A Different Story

Chapter 43

7th Of November, 1993

The school talked of nothing but Sirius Black for the next few days. The theories about how he had entered the castle became wilder and wilder; Hannah Abbott, from Hufflepuff, spent much of their next Herbology class telling anyone who’d listen that Black could turn into a flowering shrub.

The Fat Lady’s ripped canvas had been taken off the wall and replaced with the portrait of Sir Cadogan and his fat gray pony. Nobody was very happy about this. Sir Cadogan spent half his time challenging people to duels, and the rest thinking up ridiculously complicated passwords, which he changed at least twice a day.

Harry had no room in his head to worry about anything except the match tomorrow. Oliver Wood kept hurrying up to him between classes and giving him tips. The third time this happened, Wood talked for so long that Harry suddenly realized he was ten minutes late for Defense Against the Dark Arts, and set off at a run with Wood shouting after him, "Diggory’s got a very fast swerve, Harry, so you might want to try looping him"

Harry skidded to a halt outside the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, pulled the door open, and dashed inside. "Sorry I’m late, Professor Lupin. I —" But it wasn’t Professor Lupin who looked up at him from the teacher’s desk; it was Snape.

"This lesson began ten minutes ago, Potter, so I think we’ll make it ten points from Gryffindor. Sit down." Said Professor Snape But Harry didn’t move.

"Where’s Professor Lupin?" Harry asked. "He says he is feeling too ill to teach today," said Snape with a twisted smile. "I believe I told you to sit down?"

"What’s wrong with him?" Harry asked. Snape’s black eyes glittered. "Nothing life-threatening," he said, looking as though he wished it were. "Five more points from Gryffindor, and if I have to ask you to sit down again, it will be fifty."

Harry walked slowly to his seat and sat down. Snape looked around at the class. "As I was saying before Potter interrupted, Professor Lupin has not left any record of the topics you have covered so far —"

"Please, sir, we’ve done Boggarts, Red Caps, Kappas, and Grindylows," said Hermione quickly, "and we’re just about to start —"

"Be quiet," said Snape coldly. "I did not ask for information. I was merely commenting on Professor Lupin’s lack of organization."

"He’s the best Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher we’ve ever had," said Ron Weasley boldly, and there was a murmur of agreement from the rest of the class. Snape looked more menacing than ever.

"You are easily satisfied. Lupin is hardly overtaxing you I would expect first years to be able to deal with Red Caps and Grindylows. Today we shall discuss —"

Harry watched him flick through the textbook, to the very back chapter, which he must know they hadn’t covered.

"— werewolves," said Snape.

"But, sir," said Hermione, seemingly unable to restrain herself, "we’re not supposed to do werewolves yet, we’re due to start Hinkypunks —"

"Miss Granger," said Snape in a voice of deadly calm, "I was under the impression that I am teaching this lesson, not you. And I am telling you all to turn to page 394." He glanced around again. "All of you! Now!"

With many bitter sidelong looks and some sullen muttering, the class opened their books and the class began.

8th Of November, 1993

Harry woke extremely early the next morning; so early that it was still dark. For a moment he thought the roaring of the wind had woken him. Then he felt a cold breeze on the back of his neck and sat bolt upright Peeves the Poltergeist had been floating next to him, blowing hard in his ear.

"What did you do that for?" said Harry furiously. Peeves puffed out his cheeks, blew hard, and zoomed backward out of the room, cackling.

Harry fumbled for his alarm clock and looked at it. It was half past four. Cursing Peeves, he rolled over and tried to get back to sleep, but it was very difficult, now that he was awake, to ignore the sounds of the thunder rumbling overhead, the pounding of the wind against the castle walls, and the distant creaking of the trees in the Forbidden Forest. In a few hours he would be out on the Quidditch field, battling through that gale. Finally, he gave up any thought of more sleep, got up, dressed, picked up his Nimbus Two Thousand, and walked quietly out of the dormitory.

The noise of the storm was even louder in the common room. Harry knew better than to think the match would be canceled; Quidditch matches weren’t called off for trifles like thunderstorms. Nevertheless, he was starting to feel very apprehensive. Wood had pointed out Cedric Diggory to him in the corridor; Diggory was a fifth year and a lot bigger than Harry. Seekers were usually light and speedy, but Diggory’s weight would be an advantage in this weather because he was less likely to be blown off course.

Harry whiled away the hours until dawn in front of the fire, At long last Harry thought it must be time for breakfast, so he headed through the portrait hole alone.

"Stand and fight, you mangy cur!" yelled Sir Cadogan. "Oh, shut up," Harry yawned.

He revived a bit over a large bowl of porridge, and by the time he’d started on toast, the rest of the team had turned up.

"It’s going to be a tough one," said Wood, who wasn’t eating anything. "Stop worrying, Oliver," said Alicia soothingly, "we don’t mind a bit of rain."

But it was considerably more than a bit of rain. Such was the popularity of Quidditch that the whole school turned out to watch the match as usual, but they ran down the lawns toward the Quidditch field, heads bowed against the ferocious wind, umbrellas being whipped out of their hands as they went. just before he entered the locker room, Harry saw Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle, laughing and pointing at him from under an enormous umbrella on their way to the stadium.

The team changed into their scarlet robes and waited for Wood’s usual pre-match pep talk, but it didn’t come. He tried to speak several times, made an odd gulping noise, then shook his head hopelessly and beckoned them to follow him.

The wind was so strong that they staggered sideways as they walked out onto the field. If the crowd was cheering, they couldn’t hear it over the fresh rolls of thunder. Rain was splattering over Harry’s glasses. How on earth was he going to see the Snitch in this?

The Hufflepuffs were approaching from the opposite side of the field, wearing canary-yellow robes. The Captains walked up to each other and shook hands; Diggory smiled at Wood but Wood now looked as though he had lockjaw and merely nodded. Harry saw Madam Hooch’s mouth form the words, "Mount Your brooms." He pulled his right foot out of the mud with a squelch and swung it over his Nimbus Two Thousand. Madam Hooch put her whistle to her lips and gave it a blast that sounded shrill and distant and they were off.

Harry rose fast, but his Nimbus was swerving slightly with the wind. He held it as steady as he could and turned, squinting into the rain.

Harry looked wildly around. Cedric Diggory was pelting up the field, and a tiny speck of gold was shimmering in the rain-filled air between them… With a jolt of panic, Harry threw himself flat to the broom handle and zoomed toward the Snitch. "Come on!" he growled at his Nimbus as the rain whipped his face. "Faster!"

Daphne was sitting in the stands keenly watching Harry fly, and suddenly she felt colder. "What is happening? I'm shivering," she asked while looking around.

Something odd was happening. An eerie silence was falling across the stadium. The wind, though as strong as ever, was forgetting to roar. It was as though someone had turned off the sound, as though Harry had gone suddenly deaf what was going on?

And then a horribly familiar wave of cold swept over him, inside him, just as he became aware of something moving on the field below Before he’d had time to think, Harry had taken his eyes off the Snitch and looked down.

At least a hundred Dementors, their hidden faces pointing up at him, were standing beneath him. It was as though freezing water were rising in his chest, cutting at his insides. And then he heard it again someone was screaming, screaming inside his head a woman

"Not Harry, not Harry, please not Harry!"

"Stand aside, you silly girl stand aside, now"

"Not Harry, please no, take me, kill me instead —"

Harry was falling, falling through the icy mist.

"Not Harry! Please have mercy have mercy"

A shrill voice was laughing, the woman was screaming, and Harry knew no more.

"HARRY!" Daphne screamed. He was falling down from the heights. Before she could run to the field, Damian grabbed her hand and pointed to an enraged Ignotus Potter, who was running onto the field, waving his wand, and Harry slowed down before hitting the ground.