Harry's Quidditch Practise

I am not a native speaker of English. So please excuse my mistakes!

All recognizable characters belong to Mrs. Rowling, and I am not earning anything by writing this story.

Chapter 1

Harry circled above the Quidditch pitch and groaned. 'Why does Oliver have to make us practise at five o'clock in the morning?' he thought, annoyed. 'It's much too cold, and my brain's going to freeze and that just before our lesson with McGonagall. Or is it so cold because of the Dementors?' he mused, looking up to the sky. Unfortunately, he was so engrossed in his thoughts that he didn't notice the Bludger that came in his direction, nor did he hear his teammates' warnings, and was hit in the head full force. Harry lost the grip on his broom and slowly tumbled down towards the ground.

Fortunately, the ground was partly covered with snow, and most parts of his body made a soft landing on the snow, so that he only scraped his knee and was able to get up on his own and walk. "I'm fine," he told his teammates, who were gathered around him, watching him in concern.

"If you don't feel well, please go and see Madam Pomfrey," Oliver admonished him in concern, remembering too well how they had taken Harry to the hospital wing, unconsciously, after the Dementors' attack only three months ago. Only a week ago, Harry had finally received his new broom, and as they already had lost one game, Oliver made them practise every day, either in the evening or in the morning, hoping that they still could manage to win the Quidditch cup.

"Yes, but I'm fine, really," Harry replied, annoyed.

In fact, he had a splendid headache and wasn't feeling too well. He took an extra long, hot shower, before he slowly walked up to his dormitory to change into his school clothes. Ron and Hermione were already waiting for him in the common room and eyed him worriedly.

"Harry, are you all right? You don't look good," Hermione, who was very observant, asked in concern.

"I'm all right, it's just that I'm very tired," Hurry replied, yawning. "Why does he have to make us practise at five in the morning?"

"Do you want to sleep through breakfast, and we'll bring you something, mate?" Ron asked in understanding.

"You don't have to bring me anything, but please come and wake me up before McGonagall comes and kills me," Harry replied, trying to ignore the headache that had been resistant against the hot shower.

"All right, we'll do that," Hermione promised and pulled Ron out of the common room.

They were just through the portrait hole when Harry felt the urge to sick up. He hurried to the toilets, throwing up several times, before he finally returned to the common room and lay down on a sofa for a short nap, until his friends came to rouse him just in time for their Transfiguration lesson.


Harry dragged himself through the day, feeling worse every hour. 'Maybe it'll be better tomorrow; otherwise I'll have to go to the hospital wing before Quidditch practise in the evening,' Harry thought, knowing that he wouldn't be able to fly if he was feeling so bad.

"Harry!" Hermione finally managed to pull him out of his thoughts. "Are you listening at all?" the girl asked, sounding very upset. "I asked if your essay for Potions was finished. It's due tomorrow."

Harry let out a groan. "No, Hermione. Did you have to remind me of that?" he asked, only half jokingly, and pulled out the parchment, on which he had started to do his Potions homework. 'Thank God it's nearly weekend,' he thought, when he put the finished essay into his bag two hours later.

"What about Transfiguration?" Hermione enquired. "I know that…"

"No, Hermione," Harry interrupted her, not realizing how rude he sounded. "I'm sorry, but I'm absolutely exhausted, I have a headache, my knee hurts, and I just want to sleep." He stormed up into his dormitory, leaving his friends to exchange a worried look.

"He sounds as if he got a Bludger in the head," Hermione said, shaking her head.

"Well, I don't want to get up at five to play Quidditch," Ron took the side of his best friend. "He must be knackered."


During the night, Harry woke up, feeling horrible. Apart from the splitting headache, his knee was pounding badly, and he felt hot and cold at the same time. Harry groaned. 'I hope that Oliver will believe me when I tell him I can't play Quidditch even without going to Madam Pomfrey,' he thought. He slowly got up and dressed, putting a warm Weasley sweater under his school robes, and limped down to the common room, where he let himself sink on one of the sofas and slept until Ron woke him up in time for breakfast.

"Harry, you're limping!" Hermione exclaimed, watching her friend slowly walk down to the Great Hall.

"Ah, I just hit my knee during the night. It was so dark in the dormitory," was Harry's lame excuse while he continued to toddle after his friends to the Great Hall, which he left early after pushing around his food for a few minutes. "I can't walk so fast, so I'll better leave for Charms right now," he told his friends and left the Great Hall, trying not to limp too obviously.

The second morning class was Potions and Harry groaned inwardly, thinking that he had to walk down to the dungeons. "Go ahead," he told his friends, "I'll be late, and I don't want the git to give you detention as well."

Hermione shook her head but Ron agreed. "All right, mate; I really don't want to serve detention with the greasy git. Let's go, Hermione, you can tell him why Harry is late then."

Seeing that Harry was giving her a reassuring nod, Hermione quickly followed Ron to the dungeons, while Harry followed them in his own pace, arriving at the Potions classroom exactly five minutes late. He hesitantly opened the door and limped to the seat that Hermione and Ron had reserved for him.

"You're late, Potter. Detention with me tonight after dinner!" the professor roared.

"But sir…" Hermione began to contradict immediately.

"Five points from Gryffindor for disturbing my class, Ms. Granger. Now start with your brewing if you don't want to make it fifty," the teacher bellowed, a menacing look on his face.

Harry groaned and rubbed his aching forehead, noticing that it was very sweaty. He gave Hermione a grateful look when she put his ingredients in front of him and started to concentrate on the potion he had to brew. The teacher's eyes narrowed, watching that the child's face was even paler than normal with flushed spots covering his cheeks. "Mr. Potter, stay after class to discuss your detention," he told the boy when he dismissed his students.

Harry groaned and gave his friends a desperate look. "Harry, shall we wait for you?" Hermione asked softly.

"No, you'll miss lunch, considering how slow I am. Go ahead, and I'll join you in the Great Hall," Harry replied, holding on to the table for a few seconds as a wave of dizziness passed him when he stood up. He slowly went up to the front of the classroom, from where the professor was watching him closely. 'What the hell…' he thought when the teacher led him into his office and made him sit down on a chair opposite his desk.

"Mr. Potter, you are limping exactly why?" the professor snarled.

"I'm not limping," Harry snarled back, averting his eyes to the floor.

"So your elegant way of moving around is just another way to attract attention like all Potters love to do?" the teacher tried to provoke the child.

"I'm not interesting in attracting any attention, and certainly not yours, you…" Harry slowly trailed off, unconsciously shivering while he rubbed his forehead again.

"Potter, you will tell me immediately what is wrong," the teacher snarled. "Or do I have to call Madam Pomfrey to check on your leg?" he sneered.

"No, please don't," Harry replied quickly. "All right, I hit my knee and it hurts a bit. Was that all, Professor? May I go now?" He slowly averted his eyes to the teacher.