human again / hp.

Chapter 30

The Quidditch pitch was alive with roaring cheers, the sound carrying through the crisp air as players zipped through the sky in flashes of red and green. The energy of the match was electric, every move met with cries of excitement or groans of frustration from the stands. Gryffindor and Slytherin were neck-and-neck, their rivalry as fierce as ever, but the Slytherins' superior Nimbus 2001s gave them a clear edge.

From my spot in the stands, I sat beside Daphne Greengrass, her platinum-blonde hair was pinned back neatly catching the sunlight as she leaned forward, following the game with sharp, observant eyes. Despite the freezing wind biting at our faces, she looked completely composed, her Slytherin scarf wrapped snugly around her neck. She had become a recent companion of mine, and to my surprise, I found her sharp wit and quiet confidence refreshing.

"Look at Draco," Daphne said, smirking as she gestured to my twin, who was circling above the Gryffindor Chasers like a hawk. His sneering voice carried faintly even from here as he jeered at Potter. "Think he'll actually catch the Snitch this time?"

I chuckled, shaking my head. "If Potter doesn't get himself killed by that Bludger first."

Draco's voice rang out over the din, dripping with mockery. "All right there, Scarhead?"

Below, Potter swerved sharply, narrowly avoiding a Bludger that shot past him with alarming speed. His Seeker reflexes saved him just in time, but not without a warning shout from Oliver Wood, the Gryffindor Keeper.

"That Bludger," Daphne said, narrowing her eyes, "it's not moving right. Look—it's locked onto Potter."

I leaned forward, studying its erratic flight. Sure enough, the Bludger veered away from other players, turning sharply to pursue Potter again. "You think someone tampered with it?" I asked, though the answer seemed obvious.

"Wouldn't surprise me," Daphne muttered, her voice low. Her gaze flicked briefly toward the faculty stands, where Snape sat with a faint, satisfied smirk tugging at his lips.

The crowd erupted into cheers as Slytherin scored again. I glanced toward the scoreboard: 60–40 in Slytherin's favor. Draco swooped down to gloat, earning a curt nod of approval from Snape. The atmosphere in the Slytherin section was electric, but I found my focus drifting.

"I can't wait until I'm out there," I said absently, watching the players dart through the air like streaks of lightning.

Daphne raised an eyebrow, her smirk returning. "For Gryffindor?"

"Yes," I replied without hesitation, earning a raised hand to her mouth to suppress a laugh.

"Oh, Celeste," she teased. "Don't let Draco hear that."

I didn't respond, instead watching as the chaos below unfolded. Potter was diving and weaving, the rogue Bludger tailing him like a predator. I could see Hagrid in the stands, lowering his binoculars and muttering to himself. Around us, the crowd collectively gasped as Draco cut across Potter's path, forcing him to pull up sharply. Both plunged toward the trench that encircled the pitch.

"You'll never catch me, Potter!" Draco shouted, his voice carried by the wind.

The game took a dangerous turn when, moments later, Draco's broom spiraled out of control after a sharp turn gone wrong. He hit the grass with a heavy crash, tumbling to a halt in a heap of green robes. My stomach twisted at the sight, but I kept my expression neutral. Daphne, however, tilted her head, her voice calm. "Is he all right?"

I ignored her question, my attention snapping back to the air. Above the chaos, Harry was still in pursuit of the Snitch, his face grim with determination despite clutching his arm, which hung awkwardly at his side. The Bludger slammed into him again, but he didn't falter. Instead, he made a final, desperate dive, wrapping his fingers around the Snitch just before crashing to the ground.

The stadium erupted in deafening cheers. "Harry Potter has caught the Snitch! Gryffindor wins!" the commentator's voice boomed across the pitch.

Amid the celebration, a sharp cry broke through. "Finite Incantatem!" Hermione's voice rang out from the sidelines, and the rogue Bludger shattered into harmless pieces. A collective sigh of relief rippled through the stands.

"Let's go," Daphne said, rising to her feet and wrapping her robes tighter around her.

I followed her down the steps, casting a quick glance toward Draco, who was being helped off the field by Crabbe and Goyle. My stomach tightened as I imagined our father's reaction to this—not just losing, but doing so in such a public, humiliating fashion.

On the pitch, Hagrid, Ron, and Hermione were helping Harry, who winced as Lockhart swooped in, all pomp and self-importance.

"Ah, leave it to me!" Lockhart declared, drawing his wand with an exaggerated flourish. The crowd groaned, and Daphne and I winced in unison as he muttered a charm that left Harry's arm flopping limply like rubber.

"Oh, for Merlin's sake," Daphne muttered, rolling her eyes.

Madame Pomfrey stormed onto the field moments later, pushing Lockhart aside with a look of barely contained fury. "Out of my way. Should've been brought straight to me," she snapped, her tone brooking no argument.

As we made our way toward the castle, Daphne turned to me, her expression unreadable. "Quite the spectacle," she said.

"Always is with Potter," I replied, though my voice lacked its usual sharpness. My thoughts lingered on Draco, who had disappeared toward the castle, his head held high despite the clear embarrassment.

Later, curiosity got the better of me. I dragged Daphne with me to the hospital wing, where we found Draco lounging dramatically on a cot. Crabbe and Goyle hovered nearby, looking utterly lost without something to eat or smash. Draco, meanwhile, was in full theatrics.

"Celeste!" he exclaimed as I approached. "Did you see what Potter did? Shoved me right into the trench—absolutely disgraceful behavior!"

I crossed my arms, raising an eyebrow. "I saw you lose control of your broom."

Draco scowled, but before he could retort, Madame Pomfrey cut in. "Oh, stop making such a fuss," she said, waving him away. "You're perfectly fine."

From across the wing, I spotted Harry, surrounded by his friends. He grimaced as Madame Pomfrey handed him a steaming glass of Skele-Gro.

"Drink up," she instructed briskly. "Regrowing bones is a nasty business."

Harry swallowed it with visible effort before immediately grimacing in disgust. I smirked despite myself, earning a nudge from Daphne.

"What's so funny?" she asked.

"Nothing," I said, turning back to Draco, who was still muttering indignantly. But my gaze flickered once more toward Potter, the boy who had somehow stolen the spotlight—and the Snitch—yet again.