Chapter 19 — Flying Class, House-Wide Melee
Harry's question about bruised crotches shocked the boys and flushed the girls.
Madam Hooch answered anyway. "Rest assured, Mr. Potter. Every broom has cushioning and levitation charms—maximizing comfort."
"Then I'm easy," Harry said.
No one else spoke; Hooch clapped. "Good—just as I said."
Harry raised his hand and snapped, "Up," and the broom leapt to his palm.
He did it lightly; others didn't. Hermione, Ron, and several more shouted over and over; their brooms only wobbled like invalids.
"Harry, how?" Hermione asked.
"Strange—I've never flown, but this broom and I just… clicked."
As they spoke, Neville yelped and shot skyward. The broom bucked, wheeled, then plunged. A crack—his leg broke.
Hooch hurried him off to Madam Pomfrey.
"See him?" drawled Malfoy once Hooch was gone. "The big oaf. I'd bet a troll's smarter—oh? What's that?"
A gleam where Neville fell—Malfoy stooped and picked up a glass ball.
He smirked. "Must be Granny's gift to that big idiot."
Neville was a Gryffindor brother, however clumsy; Harry wouldn't let Malfoy strut. He stepped in. "What filth are you spouting, you little punk? Stealing my brother's things—couldn't get enough of my fist on the train and want seconds?"
Malfoy trembled and nearly dropped the ball. Seeing Slytherins at his back, he steadied.
Even if the scarhead can take three-on-one, I'm not standing here with only two.
He purred, "Ah, so our savior even protects oafs like Longbottom.
"Oh—great Potter, save me, please—"
He aped and mugged; Slytherins roared.
Ron couldn't take the jeers. "Shut it, Malfoy! Someone who dumps friends—if you begged Harry he wouldn't save you!"
Crabbe and Goyle hung their heads, saying nothing.
Called out, Malfoy lashed back. "None of your business, Weasley—you mudblood-lover!"
Harry knew "mudblood" was a slur. Hearing the sideways hit at Hermione, he exploded. "Damn you—may your ancestors choke!"
He lunged with the broom. Malfoy panicked at Harry's fists; he went to mount and flee, but Harry was on him.
Harry spun the broom like a staff, whirled it like a windmill, and jabbed from four or five paces. "On target!"
The jab struck center mass; Malfoy flipped.
Harry flicked the broom up; the crystal ball arced into his hand.
Gryffindors cheered; Hermione fretted. "Harry, don't fight—you'll lose points."
Hearing only points and not people, a Gryffindor named Seamus couldn't hold back. "Please, Granger! If points matter more than Harry and Neville, why didn't you sort into Hufflepuff?"
Words like a north wind in June—Hermione reeled. "I'm doing this for Gryffindor! Don't you want to win the House Cup?"
"All I know is we can win today!"
While they argued, Malfoy staggered up, humiliated and furious. He snatched his wand and fired a jinx at Harry.
A scarred lad who'd slaughtered bandits and fought rebels sleeps with one eye open. Malfoy's flashy movements were a neon sign. Harry tilted aside; the hex slammed Seamus. He dropped, face ballooning like a bee sting.
Harry's anger flared. "You snake! Sniping my brother—eat my stick!"
He leapt, brought the broom down—crack!—the broom snapped; Malfoy lay still.
Slytherins shrieked and drew wands. Gryffindors answered in kind.
Spells don't care who is friend or foe. Magic bolts hissed like a storm of arrows. Harry rolled to Malfoy, slung him over a shoulder, grabbed the broom, and waded in—chop, lift, sweep, jab—Slytherins toppled.
Close-quarters, the broom beat spellwork. Slytherins' hexes hit Malfoy more than Harry.
Seeing Harry ringed, Ron yelled, "With me—get Harry out!"
"Save Harry!"
"Drop them!"
"Don't let them touch him!"
Gryffindors charged with brooms; Hermione begged and pled, but no one listened.
Wizards duel at three paces; in the clinch it's flesh and bone. However many spells you know, nothing beats a broom in your face.
Gryffindors crashed in, flailing brooms; Slytherins screamed, dropped wands, and ran in three to five breaths.
A sweeping victory. Gryffindors whooped and tossed Harry into the air.
"We won!"
"Gryffindor is unbeatable! Let the Slytherin crybabies bawl!"
A woman's silhouette approached. Taking in the carnage, Madam Hooch gasped, "What happened here?"
Students turned; the field was wrecked and Slytherins sprawled.
"Now, who will tell me what is going on?"
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