Chapter 6: The Rival's Advance
The Scottish Highlands stretched out beneath Harry’s broom, a dizzying patchwork of heather and sharp grey rock. The air up here was thin and cold, carrying the shouts from the pitch below as the Montrose Magpies clashed with the Wimbourne Wasps in a pre-season scrimmage. Harry hovered at eighty feet, eyes scanning not for the Snitch—which was currently hiding somewhere near the Wasps’ goalhoops—but for a break in the Wasps’ defensive formation.A flash of movement on the sidelines caught his eye.
It was her.But not the her he knew.
Hermione stood by the Magpies’ pavilion, but she’d shed the healer’s robes. She wore simple Muggle clothes: faded jeans that hugged every curve, a soft-looking cream jumper that seemed to drink the weak sunlight. Her hair, usually tamed into that infuriatingly practical braid, was loose. Dark, curly tendrils framed her face, dancing in the raw Highland breeze. She was laughing, head thrown back, at something Ron was saying as he gestured wildly with a half-eaten pasty. The sound didn’t reach Harry, but the image of her unguarded, relaxed, and utterly beautiful hit him with a physical force.A whistling shriek tore his attention back. A black Bludger, aimed with malicious precision by the Wasps’ Beater, blurred toward his head. He jerked his broom sideways, the wind of its passage ruffling his hair.The miss was too close. A collective gasp rose from the small crowd below. He steadied himself, heart hammering against his ribs, but his gaze snapped back to the sidelines.Ron had wandered off. And now someone else was there.
Cedric Diggory, Wasps Chaser, all easy smiles and sun-streaked hair, jogged over to Hermione. He said something, holding out a chilled bottle of butterbeer. Harry watched, suspended in the air, as Hermione’s face did something he’d never seen.A slight, genuine smile.A faint blush tinted her cheeks. She accepted the bottle, her fingers brushing Cedric’s. She was talking, her body angled toward him, one hand tucking a windblown curl behind her ear.Open.Interested.
A hot, acid wave surged through Harry’s gut. It was a foreign feeling, sharp and possessive, totally divorced from his usual smug satisfaction or casual curiosity. This was a raw, jolting current that made his fingers tighten on the broom handle until the wood groaned. He wanted to dive, to intercept, to put himself physically between her and Diggory’s stupid, charming smile.
“POTTER! Your eyes up here or on the ground?” The Magpies’ captain, a grizzled Keeper named McKinnon, bellowed from below.
Harry tore his eyes away, his jaw clenched so tight it ached. The rest of the scrimmage passed in a blur of aggressive dives and near-misses. He played with a reckless, furious energy, chasing the Snitch with a single-minded intensity that had the Wasps’ Seeker scrambling. He caught it fifteen minutes later, a brutal, twisting capture that ended with him skidding on the turf, grass stains on his knees, the tiny silver wings beating futilely in his fist.The whistle blew. Players drifted toward the sidelines, breathing hard, slapping backs.Harry’s eyes found her immediately. She was still talking to Diggory, now sipping the butterbeer, her laughter carried on the wind toward him.It was a light, pleasant sound.It made him want to break something.
He marched over, his Quidditch gear suddenly feeling heavy and ridiculous. He stopped a few feet away, the chill of the settling sweat a stark contrast to the heat under his skin.
“Granger,” he said, his voice tighter than he intended.
Hermione turned, and the open warmth in her face cooled by several degrees, settling into a polite, professional mask.“Potter.Good catch. A bit aggressive on the dismount, though. I’ll need to check your landing knee for torsion.”
Diggory looked between them, his friendly smile still in place. “All good, Harry?”
“Peachy,” Harry bit out, not looking at him. “Granger, McKinnon wants you.Wrist thing.Now.” It was a lie, blatant and clumsy.
Hermione’s eyebrows lifted slightly.She glanced at Diggory, then back at Harry. “I’ll be there directly. I was just discussing the updated Malfunctioning Bludger Protocols with Cedric.The Wasps’ mediwizard developed a new binding charm for erratic core containment. Fascinating stuff.”
Fascinating.She found him fascinating.
“Right,” Harry said, the word tasting like ash. He stood there, stupidly, unable to walk away, watching as she turned back to Diggory, offering him a final, appreciative smile before she headed toward the Magpies’ huddle. Diggory gave Harry a congenial nod and jogged back to his own team.
Harry remained, rooted to the spot, the unfamiliar anger simmering in his chest, a silent, furious counterpoint to the friendly chatter and clinking bottles around him. He’d watched her dismantle Dean, Seamus, even Ron, with clinical efficiency. But she hadn’t dismantled Diggory.She’d accepted his butterbeer. She’d blushed.The game, he realized with a dull shock, had just changed entirely. And for the first time in his life, Harry Potter wasn’t sure he was even on the pitch.