They fell in a pile of limbs - Flitwick was quick enough to cast a feather-charm, but they'd been high enough that Harry was pretty certain he heard Malfoy break something. Hopefully it was something impressive. Breaking a finger would probably be humiliating. "Oi, I had a pretty impressive crash, but all I got out of it is a broken finger!"
Harry Potter took two deep breaths, centering himself - it was both a technique that he'd been taught, and something he'd known intuitively, from myriad run-ins with Cousin Dudley. No deep injuries, a few softening bruises - even his teeth were all intact.
All the force and weight had landed on Malfoy.
Who, perhaps predictably, was hamming it up. "Professor Flitwick, Professor Flitwick! Harry Potter hit me!" In a quiet corner of Harry's mind, he considered that Draco Malfoy really knew how to whine. Was that learned behavior, or was he always such a shite in that particular way?
Harry had his wand out, but less to help Malfoy than to prevent them both from getting swamped. Apparently, some brilliant witch or wizard had decided that rushing the field was a good idea. "Protego!" he shouted, the shield providing a wall from the fanatics.
They probably thought they were protecting Malfoy from Potter, or vice versa.
Everyone knew how much Slytherins liked revenge.
Harry'd have told them to keep their powder dry, of course - Slytherins liked a nice, cold revenge.
And besides, everyone was looking. That was hardly the time to be discreet.
Oh, Harry very well knew he'd have made a rubbish Slytherin (what sort of ruddy Slytherin can't lie?). But this stuff was just basic common sense.
Harry cast Immobilus before he'd really thought about it, one of the charms that Snape had taught him over the summer. Then he just wanted to curse himself. His green eyes flashed around, finding Flitwick using his wand to cast multiple Protegos. At least Flitwick hadn't seen. There'd have definitely been questions then. And Hermione wasn't here, so thank goodness for small mercies.
In fact, with luck, Harry could just shoulder his way out of here...
Malfoy had, several years ago now, had a particularly cruel nickname for Hermione - Medusa. Well, at least Harry'd thought so. Hermione (once she was out of Malfoy's earshot) had giggled herself to tears. "I know a spell for that!" she'd cried, and proceeded to teach Harry.
That will do, Harry thought, pulling his wand and saying, "Serpentinus Lockae."
Around Flitwick, Harry and Draco, some people started looking nervous.
The snakes hissed in his ear, "Who do you want us to kill?"
Harry hissed back, "No one at the moment."
That did it - where Flitwick or Harry's spellwork wouldn't have.
Harry was pretty sure that some of the people who'd decided to run were joking, and the rest were imitating them.
Still, it had them off the pitch, and Harry had to haul Malfoy to the Wing.
This was Harry's fault, after all, it was the least he could do.
[a/n: up next, you guessed it - Snape.]