𝐁𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐏𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐬 || HJP

CHAPTER SIXTEEN : GOING BACK HOME

"Seventy–forty to Hufflepuff!" Professor McGonagall declared through Luna's megaphone.

"Is it, already?" Luna responded vaguely. "Oh, look! The Gryffindor Keeper's got hold of one of the Beater's bats."

Harry swirled around in midair. Indeed, McLaggen, for reasons known only to himself, had taken Peakes's bat and seemed to be demonstrating how to strike a Bludger towards an approaching Cadwallader.

"Will you give him back his bat and get back to the goalposts!" Harry roared, hurtling towards McLaggen just as McLaggen took a ferocious swing at the Bludger and mis-hit it.

"Harry!" Sabrina's gasps and concerned voice echoed.

A blinding, nauseating pain... a flash of light... distant screams... and the sensation of falling down a long tunnel...

And the next thing Harry knew, he was lying in a remarkably warm and comfortable bed, gazing up at a lamp casting a circle of golden light onto a shadowy ceiling. As he raised his head awkwardly, a familiar-looking, freckly, red-haired person greeted him.

"Nice of you to drop in," grinned Ron.

Harry blinked and scanned his surroundings. He was in the hospital wing, evident from the indigo sky streaked with crimson outside. The match must have concluded hours ago, along with any hope of cornering Malfoy. A strange heaviness filled Harry's head; he raised a hand and felt a stiff turban of bandages.

"What happened?"

"Cracked skull," informed Madam Pomfrey, bustling over and gently pushing him back against his pillows. "Nothing to worry about; I mended it at once. But I'm keeping you in overnight. You shouldn't overexert yourself for a few hours."

"I don't want to stay here overnight," Harry protested, sitting up and throwing back his covers. "I want to find McLaggen and kill him."

"I'm afraid that would come under the heading of 'overexertion,'" warned Madam Pomfrey, pushing him firmly back onto the bed and brandishing her wand threateningly. "You will stay here until I discharge you, Potter, or I shall call the Headmaster. And you don't need to find Mr. McLaggen," she added, directing Harry's attention to the other occupied bed, where he saw with satisfaction that McLaggen was unconscious.

"What—"

"Miss Weasley decided to give you justice," disapproved Madam Pomfrey. Harry blinked in surprise, about to ask her to clarify which Miss Weasley she meant, but she bustled back into her office, leaving Harry to ponder.

"Wonder how he ended up here, that git?" Ron asked, a somewhat satisfied tone in his voice. Harry looked at him and noticed the smirk on his face.

"Sabrina punched him, knocked him out cold with just one strike," Ron said, sneering in a manner worthy of Malfoy.

"She did that?" Harry asked, "why?" He added, feeling his heart racing and a peculiar sense of satisfaction spreading through his body.

"What do you mean why? She's mad you guys lost," Ron explained, scrutinizing Harry after his statement.

Despite the sinking feeling in his stomach, Harry cleared his throat and looked at McLaggen's unconscious form again. "D'you know how much we lost by?" he asked Ron through clenched teeth.

"Yeah, I do," Ron said apologetically. "The final score was three hundred and twenty to sixty."

"Brilliant," Harry said savagely. "Really brilliant! When he wakes up, I'll–"

"You don't want to do that; he's the size of a troll," Ron reasoned. "That's why I was thinking, how did Sabrina punch him...I wished I watched it with my own eyes. Anyway, I personally think there's a lot to be said for hexing him with that toenail thing of the Prince's. Anyway, the rest of the team might've dealt with him before you get out of here; they're not happy, and plus, I bet Sabrina wasn't done with him..."