Snape massaged his forehead and fervently wished for a Calming Draught. "What are you apologizing for now, Mr Potter? Catching the snitch? Causing the game to descend into mayhem? Bringing the two teams to the brink of war? Nearly plummeting to your death? What precisely has made you so apologetic this time?"
Harry looked awkward. " 'M just sorry you were so worried."
Snape pretended not to hear the "Ohhh, isn't that sweet?" from Professor Sprout, but he could practically feel Albus' twinkling eyes upon him as he glared at the boy. "I was not 'worried', Potter!" he snapped. "MerelyтАж concerned."
He had an awful suspicion that Harry тАУ and the rest of the onlookers тАУ were not fooled by his protestations, but he was damned if he were going to admit to anything.
The brat smiled in relief. "That's okay then." His brow creased as a thought struck him. "Where's Hermione?"
"Here." Professor McGonagall pushed through the crowd, supporting an exhausted Hermione. The girl held a bloodstained handkerchief to her nose, but despite her fatigue, she was smiling.
"Harry! You're all right!"
"Are you okay, 'Mione?" Harry asked worriedly. "That must've been awfully strong magic you were doing."
Madam Pomfrey bustled up, her wand already in motion. "Good heavens, Miss Granger! Your magical core is nearly depleted! You're coming straight to the Infirmary for several days of rest!"
"But what about classes!" Hermione wailed. "I'll miss too much!"
"No arguments," Poppy scolded. "Repeated exertion at this level could turn you into a squib." At Hermione's tearful expression, she relented. "Miss Granger, you won't be allowed to do any spellwork for at least a week, until your core regenerates, so there's not much point in your attending classes anyway."
"We'll take plenty of notes for you, 'Mione," Ron added, squeezing in between Quidditch players so that he could ensure that his best mates were all right.
The pronouncement, from a decidedly un-intellectual Weasley, had the effect of silencing all conversation in the immediate area as everyone, from Hermione to Dumbledore, turned to stare at Ron. The boy squirmed uncomfortably. "Well, I mean, I'll do my best, and Harry an' Draco an' Neville will help too, right?"
Hermione's eyes flew hopefully to Draco. She knew that her Housemates had the best of intentions, but Draco was the only one whom she trusted to take good notes.
Had he not been a Malfoy, Draco would have squirmed under the interested gaze of most of the faculty and a good percentage of the student body. Him? Help a mudblood? At the behest of a blood traitor? His father would тАУ
"Sure we will!" Harry agreed stoutly, slinging an arm over Draco's shoulders. "It'll be like you were sitting right there with us," he promised Hermione.
Draco cleared his throat. "Yes, all right," he muttered uncomfortably. "Fine." He shot an apprehensive look at Flint, wondering how the Slytherin prefect would react to his promise to help a Gryffindor. He knew the older boy's reaction would set the tone for the rest of the House.
Flint glanced at Snape then shrugged. "Good to see you lions appreciate Slytherin intellect," he drawled.
Harry rolled his eyes. "Like anyone doesn't know that Draco and 'Mione are as smart as any Ravenclaw." He noticed Professor Flitwick standing nearby and colored. "Erm, no offense, Professor."
Flitwick chuckled in delight. "No one House has a monopoly on intelligence, Mr Potter, nor any other trait for that matter. I happen to agree with you that both Mr Malfoy and Ms Granger would have done very well in my House indeed!"
Draco managed to suppress his feeling of nausea. A Ravenclaw? Him? He looked over at Hermione and saw she was similarly appalled at the notion. It gave him an unaccustomed sense of camaraderie with the girl, and he found himself saying, "Don't worry, Granger. I'll make sure these baboons take good notes for you."
"Oi!" Weasley, predictably, objected. "Who're you calling a baboon?"
Draco smirked. "I apologize, Weasley. With that red hair, I suppose an orangutan would have been a more appropriate choice, but I considered them a bit too intellectual."
"You'll pay for that, Malfoy," Weasley threatened, but there was no real heat in the remark. After all, he had volunteered Draco for extra schoolwork without asking him, all for the benefit of a Gryffindor, and the Slytherin had actually agreed to do it.
Draco rolled his eyes, trying not to preen at the thought of a Weasley publicly acknowledging how smart he was. "I'm shaking in my shoes."
"Slimy prat." Weasley gave him a shove, more for effect than out of a desire to hurt the other boy. It would never do for anyone to think that he and Malfoy were really friends.
"Stupid git." Draco shoved back, for exactly the same reasons.
"Sheesh!" Harry pushed between them. "You're gonna get us in trouble if you don't quit it!"
The other two huffed, but honor had been satisfied by the ritual exchange of shoves and insults, and with the teachers' proximity, further hostilities would have crossed from obligatory posturing to suicidal foolishness. The two purebloods obediently settled down on either side of Harry.
"Miss Granger, can you please explain тАУ briefly тАУ what transpired?" Dumbledore requested. "It would be very helpful to understand matters from your vantage point."
Hermione thought for a moment. "Harry and I were watching the match, then all of a sudden he was falling."
"Do you mean he lost his balance on the railing and slipped?" McGonagall asked sharply.
"No, it was as if someone had crept up behind him and pushed him. I mean, Harry didn't just fall off the railing тАУ it was as if he were launched. That's why he was so far out over the Quidditch pitch. He was pushed."
Or pulled, Snape thought sourly, wondering where Quirrell had slunk off. The man had vanished in all the excitement.
"And what did you do then?"
"I cast Wingardium. I thought that if I made Harry light enough, he could just float over the pitch," Hermione explained. "But then something broke my spell and pulled Harry towards the ground. I just kept casting, but I wasn't strong enough to hold onto him."
Flitwick looked thoughtful. "That's not really the way Wingardium works," he mused, exchanging a meaningful glance with the Headmaster.
"By the end there, I wasn't really casting the spell," Hermione confessed tiredly. "It was more like I was just wishing for Harry to stop falling and be safe." That statement caused another round of elevated eyebrows among the faculty. Such powerful wish magic was very unusual in all but the most powerful witches and wizards, and even then, to manifest it at such an early age was almost unheard of. No wonder the child had nearly drained her core.
McGonagall put her arm around Hermione's shoulders. "It's off to the Infirmary with you, Miss Granger. Come along now."
"Thanks, Hermione!" Harry called after his friend as Hermione was unresistingly led away.
"Right!" Hooch strode up to the Headmaster, cheeks pink from shouting. "Need to replay the game," she announced. "Too much interference тАУ bodies plummeting through the field of play. Can't have spectators grabbin' the snitch, y'know!" she said, with a stern look at Harry. He blushed and stared at his toes. "No point in tryin' to start over now. Too much excitement тАУ everyone runnin' around. Play it again next week maybe. Have to check the calendar."
"An excellent idea," Dumbledore said soothingly. "I suggest that both teams have cause for celebration today, as I will be awarding both 50 points for their efforts to rescue Mr Potter, and another 75 to Miss Granger for her assistance." Student faces perked up at the news. "And another 10 points to Mr Malfoy for helping a fellow student without regard to House affiliation."