While Severus Snape droned on about the origins of werewolves, Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy, seated in the back of the class, were absorbed in a hushed discussion about the upcoming Quidditch match. Little did they know, their seemingly discreet actions were stirring Snape's ire.
Lost in their animated conversation, Harry and Malfoy were startled when the already dim classroom seemed to darken further. They looked up to find Snape looming directly in front of them.
"..." x2
Harry and Malfoy stammered apologies, admitting their lack of discretion and begging for another chance.
"Ah, Mr. Potter and Mr. Malfoy," Snape's voice dripped with sarcasm. "It appears your anticipation for tomorrow's Quidditch match has rendered you incapable of paying attention in class. Is that it?"
He continued, "I sincerely hope you break your legs tomorrow—but not your arms, mind you. Even confined to the Hogwarts Infirmary, you will still submit today's homework on time!"
"Yes, Professor!"
"Understood, Professor!"
Harry and Malfoy, now sweating profusely, straightened up in their seats.
Snape nodded with a measure of satisfaction and began to return to the podium. But before he had taken more than a few steps, he turned back. "Also, your homework assignment is now doubled—at least six rolls of parchment full."
Harry and Malfoy exchanged a look of abject misery, feeling as though the sky had just fallen upon them.
...
The following day at the Quidditch pitch, the weather was appalling. Thick clouds obscured the sun, casting the entire morning in near darkness. While it was clear a storm was imminent, the Quidditch players were undeterred. Not even a torrential downpour, not even hail, could keep them from their beloved sport!
And the spectators were no different. They were determined to witness the entire match, rain or shine! Besides, as wizards, they possessed ample means to shield themselves from the elements. It simply went to show the extent of the wizarding world's Quidditch obsession.
With less than ten minutes until the match commenced, the players prepared to take to the field. On the Slytherin side, Harry and Malfoy, sporting dark circles under their eyes, caused concern among their teammates. Would either of them fall asleep mid-game and tumble off their brooms?
Though they hesitated to suggest it, some teammates proposed sending in substitutes. Unsurprisingly, Harry and Malfoy vehemently refused. They had spent the entire night laboring over their Potions homework, all for the sake of competing in today's match. To be benched now would render their sleepless night utterly pointless.
Seeing their resolute determination—and considering their connections and undeniable skill—the Slytherin team relented.
The match was about to begin, and both teams formally entered the pitch. As a dozen brooms ascended slowly into the air, Harry and Malfoy began carefully assessing their opponents: the Hufflepuff team.
Harry recalled that the Hufflepuff Seeker was an exceptional flier. Even with his broom's superior performance, facing them would be a challenge.
Less than half an hour into the game, the storm arrived as predicted. Rain poured down, blurring Harry's vision as it clung to his goggles. But he was in hot pursuit of the Golden Snitch, locked in a contest with the Hufflepuff Seeker, and could not afford to be distracted. He relied solely on his experience and sharp reflexes to track his elusive target.
The Snitch's flight path was notoriously erratic, capable of darting in any direction, making the Seeker's task all the more difficult. Moreover, the torrential rain created a curtain of water, effectively obscuring the Snitch's trajectory.
Indeed, both Seekers had lost sight of the Snitch.
Harry hovered in mid-air, his eyes constantly scanning the surroundings, desperate to catch a glimpse of the golden sprite. The other Seeker did the same, each hoping to spot it first.
Ultimately, Harry's luck prevailed. He caught a fleeting glimpse of the golden trail in the sky.
Speed up! Take off!
Harry, astride his Nimbus 2001 (a recent upgrade courtesy of Malfoy's vast wealth), surged skyward in pursuit of the Snitch!
...
At that moment, two Dementors drifted by.
"Blah blah blah."
"Smack smack smack."
The two Dementors were engaged in idle chatter when Harry suddenly shot past them.
"Igglepiggle? (What was that?)"
Startled, the two monsters exchanged a glance. Though devoid of eyes or faces, they understood each other perfectly.
"Makka! Makka Pakka!!! (Food! We want food!!!)"
The two Dementors abandoned their conversation and gave chase, pursuing Harry as he climbed higher into the storm-wracked sky!
Oblivious to the Dementors hot on his trail, Harry remained completely focused on the Golden Snitch!
Faster, faster…faster!
Just as he was about to seize the Snitch, a round, black, faceless head materialized suddenly before him.
"What the hell?!"
Harry yelped, taken completely by surprise.
The Dementor "enthusiastically" lunged forward to administer the Dementor's Kiss.
Harry froze, then tumbled from his broom.
The Dementor attempted to follow up with another kiss, but a colossal, "white" basilisk erupted from the clouds and bit down hard on the creature!
As Harry plummeted through the air, he vaguely recalled hearing a voice before losing consciousness: "Arresto Momentum!"
…
When Harry regained consciousness, he lay in the Hogwarts Infirmary.
Even before he opened his eyes, he recognized the familiar antiseptic scent. Remembering Madam Pomfrey's frequent scoldings for his reckless behavior and overfamiliarity with the infirmary, Harry decided to keep his eyes shut for a moment.
After listening carefully and confirming that Madam Pomfrey was not present, Harry opened his eyes with relief. He looked around to find Tom Riddle seated in a nearby chair, engrossed in a book. "Professor?"
"Awake? Draco and the others just left."
Harry gathered from Tom's words that Malfoy and his friends had come to check on him, but Madam Pomfrey had sent them away, citing the need to "not disturb the patient's rest."
Tom Riddle, however, was different. As a professor, he enjoyed certain privileges, and besides, he was merely sitting and reading, hardly a disturbance.
Tom Riddle closed his book and rose from his chair, a teasing glint in his eyes. "You certainly have a way with Dementors."
"..."
Harry scratched his head sheepishly.
"After class tomorrow, meet me in the hallway on the eighth floor. I have a little spell to teach you."
With that, Tom Riddle strode from the infirmary, leaving Harry staring after him, a mixture of relief and anticipation on his face.
---
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