Quidditch
Before they could notice, November began. The weather turned very cold, the mountains around the school became icy gray and the lake looked like chilled steel. Every morning the ground would be covered in frost creating a picturesque landscape. Hagrid would be seen from the upstairs windows defrosting broomsticks on the Quidditch field, bundled up in a long moleskin overcoat, rabbit fur gloves, and enormous beaverskin boots.
The only thing Charles was actually excited about, was that the Quidditch season had begun. Best part of the year. On Saturday, his house would be playing the first match of the season (and also the first match of Harry): Gryffindor versus Slytherin. If Gryffindor won, they would move up into second place in the House Championship.
He was really looking forward to seeing Harry actually playing quidditch. No one outside the Gryffindor team had seen him since Wood, according to Harry, had decided that, as their secret weapon, Harry should be kept, well, secret. But the whole school already knew, somehow, that Harry was going to be part of the quidditch team. He still a bit jealous about his friend being able to be on the team in first year. He was sure he as good as him and still couldn’t enter earlier. However, he was happy for him and could assure that he would be brilliant.
Charles got closer to Hermione through the few week they had both helped Harry with his homework with all the lastminute Quidditch practice Wood was making them do. Hermione lent the black haired boy her own copy of Quidditch through the ages after she let Charles do some notes in order to help Harry, like that there were seven hundred ways of committing a Quidditch foul That he probably didn’t know about.
Hermione had also become a bit more relaxed about breaking rules since Harry and Ron had saved her from the mountain troll, and she was much nicer for it, so her and Charles started to get even closer for that. She even got him and Ella to solve their argument and got her closer to the group.
The day before Harry’s first Quidditch match the five of them were out in the freezing courtyard during break, and Hermione had conjured them up a bright blue fire that could be carried around in a jam jar. They were standing with their backs to it, getting warm, when Snape crossed the yard. Harry had noticed at once that Snape was limping. Charles, Harry, Ron, Ella and Hermione moved closer together to block the fire from view; they were sure it wouldn’t be allowed. Unfortunately, their guilty faces caught Snape’s eye. He limped over. He hadn’t seen the fire, but he seemed to be looking for a reason to tell them off an anyway.
“What’s that you’ve got there. Potter?”
It was Quidditch Through the Ages . Harry showed him.
“Library books are not to be taken outside the school,” said Snape. “Give it to me. Five points from Gryffmdor.”
“Sir, that’s my own copy. It even has my own notes I made back at home.” said Charles.
“Not only lying, but damaging school property. Another five points from Gryffindor, Miller.” he gave the little boy a stern look. Full of hate, despise. Resentment.
“He’s just made that rule up,” Harry muttered angrily as Snape limped away. “Wonder what’s wrong with his leg?”
“Dunno, but I hope it’s really hurting him,” said Ron bitterly. And secretly he believed the same.
The Gryffindor common room was very noisy that evening. Ron, Charles, Harry, and Hermione sat together next to a window. Hermione was checking Harry and Ron’s Charms homework for them. She would never let them copy “How will you learn?” she would say, but by asking her to read it through, they got the right answers anyway, and anytime she refused Charles would just let them copy his.
The Gryffindor versus Slytherin match was the next day, and his friend was extremely nervous. He wanted the copy of Quidditch through the ages back, he was worried of humiliating himself in front of the whole school. But if there was something he was not afraid of was Snape. Getting up, he told Charles, Ron and Hermione he was going to ask Snape if he could have it back.
“Better you than me,” they said together, but Harry believed that Snape wouldn’t refuse if there were other teachers listening.
Ron and Charles played a game of wizarding chess while waiting for Harry while Hermione read a book next to them until their friend finally came back.
“Did you get it?” Ron asked as Harry joined them. “What’s the matter?”
In a low whisper, Harry told them what he’d seen.
“I made my way down to the staffroom and knocked. There was no answer. Knocked again. Nothing.” said Harry “Snape and Filch were inside, alone. Snape was holding his robes above his knees. One of his legs was bloody and mangled. Filch was handing Snape bandages.”
“Blasted thing,” Snape was saying. “How are you supposed to keep your eyes on all three heads at once?
“I tried to shut the door quietly, but he saw me,” he continued. “He dropped his robes quickly to hide his leg as he screamed at me”
“I just wondered if I could have my book back.”
“GET OUT! OUT!”
“You know what this means?” he finished breathlessly. “He tried to get past that three-headed dog at Halloween! That’s where he was going when we saw him — he’s after whatever it’s guarding! And I’d bet my broomstick he let that troll in, to make a diversion!”
Hermione’s eyes were wide.
“No — he wouldn’t,” she said. “I know he’s not very nice, but he wouldn’t try and steal something Dumbledore was keeping safe.”
“Honestly, Hermione, you think all teachers are saints or something,” snapped Ron. “I’m with Harry. I wouldn’t put anything past Snape. But what’s he after? What’s that dog guarding?”
Charles wanted to sleep early that night, but he just couldn’t. His mind was buzzing with the same question. Why was that thing hiding at Hogwarts? Was it because it was close to Dumbledore? What was so special about the thing hidden that it had to have a three headed dog guarding it? But couldn’t just be that dog, it must have other things guarding it. He thought.
The next morning dawned bright and cold. The Great Hall was full of the delicious smell of fried sausages and the cheerful chatter of everyone looking forward to a good Quidditch match. And he was not the exception. He tried to take Snape of his mind and just enjoy.
“You’ve got to eat some breakfast.”
“I don’t want anything.”
“Just a bit of toast,” wheedled Hermione.
“I’m not hungry.”
“You need the energy Harry, it’s a match against Slytherin, they won’t hold back just because you’re a first year.”
“Miller’s right, you need your strength,” said Seamus, who was sitting next to Charles. “Seekers are always the ones who get clobbered by the other team.”
“Thanks, Seamus,” said Harry, watching Seamus pile ketchup on his sausages.
By eleven o'clock the whole school seemed to be out in the stands around the Quidditch pitch. Many students had binoculars. The seats might be raised high in the air, but it was still difficult to see what was going on sometimes.
Charles, Ron and Hermione joined Neville, Seamus, and Dean the West Ham fan up in the top row. He was hoping Harry could see the large banner they had painted on one of the sheets Scabbers had ruined. It said Potter for President, and Dean, who was good at drawing, had done a large Gryffindor lion underneath. Then the freckled boy together with Hermione had performed a tricky little charm so that the paint flashed different colours.
Gryffindor’s team, (as well as Slytherin’s) was in the locker rooms, changing and the captains giving their classical motivational speech in order to cheer up the team. However, out with the audience it was a whole different story.
Madam Hooch was in the middle of the pitch waiting for the teams to come out, the audience, on the other hand, was going all crazy. Charles looked around and the only section that seemed calm was where the professors together with Dumbledore were sitting by.
The students were feral. Some of them were screaming different chants at the same time which made impossible to understand, some were just talking, some were concentrating on hanging their own banners. Lucky for him and his friends that most people around were just talking.
“Aren’t you excited to see him play?” said Hermione from behind Ron and Charles. Important to say she was much shorter than both of them. Ella sometimes would make herself a bit shorter to make her feel better, taking advantage of her being a metamorphmagus.
“Yeah, definitely,” said Charles. He wanted to see Harry in his quidditch uniform. And yeah see him play of course, but he couldn’t say that to Hermione.
“Hope they beat up Slytherin, I don’t know what I would do if we lose.” said Ron.
Minutes passed slowly and it felt like they were waiting for hours now, until both teams finally came out to the pitch.
“Now, I want a Nice fair game, all of you,” she said, once they were gathered around her. But all noticed that she was speaking particularly to Marcus Flint, a fifth year and the Slytherin Captain.
“Mount your brooms, please.”
They’ve seen Harry clambering onto his Nimbus Two Thousands, and Madame Hooch gave a loud blast on her silver whistle.
The match started.
Five brooms rose up, high, high into the sky. They were off.
“And the Quaffle is taken immediately by Angelina Johnson of Gryffindor — what and excellent Chaser that girl is, and rather attractive, too —”
“JORDAN!”
“Sorry, Professor”
Charles looked to where Jordan Lee, the Weasley twins’ friend, was doing the commentary for the match, and he was closely watched by Professor McGonagall.
“And she’s really belting along up there, a neat pass to Alicia Spinnet, a good find of Oliver Wood’s, last year only a reserve — back to Johnson and — no, the Slytherins have taken the Quaffle, Slytherin Captain Mareus Flint gains the Quaffle and off he goes — Flint flying like an eagle up there — he’s going to se- no, stopped by an excellent move by Gryffindor Keeper Wood and the Gryffindors take the Quaffle — that’s Chaser Katie Bell of Gryffindor there, nice dive around Flint, off up the field and — OUCH — that must have hurt, hit in the back of the head by a Bludger — Quaffle taken by the Slytherins — that’s Adrian Pucey speeding off toward the goal posts, but he’s blocked by a second Bludger — sent his way by Fred or George Weasley, can’t tell which — nice play by the Giyffindor Beater, anyway, and Johnson back in possession of the Quaffle, a clear field ahead and off she goes — she’s really flying — dodges a speeding Bludger — the goal posts are ahead — come on, now, Angelina — Keeper Bletehley dives — misses — GRYFFINDORS SCORE!”
Gryffindor cheers filled the cold air, with howls and moans from the Slytherins.
“Budge up there, move along.”
“Hagrid!”
Ron, Hermione and Charles squeezed together to give Hagrid enough space to join them.
“Bin watchin’ from me hut,” said Hagrid, patting a large pair of binoculars around his neck, “But it isn’t the same as bein’ in the crowd. No sign of the Snitch yet, eh?”
“Nope,” said Ron. “Harry hasn’t had much to do yet.”
“Kept outta trouble, though, that’s somethin’,” said Hagrid, raising his binoculars and peering skyward at the speck that was Harry.
“Well, I hope we won't have to wait much longer,” said Charles, looking for Harry in the air.
He caught him gliding over the game, squinting about for some sign of the Snitch. That was part of his and Wood’s game plan that Harry told them at the rooms one night.
“Slytherin in possession,” Lee Jordan was saying, “Chaser Pucey ducks two Sludgers, two Weasleys, and Chaser Sell, and speeds toward the — wait a moment — was that the Snitch?”
A murmur ran through the crowd as Adrian Pueey dropped the Quaffle, too busy looking over his shoulder at the flash of gold that had passed his left ear.
In a great rush of excitement Harry dived downward after the streak of gold. Slytherin Seeker Terence Higgs had seen it, too. Neck and neck they hurtled toward the Snitch — all the Chasers seemed to have forgotten what they were supposed to be doing as they hung in midair to watch.
Harry was faster than Higgs — he seems to see the little round ball, wings fluttering, darting up ahead — he put on an extra spurt of speed —
WHAM! A roar of rage echoed from the Gryffindors below — Marcus Flint had blocked Harry on purpose, and Harry’s broom spun off purpose, Harry holding on for dear life.
“Foul!” screamed the Gryffindors. Charles' heart stopped. gay
Madam Hooch spoke angrily to Flint and then ordered a free shot at the goal posts for Gryffindor. But in all the eonfusion, of course, the Golden Snitch had disappeared from sight again.
Right next to Ron, Dean Thomas was yelling, “Send him off, ref! Red card!”
“What are you talking about? Dean?” said Ron.
“In soccer you get shown the red card and you’re out of the game” explained Charles to Ron “I thought you knew it when you saw my grandfather watching in on TV four years ago”
“Yeah, red cart!” repeated Dean.
“But this isn’t soccer. Dean,” Ron reminded him.
Hagrid, however, was on Dean’s side.
“They oughta change the rules. Flint could’ve knocked Harry outta the air.”
Lee Jordan was finding it difficult not to take sides.
“So — after that obvious and disgusting bit of cheating —”
“Jordan!” growled Professor Mcgonagall.
“I mean, after that open and revolting foul —”
“Jordan, I’m warning you —”
“All right, all right. Flint nearly kills the Gryffindor Seeker, which could happen to anyone. I’m sure, so a penalty to Gryffindor, taken by Spinnet, who puts it away, no trouble, and we continue play, Gryffindor still in possession.”
It was as Harry dodged another Bludger, which went spinning dangerously past his head, that it happened. His broom gave a sudden, frightening lurch. He gripped the broom tightly with both his hands and knees. Charles had never seen anything like that.
And it happened again. It was as though the broom was trying to buck him off. But Nimbus Two Thousands did not suddenly decide to buck their riders off. Harry tried to turn back toward the Gryffindor goal posts but his broom was completely out of his control. He couldn’t turn it. He couldn’t direct it at all. It was zigzagging through the air, and every now and then making violent swishing movements that almost unseated him.
“Guys, look at Harry!!” said Charles putting a finger into the air.
Lee was still commentating.
“Slytherin in possession — Flint with the Quaffle — passes Spinnet — passes Bell — hit hard in the face by a Bludger, hope it broke his nose — only joking. Professor — Slytherins score — oh no ...”
The Slytherins were cheering. No one else seemed to have noticed that Harry’s broom was behaving strangely. It was carrying him slowly higher, away from the game, jerking and twitching as it went. Oh no.
“Dunno what Harry thinks he’s doing,” Hagrid mumbled. He stared through his binoculars. “If I didn’ know better, I’d say he’d lost control of his broom ... but he can't have. ...”
“There is no way he just lost control of the broom Hagrid, someone must’ve jinxed it!”
Suddenly, people were pointing up at Harry all over the stands. His broom had started to roll over and over, with him only just managing to hold on. Then the whole crowd gasped. Harry’s broom had given a wild jerk and Harry swung off it. He was now dangling from it, holding on with only one hand. No, no, no, no. Harry please don’t let go of the stick. Was everything Charles could think about at that moment.
“Did something happen to it when Flint blocked him?” Seamus whispered.
“Can’t have,” Hagrid said, his voice shaking. “Can’t nothing interfere with a broomstick except powerful Dark magic — no kid could do that to a Nimbus Two Thousand.”
At these words, Hermione seized Hagrid’s binoculars, but instead of looking up at Harry, she started looking frantically at the crowd.
“What are you doing?” moaned Ron, gray-faeed.
“I knew it,” Hermione gasped, “Snape — look.”
Ron grabbed the binoculars as Charles turned his to where Hermione said so. Snape was in the middle of the stands opposite them. He had his eyes fixed on Harry and was muttering nonstop under his breath.
“He’s doing something —jinxing the broom,” said Hermione.
“What should we do?”
“Leave it to me.”
“Hermione.” said Charles.
“Yes?” she turned back, impatient.
“Please be careful.”
Before they could say another word, Hermione had disappeared. They both turned the binoculars back on Harry, praying that he wouldn’t fall. His broom was vibrating so hard, it was almost impossible for him to hang on much longer. The whole crowd was on its feet, watehing, terrified, as the Weasleys flew up to try and pull Harry safely onto one of their brooms, but it was no good — every time they got near him, the broom would jump higher still. They dropped lower and eireled beneath him, obviously hoping to catch him if he fell. Marcus Flint seized the Quaffle and scored five times without anyone noticing.
“Come on, Hermione,” Ron muttered desperately.
Hermione had fought her way across to the stand where Snape stood, and was now racing along the row behind him; she didn’t even stop to say sorry as she knocked Professor Quirrell headfirst into the row in front. Reaching Snape, she touched down, pulled out her wand, and whispered a few, well-chosen words. Bright blue flames shot from her wand onto the hem of Snape’s robes.
It took perhaps thirty seconds for Snape to realize that he was on fire. A sudden yelp told her she had done her job. Scooping the fire off him into a little jar in her pocket, she scrambled back along the row — Snape would never know what had happened.
It was enough. Up in the air, Harry was suddenly able to clamber back on to his broom.
“Neville, you can look!” Ron said. Neville had been sobbing into Hagrid’s jacket for the last five minutes.
Harry was speeding toward the ground when the crowd saw him clap his hand to his mouth as though he was about to be sick. He hit the field on all fours and when he coughed something gold fell into his hand. Something recognizable miles away.
“I’ve got the Snitch!” he shouted, waving it above his head, and the game ended in complete confusion.
“He didn’t catch it, he nearly swallowed it,” Flint was still howling twenty minutes later, but it made no difference. Harry hadn’t broken any rules and Lee Jordan was still happily shouting the results. Gryffindor had won by one hundred and seventy points to sixty.
Right after the match, with all the confusion and excitement of the moment they reunited with Ella, who was at the Hufflepuff’s sector of the pitch and went right into Hagrid’s hut in order to have some tea.
“It was Snape,” Ron was explaining, “Charles, Hermione and I saw him. He was cursing your broomstick, muttering, he wouldn’t take his eyes off you.”
“I still don’t understand how any of the other professors noticed.”
“Rubbish,” said Hagrid, who hadn’t heard a word of what had gone on next to him in the stands. “Why would Snape do something’ like that?”
The children looked at one another, wondering what to tell him. And Harry decided on the truth.
“I found out something about him,” he told Hagrid. “He tried to get past that three-headed dog on Halloween. It bit him. We think he was trying to steal whatever it’s guarding.”
Hagrid dropped the teapot.
“How do you know about Fluffy?” he said.
“ Fluffy ?’’
“Yeah — he’s mine — bought him off a Greek chappie I met in the pub las’ year — I lent him to Dumbledore to guard the —”
“Yes?” said Harry eagerly.
“Now, don’t ask me anymore,” said Hagrid gruffly. “That’s top secret, that is.”
“But Hagrid, Snape’s trying to steal it.” Charles and Ron said.
“Rubbish,” said Hagrid again. “Snape’s a Hogwarts teacher, he’d do nothin’ of the sort.”
“So why did he just try and kill Harry?” cried Hermione. Next to her, Ella was just as confused as Hagrid.
The afternoon’s events certainly seemed to have changed her mind about Snape.
“I know a jinx when I see one, Hagrid, I’ve read all about them! You’ve got to keep eye contact, and Snape wasn’t blinking at all, I saw him!”
“I’m tellin’ yeh, yer wrong!” said Hagrid hotly. “I don’ know why Harry’s broom acted like that, but Snape wouldn’ try an’ kill a student! Now, listen to me, all three of yeh — yer meddlin’ in things that don’ concern yeh. It’s dangerous. You forget that dog, an’ you forget what it’s guardin’, that’s between Professor Dumbledore an’ Nicholas Flamel —”
“Aha!” said Harry, “so there’s someone called Nicolas Flamel involved, is there?”
Hagrid looked furious with himself.
“You don’ need to know anythin’. It’s none of yer business,” he now looked angry. “You won’ involve in any of these, it’s against the rules and really dangerous.”
“Hagrid, believe us, there is something wrong with Snape.” Charles said.
That night it was difficult to sleep once more. And god he wished it was because of Snape. He couldn’t take his mind off his friend playing quidditch. All the Jealousy he once felt left his body. And he was looking forward to having a chance of playing with him in their second year.
But when he was about to finally get asleep, after ignoring Neville’s loud snoring, another feeling came. Guilt. He felt selfish for having that image of his friend. It didn’t seem right. Out of place. But it was normal to feel admiration for your friends, right? Right? He didn’t think he ever saw Ron like that. He for sure loved him and cared about him, but Ron was his brother. The brother he always wanted. He started to try to make that image apart. It was wrong. He didn’t want Harry thinking he was weird, they were friends. He cried silently to his sleep. What was wrong with him?