#incendiary | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

obsidianpen · 7 months ago

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That Dumbledore, Gellert, Tom and Harry idea is so unique! Seeing them all interact would be like watching the avengers 😂

Okay here is a part of that story……. “The Double Snitch Win”

At least with Malfoy, the rivalry was understandable. It was bound to happen, in fact, long before they’d ever met. Harry’s father worked as an auror at the Ministry, and James Potter hated Lucius Malfoy with a passion. According to him, Draco’s father strutted about the Ministry like he owned the place (Minister Fudge at his side more often than notâ€”‘following the money’, as his Harry’s dad remarked) making suggestions on how things he knew nothing about should be run.

It was an animosity that Harry had quickly inherited after his first interaction with Lucius’s son, who had taken one look at Harry’s hair and asked if he had been raised by muggles (which was, in pureblood social circles, worse than asking if he’d been raised by trolls).

They were in the same year, they were in opposing houses, they had fathers who despised each other. Even their hair styles were in direct opposition to each other: slicked back blonde and unruly black. Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy were born to hate each other.

â€¦Riddle made far less sense.

He was three years older than Harry, after all. It was not often that students who were older even took notice of younger students, let alone wanted to passive-aggressively destroy their entire lives.

Where did it all begin, with Tom Riddle?

It wasn’t a difficult question to answer. Harry knew exactly when that hostility had been born.

It was a day that would be remembered forever in Gryffindor house history as ‘The Double Snitch Win’.

In his first year, Harry had made a name for himself by being appointed Seeker for the Gryffindor quidditch team. He hadn’t tried out, though he had very much wanted toâ€”Harry’s own father told him that first years never made the team, almost by principle. It hadn’t happened in over a hundred years. That, and his mother wanted him to focus on school.

“I’m sure you’ll play in your later years,” she’d said resignedly, “and then your life will be nothing but quidditch. Take at least one year to just focus on studying and making friends?”

She practically begged him not to with her eyes alone. And while his sister, Isla, had always been a spoiled daddy’s girlâ€¦ Harry was very close with his mother.

He hadn’t tried out.

He got on the team, anyway.

It was Draco Malfoy’s fault, really. Stealing a Remembrall, taking it from poor Neville and threatening to hide it in a tree because he was terrible at flying. It was a scenario that had resulted in Harry making an incredible catch, and McGonagall, who had been keeping an eye out for a possible new Seeker even more adamantly than Wood, the then-captain, snatched him away from class and tossed a quidditch uniform at him right then and there in her office.

When Harry had written his parents explaining what happened, his mother had written back that she was surprised she was surprised. His dad, naturally, was delighted. Harry had a feeling that the story of how Draco Malfoy had helped his son become a quidditch legend was one which was told very loudly the next time Lucius Malfoy was lingering near the auror department.

Harry had never felt more nervous than he had before his first match.

The weeks leading up to the event were suspenseful, to say the least. The first game of the season was Gryffindor versus Slytherin. With the rumor of how Harry had gotten on the team having spread far and wide, the animosity between the two houses was at an all-time high. Dungbombs were aimed at players from both sides at a regular basis. Harry received an anonymous howler at breakfast once that did nothing but scream ‘You’re gonna die!’ repeatedly (Harry suspected Draco, but was unable to confirm). Oliver Wood sent Howlers back to each of the Slytherin players the following morning in retaliation that screamed the same thing. Half the owls had gone flying back the way they’d come before delivering their letters that day, the noise had scared them so badly.

The fact that it was Harry Potter’s first match was not the only unusual point of interest for that game. Madame Hooch had a family emergency a few days before the match and had needed to leave the castleâ€¦ so Snape had become the temporary referee.

Snape! Severus Snape, the Slytherin head of house! The backlash from Gryffindor at that announcement was severe. Fred and George hit the Slytherin team’s beaters arms with shrinking curses, leaving them with the appendages of infants for twelve hours. It had been a humorous prank, but not an overtly serious one—they were back to normal before the match.

Someone who was not back to normal in time for the game, however, was Lee Jordan, the twin’s Gryffindor friend who served as the commentator. He’d been struck with a tongue-swelling hex the morning of the match, and not even Madam Pomfrey could get it back to normal quickly enough for him to speak.

Because Snape was the referee, he had taken it upon himself to appoint a new announcer.

Naturally, he chose a Slytherin.

Naturally, he chose Tom Riddle.

Though just in his fourth year, everyone in school knew who Tom Riddle was, even though the star student didn’t play quidditch himself. If he had, how would he possibly have time to live in the library, be at the very top of his class in every subject, and serve as captain of both the Dueling Club and the Debate Team?

His ability to speak flawlessly and with great precision—not to mention the fact that people already hung off his every word—made him the perfect candidate for the job.

The match was vicious.

It was an unusual arena: for possibly the first time ever, the stands were not segregated entirely by houses. There had been a small section of all females wearing scarves of every color who had grouped together in front of the Hufflepuffs, for no other reason than to be close to the announcer’s box—the better to look at, and drool over, Tom Riddle, no doubt. Harry rolled his eyes at the mere memory of such ridiculousness.

Not that he’d cared very much then. Before the match had started, he’d just been trying not to vomit from anxiety. Riddle had been the least of his concernsâ€”he barely even knew the fourth-year studentâ€”but Snape was a different matter altogether.

Snape hated him. He hated Harry James Potter because he had hated James Potter, and really, his father was the cause for a lot of his drama, Harry realized as he lay there with his face buried in a pillow.

Snape had made calls against Gryffindor that bordered on ludicrous, while never once calling a foul on Slytherin. All insanely unfair events which were narrated in the most pleasant voice of Tom Riddle, who had taken the temporary position of commentator very seriously, as committed to announcing quidditch plays as flawlessly as he was doing anything else.

Of course, he did it in a very biased manner. Tom Riddle praised each one of Snape’s discriminations, as well as commending the Slytherin house players whenever they performed well. He never said anything when a Gryffindor player did the same, though he was quick to point out when they made even the slightest blunder.

As far as Harry was concernedâ€¦ Riddle started it.

Well, he did, didn’t he? Harry hadn’t done anything; neither of the Seekers had done anything. Thirty minutes into the game and they had done nothing but circle each other, looking for the snitch which had remained elusive.

There had been a time out. During the lull in action, Riddle, for the first time, mentioned Harry.

“…The Seekers have not yet been spurred into action, but one does wonder how they will perform against each other. If a portion of the castle rumors are to be believed, then Harry Potter of Gryffindor House was only appointed on the basis of necessity and sheer luck. The Slytherin Seeker, on the other hand, Terrence Higgs, has been playing on the Slytherin team for years, yet still followed protocol and was made Seeker once more based on his performance during try-outs. So the question is: What will prove to be more valuable in completing the most important task of catching the snitch? Experience and knowledge, or pure, dumb luck? Only time… will tell.”

And Harry would remember the following moment for the rest of his life: looking at Tom Riddle in the announcer’s box, who was looking back at him with the sweetest smile on his face, eyes visibly gleaming, even from a distance.

Harry had taken it upon himself in that moment to be his downfall.

“Fred. George,” he’d said with enough seriousness in his voice that even the twins looked worried. “When the bludger comes after me, don’t hit it away.”

“Er…Beg your pardon, Harry?”

“That’s sort of our job, to—”

“Don’t. Beat it. Away.”

Snape called to an end of the time out, and the twins could only shrug and nod.

Harry really was an excellent flier. He took to the air and sought out a bludger on purpose, getting just close enough to it to catch its attention. That’s right, he’d thought as it began to tail him. Come after me, it’s me you want…

Having never tried to get a bludger to chase him before, Harry was pleasantly surprised at how easy it was. He let it follow him around until he was absolutely ready.

…Tom Riddle was not ready.

Harry took off at top speed towards the announcer’s box, and then, making the tightest turn he’d made in his life, went straight to his left, out of harm’s way.

Riddle had been in mid-sentence, focused on the Slytherin chasers who were preparing to score. “And Pucey passes to Flint, whoâ€”a bludger.”

Tom Riddle’s commentary had been as on point as ever: it was indeed a bludger which had gone flying at him with the force of a cannonball, led there intentionally by an eleven-year-old Seeker.

To be perfectly honest, Harry hadn’t meant to hurt him.

He hadn’t even been sure that it would work. Best case, Harry had hoped to just make the bludger hit the wall of the announcer’s box, or even just get close. McGonagall was in there, after all. He just wanted to scare Riddle with how close it would get, mess up his biased commentary. Really.

He never would have anticipated that it would work so spectacularly well.

The bludger hit Tom Riddle right in the face.

Apparently, it had looked very, very badâ€”Harry did vaguely remember some screaming from the girls nearbyâ€”but his focus had shifted, in that monumental moment.

The second he’d taken that sharp turn, Harry had seen it: the snitch. He’d twisted and caught it before he even realized that Tom Riddle had been hit.

Snape blew his whistle for a time-out just as Harry thrust his arm up into the air, victoriousâ€”and the Gryffindor stands exploded into such raucous applause that no one heard the referee’s whistle at all. Gryffindor had won, the game was over!

Except it hadn’t been.

Snape, horrible Snape, furious Snape, had pulled out the rule book and found some stupid regulation that if a player was injured to the point where they could no longer perform, then any scores made afterwards were negligible until a new player was appointed. Apparently, Riddle, the announcerâ€”in the Snape version of quidditchâ€”counted.

The commentator himself didn’t have a damn thing to say on the matter. He was out cold, levitated on a stretcher by Professor McGonagall (whom Harry recalled as being unable to suppress a thin-lipped grin), who took him at once to the infirmary after appointing a boy from Hufflepuff as the new announcer. And Tom Precious Riddle, who had probably not so much as tripped in the halls of Hogwarts before Harry Potter showed up, spent the night in the Hospital wing with a bruise so terrible that not even magic could prevent it from lingering for days afterwards.

The Gryffindor fury of their win not counting was overwhelming; Harry was certain that the already malicious tactics would have escalated to full-blown warfare. The beaters were more interested in beating each other than the bludgers, and Marcus Flint and Oliver Wood seemed intent to send each other plummeting to their untimely demises in the next thirty seconds of the match.

But it never got that far. A new snitch was released, the game was back onâ€¦ and Harry caught it.

The Hufflepuff boy barely got to say anything. Seven seconds in, the quaffle had been passed onceâ€”and Harry saw the snitch and snatched it out of the air. He’d managed it so quickly and so easily that Harry himself thought he’d imagined it.

Joyful pandemonium would be an apt description for the reaction in the Gryffindor stands, then. Snape could find no rule to bend to dismiss that catch, and Gryffindor was (spitefully) declared the winner.

The celebration in the common room afterwards was one of the best nights of Harry’s life. Oliver Woodâ€”after having a bit too much butterbeer, perhapsâ€”had declared that he wasn’t gay, but that he would undoubtedly marry Harry James Potter.

“You destroyed Riddle! The Tom Riddle! Then you caught the snitchâ€”twice! Only seven seconds! That’s a Hogwarts record! You are a Quidditch God! Will you marry me?”

â€¦Or something like that.

Two days later, when Harry had first run into Riddle after the game, it had seemed like it was going to be a surprisingly calm interaction.

Of course, the older, bolder Gryffindors had been giving him hell. How could they not? But Harry hadn’t. He really hadn’t meant to hit Riddle in the face, but what could he do? It wasn’t like he was going to write him an apologetic, get-well card when he’d been the one to put him in the hospital wing.

He’d just avoided him. Not a terribly difficult task, considering Riddle was not in his year.

Harry had just been leaving the library with Ron when it happened.

Riddle was just on his way there when they met in the entryway. He’d frozen at the sight of the youngest seeker in a century, surely having heard the story a thousand times from both sides of how and why he’d woken up in the hospital wing with a black eye that hadn’t yet faded when Harry saw him.

“Iâ€¦ erâ€¦ Hello,” had been Harry’s hesitant greeting, Ron tensing at his side.

“Potter.”

â€¦The most awkward silence of Harry’s life.

“It was an accident,” Harry had then blurted out, knowing even as he said it that it was a stupid thing to say (and something of a lie). “The bludger. Hitting you. That shouldn’t have happened.”

Tom had smiled, though the effect was less charming with a bruise surrounding one eye. “Of course it was. No one can control those things. It was an unfortunate accident. I would never think, despite what others have told me, that it was a pre-determined, malicious attack.”

Another smile. Riddle stepped out of the way, so that Harry and Ron could leave. “Have a lovely evening,” he said, all politeness and charisma.

Ron left first. And it was in that moment, just as Harry had gone to follow, that Riddle grabbed him.

He didn’t see his face. Harry only knew that Tom Riddle had, in a motion that was so quick he’d hardly registered it, pulled Harry to him by the throat, and spoken into his ear over his shoulder in a voice that was suddenly cold, vicious, mirthless.

“You are mine, Harry Potter.”

And before Harry could respond with anything other than his heart leaping into his throat, Riddle had let go. Harry turned to see the back of him, already perusing the many bookshelves, looking so very casual.

Harry had just stood there, petrified. It had taken Ron turning around once he’d realized that Harry was not following him to snap him out of it, and even then, Harry could say nothing on the matter.

He never did tell Ron.

#Incendiary

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