The Lewis House 54 страница

Over Boomer's head, something glittered.

Harry felt a surge of triumph - Boomer had certainly got his attention at the wrong moment - this was it. He leaned forward and shot towards the Snitch, which was dropping lower and disappearing behind Boomer's head. Harry shifted angles and knocked Boomer to the side and out of his way. There was a painful - but somehow satisfying - collision of shoulder on shoulder and skull on skull; Harry's head began to throb but it didn't matter. He strained to find the Snitch. Where was it? It hadn't had time to disappear… it had to be right here…

The whole crowd gasped at once. They seemed to get to their feet as one body and lean towards the opposite end of the pitch. Harry's head snapped to the place where they were looking and his blood ran cold.

There was the Snitch. Half the pitch away, its silver wings unmistakable against the shining green grass. And Holgate was right on top of it.

There was no hope. Knowing that the game was over, and flooded with a bitter, sickening disappointment, Harry hurried forward anyway, determined to make an effort, unable to sit still when the Snitch was in sight. But Holgate's hand was already stretched out, and the Snitch was ten feet from his fingers.

THWACK!

Marty and Medusa had brought their bats down simultaneously on a Bludger. It went speeding towards the Snitch, flying straight and true and faster than Harry had ever seen a Bludger go. It grazed Holgate's outstretched fingers, making the Kestrels' Seeker yelp and recoil. Surprise and obvious pain threw Holgate off balance and he spiraled away from his target.

The Snitch scarpered off.

"BRILLIANT!" Lee's voice was hoarse, and the whole crowd could now hear some kind of struggle happening in the press box, along with the announcements. "THE MOST ACCURATE DOPPLEBEATER DEFENSE I'VE EVER SEEN!"

"JUST AS IMPRESSIVE WAS HOLGATE'S PINPOINT PRECISION - THE MATCH WAS NEARLY OVER RIGHT THERE, WASN'T IT, LEE?"

"NOT A CHANCE, SKIP, YOU WANK-"

"AND CAN ANYONE TELL ME WHY POTTER WAS DANCING AROUND WITH BOOMER WHEN THE SNITCH FINALLY DECIDED TO SHOW ITSELF? HE'S CERTAINLY FORTUNATE TO BE FLYING WITH SUCH A FINE TEAM TONIGHT - APPARENTLY, WOOD'S RESERVES ARE WELL BELOW THE STANDARD OF HIS FIRST STRING -" There was another blast of static, and the announcer's voices cut out again.

It still didn't make sense. Harry's back ached and the uncomfortable stickiness inside his shirt told him he was bleeding hard. He glanced back at the spot where he'd been hit by the Bludger, and tried to work it out. He'd seen something. It hadn't been his imagination, and it had been the size of a Snitch.

Or a Galleon coin.

Harry narrowed his eyes at Boomer, who smirked up at him from below. Boomer had been hovering next to the leprechauns… Perhaps he'd taken a leaf out of their book and decided to try a diversionary tactic of his own, however illegal…

"Didn't you hear that, Harry?" Medusa said, flying up to him red faced and panting. "They're taking a penalty shot, we have to clear out."

"What for?" Harry asked, dismayed.

"Blatching and Cobbing. They're calling you on that collision with Boomer and a double foul's a penalty. Come on, get back behind center."

He'd been hit, he'd almost lost the game, and he'd been duped into fouling twice. Irritated with himself and furious with Boomer, Harry flew back to mid pitch and watched Kyle Kirkpatrick make toward Oliver, Quaffle in hand. Oliver flew a rapid double eight loop, seeming to block all three hoops at once. But of course that was impossible, and as soon as Oliver was as far right as his looping took him, Kirkpatrick shot left. Harry clutched his broom and winced - it didn't seem possible to stop the goal, but Oliver looped swiftly around again, curled his legs around his broom, and flung himself sideways in front of the Quaffle, taking it right in the chest.

"NO GOAL!"

The crowd stamped and cheered, and Harry exhaled. He hadn't even realized that he'd been holding his breath.

The match resumed at twice its previous speed and brutality. The Kestrels now threw themselves entirely into defense and Quaffle-stealing, but their efforts seemed to result in more accidental anatomy-seizing than anything else, and their errors put the Quaffle back in the hands of the Cannons again and again. Goal after goal went past Abbie Friar, who was wearing down with every shot. Not even Boomer, whose double-handed assaults on the Bludgers should have resulted in several serious injuries to the Cannons, seemed able to break their strength and focus. They were simply a stunning team; Oliver's harsh practice schedule had certainly paid off and Harry found himself wishing he could watch their maneuvers from the stands. As it was, he sped from corner to corner, unblinking, making sure to be on all sides of play so that nothing could escape his sight. He would not fail again.

"ONE HUNDRED FORTY - TEN!" cried the referee. "QUAFFLE TO THE KESTRELS!"

It hardly mattered, though, Harry reflected, whether he caught the Snitch or not. Unless it came out right now, there was a good chance that the Cannons were going to win it without him.

Something sparkled in the air on his right.

Harry swerved towards it, lurched forward - and stopped. Whatever it had been, it had already vanished, and Boomer was sitting close to the spot where he'd just seen it. The Kestrels' Beater was looking, perhaps too deliberately, in the other direction.

"What the hell are you doing?" Harry hollered at his back. Boomer didn't turn. But he was tossing out leprechaun gold, Harry was sure of it now, and he flew towards Oliver as fast as he could.

"Call a time out!" he yelled, approaching the goal hoops.

Oliver didn't look at him, so intent was he on watching the movements of the Quaffle, which was still in his Chasers' hands at the other end of the pitch. "Why?" he barked. "What's happening?"

"It's Boomer - he's got a pocket full of leprechaun gold and he's tossing it out as a distraction," Harry panted, watching Oliver's face go scarlet with rage.

"That ---" and Oliver called Boomer exactly what Ron would've.

"That's what had me going before," Harry explained hurriedly, still scanning the pitch for fear that the Snitch would choose this moment to flutter out and catch him off guard yet again. "Get the ref to check him, I'll bet he's still got some on him - call a time out -"

"Done."

Oliver raised his arms to make the giant T that signaled the need for a pause - but before he had done it, there was a flash of light in the center of the pitch.

Harry spun towards it as if magnetized, and strained his eyes as hard as he could. Was that… silver and gold…? And was it flying… up?

"DON'T CALL ANYTHING!" he shouted frantically. Without wasting another second, he shot forward towards what he knew was the Golden Snitch, and the closer he got, the more obvious it became; it shivered and hovered and threatened to dart at any second. It had to be his.

"YEAH, HARRY! IT'S YOURS!"

It was Ron's voice, and his single, hoarse cheer ignited an agitated hum which swept the stands. The noise started low and gained momentum as Harry did, buzzing and shrieking, the rumble of cheers and shouts growing until its volume made the air seem to vibrate, sending Harry forward even faster.

"GO ON, HARRY!" Oliver bellowed behind him. "CATCH IT, MAN!"

The dark world outside the pitch and the bright stadium around him seemed to narrow down to one walnut-sized point as Harry sped forward, his back throbbing, his fingers stiff with cold, his hair sleeking back in the wind. On the opposite side of the Snitch, equally as far from it as he was, Harry saw the dim blur of emerald green and yellow that he knew must be Adam Holgate, racing headlong towards him. It hardly mattered. Holgate would have to smash right into him if he wanted that Snitch.

Twenty yards - Harry flattened to his broom. The world was gone in a haze of speed. Fifteen - he stretched out one hand. His eyes stung in the wind, even behind his glasses, but he forced them to stay open; he would not blink. Ten - he let go with both hands and stretched towards the silver wings that uncurled and beat and flashed and toyed with him. Five yards - Harry rocketed forward without a care for his safety - there was Holgate, just on the other side of the Snitch, going just as fast as he was, looking just as unlikely to back away… Three yards…. Two…

Harry stretched until he thought his arm would come out of the socket.

CRUNCH!

Pain. Agonizing pain - his arm hadn't come out of the socket, but had gone into it instead. There was a gasp and groan from the crowd. Harry gripped the broom with his left hand which, for a moment, still seemed to be working, but it didn't last. The pain dulled every other sense, and Harry felt his muscles relax… gravity gave way…

Hitting the ground wasn't as bad as it should have been. Harry thought he'd heard someone yell when he was on his way down - maybe it had been Oliver. Oliver had managed to slow down Knight's body, after all. It was probably the same spell. Harry's thoughts grew fuzzier. The ultra bright stadium lanterns and the dark, dark sky swam above his head, mixing together in his blurred vision to make a lovely mess of light.

Beside him, someone groaned miserably. Harry managed to turn his head.

Holgate lay beside him, his eyes shut and his mouth open, blood gushing out of his left ear and scrape marks all along his face. Harry couldn't move his right hand. Perhaps his hand and Holgate's head had…

"Harry - oh, Harry -"

Harry couldn't turn his head far enough to see the owner of that voice, but he knew who it was, and regardless of the pain in his arm, a warm feeling flooded his stomach. "Ginny," he croaked. "You're… here?"

"Yes of course - I heard your name on the wireless and came right up - but they won't let me in there and oh, you're talking - thank god- I thought -"

"Shh, Ginny, it's all right." The voice was Ron's. He sounded shaken and subdued, not at all like he'd looked up there in the stands.

"Harry, can you hear what I'm saying?" It was a mediwizard. His kind, black face loomed above Harry's, and his white teeth flashed. "Can you tell me your name, son?"

"It's… Harry Potter."

"Good. And how old are you?"

Harry thought about it. "Eighteen?"

"Where do you live?"

"Stagsden."

"Who is the Minister of Magic?"

Harry laughed weakly. "Arthur Weasley. I… I don't have a concussion. It's my arm. My arm - hurts." He had a sudden vision of Lockhart, standing above him and nancying about with a shiny wand. He cringed at the memory. "Be careful," he muttered.

The mediwizard touched his arm gently, near the shoulder. "Here?" he said, but before had even got the word out, Harry had hollered in pain. "All right," said the mediwizard. "All right. We'll get you sorted. Just lie still now."

Moments later, Harry was floated into the air. He lay suspended, feeling surprisingly little pain. Mostly there was just a shadowy haze… and a funny thumping on his arm. It made the pain worse.

"Something…" he managed. "My arm - my elbow - is bouncing."

The mediwizard chuckled. "It may feel that way, but don't you worry, we'll get it all taken care of, Mr. Potter."

"No…" The thumping had greatly increased and it didn't seem to be a part of his arm. There was something…

Harry's heart froze with hope.

"There's something in my sleeve," he whispered. "Look up my sleeve. Hurry."

The mediwizard sighed. "Delirious," he muttered, but obligingly lifted the sleeve cuff of Harry's orange robes, and rolled them back.

Harry reached across his body with his left hand. He groped along his wrist guard to the hot, swollen skin of his elbow until his hand closed around something moving. Something alight. Something cold and small and -

"I caught it," he breathed. "I caught it."

The Snitch beat helplessly against his palm, shivering and twitching, and unfurling its wings between his fingers.

"I caught it," he rasped louder. "Oliver - where's Oliver Wood?"

"Yeah, Harry!" came Ron's strangled cry, from somewhere beyond Harry's field of vision.

Ginny gave a sob.

Oliver said nothing, but a moment later, his face came into view. His eyes were full of tears. "I knew you would," was all he said.

All around Harry, flashbulbs began to pop. He heard the sound of a thousand questions being asked at once, felt the careless, inhumane jostling of what could only have been the press. He shut his eyes.

Harry's hand uncurled. He felt the Snitch lift off, just before the world went black.

Chapter Twenty-Seven and Three Quarters

First String

An AtE Guest Chapter by Firelocks

~*~

Whoa. A guest chapter. How did that happen? Thank you thank you thank you thank you,, from the bottom of my heart, Arabella, Zsenya and every AtE list member, for not murdering me for taking this long with it. A&Z did not know they would hit what was probably the busiest month and a half of my LIFE when I started writing this, and when they said they'd wait for it. And they didn't go back on their word, though if it were me and my chapter was sitting there, finished, I'd've given up and posted it. I'm sure they've learned their lesson, but I still say thanks, because now I feel all special. Oh. I'm smiling like a goof, writing this A/N, after A&Z's surprise.

Thanks also to Arabella and CoKerry for the betas, CoKerry for talking me through a lot of this, and SlowFox, who GOT the chapter for Britpicking and GOT it back to me in record time, which means I GOT this chapter uploaded before I left work, and GOT to get this thing finished before I died of stress and the rest of you murdered me for withholding.

And thanks also to Oliver, who cannot ever growl enough.

Edited 12/1/02 - thank you for the amazing reviews on this chapter. At least I'm easily identifiable now - I'm the one whose head is too large for her house. I have to go through doors sideways. Thanks.

And because a few of you have asked - my other stories are here. Thanks again!

~*~

"Perkins insists that the promotion of Weasley to acting minister can only help the newly reopened Misuse of Muggle Artefacts department. 'In the old days, it was just me and Arthur, alone in this here office," says Perkins, gesturing to the small, crowded room that is now solely his. "But now that he's up there, we've got a lot of new interest, a fair crop of new workers, even volunteers, helping us keep the war damage from the Muggles."

"Eloise?"

Eloise Midgen held up her left hand to stave off whoever was hovering about her desk. "Deadline - five-thirty - hold on -"

"With recovery efforts moving ahead at the expected rate, Perkins says it won't be long before he can get back to what he sees as the most important part of his job. 'Got to keep those screaming teakettles away from the Muggles,' he laughs. 'Screaming tea kettles, shrinking keys - ah, the good old days.' "

Ten minutes to spare. Eloise relaxed slightly, and her breath released in her chest as she placed her signature flourish at the bottom of the parchment to mark the end of the article. She rushed toward the Features desk without looking back to see who had interrupted her.

"Here - artefacts. Sixteen inches."

Leon Price ran an approving eye over the text. "Good, good, yes, very good, okay." He thrust it into the hands of an editor who just happened to be walking by, and Eloise groaned inwardly to see John Prattleby holding her day's work, a smirk settling on his face.

"Edit that. Five minutes," Leon barked, then fled to the Arts desk. "RUMSON! Get your head out of your arse, I need that story NOW!"

"Well, well." Prattleby scanned the article. "Misuse of Muggle Artefacts, huh?"

Eloise nodded, fixing a smile and hoping Prattleby wouldn't notice its insincerity. A nervous twitch started in her temple.

"So, old Perkins is finally head of his department. Good on him. Looks like a good story, Midgen, I'll get right on it." He turned to walk away, eyes still glued to the parchment, and Eloise exhaled, unwilling to believe she'd got away unscathed.

"Midgen-" called Prattleby from halfway across the newsroom. "Nothing from the minister? Pity, the story could use it. Better luck next time with your Weasley friends, eh?"

A low chorus of snickers started through the room.

"I - r-right." Eloise kept her head down as she turned, trying to shake her ringlets in front of her reddening face. Her desk seemed a mile away, and she slumped toward it. She had thought the others would have given up on her by now, that after almost six months of toiling on stories called New Aurors Begin Training and Florean Fortescue Finances Confectionary, they'd see that, if nothing else, she was trying. She had thought they'd have realized that that first story, back in June, was a fluke; that she had only spoken to Harry because Ginny had been there, and had only spoken to Ginny because Colin had been there. She'd hoped that these people, who were supposed to be her colleagues, would have realized that she never missed a deadline, and that she worked sixty hours a week. She had hoped they would have realized by now that she hadn't been hired because she almost knew Harry Potter.

She had been wrong.

The tiny cubicle was a riot of parchment and scribbles; Eloise stretched her hands out to clean up, but her breath caught and her eyes unfocused, and she realized she was crying.

"Don't - stupid - don't do that," she whispered to herself, only succeeding in dislodging a stream of tears. "You didn't need the minister, you don't go bothering the Minster of Magic for stupid articles about his old office. They're wrong."

Someone nearby cleared his throat, and Eloise snapped her head up to see Colin Creevey standing in front of her desk, his camera tucked under his arm, avoiding her gaze. "Sorry, I - I can come back - "

"No, no," said Eloise hurriedly, swiping under her eyes so furiously that the quill she had been holding slid from her fingers and hit Colin in the chest, nub first.

"Ow!"

"Oh, Colin! I'm sorry!" Eloise exclaimed, putting her hands to her face in horror. But Colin just met her eyes and started laughing. "Don't laugh! I'm sorry, I hurt you, I'm terrible, I'm just so distracted-"

"Really, it's fine." Colin's laughter only redoubled when he saw the massive inksplotch traveling down his robes. "I think you missed your calling, though - ever hear of darts?"

Eloise blinked. "Darts?"

"They're - it's not important. I'll take you to a Muggle pub one of these days and show you," he said, then suddenly coughed and turned his head.

Eloise briefly imagined herself walking into a Muggle pub with Colin, and felt her head go light. She clamped her hands harder to her face.

"So." Colin's face was still slightly pink from the coughing fit. "Are you done for the night?"

"Once Prattleby gets through massacr - I mean - editing - my story, yes. You?"

"I'm just waiting for a few pictures to develop." He stared at her a moment. "And, Mitson wants me to be here when they place them." He pushed back his hair. "And, I should restock the camera." The flush had begun to rise back in his cheeks; he looked like he was about to start hacking again, and Eloise thought about running for a glass of water. "So, maybe - have you eaten?"

Eloise flopped into her chair. She must really look peaked, if Colin had taken to asking vague questions about her health. "No. I forgot. It was this story! Oh, I'm so glad it's done. But don't worry, I'll be okay, I won't starve myself or anything. Though I may curse someone," she said, peering at Prattleby, who looked to be gleefully making slash marks all across her article.

Colin laughed again, his hair shaking down around his eyes. Eloise almost sighed.

"No, you won't. You'd never." He thrust his hands in his pockets and looked at the floor. "Anyway. I'll be over there." He gestured toward his desk, which was right outside the darkroom, and Eloise wished she sat closer to the photography section.

"And, El? He was wrong."

Eloise watched him walk the full length to his desk before she realized what he had said, and started smiling despite the knot in her gut. He was always so reassuring; often, she didn't know what she'd do without Colin's presence in the newsroom - and he did seem to always be there, the same as she was. She didn't know why she spent so much time there; she had never been part of those last-minute deadlines that made it such an exciting place, but she'd been able to help during a few of times on fact-checking and the like, and that was enough. On most days, she couldn't think of a place she'd rather be, but then worthless idiots like Prattleby made nasty comments, and she felt like running back to her flat for a bubble bath and a nice, long book. That is, until Colin turned up and showed her a picture, or asked about her latest story, and she decided to stick around, just for a few more minutes.

She had certainly not expected him to show up at the Prophet. She hadn't ever expected to see him again, not after what had happened to his brother. She had been on the Hogwarts lawn, halfway around the lake, when it had happened, and remembered the cold sweep of events far too clearly. In retrospect, it had been lucky she was there; after all, few sixth years had been able to produce a Patronus, however feeble, and a second year had nearly been Kissed before a hard-earned shadow of Eloise's protector - now a wide, white swan - discouraged the advancing Dementor. But then a vicious and terrible thing had risen from the sunken banks of the lake, and other second years hadn't been as fortunate.

So when Colin had been hired, just two days after Eloise, it came as a friendly shock. Her sister had come in that day from London, where she was trying to make it as an actress; squib or not, Beatrice had always had a magic way with tall, gorgeous men, which was probably because she was tall and gorgeous herself, and always had been. With wide, blue eyes and long blonde hair that reached her slim hips, Beatrice resembled a Muggle version of a veela. Just a few years ago, Eloise would have traded every bit of her own magical blood to look like that. She still felt silly that she had ever entertained such thoughts.

"El - who is that?" her sister had breathed. Beatrice had perched, legs crossed, atop Eloise's just-christened desk, and pointed one high-heeled shoe at the young man who had just entered the newsroom. Eloise hadn't a clue; she'd never seen him before, though it was clear they were similar in age and should have gone to school together. He did have a familiarity about him but she couldn't place it, certainly not on his broad shoulders and easy posture. No one at Hogwarts had looked like that.

"Midgen!" Leon had bellowed, and Eloise, not yet used to being addressed by her last name, had actually wondered who Midgen was before she jumped up and scurried to the Features desk. The click-clack of heels behind her said her sister had followed. "Meet our new photographer, Colin Creevey."

"I - you're not - I mean - COLIN!" She had said it in such disbelief that she felt she might have insulted him, but Colin had just let his jaw drop and answered with an equally astonished "ELOISE!" that had made her giggle with embarrassment and delight.

"Then you know each other. Good. Creevey's going to take Harry Potter's picture. Go with him, but let him go first. Here, questions." Leon had shoved a small scroll into her hands, and a vaguely shocked Eloise had realized she was being assigned her first interview. And it was with Harry Potter, which meant it would most likely go on the front page.

She'd thought she'd be ill.

"Does he know we're coming?" she'd asked timidly.

Leon had laughed. "On my desk at five," he said, and stalked off.

She must have looked terrified, because Colin had instantly assured her that he'd clear the interview with Harry first. Someone coughed from behind her, and Eloise rushed to introduce her sister, exulting privately at the way Colin shook her hand then turned back, barely noticing the blast of charm Beatrice had tried to send his way. Eloise had wondered if Colin knew what a gentleman he was.

"We should wait awhile before going, just make sure they're awake. Feel like filling me in on some of the things I've missed around here?"

Eloise had ushered Beatrice out of the office quite quickly, then sat with Colin at her desk and tried to catch him up. She'd been shocked at how very mature, and how very different, he'd seemed. They hadn't spoken often at school; he was just the squeaky little kid who took all the pictures. He was also two years her junior, but before that first lunch was over, she felt as if there was no age difference at all between them; if anything, she was intimidated by the professional know-how Colin had picked up during his apprenticeships at Muggle newspapers, which turned out to come in useful. If he hadn't been at the Harry interview, she might have died of nerves. And if he hadn't been around the newsroom after her story ran, reassuring her that the stares she was getting from other reporters were fueled by jealousy, she might have quit altogether.

A sharp CRACK! followed by a loud chorus of groans snapped Eloise back to consciousness, and she jumped so high she banged her knees on the underside of her desk. As she rubbed the pain out of her legs, she saw that the cry had come from the sports section, where a good handful of reporters were bunched around the wireless, listening to the Cannons' game. Half the newsroom was scurrying over to the wireless now, and Eloise jumped up to join everyone. She could barely hear over their anxious voices.

"What happened?"

"Shh, listen!"

Дата добавления: 2015-11-04