"Don't touch Harry, don't touch Harry, please don't touch Harry!"
"Get out of the way, you foolish woman, move aside—"
"Don't touch Harry, please, kill me instead—"
A sense of déjà vu came over him.
Though he'd only looked down for a moment, Harry felt as if he'd plunged into endless darkness.
The distant voices gradually became clearer.
When he first encountered a Dementor on the Hogwarts Express, Harry had heard terrible screams and panicked pleas from afar.
But at the time, he didn't know whose voice it was.
Moreover, when he told others about it, they all said they hadn't heard any voice.
However, this time, when over a hundred Dementors approached the pitch, Harry heard the screams and pleas again in his unconsciousness.
He finally knew whose screams they were.
It was his mother!
It was his mother's voice in her final moments, her desperate begging to Voldemort to spare him as an infant!
When he came to, he found himself in tears.
Looking around, he found himself lying in the hospital wing, surrounded by a circle of people all watching him with worried eyes.
His voice was hoarse: "What... what happened to me?"
"Over a hundred Dementors came!"
"You fell off your broom!"
"Everyone was terrified!"
As everyone spoke at once, Harry finally understood what had happened.
His expression immediately turned very unpleasant.
Gryffindor had lost.
When Sherlock left with Dumbledore earlier, though he'd heard Hufflepuff captain Cedric Diggory's voice requesting a rematch, he hadn't paid attention.
Only now did he and Harry learn the match's outcome.
Just as Harry fell from his broom, Hufflepuff Seeker Cedric Diggory successfully caught the Golden Snitch.
This was the natural result. He'd spotted the Snitch before Harry anyway.
Without Harry as competition, no one could stop him.
However, Cedric truly was an honorable person.
When he caught the Snitch and saw Harry fallen on the ground, he immediately proposed to Madam Hooch that it didn't count and they should have a rematch.
But referee Madam Hooch refused.
In her view, though the Dementors' appearance was indeed unexpected, if Harry couldn't overcome their influence, that was his own problem.
They were both Seekers, why was Cedric unaffected?
Furthermore, of all fourteen players combined, only Harry Potter had fallen from his broom.
Though the others were affected to varying degrees, none so obviously.
Similarly, the little lions weren't petty people.
They accepted the result.
Even Wood, desperate for victory, agreed Cedric had won fair and square, without controversy.
Since the opponents acknowledged it, a rematch became meaningless.
So, the match ended 150-50, with Hufflepuff victorious.
Despite his teammates' consolations, Harry couldn't accept the result.
Because of him, Gryffindor had lost another match.
Two years ago, because he was in the hospital, Gryffindor lost the most crucial match.
Last year, the remaining matches were canceled due to the Chamber of Secrets incident.
Even so, before this match, Gryffindor had won every game he'd played in.
But this time, though he'd actually played, they'd still lost to their opponents.
As Wood said, Diggory had won fairly and honorably.
He had nothing to say. But that was exactly why it hurt more.
The only consolation for Harry was that they hadn't completely lost their chance.
The Hogwarts Quidditch Cup used a point system.
Each team had to play against the other three house teams.
Following combination rules, there were six matches per term, exactly two per year.
This meant if Hufflepuff lost to Ravenclaw in this term's second match, and Gryffindor defeated both Ravenclaw and Slytherin, they still had a chance at the championship cup.
Of course, since Gryffindor lost to Hufflepuff by 100 points in this match, they'd need to calculate goal differentials.
For the mathematically-challenged Wizards, such calculations were rather complex.
Due to the heated discussion, Madam Pomfrey, who had just returned to the hospital wing, firmly drove them all out.
Ron wanted to stay, but Madam Pomfrey, annoyed by his earlier loudness, drove him out too.
After they left, Madam Pomfrey closed the door, looking quite displeased at the muddy tracks left on the floor.
The only ones remaining in the hospital wing were the five who'd stayed quiet: Sherlock, Hermione, Luna, Cho Chang, and Ginny.
Harry didn't want to relive the match's defeat or his mother's heartbreaking pleas, so he hastily changed the subject:
"By the way, who has my Nimbus?"
He thought this was a bland enough topic to distract himself and escape his despondent mood.
Sherlock had left the pitch with Dumbledore, so he didn't know what happened afterward and looked at the four girls along with Harry.
Hermione, Cho Chang, and Ginny quickly exchanged glances but didn't speak.
"What's wrong?"
Harry looked at the three, somewhat puzzled. Was this question difficult to answer?
Then Luna said straightforwardly: "It broke."
"What?" Harry froze.
"Just tell him," Sherlock placed his hand on Hermione's shoulder. "Trust Harry. He can handle it."
He'd seen the bag at Cho Chang's feet and heard the girls' words, he'd already deduced the truth.
Harry: "..."
'I really appreciate your confidence in me!'
However, Sherlock's words were effective. Hermione, who'd been hesitating, spoke directly,
"Well, Harry—when you fell, it got blown away by the wind."
"And it just happened to crash into the Whomping Willow," Ginny stammered.
"Just now, Professor Flitwick brought it over," Cho Chang said in as gentle a voice as possible.
"So, it just broke," Luna confirmed.
Then Cho Chang bent down to pick up the bag at her feet and slowly tipped it over.
A dozen wooden splinters and twigs fell onto the bed, the remains of Harry's Nimbus 2000, which had brought him victory after victory.
In that moment, Harry was completely stunned.
'Am I Harry Potter or Draco Malfoy?'
Malfoy broke his leg during practice, and his Nimbus 2001 got smashed to pieces by the Whomping Willow.
He fell off his flying broom during an actual match under Dementor influence, and his Nimbus 2000 was also smashed by the Whomping Willow.
That Whomping Willow had gone absolutely berserk, hadn't it?
Sherlock picked up one of the fragments and examined it for a moment, then shook his head. "No possibility of repair."
Harry: "..."
He looked at Sherlock somewhat resentfully.
'Mate, could you stop rubbing salt in my wounds?'
Then he saw Luna nod. "Yes, absolutely no way to fix it."
Harry: (T_T)
Cho Chang beside them quickly tugged at Luna.
"Stop talking, stop talking."
Madam Pomfrey easily convinced the despondent Harry to stay in the hospital wing for the weekend.
However, he insisted on keeping the Nimbus 2000's remains.
He knew he was being foolish, that it was meaningless, as Sherlock and Luna had said, with the Nimbus 2000 in this state, it definitely couldn't be fixed.
But he did it anyway.
In that moment, he even felt a sense of shared suffering with Malfoy.
That weekend, visitors to see Harry came in an endless stream.
Everyone was trying to cheer him up in their own way.
Most people acted normally, though some methods gave Harry a headache.
Like Hagrid, who quietly brought a bouquet of thistles that Harry felt looked more like yellow cabbages.
Ginny, blushing furiously, worked up the courage to give Harry a homemade get-well soon card.
Unfortunately, it kept singing shrilly, so Harry had to press it down with the fruit bowl.
By Sunday afternoon, the Gryffindor Quidditch team members all arrived again.
This time, even captain Wood came.
He hadn't come last time because after the match, he'd stayed out in the rain.
When he saw Harry, he said it wasn't Harry's fault at all.
The words were sincere.
The problem was, hearing him say this in such a hollow, dull voice made Harry feel even worse.
Hermione, Ron, and Cho Chang only left Harry's bedside in the evenings.
Everyone cared for Harry in their own way.
However, Harry's best friend Sherlock's behavior shocked everyone.
Except for the day of the Quidditch match when he'd accompanied Headmaster Dumbledore in bringing Harry to the hospital wing, he hadn't appeared since.
Even Hermione and Ron didn't know where Sherlock had gone that weekend.
However, Harry didn't particularly mind.
The lost match, the damaged broomstick, the fall from great height—
These things only occupied half his worries.
The other half was the "Grim"—the large black dog he'd seen in the stands.
Harry hadn't mentioned the "Grim" to anyone.
Not even to Ron, Hermione, and Cho Chang, who'd stayed with him.
Because he knew Ron would panic.
Hermione would scoff.
As for Cho Chang, Harry didn't want her to see his weak side.
It was fine that Sherlock hadn't come, he didn't plan to tell Sherlock about it yet anyway.
Harry recalled the first Defense Against the Dark Arts class, when the Boggart had reached him, but both Sherlock and Professor Lupin had stopped him.
This made him feel neither of them believed he could handle a Boggart alone.
Perhaps they both meant well, thinking he'd faint again?
Unfortunately, they were right.
Facts spoke louder than words, he really would faint again upon seeing Dementors.
Now whenever Harry thought about Dementors, all he felt was disgust and humiliation.
Yes, Dementors were terrifying, everyone who'd seen them said so.
But only Harry had fainted.
Moreover, when others saw Dementors, they didn't hear the voices of dead relatives.
So, for two consecutive nights, Harry drifted hazily, sometimes falling into dreams, sometimes waking with a jerk.
Each time he fell into dreams, he'd see those cold, clammy, rotting hands and hear his mother's heartbreaking pleas.
In this dejected state, time finally reached the new week.
"Sherlock, where were you this weekend?"
When they saw Sherlock again in the Great Hall, Ron couldn't help asking: "Every night when we went to sleep, you hadn't returned to the dormitory."
"Ron, by the time I returned to the dormitory, you were already asleep."
"I know that. Neville said you wake him up for morning training. But after training, you always have him return to the dormitory alone while you disappear somewhere."
Ron said somewhat glumly, "You didn't even go see Harry. Too mysterious."
Harry beside him quickly said, "I—I don't mind."
Sherlock smiled slightly: "Dear Ron, if I told you, could you keep the secret?"
"Of course!" Hearing this, Ron immediately patted his chest in assurance.
"Well then, so can I."
After a long moment, Ron finally realized what Sherlock's words meant.
"Sherlock, you tricked me!"
"Ron, I promise when the time is right, I'll tell you everything."
Sherlock's gaze swept over the bulge in Ron's pocket, then turned to Harry, saying to his surprise: "Do you still have that Sneakoscope?"
"I left it in the dormitory. Why?"
"I'd like to borrow it for a while. May I?"
"Of course. I'll give it to you when we get back after class today."
Noticing that Sherlock treated him exactly as he had before the Quidditch match, Harry suddenly felt much better.
Soon, that week's Defense Against the Dark Arts class arrived.
Walking toward the classroom, Ron suddenly elbowed Harry. "Mate, help check who's inside."
"What's wrong?" Harry asked curiously.
"If Snape's teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts again, I'm skipping!"
Ron said huffily, "I'd rather lose dozens of points than see his ugly face again!"
Seeing Ron so adamant, Harry was somewhat speechless.
However, just as he was about to peek at the classroom door, the little lions who'd reached there were already cheering.
"Professor Lupin's back!"
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