The match day arrived. The weather remained terrible, with rumbling thunder and strong winds.
Slytherin captain Marcus Flint woke up with a gloomy face.
"We need to put more effort into our pitches, and we also need to consider the wind's effect on the ball and pay attention to the angle," he said seriously.
"Could the match be cancelled?" Graham Montague asked hopelessly. "Should we ask Professor McGonagall?"
"There has to be a proper reason," Marcus said in a deep voice. "Otherwise, even if the Head of House pleads on your behalf, it will not work."
But Marcus looked around at his teammates and could not find any inspiration to avoid this unfortunate match. The Slytherin players could only emerge one by one from the changing room, mount their flying brooms on the wet grass, and face their Gryffindor opponents through the rain.
With a sharp whistle from Madam Hooch, both teams gritted their teeth, grabbed their brooms, and rushed into the bleak, rainy sky above.
Draco was frozen stiff by the icy rain.
His mind was in complete turmoil. He not only had to navigate the storm on his flying broomstick to find the Snitch, but he also had to keep an eye on Harry's movements.
This was no easy task. As Seeker for the match, multitasking was not a wise move, but he could not help but keep Harry in mind.
Harry had saved his life. Ever since then, he had found it difficult to ignore the potential danger Harry might pose.
A thunderclap rang out, followed by a flash of lightning.
Draco saw the small golden ball with silver wings.
The elusive Snitch was only the size of a walnut, cunning and agile, and at this moment it seemed to be taking a short rest in mid-air because its wings were wet from the rain.
Excellent! Let us end this damned match already!
He sped towards the Snitch, suddenly reaching out towards the tiny golden dot, and before it could react, he scooped it up!
Overjoyed, he turned to look at the sea of cloaks and tattered umbrellas... all blown apart by the gale... to see whether she had witnessed his feat; only then did he notice the screams coming from the stands.
"Harry!" people shouted.
Draco turned to look at Harry not far away and saw him sliding off his flying broomstick and plummeting downwards at high speed.
A cloud of silvery-white mist emerged from the tip of Harry's wand, which he was gripping tightly, but it did not seem to be very effective. There were not just one or two Dementors in the stands, but a whole hundred of them, all eager to attack.
Harry absolutely must not fall into that horde of Dementors!
Blood rushed to his head. Without time to draw his wand, he hurtled towards the direction Harry had fallen, almost in a straight line, like a cannonball.
"No!" Hermione screamed from the stands, even though those around her were still confused about what the Slytherin Seeker was up to.
In an instant, she understood Draco's intention... she had seen his reckless flying methods before... he was definitely planning to rescue Harry; but it was too risky, and she had never seen anyone play Quidditch more recklessly than him!
Good heavens! She gripped her wand tightly and began casting the Patronus Charm, her heart pounding in her throat.
Merlin, if you truly exist, please save him, do not let anything happen to him! In that instant, she prayed devoutly and desperately.
Just when the audience thought Draco was about to plunge headfirst into the horde of Dementors on the ground, his broom made an unbelievable turn... he caught Harry with the tail of his flying broom.
In the blink of an eye, he grabbed his broom and soared back into the sky, snatching back Harry Potter... the feast the Dementors had been eyeing for so long... amidst the suffocating, chilling rage of the Dementors.
Gasps and cheers erupted from the stands, but Draco paid them no heed.
He had just been too close to the Dementors. The chill emanating from that dark mass penetrated him to the very core.
Some horrifying images immediately flashed through his mind. Even more terrifying, several Dementors, unwilling to let their feast slip away, were emitting hoarse growls as they followed closely behind his broom, causing the cheers from the stands to quickly turn into screams of panic.
Draco shivered in the biting, torrential rain. The howling wind whipped the icy, hard raindrops violently into his eyes, nostrils, and ears. He could not reach for his wand to fight the Dementors behind him, because he was holding his flying broomstick in one hand and supporting the unconscious Harry with the other.
How helpless I am, I cannot let go of either of them.
The thick black fog began to blur his vision. He gritted his teeth, and with the last vestige of his consciousness, he and the weakened Harry rushed straight towards the stands where Dumbledore was... probably the best place to protect them at that moment.
He was exhausted. He relied entirely on his loyal partner, his Nimbus 2001, to keep flying.
Harry behind him had lost consciousness and was swaying precariously, and it was he who was struggling to keep him up.
As he approached the stands, he vaguely saw silvery-white figures appearing from all directions, rushing towards the darkness behind him: otters, tabby cats, a doe... and a phoenix emerging from the tip of Dumbledore's wand in front of him.
The phoenix suddenly rushed past him, brushed past the hem of his damp, cold robes, and swooped away behind him.
The heavy feeling of darkness suddenly lessened, and he felt a lightness in his soul.
Draco felt as though he was floating on air. He was like a bowstring stretched too high, suddenly snapping. Finally, before he completely broke apart, he and Harry tumbled down the steps of the stands, eliciting gasps from those around them.
"...Their Patronus Charms worked, and those Dementors were forced back." Before he lost consciousness, he heard Dumbledore say to someone beside him, "It bought us time to react."
This was his last memory. Then came a numbing, swirling white mist, and a thick, tidal wave of blackness. An endless blackness.
The aftershocks of the Dementors' presence lingered in his mind. All those bad memories attacked his brain in an instant:
His father imprisoned in Azkaban, his mother weeping and begging the Dark Lord at Malfoy Manor, the Dark Lord's bloodshot eyes and cold words... Most terrifying of all, Dumbledore's fall from the Astronomy Tower, and Hermione's lifeless tears, her pitiful screams carving wounds into his heart, just like the marks of "Mudblood" carved into her arm...
He did not know how much time had passed, but within the dark vortex, a warm hand caressed his cold face. He faintly heard a gentle yet sorrowful voice calling, "Draco... Draco..."
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