Heritage

Chapter 7

Harry’s robes flapped around him. The winds at this altitude always caused them to snap sharply against him. Flying and Quidditch always cleared his mind. The winds seemed to blow all his troubles away. But not today. He couldn’t get the thought of the being in the forest out of his mind. He had been having the dream every night for weeks and he always woke up before he could touch the being or see its face. Pensively, Harry watched the game unfold. He had to keep a closer eye on things now that he was captain.

‘Captain’ He smiled. That would take a while to get used to. The Slytherin’s were cheating as always. He flew higher than all the other players as he scanned the pitch for the snitch. He pulled his broom to the left, dodging a speeding bludger.

His keen eyes caught a flash of red below him. He smiled as Ginny shot between two Slytherin chasers. Her crimson tresses dancing around her pale face as she caught the quaffle. With a flick of her wrist, it shot up in the air. She smacked it as hard as possible, balling up her fist, causing it to sail right past the Slytherin keeper and through the hoop.

He whooped and waved at her, causing her to grin and blush. Suddenly, he saw a twinkle of gold out of the corner of his eye. It disappeared. He turned his head, puzzled, focusing his razor-sharp sight on that spot. There it was again. The snitch was hovering, hiding really, in a golden square of the Gryffindor banner. He smiled. It was an excellent camouflage. The snitch blended seamlessly into the gold of the banner. Harry casually steered his broom over to the tower. He didn’t want to scare it away.

‘SCARE the snitch?’ he thought, snorting mentally. ‘That’s right Potter, It isn’t alive and has no feelings but you might SCARE it.’ He shook his head. ‘I must be losing it.’

He kept pretending to scan the pitch. He could feel the heat of Malfoy’s gaze on his back. He didn’t want to tip Malfoy off or scare the snitch away. When he got about 30 feet away, he dove towards it. The snitch darted, tiny golden wings fluttering, towards the hoops. Taking his handle firmly in hand, Harry sped after it. It was strange. Even with his seeker reflexes, the snitch always seemed so fast. Not now. When he focused on it, it seemed sluggish, as if it was in water.

He stretched out, his fingers closing round the snitch and the Gryffindor stand burst into cheers. Harry pulled up swiftly, laughing, and waved his snitch-filled fist in the air. His joy, however, was short lived. A cry rang in his acute ears followed quickly by the roar of the crowds. Harry turned sharply towards the sound. Ginny was pulled a Wronski Feint . . . without her broom!

“Ginny!” cried Ron. He raced towards his sister who was hurtling toward the ground.

Harry knew he would never make it. Cleansweeps were known as the fifth fastest broom in the wizarding world for good reason. Harry stuffed the snitch down his robes. With the glistening handle gripped tightly in his fists, he shot forward, his firebolt ripping through the air like paper. Ginny was only meters from the ground. Harry pushed his broom faster, holding himself as close to the broom as possible. With one leg and one arm wrapped as tight around the broom as he could, he swung out, catching her in his arms, wrapping himself around her and his broom.

To late to pull up, Harry angled himself to take the blow. They hit the sand of the pitch with a gritty thud, sparkling white sand billowing up in clouds around them. Shafts of white-hot pain shot through his body, but he still pushed himself up. Gently, He rolled Ginny onto her back. The left side of her face was swollen; already a quite large bruise was forming. Thick warm blood ran down her pale face from a gash at her temple, coating her silky hair.

Unable to resist, he ran a finger down her face till he cupped her head, his thumb rubbing back and forth along her cheek. Looking down at the unconscious Ginny in his arms, he felt a surge of red-hot unlike anything he ever felt before, even when fighting Voldemort, rip through him.

“Harry!”

He looked up and saw his teammates and several teachers running towards him.

“Harry, is she alright?” cried Ron, who plucked his sister from Harry’s grasp and clutched her to him.

“She’s fine,” Harry muttered, “And I’m alright too. Thanks for asking.”

Ron had enough presence of mind to look chagrined. “Sorry mate. I. . .”

“It’s alright.” Harry groaned as he stood up, feeling every muscle in his body protest.

“Harry, you dirty great git!” exclaimed Ron. “What the bloody hell were you thinking!”

Ignoring Ron, he lifted Ginny into his arms and swept past everyone back to the castle. This didn’t stop Ron; he followed Harry to the hospital wing, hollering all the way.

“Pulling a starfish and stick! Are you out of your bleeding mind? It’s the most dangerous move in Quidditch. No one should ever try it! Says so right in the sodden handbook!” hollered Ron.

“Well it was either pull a starfish and stick or let Ginny break her neck. It seemed like a good idea at the time.” Harry spun around angrily, his face flushed red with anger. “What happened anyway?”

“Slytherins, what else?” Ron frowned darkly. “They Bumphed a bludger at her head right after we won.” Harry swore colorfully and kicked the door to the hospital wing open.

Madam Pomphery shot up from her desk when the group burst in. “What on earth?”

“Bludger to the head,” choked Ron. “Do something.”

Harry gently lowered Ginny onto one the hospital beds. The sheets, like the rest of the hospital wing, were pristine and smelled of antiseptic tinctures. A smell he had learned to hate, a smell as unpleasant as it was common.

Madam Pomphery waved her wand at the medicine closet and several bottles floated over to her. She soaked a sponge in witczel zel and cast a scouring charm over it. It began cleaning and sanitizing Ginny while Pomphery examined Ginny’s head.

“You look a bit roughed up yourself, Potter,” said Madam Pomphery, glancing up at him. “Hop up onto a bed over there and I’ll see to you in a minute.”

I’m Fine.” He insisted.

“Harry, you hit the pitch really hard. You should let her take a look at you,” said Hermione firmly.

“I’m alright!” He glared at Hermione, knowing what this was really about.

“No you’re not!” Not one to be intimidated by glares, Hermione stood her ground, looking Harry straight in the eye

“Hermione…” he shouted.

“Enough!” bellowed McGonegal. “I am head of Gryffindor house, Mr. Potter, and you will do as Madam Pomphery says.”

She turned to Madam Pomphery. “A complete examination.”

“But Professor!”

“Head oe.”oe.” She glared at Harry, a stern glint in her eye. “No arguments Potter.”

He glanced at Ron and Hermione’s worried faces and sighed. He reluctantly sat down on the bed next to Ginny’s. He really hated hospitals. Harry pulled off his boots and Quidditch gloves. A tiny smirk graced his lips as he heard Madam Pomphery herd everyone out of the wing so she could examine him. Ron and Hermione were not happy about it; Ron especially was not shy about voicing his protests.

“Now listen here you dozy cow…”

“Ron!”

A chuckle escaped Harry’s lips as he listened to them squawk. He stripped off his robes and sweater. Sitting down on the bed, he took Ginny’s hand in his. His sixth year, Snape, Quidditch captain, talking trees, the Order, the war, his destiny. . . He sighed. At least his life couldn’t get more complicated than this, right?

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