The match began with the roar of a thousand voices and the scream of wind.
Fifteen brooms shot into the air, the emerald green of the Slytherin robes blurring into a distinct advantage. Their new Nimbus 2001s were undeniably faster, but Elijah knew that speed was a hollow victory without precision.
He didn't intend to leave the outcome to chance. As he ascended, Elijah subtly cast a Super-Sensory Charm on himself.
It was a sophisticated piece of magic, far beyond the curriculum of a second-year, but executed without a wand, it remained invisible to the spectators.
His world expanded; he no longer needed to squint against the sun. He could feel the displacement of air, the vibration of magical energy, and the frantic, rhythmic beat of the Golden Snitch somewhere in the distance.
He flew to the very apex of the pitch, hovering so high he appeared to be an indifferent observer rather than a participant. Below him, the game was a chaotic dance of aggression.
Slytherin's offense was relentless. Adrian Pucey and Marcus Flint hammered at the Ravenclaw hoops, their superior brooms allowing them to intercept passes with ease.
Cho Chang, the Ravenclaw Seeker, darted through the fray with a look of growing desperation. She glanced up at 'Draco', her almond-shaped eyes narrowing with irritation.
To her, he looked like he was slacking off—a rich boy too arrogant to even search for the Snitch.
Then, the game turned dangerous.
Seeking a breakthrough, the Ravenclaw Chasers attempted a risky pincer maneuver. In the confusion, a Bludger—hit with a thunderous double-team by the Ravenclaw Beaters—careened toward Graham, one of the Slytherin Chasers.
It clipped the tail of his broom with sickening force. Graham lost his balance, his hands slipping from the wood as he began a terminal tumble toward the grass below.
The stadium went silent, the air thick with a collective gasp. Madam Hooch was too far away to intervene.
"Oh my..."
"Oh no..."
On the high platform, Dumbledore stood, his hand rising to cast a Cushioning Charm.
But a streak of green blur beat him to it.
Elijah went into a vertical dive, pushing the Nimbus 2001 past its safety limits. The wind slapped his face, stinging his cheeks, but his focus was absolute. At nearly 150 kilometers per hour, the ground was a green wall rushing to meet him.
He reached out, his fingers locking around Graham's arm. He threw out a series of silent Cushioning Charms to prevent the jerk of the catch from tearing Graham's shoulder from its socket.
They were feet from the ground—so close the broom's tip scraped a long, brown scar into the turf.
Crack.
The front of the broom snapped, the polished wood splintering away, but Elijah yanked the handle back with a roar of effort.
The shortened broom shrieked as it pulled out of the dive, soaring back into the sky with Graham still clutched in Elijah's iron grip.
For several seconds, the silence held. Then, the stadium exploded.
"Hell yeah!!!!"
"That was.."
"That was..."
Even the Gryffindors were on their feet. Ron and Harry watched, open-mouthed, as Fred and George stood on the benches, screaming, "Malfoy, that was bloody wicked!" at the top of their lungs.
Elijah ignored the adulation, his mind already back on the mission. He deposited a trembling, grateful Graham back onto his own broom.
"Don't let them off the hook," Elijah said, his tone cold and steady. "It's our turn."
He didn't return to the heights. Bored with spectating, he gripped the jagged end of his broken broom and joined the fray.
Though he couldn't handle the Quaffle, he used his superior flight to shadow Cho Chang, weaving around her in an inverted hang that defied the laws of physics.
"Where is it?" Cho shouted over the wind, her face flushed with frustration as she followed his feints. "Where's the Snitch?"
"Who said the Snitch was here?" Elijah replied, hanging upside down beneath her broom, his eyes mocking. "Heh~ I'm just keeping you company."
He saw her irritation flicker into a reluctant spark of admiration. She tried to break away, but Elijah's Super-Sensory Charm made him an inescapable shadow.
The score climbed: 90 to 20.
Slytherin was dominating.
"The Snitch! Malfoy's seen it!" Lee Jordan's voice cracked over the speakers.
Elijah had felt it—a frantic hum of gold near a thick bank of clouds.
He leaned forward, but as he accelerated, the damaged Nimbus began to vibrate violently.
The metal footrest snapped off, falling away like shrapnel.
"Stop, Malfoy!" Cho yelled, her voice thin with genuine fear as she saw his broom bristles loosening. "It's falling apart!"
Elijah didn't slow down. He couldn't. The competitive ghost of Tom Riddle's ego, combined with his own analytical drive, wouldn't allow a retreat.
He plunged into the clouds, the sun-drenched mist blinding everyone below.
The broom gave its final shudder. As Elijah lunged forward, his fingertips brushed the cold, fluttering metal of the Snitch. He snagged it, even as the Nimbus 2001 disintegrated beneath him.
He began to fall.
Dumbledore, watching from below, felt a flicker of confusion. The boy's performance was too perfect, yet the act of saving Graham didn't fit the profile of a Dark Lord in the making.
"Arresto Momentum," Dumbledore intoned.
Elijah felt the air thicken beneath him like a pile of wool. He slowed, drifting gently to the grass as the stadium erupted in a second, even louder wave of cheers.
Madam Hooch landed beside him, her expression a mix of awe and reprimand. Elijah simply opened his hand, revealing the struggling Golden Snitch.
Then he was carried into the hospital wing by a large crowd, cheering all the while. It was as if they were celebrating his hospitalization.
...
Madam Pomfrey's assessment was blunt: Elijah's arm was less a limb and more a collection of "shattered tea leaves." It felt, in his estimation, like a bag of crispy noodles that had been thoroughly crushed.
Initially, Ginny and Hermione had panicked, but Ron managed to talk them down. "It's Malfoy who's hurt, remember?" he said with a pointed look. The realization hit them instantly.
Malfoy was the one suffering; "Mr. Riddle" was merely the passenger. Their concern evaporated, replaced by a dark satisfaction. If Mr. Riddle hadn't been inhabiting the body, they might have set off fireworks in the common room.
"He flew brilliantly, though," Ron admitted, a trace of anxiety returning. "If Slytherin makes the finals, Harry, what are you going to do?"
"He isn't playing the next match," Ginny assured him. She knew Mr. Riddle had merely been testing the air of the Quidditch pitch, not looking for a career. Harry felt a complicated surge of relief and frustration; being outflown so decisively in his own specialty left a bitter taste in his mouth.