Chapter Text
CHAPTER I
Hermione had never seen anyone suffer a nervous twitch in their leg while lying in bed, but it seemed possible. Harry was suffering from one. The area of the sheet covering his right leg had been rising and falling rapidly and fleetingly, barely imperceptibly, for some time now.
He was lying on one of the beds at the back of the Hospital Wing, his back propped up against the fluffy pillows, dressed in neat white pyjamas, and covered with a sheet up to his waist. His arms were folded tightly across his chest, and his green eyes were shifting nervously behind his round-rimmed glasses, scanning the room before him without really seeing it. He was deep in thought. In fact, he hadn’t uttered a word for quite some time now, and Hermione respected that.
The girl was sitting in an uncomfortable wooden chair next to his bed, facing him. Next to two identical chairs, empty at the moment. She gazed at her friend intermittently, scrutinising the tension in his serious face with concern. The young woman was wringing her hands in her lap, awkward. Not knowing what to say. Not knowing what she could say to comfort him.
Bright, pleasant light was streaming through the tall glass windows at the far end of the room. There was no one else in the Hospital except for them. Not even Madam Pomfrey was present. They had seen her slip into her office a while ago, and she seemed to have a lot of unfinished business inside.
Suddenly, hurried footsteps broke the dense silence. Hermione straightened up in her chair, and watched Harry nervously. She saw her friend’s eyes snap open and he turned his face to look at her as well. As if he had just remembered she was there. They exchanged an uneasy glance, and then two pairs of feet stepped through the double doors into the room.
Ginny, short in stature, but slim and quick on her legs, was the first to run into the Hospital. Her long red hair was loose, and flew after her, following her like a trail of fire. Ron came in after her, panting loudly, and slamming the doors behind him. His short hair didn’t fly around him as much as his little sister’s, but it definitely looked dishevelled from the fast run.
“Well?” Harry asked instantly, urgently, resting his hands on the mattress as if trying to get to his feet. Even though he knew his left leg wasn’t responding. Hermione turned in her chair, so that she could look over her shoulder and see her two friends arriving. Her brown eyes looked anxious.
Ginny was the first to arrive at the bedside, almost out of breath. Without even sitting down, she rested her hands on the back of one of the free chairs next to Hermione. She gave the young Potter a look that was definitely full of stress.
“No one,” she said, as soon as she could find the breath to speak. Harry’s jaw dropped of its own accord. Ron came up beside them at that moment and plopped down in the vacant chair. His freckled face was pearly with small beads of sweat and he was breathing heavily.
Hermione’s shoulders slumped dejectedly. She could almost hear Harry’s hopes crashing against the tiled floor of the Hospital. This looked really bad...
“No one?” Harry repeated, as if words like that were inconceivable. He looked at both siblings intermittently. Waiting for them to deny it. “No one — no one?”
“No one,” Ron corroborated as well, turning to look at Hermione, giving her a look of greeting and including her in the conversation. “No one has volunteered. No one wants to do it.”
“But that’s not —” Harry mumbled, too nervous to articulate. He was blinking rapidly, and his face looked tense. “It can’t be. Someone has to — did you ask — ?”
“Everyone,” said Ginny, finally sitting down in her chair. She had regained her healthy breathing more quickly than her older brother. But she was just as stressed as Harry. “Everyone we’ve seen. We’ve even gone up to the dormitories. No one wants to stand in for you.”
“They say it’s too sudden,” said Ron, apathetically, scratching an eyebrow. “The match is tomorrow, and without minimal training, they don’t want to take any risks. Nobody wants to play in your place.”
“But — but c’mon —” Harry seemed to find that completely inconceivable. He straightened up a little more, wincing as his left leg gave him a stinging pain. “You’re telling me there’s no one, not a single person in the entire Gryffindor House, who can stand in for me tomorrow? That’s impossible. What about Dean? What about Seamus?”
“Seamus says he’s terrible at Quidditch,” Ron replied, leaning back against the stiff back of the seat. “And Dean says he’s supposed to be a Chaser...”
“Well, let him play Chaser!” Harry blurted out frantically. “And Ginny can be the Seeker!”
But the young Weasley girl was shaking her head.
“I’ve told him, but he says that without training he does not dare. He doesn’t want to make a fool of himself.”
“A fool?” Harry repeated, his expression showing a sudden shock. “A fool? That’s the least of it! If we don’t find a Seeker by tomorrow, we won’t even be able to play the match!”
Hermione stood mute, listening to her three friends arguing wildly. She didn’t know what to say. She empathised with their altered moods, and their near hysteria, but she didn’t feel in a position to open her mouth. After all, Quidditch was alien to her.
All their problems had started two hours ago, during double Herbology class, in the second hour of the morning. That day they were facing the Venomous Tentacula, a horrible and dangerous plant that had the ability to catch prey alive. And it was an ability they had seen firsthand. While Ron was trying to collect the poison coming out of its buds with a pot, and Hermione was trying to prune its sharp defensive spikes with magically reinforced scissors, Harry had been caught by one of its tentacles. The sturdy plant had wrapped around his left ankle, discreetly, unnoticed, and then unexpectedly waved him through the air like a doll. After his friends tried several desperate spells, and thanks to the quick intervention of Professor Sprout, who was saving Neville from being strangled by another Venomous Tentacula at the next table, they managed to rescue the boy. However, his left leg had not fared too well. He had dislocated his ankle where the plant had grabbed him with its tentacles, and he had hit his knee, fracturing the lower part of his femur.
Madam Pomfrey had assured him that there would be no after-effects, and that the injuries could be treated fairly quickly. But he would have to stay in the Hospital for the whole weekend while his bones healed.
But for the young Potter that was not an option. They had a Quidditch match the next day. A Quidditch match against Slytherin. The Quidditch Cup against Slytherin. He had to play.
He had begged the Healer to let him play, but, after a monumental telling off from the woman, in which she told him he was irresponsible, unconscious, and that “not for all the Pepperup Potion in the world” would she let him out of the Hospital until she thought he was completely cured, he had forced himself to give in. As a result, Ron and Ginny had rushed to their Common Room in search of an urgent substitute.
Apparently, without any success.
“What about Lavender? What about Parvati?” Harry continued, abruptly.
“We asked them. But they looked at us like we were mad,” Ron replied with a shrug.
“What about Neville?” Harry insisted, recovering the twitch in his right leg. He was beginning to look flushed with stress.
“He’s had a fit of laughter,” said Ginny, lifting one corner of her mouth.
“And Colin Creevey?!” Harry stuttered, his voice becoming almost audible to the bats.
“He said yes at first,” Ron said, more animated, as if trying to prove that they’d done a good job. “Anyway, you know him, he’d do anything for you... But then he realised that the match is against Slytherin, and well —” he arched an eyebrow, resignedly.
“He’s scared of them,” her sister added, frustrated. “Especially of Malfoy. Apparently the other day he locked him in — where did he say?”
“In a broom cupboard on I don’t know what floor. With a Fanged Geranium,” Ron added, rolling his eyes and shaking his head. Hermione’s eyes went wide and she snorted indignantly. Typical Malfoy.
“Oh, bloody hell, Malfoy’s not going to attack him with a Fanged Geranium at the match,” Harry protested, too stressed to empathise with his young admirer. “We need someone, anyone... What about Romilda Vane — have you asked her?” he added, almost fiercely.
Ginny looked at him sullenly, cocking her head to one side and beginning to look annoyed.
“Harry, we’ve asked everyone. Everyone,” she emphasised, trying to talk some sense into him. “You can name all the Gryffindor students one by one and our answer will be that they can’t stand in for you.”
“Isn’t there any way to postpone it?” Hermione muttered, stepping in for the first time.
“No,” Harry spat, more sharply than he intended. “It’s the last match of the season, before the summer break. There’s no time to postpone it. Exams are next week, no one will accept...” he took off his glasses and rubbed his tired eyes. “We need someone, anyone. We can’t lose the match without even playing it. If we pull out, they’ll give the Cup to Slytherin... We can’t lose to them. I refuse to give Malfoy the win without even fighting,” he added, almost unhinged.
“I’m not happy about losing to that Flobberworm either, but what do we do then,” Ron lamented, looking at his friend almost in disbelief. “What do you want to do, run away from the Hospital?”
The silence that followed those words showed that Harry was seriously considering it. Ginny snorted audibly and gave him a sceptical look.
“You can’t be serious. Your leg is broken,” she snapped angrily. Harry held her gaze, almost offended, and then let out a frustrated growl.
“What are you proposing then?” the boy protested, defensively. “We need someone to take my place. Whoever it is, that’s the least of it. Damn it, they don’t even have to play well. We just need them to play. Take my place so the match can happen. Just —”
He suddenly went silent, staring blankly. And then, his face turned sharply.
Fixing his gaze on Hermione.
His friend, arms folded in comfort to herself at the awkward atmosphere, returned his gaze. With renewed interest. Feeling that he’d found a solution.
“Hermione...” Harry whispered, as if seeing her for the first time. His friend leaned towards him slightly, solicitous.
“Sure, Harry, tell me, is there anything I can do?” she offered instantly, looking at him with a firm resolve. Willing to help her worried friend in any way she could. Any way...
“Play in my place.”
The girl stood still, watching his lips move. Being certain that the words she had heard did not correspond to what her friend had actually said. There was no way he could have said that. And, if he had said it, her friend had definitely suffered a momentary stroke, depriving him of any kind of coherence. Thanks to the heavy silence that followed those words, she was aware that he had actually said it. His proposal slowly made its way into her brain, slowly reaching the places responsible for comprehension.
Seeing that no one was saying anything, Hermione’s more than trained mouth opened of its own volition, fighting to say something.
“What?” was the only thing that escaped her throat. Her heart was still beating slowly. Because this was definitely a mistake. And it wouldn’t take long for her friend to react.
“You have to play in my place,” Harry repeated, with such conviction that Hermione leaned back slightly. Scrutinising his wide-awake eyes. He meant it.
“Oh, no, of course not,” she dismissed the idea instantly, letting her lips curl into a disbelieving smile.
She turned her face to look at Ginny and Ron. She was staring at her with a completely unperturbed expression. Sizing her up, sizing her up, as if she was really thinking about it! Ron’s mouth hung slightly open as he pierced her with his blue eyes. Also analysing the magnitude of Harry’s words, it seemed. Hermione was exasperated that they weren’t, straight up, cracking up at the thought.
“Yes, yes,” Harry replied, grinning triumphantly. He crawled across the bed awkwardly to get closer to his friend. Hermione leaned even further back in her chair, her eyes widening in dismay. “You have to do this. Oh, Hermione, please. We need someone to take the Seeker’s place...”
“Harry, I don’t know how to play Quidditch,” Hermione protested, firmly, as if it were obvious. And it should be, or so she thought. She looked at him as if he were deranged. “Obviously I can’t —”
“Oh, come on! You’ve played with us many times at The Burrow,” Harry protested, not giving it a thought.
“At ground level,” the young woman emphasised, her heart beginning to race — why on earth didn’t Ginny and Ron tell Harry that he was completely mad? “And I’ve played disastrously!” she added, as if it were indisputable.
“You don’t have to play well,” Harry repeated, waving his hands, again playing it down. “You just have to pick up a broom and stand up in the match. You don’t have to do anything. We just need one more player to take my place. That’s all we need. It’s almost... symbolic.”
“Symbolic?” Hermione clucked, her face starting to feel very hot. And she was starting to feel very angry. “Harry, I wouldn’t catch the Snitch if you stuck it under my nose on a string. This isn’t — you can’t — are you serious?” she insisted, losing her temper.
“You don’t have to catch the Snitch,” Ginny suddenly interjected for the first time. Hermione looked up at her and saw that her face was calmer than Harry’s. To Hermione’s indignation, she even looked animated. “Harry’s right, you just have to participate. We’ll take care of getting as many points as we can. You don’t have to do anything. Just take his place.”
“Well, that’s a good idea. It could be the solution,” Ron admitted, nodding his head with renewed optimism. Hermione turned her face and gave him a wild look.
“You’ve got to be joking,” Hermione said, her tone serious. Almost swooning. She shook her head frantically. “I can’t. There’s no way I could —”
“Hermione, please,” Harry begged now, reaching out and taking her friend’s hand tightly. His green eyes were shining with pleading. “Listen, I’m sorry, I really am, I know it’s not fair to ask so much of you, but —” he swallowed and suddenly looked embarrassed. “We don’t have anyone else, no one wants to help us. If someone doesn’t take my place, we won’t be able to play. I don’t want — the team to lose because of me. They’ve trained hard, they deserve a chance to show it,” he was serious now. Now he wasn’t ordering her to, he was asking her to. And Hermione felt something very warm on her back.
“Harry...” she murmured, forlorn. In a much weaker protest.
“You have to do it, Hermione, please,” Ron begged. He folded his hands in front of her, looking down at her, pretending to make a puppy-dog expression.
“You can say no, Hermione,” offered Ginny, who had been watching her friend’s face grow more and more distressed. She tried to speak rather more tactfully than the boys, looking at her with a kinder smile. “Really, you don’t have to. But it would be a huge favour, and we’d be very grateful. We don’t have anyone else. It’s the only way we can play. Don’t worry about anything, you won’t have to do anything. Just stand there in the air with your broom, I promise. No responsibility.”
Hermione stared for a few seconds at Ginny’s affectionate expression, Ron’s muted prayer over his sister’s shoulder, and then Harry’s openly desperate expression.
Definitely, despite Ginny’s words, she realised that she had no choice. They were her best friends. And she would do anything for them, even make the biggest fool of herself in Quidditch history. If she could help it, she would never let anything bad happen to them.
“All right. I’ll do it.”