The day of the Slytherin versus Gryffindor Quidditch match.
A storm had chosen that very day to descend. Thunder rolled so loud it swallowed the crowd's roar whole, and the wind was fierce enough to send anyone standing upright swaying from side to side.
Malfoy's hair whipped in every direction. She had tied it back with brutal thoroughness, so there was no danger of it coming undone—but the sensation of someone yanking at her hair was inescapable, and it only deepened her irritation.
Of all the days for the weather to turn like this. A proper match was impossible in a downpour like this.
And she was expected to ride a broomstick through it. Getting soaked to the skin, having her hair lashed about by the wind—all of it was infuriating.
"Everyone! Line up!"
The Gryffindor and Slytherin players faced each other in a single row. Arranged by position, which meant the person standing directly across from Malfoy was, naturally, Harry Potter.
He'd tied his hair back this time. Malfoy fixed him with a cold stare.
"Captains, shake hands!"
Oliver Wood and Marcus Flint clasped hands. Predictably, each gripped the other's as though trying to crush it. If Madam Hooch hadn't told them to let go, they might have stood there forever.
Harry Potter extended his hand and stepped forward. Captains were the ones obligated to shake hands, not Seekers—but Malfoy reached out anyway, to show she wasn't rattled.
"I won't accept 'the weather was bad' as an excuse, Potter. This time, I'm going to grind you into the dirt."
Harry Potter looked out at the grey, churning clouds and the howling wind for a moment, then said:
"Weather's bad. I'll make it quick."
"Hmph. Who gave you permission? The one ending this match will be me—Carina Malfoy!"
She declared it, raised her broom, and in the next instant Madam Hooch's whistle shrieked. The players launched themselves into the sky as one.
Malfoy's irritation had reached its peak, and every nerve was raw. The wind shoved at her body; rainwater seeped through the gaps in her robes. On any ordinary day she wouldn't have set foot outside in weather like this.
Match or no match, she wanted to throw it all in right now and go back to the dormitory—and if this hadn't been her showdown with Harry Potter, she might actually have done it.
But today was the day she'd been waiting for.
Steeling herself, Malfoy surveyed the field.
A Nimbus 2001 had a wind-deflecting charm built into it. In a storm this severe it only blocked the rain and wind from hitting her face directly, but that was enough.
The Gryffindor twin Beaters, riding Cleansweeps, could barely keep themselves upright. Gryffindor's Keeper, Oliver Wood, was flailing so badly he looked like he was trying to swim through the air.
The equipment gap gave Slytherin an overwhelming advantage. They were steadily racking up points. The rain was dragging down their attack and passing accuracy, but at this rate they would keep scoring.
*So Potter will try to catch the Snitch as fast as he possibly can.*
She had to find it first. Malfoy was scanning the field with sharp eyes when—
"Time out!"
The call came from the Gryffindor side. The captains signalled, and both teams descended toward their respective benches.
Malfoy touched down and said:
"What's the score?"
"We're up by eighty."
Marcus Flint raised his broom as he spoke.
"All thanks to the Nimbus 2001. Rain and wind barely touch it. The gap's only going to widen from here, so they'll be desperate to catch the Snitch fast. Which means, Carina—"
"I know what you're going to say. Shadow Potter and drag it out as long as possible?"
"Exactly. If we open a lead of a hundred and fifty points or more, it doesn't matter whether you catch the Snitch or not—we win. And if you do catch it, we win by a landslide. Opportunities like this don't come often."
"I understand. And I'm refusing."
Malfoy said it flatly.
"I have no interest in flying around in this weather any longer than I have to. I'm ending this as fast as I can."
"I'm the captain, Carina. You follow my orders."
"I'm the Seeker, Flint. My job is to catch the Snitch—not to trail the opposing Seeker around the pitch."
"Stubborn as ever... Fine. Just make sure you catch it. Whatever happens, remember that time is on our side."
"Understood."
Marcus Flint said his piece and walked away. Malfoy was climbing back onto her broom and readying herself when she caught sight of something in the distance.
Over at the Gryffindor bench, Harry Potter was standing with someone.
Hermione Granger had approached him and was pointing her wand at his glasses, moving it in a quick motion. A faint cheer rose from the Gryffindor players.
As if the weather wasn't enough to be annoyed about. Malfoy snapped her head away.
The match resumed. The storm was bad enough that she could barely make out the person directly in front of her—but Malfoy's senses, honed to a razor's edge, locked onto Harry Potter across the field with perfect precision.
She wanted to wipe that smug look off his face. She had never felt it this intensely before. She was glaring at him when a flash of gold caught the corner of her eye.
*The Snitch... damn it, but he's closer!*
Harry Potter didn't seem to have noticed yet.
Malfoy feinted downward, swept into a U-turn, and climbed hard. Then she drove toward the Snitch at full speed.
Only then did Harry Potter spot it—he wheeled his broom in the same direction Malfoy was already heading.
The Snitch fled upward, above the pitch. Harry Potter and Malfoy tore through the curtain of rain in pursuit.
Potter had been closer to it from the start. Malfoy was behind.
*Of all the times to spot the Snitch—right when Potter was practically on top of it—!*
Bad luck. She told herself that, and clenched her jaw.
The truth was that the Snitch had been hovering near Harry Potter, which was the only reason it had entered her line of sight at all.
Even if someone had pointed that out to her, she wouldn't have accepted it.
Malfoy didn't give up. The storm was throwing Harry Potter's body around too. Even for him, catching the Snitch in these conditions looked far from easy. She pressed in close, watching for her moment.
Then the cold hit.
A creeping chill. All light and sound vanished, and a despair settled over her—the kind that whispered she would never be happy again.
The rainwater soaking through her robes was nothing. This cold drove through skin and bored into bone.
The hands gripping her broom began to shake. Malfoy looked down.
A hundred or more Dementors were staring up at her and Harry, their faces hidden beneath their hoods.
Malfoy murmured:
"Dementors?"
They were supposed to be stationed at the Hogwarts gates.
Harry Potter swayed again. Only now did Malfoy understand that it wasn't the wind doing it.
When the Dementors had searched the Hogwarts Express, Malfoy had come away with little more than goosebumps. Harry Potter had fainted at the sight of them.
Something very similar was about to happen again.
The problem was that they were on broomsticks, flying at full speed.
"*Expecto Patronum!*"
Harry Potter had his wand out already, shouting the incantation. White light surged from the tip. But the feeble glow held the Dementors back for only a few seconds.
Malfoy pulled up alongside him and called out:
"Get away from them, Potter! The Patronus Charm is advanced magic. There's no way a third-year can cast it properly!"
"I'm not running! Expecto Patronum!"
Harry Potter screamed the incantation, something wild and desperate in his voice.
The white light from his wand was far weaker than before. The glow of hope was being eaten away by fear and despair—pushed back, eroded—and then it guttered out entirely.
His broom lurched. Harry Potter, who could fly with both hands off the handle, now looked as though he might fall at any moment.
"I said get away from them!"
Malfoy gripped her broom hard and closed the distance. The cold was still there, and something seemed to be whispering a curse against her ear—but she was in considerably better shape than Harry Potter.
Dementors were more dangerous to those who carried terrible memories. That was why she was holding on and he was not.
What you needed to resist them was a happy memory. You had to wrap it around yourself like armour.
But Carina Malfoy knew nothing about Harry Potter.
She didn't know what horrors lived in his memory that made him so vulnerable to Dementors. She didn't know what happy memory might bring him back.
"You're going to fall—! Please, just hold on!"
He had always been the one to come to her. So she had never needed to know, and had never tried to find out.
All she could do right now was hold on.
At the very least, to keep him from falling off his broom—she pressed in close beside him and grabbed a fistful of his robes.
Harry Potter turned his head slowly.
His gaze dropped to her hand, and to the robes she was clutching. Even as the terrible memories played out behind his eyes, he bared a fierce, ragged smile and tightened his grip on his wand.
"...*Expecto.*"
Something seized Malfoy's hand. Before she could register what it was, a blinding white light burst from Harry Potter's wand.
"*Patronum!*"
A small, faint shape unfurled itself in the air.
The pale form streaked alongside Harry Potter, crying out as it ran, and the Dementors scattered in every direction to escape it.
It was like a shaft of sunlight breaking through a wound in her chest. Something warm and soft seeped into Malfoy's body.
Reflexively, she reached toward the shape. The white blur came bounding toward her—
—and vanished in a flash, leaving the Snitch hanging in the air directly before her eyes.
Malfoy's arm shot out on instinct. She caught it. The small winged golden ball trembled against her palm.
Even after she'd caught it, she stayed still for a moment, dazed—then excitement surged through her and she thrust the Snitch high into the air.
"Look, Potter! I caught it—!"
Harry Potter was not looking at her.
He had lost consciousness and was slumped against her.
The wind gusted. Harry Potter's body swayed and toppled in the opposite direction. Malfoy lunged for him, but his body was already falling—already plummeting toward the ground far below.
Then Dumbledore came striding across the pitch. He swept his wand through the air, and Harry Potter's body began to descend slowly.
Malfoy had never seen Dumbledore up close before. But she had never seen him wear an expression like that—not once.