His Angel

Disclaimer: Nope, nope, nope, not mine. Nothing that you read here is mine. Shame, isn’t it?

Author's Note: I’m a really big Quidditch fan, so here’s a little fluffy Quidditch drabble. It’s short, so don’t say I didn’t warn you.

His Angel

Harry soared around the Quidditch pitch searching for the little gold speck which would end the match. "C'mon," he muttered to himself as he zoomed past the three golden hoops on Gryffindor's end.

It was the annual Gryffindor versus Slytherin match and everyone had been there since eleven. Four hours later, everyone was still there, watching and waiting to see the outcome. It was quite possibly the longest match Harry had ever played in. But what was worse was that Slytherin took every chance it got to sing "Weasley is Our King" as loud as possible and every time they did, Draco Malfoy would fly over and sneer at Harry.

He sighed as one of the Slytherin Chasers (he couldn't tell which) plowed the Quaffle through the middle hoop.

"Slytherin scores!" yelled Colin Creevey, who had taken over the commentating job this year. "That makes the score two-ten to one-ninety, Slytherin."

Harry frowned. The least Colin could do was try not sound as enthusiastic about it. His House was losing, after all.

Malfoy flew around Harry, laughing, as below Pansy Parkinson conducted yet another chorus of "Weasley is Our King." Over at the Gryffindor goal posts, Ron was obviously trying to shake off the last goal.

At least he isn't trying to beat himself up, Harry thought as he did another lap around the pitch.

Another half-hour passed with nothing. Slytherin had pulled away and now was leading 290 to 210. Harry watched in agony as the Quaffle was stolen from Katie Bell and passed off quickly.

"Great game of Quidditch, isn't it Potter?" Malfoy sneered as he flew up near Harry. "You're going to have to catch the Snitch just to save your team from a humiliating defeat to just a plain loss." To emphasize his statement, the bell signifying a goal sounded throughout the stadium, followed up by Colin Creevey yelling, "Goal! Slytherin's up by ninety!"

"It isn't over yet, Malfoy," Harry called back. "You're only up by ninety. If it were one hundred and sixty, then I'd be nervous."

Malfoy scowled. "We'll be there soon enough, Potter!"

Just then, Gryffindor scored. Harry smirked. "Sure you will," he said and flew off.

The match continued for another ten minutes, with Ron letting in three more goals. Harry zoomed past the Gryffindor stands, where he could see Hagrid with his large binoculars, Seamus looking disgusted, Neville groaning, and Hermione, who was watching him. He gave her a small wave as he passed.

Suddenly, as he looked back towards the game, he saw it: the Golden Snitch, fluttering closely around the Gryffindor goal posts. He dived and, not to his surprise, so did Malfoy.

Harry grit his teeth as he flew, trying to go faster. The Snitch suddenly veered off away from the goal posts and towards the middle of the field. Harry quickly changed directions and flew after it, Malfoy practically on his heels.

"Faster!" he growled at his Firebolt as the Snitch pelted away. He could feel every Gryffindor eye on him, hoping, praying...

He reached out his hand. Above him, he heard a shrill whistle. Before he had time to wonder, a Bludger tore up from behind and hit him directly in the back of the head. He closed his eyes as he saw stars and felt incredibly dizzy. The last thing he felt was something in his hand as darkness overtook him...

* * *

"Harry?" The voice, it sounded so distant. "Harry?" It was coming closer. "Harry?" What a beautiful sound; so sweet and so kind. "Harry?" Didn't he know that voice? "Harry?" It was beginning to sound distressed. No, don't be sad. "Harry?" It was so familiar. He had to open his eyes to see who the voice belonged to. "Harry?" He had to open his eyes.

And he did. He could not see the face that the voice belonged to clearly, but saw the light that surrounded her and her beautiful hair.

I'm dead, thought Harry, and this is my angel who has come to deliver me to Heaven.

"Harry?" He recognized that voice. "Please, speak to me."

He blinked several times and his angel, his beautiful angel, moved closer. He could make out her features now; her soft brown eyes and her bushy brown hair.

Wait a minute...bushy?

"Hermione?" he breathed.

She let out a sigh of relief and smiled. "Yes, it's me. Oh Harry, you had us so worried."

His angel, his beautiful angel, was his best friend.

"Come on Harry, let's get you to Madam Pomfrey," she was saying, taking a hold of his arm.

He wasn't dead. He felt something flutter in his hand. Looking down, he saw the Snitch. The damn thing had almost cost him his life, but he had been brought back by the young woman who was there at his side, like she always had been.

"Thanks, Hermione," he said when he got up, "for everything."

She smiled and helped him back to the castle. From that day onward, Harry never forgot who his angel truly was.