|SIYE Time:14:59 on 10th May 2021|
The Devil Goes Down to the Pitch
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Category: Quidditch Challemge (2014-4), Quidditch Challenge (2014-4)
Genres: Action/Adventure, Comedy
Story is Complete
Summary: The day the Express brings a 15 Teddy home for the summer is more than Harry can stand.
Hitcount: Story Total: 2280
Disclaimer: Harry Potter Publishing Rights © J.K.R. Note the opinions in this story are my own and in no way represent the owners of this site. This story subject to copyright law under transformative use. No compensation is made for this work.
A song that gets stuck in your head is the stuff of nightmares, especially when it is one you loathe.
The music was loud and decidedly American. Not just any American music, but one type that Harry absolutely loathed...American country music. The pounding bass line and squealing fiddle rubbed every nerve Harry had.
Yelling up the stairs did nothing. Teddy probably couldn't hear Harry over the volume of the song.
Harry pulled his wand and tapped it to his throat and yelled again, “Teddy, TURN IT DOWN!”
Suddenly the volume level dropped and Harry heard in response, “If it's too loud, you're too old.” Before the volume returned to its previous level.
Ginny smiled at Harry and said, “We can always put a silencing spell on our room. Let's go to bed.”
“I guess so,” replied Harry, following his wife and thankful that Albus and Lily were spending the night at the Burrow. Teddy and James would probably be up all night, at this rate. Harry didn't mind too much, because today had been the day Teddy returned from Hogwarts, so it was understandable that the boys would be a bit wound up.
Harry closed the door to the bedroom, reveling in the blissful silence that enveloped him.
“I love you, Ginny. Thanks for doing this. I would have done it after I brushed my teeth.”
“You were taking too long and this is the fifth time he's played the same song.”
Smiling Harry climbed into the bed and snuggled up to his wife.
Harry was sitting astride his Nimbus 2000, idly staring at the overcast sky as golf ball sailed past his nose, a little too close for comfort. Looking back to where the ball had come from, he saw not Oliver Wood, as expected, but rather Albus Dumbledore, clothed in a golfing outfit that would make Sir Elton gag. It was a hideous combination of bright, neon plaids, paisleys and stripes that no human should ever wear. He was armed with a golf club and had a barrel of balls next to him. As Harry watched, the headmaster was preparing to take another swing. But there was nothing on the ground in front of Dumbledore. As he completed the swing, though, a ball flew from the barrel straight towards Harry, where he hovered.
Too amazed to move, the ball caught Harry right on the scar on his forehead and bounced to who knew where.
“You are supposed catch them with your mouth,” shouted Dumbledore.
“Right, how about I just use my hands,” replied Harry.
“Fine, suit yourself, but then I'll be sending two at a time!”
“Whatever. I'm ready any time you are.”
The balls, once they started flying would do things that no normal golf ball ever could. The laws of physics and aerodynamics weren't just suspended, they were flat out shattered. And Harry, much to his own amazement, caught every one. It didn't matter how strangely or fast the ball was flying, Harry caught it. This continued for what seemed like hours.
Midway through an inverted barrel roll and loop combination, there was a loud crack and floating in the air in front of Harry was Voldemort.
“I guess you didn't know, but I'm a Quidditch player, too,” sang the Dark Lord. “And if you care to take a dare, I'll make a bet with. I bet this Snitch of gold against your soul to say I'm better than you.”
Harry opened his mouth to tell him to bugger off, but out came “My name's Harry and it might be a sin, but I'll take your bet and you're going regret 'cause I'm the best there's ever been!”
A wicked smile spread on Voldemort's face and he said, “I'll start this show.” Fire flew from his fingertips as he released the Snitch. A band of Dementors joined in and they flew like demons.
The Snitch, like the bird it was patterned after took off like a hawk was pursuing it. Little did anyone know, but Bowman Wright didn't really 'invent' the Snitch. It was more of a 'happy accident' than invention. What he was really trying to do was transfigure a walnut into a Golden Snidget, but his transfiguration skills weren't up to the task. So instead of a bird, he ended up with a ball that acted like a bird. That partial transfiguration had given the ball all the instinct and intelligence of the bird, but stopped short of turning it into one. What this meant, in the context of this match was that the ball had an innate sense of self preservation and acted accordingly. In other words, it wanted the hell out there and flew like it.
As the Snitch flew like a thing possessed, Harry followed in close pursuit. Voldemort, not to be outdone was flying, without a broom, in lockstep with Harry. The Dementors were floating everywhere and more seemed to be appearing at regular intervals, so that the pitch and airspace above it were now crowded with the loathsome creatures. The chill they exuded quickly filled the area with a fog that would do London proud. And all through this flight Harry heard screeching fiddles and a thumping bass line.
Suddenly the Snitch shot off into a vertical climb. Harry pulled hard on the haft of his broom and followed, a cussing Voldemort hot on his tail. As he closed on the Snitch his broom started to slow. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw Voldemort holding on to the tail of the broom.
Suddenly a shrill whistle broke through the noise and a loud voice said, “Blagging!”
Voldemort laughed and looked over his shoulder, he pulled his wand and shouted “Avada Kedavra!”
The green light shot from his wand and struck a figure on a broom. The broom burst into flames and the limp body fell to the Dementors bellow.
While all this was happening, Harry lost sight of the Snitch. So turning, he dove towards the ground. He willed his broom to maximum speed as he dove. Voldemort shrieked and dove after him. A quick backwards glance showed Voldemort gaining on him, so Harry kept his broom pointed down. He pulled out of the dive, less than a broom length from the ground. There was a very satisfying 'thud' and a lot of muttered cursing as Voldemort did not pull out in time. Harry thought he even heard faint cheering, but dismissed it as the sound of the wind. Not pausing to consider what he thought he heard, he quickly climbed back into the sky. During his climb, he spotted the Snitch at the far end of the pitch, near the goals. Leveling off, he put on the speed. Voldemort was still on the ground, appearing to be uninjured, but covered in grass and mud. Harry closed on the elusive golden ball and grabbed it out of the air.
As his hand closed over the ball, an all too familiar green light sailed over his shoulder, missing him by a fraction of an inch. He turned and flew to were Voldemort was standing.
“That's one, Potter,” hissed Voldemort.
“Oh, did I not mention this contest is best out of three?”
Hovering on his broom, Harry looked at Voldemort and grinned. He held up the Snitch in his hand and said, “Really?”
He then opened his hand and let the Snitch go. It rose a few inches before, like lightning, his hand closed around it again.
“I believe that makes two, you snake-faced twit.”
With that, Voldemort shook his fist at Harry and stomped his foot before disappearing in a puff of smoke. When he vanished the Dementors did too.
“Ginny,” Harry said sleepily, “What is that damn buzzing?”
Ginny opened her eyes, “Harry, why is there a Snitch circling your head?”
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