New Broom and Good News (I)

The sky outside the window was still gray, but the rain had stopped. A narrow crack had opened in the clouds, and a beam of pale sunlight leaked through, falling on the towers of the castle opposite and tinting the gray stone with an almost golden warmth. Several owls flew in from the direction of the Forbidden Forest, their wings glinting in the sunlight before they quickly vanished around the other side of the castle.

Harry leaned against his pillow, holding a copy of The History of Quidditch Tactical Evolution that Hermione had lent him in his right hand. But his gaze was not on the pages; it rested on the sky outside, mostly obscured by clouds. His fingers unconsciously rubbed the edge of the paper, producing a faint rustling sound.

Seven days had passed since the Quidditch match.

Every detail from that day was still branded into his mind, as if someone had pressed red-hot iron against it. Draco had snatched the Golden Snitch from before his eyes three times. Angelina's pale face as she was carried off the pitch. The sharp crack when the Nimbus 2000 broke beneath him. The soul-rending pain that shot through his left arm when he fell into the mud. Draco hovering above him, that infuriating smile at the corner of his mouth, saying, "Pretty Potter, does it hurt?"

Those memories buzzed around him like a swarm of flies, impossible to drive away.

The hospital wing door opened.

Ron was the first to rush in. His hair looked even redder than usual, as though it had been singed by fire, and the freckles on his face stood out especially clearly with his excitement. He was carrying a huge bag of Fizzing Whizbees, its wrapper crumpled as though someone had balled it up and unfolded