7. The First Match
As November began, the weather turned very cold. The mountains around the school became icy grey, and the lake resembled chilled steel. Every morning, the ground was covered in frost. From the upstairs windows, Hagrid could be seen defrosting broomsticks on the Quidditch pitch, bundled up in a long moleskin overcoat, rabbit-fur gloves, and enormous beaverskin boots.
The Quidditch season had started. On Saturday, Harry would play in his first match after weeks of training: Gryffindor versus Slytherin. If Gryffindor won, they would move up into second place in the House Championship.
Hope had hardly seen Harry play because Wood had decided that, as their secret weapon, Harry should be kept, well, secret. But the news that he was playing Seeker had leaked out somehow, and Harry really appreciated his friends, particularly Hope, who had been especially enthusiastic. She had even made a poster with "Go Harry!" on it, along with a picture of a golden snitch that she had spelled to zoom around the words. It was much better than everyone else, who was either telling him he'd be brilliant or that they'd be running around underneath him, holding a mattress.
He was also grateful to Hermione, who had been helping him keep up with all his homework. Since Wood had organized so many last-minute Quidditch practices, she had also lent him Quidditch Through the Ages, which turned out to be a very interesting read. Hermione was officially part of the gang now. She had become a bit more relaxed about breaking rules since Harry and Ron saved her and Hope from the mountain troll, and she was much nicer for it.
The day before Harry's first Quidditch match, the four of them were out in the freezing courtyard during break. Hermione had conjured up a bright blue fire that could be carried around in a jam jar. They stood with their backs to it, soaking in the warmth, when Snape crossed the yard. Harry noticed at once that Snape was limping.
Harry, Ron, Hope, and Hermione moved closer together to block the fire from view; they were sure it wouldn't be allowed. Unfortunately, something about 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 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," Snape said. "Give it to me. Five points from Gryffindor."
"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," Ron said bitterly.
Hope nodded in agreement, glaring at the professor's retreating figure.
The Gryffindor common room was very noisy that evening. Harry, Ron, Hope, 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'd always say but by asking her to read it through, they got the right answers anyway.
Hope was revising her homework herself; she had learned that not only was she good at Charms, but she quite enjoyed it as well. In fact, she enjoyed all her classes except Potions. Though, Hope felt that if she had a different teacher, she'd enjoy that too. Every day, she disliked Snape more. Hope wondered why Dumbledore had even hired a bully like him in the first place. He seemed to specifically have it out for Neville, Harry, and herself.
She assumed Neville was a target since he was meek, nervous, and clumsy, which made it easy to push him around. Harry was a target since he was, to put it in Snape's words, "a celebrity." But as for herself, she couldn't figure out why he hated her so much, always glaring at her at any chance he got, sneering at her about all the ways she was brewing her potion's wrong.
Harry brought Hope out of her thoughts. Getting up, he told the three he was going to ask Snape if he could have Quidditch Through the Ages back.
"Rather you than me," they said together, but Harry had an idea that Snape wouldn't refuse if there were other teachers listening.
Not long after Harry had left, he was back in the common room, panting in front of the three.
"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. "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 create 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 to steal something Dumbledore was keeping safe."
"Yes, he would. If anyone were bad, I bet it'd be him," Hope stated bitterly.
"Agreed. Honestly, Hermione, you think all teachers are saints or something," snapped Ron. "I'm with Harry and Hope. I wouldn't put anything past Snape. But what's he after? What's that dog guarding?"
After they finished revising their homework, the four headed to bed. But Hope couldn't sleep, instead she lay wide awake, her head buzzing with the question: What was Snape up to?
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The next morning dawned, it was bright and cold, and there was a buzz of excitement in the air. The Great Hall was filled with the delicious smell of fried sausages and the cheerful chatter of students looking forward to a good Quidditch match.
"You've got to eat some breakfast," Ron urged.
"I don't want anything," Harry mumbled pushing the food around on his plate.
"Just a bit of toast," Hermione suggested from her seat between Ron and Seamus.
"I'm not hungry." Harry repeated, feeling a wave of nervousness settle in his stomach making him feel sick.
Hope sat next to Harry, trying to make him take a bite of her porridge, but he kept moving his head to avoid it. Huffing in frustration, she crossed her arms.
"Harry James Potter, you need your strength," she said sternly, grabbing his face and forcing the porridge into his mouth.
Harry pouted tiredly but stopped resisting.
"She's right, Harry. Seekers are always the ones who get nobbled by the other team," Seamus added.
"Thanks, Seamus," Harry replied sarcastically as Hope stuffed a bit of toast into his mouth.
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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.
Ron, Hermione, and Hope joined Neville, Seamus, and Dean, the West Ham fan, up in the top row. Hope held the poster she had made for Harry high above her head. As a surprise for Harry, the others had painted a large banner 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 Hermione had performed a tricky little charm so that the paint flashed different colors.
"Nicely done, Hermione," Hope complimented.
"Yours as well, Hope," Hermione replied brightly, looking at the poster Hope held.
They cheered loudly as the team walked onto the pitch to loud cheers. Madam Hooch was refereeing. She stood in the middle of the pitch, waiting for the two teams, her broom in her hand.
"Now, I want a nice fair game, all of you," she said once they were all gathered around her. "Mount your brooms, please."
Harry clambered onto his Nimbus Two Thousand. Madam Hooch gave a loud blast on her silver whistle. Fifteen brooms rose up high into the air and they were off.
"And the Quaffle is taken immediately by Angelina Johnson of Gryffindor – what an excellent Chaser that girl is, and rather attractive, too –" Lee Jordan, The Weasley twins' friend, and usual Quidditch commentator called out.
"JORDAN!" Professor McGonagall warned, keeping a close watch on Jordan.
"Sorry, Professor," Lee apologised.
"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, Slytherin have taken the Quaffle! Slytherin captain Marcus Flint gains the Quaffle and off he goes – Flint flying like an eagle up there – he's going to sc – no, stopped by an excellent move by Gryffindor Keeper Wood and Gryffindor 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 Slytherin – that's Adrian Pucey speeding off towards the goalposts, but he's blocked by a second Bludger – sent his way by Fred or George Weasley, can't tell which – nice play by the Gryffindor 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 goalposts are ahead – come on, now, Angelina – Keeper Bletchley dives – misses – GRYFFINDOR SCORE!" Lee Shouted over the crowds giving a riveting play by play.
Cheers erupted from the Gryffindor stands as the Slytherin's all groaned and howled with howls and moans from the Slytherins.
"Budge up there, move along." Hagrid said, moving through the crowd.
"Hagrid!" The three greeted cheerily.
Ron, Hermione, and Hope squeezed together to give Hagrid enough space to join them.
"Bin watchin' from me hut," Hagrid said, 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," Ron shook his head. "Harry hasn't had much to do yet."
"Kept outta trouble, though, that's somethin'," Hagrid said, raising his binoculars and peering skywards at the speck that was Harry.
Hope squinted at the sky. "What's Harry doing?" she asked Hagrid since he had binoculars. She'd have to get some for the next game, she thought to herself.
"Nothin'. Still hasn' seen the Snitch yet," Hagrid replied, squinting into his binoculars.
Way up above them, Harry was gliding over the game, squinting about for some sign of the Snitch. Hope cheered loudly when Angelina scored, to which Harry did a couple of loop-the-loops to let out his feelings. Hope laughed, pointing at Harry with one hand.
"What a show-off," she chuckled.
They all laughed. Now he was back to staring around for the Snitch.
"Slytherin in possession," Lee Jordan said. "Chaser Pucey ducks two Bludgers, two Weasleys, and Chaser Bell and speeds towards the – wait a moment – was that the Snitch?"
A murmur ran through the crowd as Adrian Pucey dropped the Quaffle, too busy looking over his shoulder at the flash of gold that had passed his left ear.
"I think he's seen it!" Dean shouted excitedly as Harry dived downwards after the streak of gold.
Unfortunately Slytherin Seeker Terence Higgs had seen it, too. Neck and neck, they hurtled towards the Snitch – all the Chasers seemed to have forgotten what they were supposed to be doing as they hung in mid-air to watch. Harry was faster than Higgs – he could 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 course, with Harry holding on for dear life.
"Foul!" screamed the Gryffindors.
Madam Hooch spoke angrily to Flint and then ordered a free shot at the goalposts for Gryffindor. But in all the confusion, of course, the Golden Snitch had disappeared from sight again.
"Send him off, ref! Red card!" Dean yelled angrily.
"This isn't football, Dean," Ron reminded him. "You can't send people off in Quidditch – and what's a red card?"
But Hagrid was on Dean's side. "They oughta change the rules, Flint coulda knocked Harry outta the air."
Lee Jordan was finding it difficult not to take sides.
"So – after that obvious and disgusting bit of cheating –" Lee called out.
"Jordan!" Professor McGonagall growled.
"I mean, after that open and revolting foul –" Lee continued.
"Jordan, I'm warning you –" McGonagall warned, giving Lee a stern look.
"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," Lee recounted with a huff.
It was as Harry dodged another Bludger, which went spinning dangerously past his head, that it happened. His broom gave a sudden, frightening lurch. It happened again.
Hope could have sworn it was as though the broom was trying to buck him off. But Nimbus Two Thousands did not just suddenly decide to throw their riders off.
"Seems like it's his broom," Hope muttered.
Hagrid shook his head. "No, that can't be."
Others were starting to take notice, 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.
"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?" Ron asked, gray-faced.
"I knew it," Hermione gasped. "Snape – look."
Ron grabbed the binoculars and gaped at the crowd, handing them over to Hope. Hope looked through them and saw Snape, his eyes fixed on Harry, muttering non-stop under his breath.
"He's doing something – jinxing the broom," Hermione pointed out.
"What should we do?" Hope asked, turning the binoculars to Harry who still held on to the wild broomstick with one hand.
"Leave it to me," Hermione said, determinedly.
Before they could say another word, Hermione had disappeared.
Hope turned the binoculars back on Harry. His broom was vibrating so hard, it was almost impossible for him to hang on much longer. The whole crowd was on their feet, watching, 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 circled 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," Hope 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 crouched 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. And it worked as up in the air, Harry was suddenly able to clamber back onto his broom.
"Neville, you can look!" Ron said, nudging Neville who had been sobbing into Hagrid's jacket for the last five minutes.
Harry was speeding towards the ground when the crowd saw him clap his hand to his mouth as though he was about to be sick—he hit the pitch on all fours—coughed—and something gold fell into his hand.
"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 result—Gryffindor had won by one hundred and seventy points to sixty.
Harry heard none of this, though. He was being made a cup of strong tea back in Hagrid's hut, with Ron, Hermione, and Hope.
"It was Snape," Ron was explaining. "We saw him. He was cursing your broomstick, muttering, he wouldn't take his eyes off you."
"Rubbish," Hagrid said, who hadn't heard a word of what had gone on next to him in the stands. "Why would Snape do somethin' like that?"
"'Cause he's an evil greasy git," Hope muttered to herself.
Harry, Ron, and Hermione looked at Hope, then at each other, wondering what to tell him. Harry decided on the truth.
"I found out something about him," he told Hagrid. "He tried to get past that three-headed dog at Hallowe'en. It bit him. We think he was trying to steal whatever it's guarding."
Hagrid dropped the teapot.
"How do you know about Fluffy?" Hagrid asked.
"Fluffy?" The three questioned simultaneously.
"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—" Hagrid explained.
"Yes?" Harry said eagerly, leaning forward.
"Now, don't ask me any more," Hagrid said gruffly. "That's top secret, that is."
"But Snape's trying to steal it," Harry whined.
"Rubbish," Hagrid repeated. "Snape's a Hogwarts teacher, he'd do nothin' of the sort."
"So why did he just try and kill Harry?" Hermione cried.
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!" She added.
"I'm tellin' yeh, yer wrong!" Hagrid said 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' Nicolas Flamel—"
"Aha!" Harry smiled. "So there's someone called Nicolas Flamel involved, is there?"
Hagrid looked furious with himself. "Shouldn't of said that," he muttered.