appeared near the Gryffindor goalposts, darting and weaving through the air. Harry spotted it immediately and shot forward, his Nimbus streaking across the pitch like a scarlet blur. The Slytherin Seeker, Terence Higgs, noticed a split second later and raced after him.

The crowd was on its feet, shouting and cheering as the two Seekers closed in on the Snitch. Harry had the advantage—his Nimbus was faster, and he reached out, his fingers brushing the tiny golden ball.

But the Snitch veered sharply to the left, and Harry followed, leaning low over his broom. Higgs tried to cut him off, but Harry was too quick, diving straight toward the ground in a daring maneuver that had the crowd screaming in excitement and fear.

"He's going to crash!" I cried, gripping Ron's arm.

But Harry didn't crash. At the last possible moment, he pulled up, his broom skimming the grass as he reached out once more. This time, standing up when trying to grab the snitch.

Everything after that happend really quick, but in the end Harry ended up tumbling to the ground.

Harry straightened up, looking very sick as he suddenly spat the snitch, which was in his mouth, into his hand. The whistle blew, and the crowd erupted into cheers.

"GRYFFINDOR WINS!"

The celebration that followed was deafening. Harry was hoisted onto his teammates' shoulders, the Snitch held high above his head as the Gryffindors cheered and chanted his name. Hermione, Ron, and I pushed our way through the crowd to reach him, our faces beaming with pride.

"That was incredible!" Hermione said, her eyes shining. "You were amazing, Harry!"

Harry grinned, still looking a little dazed. "Thanks. I just... I can't believe I caught it."

Ron clapped him on the back. "You're a natural, mate. Slytherin didn't stand a chance."

As the celebration continued, I couldn't help but glance toward the Slytherin stand. My Twin was sitting defeated in his seat, his expression disgusted as he watched the jubilant Gryffindors.

I shivered as his gaze landed on me, in his eyes I was standing next to a Mudblood and a Bloodtraitor.

He was so going to tell our Father about this.