The Chamber of Desire [ Tomarry

Can We Have a Funeral?

September 15th, 1992.

Harry and Ron decided that they wanted to go outside and play Quidditch together when the weather was really nice, which happened to be really soon. Even though no one else could play with them (they had to study- pfft!), the two boys were still going to play, but they decided to just search for the snitch. After all, that would be hard enough.

Walking outside on a warm Tuesday evening after dinner, Harry and Ron donned on some protective gear like knee-pads and elbow-pads were going to help if they fell, and released the snitch.

Harry flew high in the air as he watched a red blob move frantically around in the air. He laughed when Ron accidentally flew through a tree, effectively getting covered in leaves.

"Go on, then!" Ron called back. "How come you aren't looking for the snitch?"

"It's called 'all good things come to those who wait'!" Harry yelled back. "Flying like a madman won't help you at all!"

"But the only madman I know wasn't just flying like that!"

Harry was about to retort when he saw a flicker of gold in his peripheral vision. Quickly, he turned left and started flying after the snitch, and away from Ron and the manor.

Trying to keep up with the little ball, Harry dove through branches and birds, and he could hear Ron doing the same. Slowly but surely, Harry caught up to the snitch, but as soon as he was about to catch it, the front of his broom hit a huge tree Harry hadn't seen, and his body went propelling forward.

Unable to keep his body weight, Harry fell to the ground, thankfully only about ten feet under him- if he had hit a tree earlier, he would have fallen fifty. Hitting the ground in immense pain, he laid down until he realized something was in his mouth.

When Harry sat up, he spit out the small golden ball that was the snitch. 'Wonderful,' Harry thought, wiping the snitch of his spit. Vaguely, Harry heard laughing in the distance before a huge clunk could be heard.

"Bloody Hell!" Ron shouted from the ground, a couple meters away from Harry. "I was so distracted by you failing that I flew into this fucking tree! I swear to Merlin that tree wasn't there before."

Harry snorted, before reaching out for his broomstick, only to find...pieces of wood. In confusion, Harry turned around to see that his broomstick had shattered.

Panic settled in his heart. "Shit!" Harry cursed, scrambling to pick up all the pieces. How was Harry going to tell Tom that he had fucking bulldozed into a tree and ripped the broomstick he had gotten Harry to shreds? Would he be angry? Disappointed?

"What happened, mate?" Ron slurred, having probably attained a concussion from hitting the tree.

"I broke my broomstick!" Harry shouted back, trying to Magic the broomstick together, to no avail. 'Of course it won't work,' Harry thought bitterly, 'a broomstick cannot be magically fixed, you dimwit.'

This seemed to officially snap Ron out of whatever daze he was in. "Wha-ah!" He screamed, looking down at his own broken broomstick. "No! My prized possession! My baby!"

"How are we going to get back?"

"Who cares about that, Harry? How do we fix her, I want to know now."

Harry shook his head. "We're going to have to get new ones."

"M-my baby, no," Ron wailed, clutching the broomstick end to his chest. "She was so young, s-so innocent. Can we h-have a funeral?"