Marcus Flint was injured and had to leave the field, giving Gryffindor a much-needed break and letting them score a goal.
10 to 50... Although the gap was still huge, at least they weren't at zero anymore.
And once the Bludger returned to normal, Harry noticed it right away. He started to speed up, squinting his eyes and searching for the Snitch through the silvery rain curtain.
Harry felt very anxious.
Because he had no idea if this normalcy would be temporary, and with the score gap widening, he had to catch the Golden Snitch as soon as possible and end this match.
"Were you just practicing ballet, Potter?" Malfoy deliberately flew up next to him and shouted loudly:
"I never knew you had such talent! Maybe you should join the Skeleton Dance Troupe!"
Harry was getting annoyed by Malfoy's taunts and couldn't help glancing back at him. And in that very instant, he saw... the Golden Snitch flying right between the two of them.
Without the slightest hesitation, Harry gave chase immediately.
Malfoy's reaction was slower.
Even though he was lagging behind, his advantage in broom meant the distance between them was slowly shrinking.
"It's the Golden Snitch... Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy have both seen it... They're speeding up now!"
Up in the commentary booth, Lee Jordan shouted excitedly, "The Golden Snitch changed direction... Harry Potter's right on its tail, less than two feet apart... Draco Malfoy's been left behind... Looks like sometimes, a good broom just isn't enough."
The distance between Harry and the Snitch was rapidly shrinking—his fingertips could almost brush the Snitch's wings... But just then, a Bludger suddenly changed direction and came zooming right at them.
This time, Harry didn't dodge. He let go of his broom, lunged forward, and clutched the Golden Snitch tightly in his hand.
But at the same time, his arm was hit and broken by the Bludger.
With a loud "bang," water splashed everywhere, and Harry tumbled off his broom, falling onto the muddy pitch. His arm dangled there at a very odd angle.
From the stands came a wave of cheering.
Kai was thrilled too... It had been three years, and this was his first time watching a whole match. Definitely something to remember.
As the stands rang with cries of Harry's name, Kai happened to notice house-elf Dobby hurrying out of the Quidditch Pitch.
Behind Dobby, Kaka was swinging a cleaning broom energetically, whacking Dobby on the head again and again.
This was how house-elves resolved their disagreements... Simple and direct, no magic involved, just a good old-fashioned beating.
Kai raised his eyebrows—he didn't know if that last Bludger's strange turn was related to Dobby... But if it was, that little guy sure was persistent.
Poor Harry though. Kai had thought he could at least keep his arm safe this time.
After the match, Ms. Hooch moved Harry to the edge of the pitch, right next to Marcus Flint, planning to take them both to the Hospital Wing.
A crowd gathered around.
Harry, dazed and groggy, saw a brilliant row of sparkling teeth.
"Oh, no, not you." He groaned.
"What's that? You want me to fix your arm?" Lockhart declared loudly to the students crowding around. "Don't worry, I was just about to do that!"
He drew his wand...
"Well, which one of you gentlemen would like to go first?"
Harry was infinitely grateful he hadn't passed out. He raised his uninjured hand, pointing shakily at Marcus Flint. "He—he's more badly hurt."
"What a kind-hearted child you are." Lockhart touched the rain by his eyes, clearly moved. "Don't worry, I could heal anyone here in the blink of an eye. Let's start with the closest one, then."
Lockhart turned his attention to Harry's arm.
"No!" Harry said quickly. "Just leave it like this, it doesn't hurt at all... hiss... Thank you."
Harry struggled to sit up.
"Look at you, you're in such pain you're talking nonsense." Lockhart raised his wand. "Lie down, this is just a simple charm—I've used it countless times..."
"Professor Lockhart..."
Kai squeezed out of the crowd and quietly said next to Lockhart, "I know you can definitely heal them, but maybe it's better to leave this little stuff to Madam Pomfrey... Otherwise, she'll be out of a job.
Besides, I bet everyone here would love to hear your thoughts on that match just now."
"Oh... You're right, I shouldn't steal Poppy's thunder."
Lockhart slapped his forehead. "My apologies, I've gotten used to patching up the injured while traveling... I hope Poppy can forgive me."
"But when it comes to Quidditch, you really asked the right person." Lockhart laughed, "The Appleby Arrows have invited me to join them twice, but I had to decline—villages troubled by the Wagga Werewolf needed saving, after all.
Actually, just this July, they invited me again... It was the day after Headmaster Dumbledore came to see me. If only the invitation had come a day or two sooner, I might have debuted on the Quidditch pitch by now."
His remarks instantly caused a sensation... Even now, there were still plenty of his worshippers in the school.
Lying on the ground, Harry felt nothing but relief.
"Thanks..." he whispered to Kai.
Fred and George squeezed over as well, and while Lockhart was busy boasting about his flying skills, they scooped up Harry and sprinted towards the Hospital Wing.
...
Everything went smoothly—Madam Pomfrey had Harry's arm mended in just a second.
She didn't look very pleased, though.
"Someone gets injured every year... This sport is far too dangerous. I don't see why Dumbledore hasn't banned it yet."
She handed Harry a bottle of potion. "Drink up, it'll help you recover..."
Harry didn't say anything, just quietly took a sip of the potion.
Even though he'd braced himself, Harry almost spit it out; it tasted just like the dishwater at the Dursleys'. He barely managed to swallow it down.
"Weren't there two injuries?" Madam Pomfrey glanced around. "Where's the other one?"
As she finished speaking, some Slytherins carried Marcus Flint into the Hospital Wing.
When enemies meet, their eyes flash with hatred. Staring at the Gryffindor team, the Slytherins didn't bother hiding their loathing.
But this was the Hospital Wing, so they dared not cause trouble—just deposited Marcus on the bed farthest from Harry.
"Broken nose, several teeth knocked out..." Madam Pomfrey checked Marcus over, scowling. "Dumbledore really ought to ban this dangerous sport!"
"Madam Pomfrey, Quidditch really isn't that dang—"
Malfoy just opened his mouth when Madam Pomfrey glanced up, and he wisely shut it again.
Ever since staying here a few days before, Malfoy had developed a psychological shadow of Madam Pomfrey.
The potions she gave were just awful... Worse than slug juice, even.
At that thought, Malfoy paled again and instinctively looked toward the door.
He'd wanted to mock Harry while he had the chance, but now, all he wanted was to get out of here as soon as possible.