Gryffindor vs Slytherin
At the beginning of November, the weather turned freezing. The mountains surrounding the school were cloaked in an icy gray, and the lake became a sheet of cold metal. Every morning, the lawn was covered in frost, sparkling under the faint autumn sun. From the staircase windows, the students could see Hagrid out on the Quidditch pitch, defrosting broomsticks with his warm breath, wrapped in his long corduroy coat, fur gloves, and beaver-lined boots.
The Quidditch season had begun, and the atmosphere in Gryffindor was charged with anticipation. That Saturday, Harry would play his first match: Gryffindor versus Slytherin. A victory would propel Gryffindor to second place in the House standings—a position they hadn’t seen in years.
But Quidditch wasn’t the only thing making the days exciting. Harry found that the evenings spent with the study group were surprisingly enjoyable. Hermione had created a strict schedule, but it was often interrupted by the comedic antics of Ron and Seamus. Even Neville, usually more reserved, cracked jokes that made everyone laugh—even Hermione, who had become much friendlier since the Troll incident, though she couldn’t always suppress her bossy tendencies. Studying had never been so much fun, and the results showed. In Charms, Gryffindor had earned compliments from Professor Flitwick for their proficiency in levitation spells, and Professor McGonagall had praised them for their flawless Transfigurations. The dormitory had gained over thirty points just that week. Even Neville seemed to be blossoming, answering questions in class and engaging in discussions with an enthusiasm he’d lacked before.
However, there was one class that never promised anything good: Potions.
That morning in Potions, Professor Snape had assigned them the task of brewing a Defrosting Draught, a mixture that, if done correctly, would emit a faint silver smoke. Hermione immediately began giving advice to her classmates, and Neville, though typically nervous, appeared more confident, following the instructions carefully.
"You’re doing great, Neville!" Harry encouraged, noticing his friend’s potion was taking on the correct color.
But Draco Malfoy, working at the next table with Parkinson and Goyle, had no intention of letting that slide. With a malicious grin, he took advantage of a moment when Neville was distracted and poured the wrong ingredient into his potion. The result was immediate: Neville’s cauldron emitted a loud bang and a cloud of black smoke, startling everyone.
"Longbottom!" Snape bellowed, swooping down on the table like a hawk. "I suppose your incompetence knows no bounds. How dare you present this… this abomination in my class?"
Neville, terrified, tried to explain that he had been following the instructions, but the words caught in his throat. Snape continued to berate him, implying that Neville was a disgrace to Gryffindor.
Harry, who had seen everything, clenched his fists. "Maybe if someone enforced the rules instead of letting certain people get away with sabotage, there wouldn’t be explosions."
The class held their breath. Snape’s eyes narrowed into slits. "What did you say, Potter?"
"You heard me, Professor," Harry said, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "Isn’t it strange how these mistakes always happen when Malfoy is nearby? Must be a coincidence."
The class was utterly silent. Ron and Seamus were struggling not to laugh, while Hermione and Parvati looked utterly terrified.
"Potter, fifty points from Gryffindor," Snape snarled, his face twisted with rage. "And two weeks of detention every evening after dinner, starting tonight. You should be grateful I can’t take away your Quidditch. Some privileges should never have been granted."
"The ones you grant to Slytherins? Not surprising, given that it’s coming from someone who abuses their position to bully students…" Harry retorted, unable to hold back.
"OUT OF MY CLASSROOM!" Snape shouted, pointing furiously at the door.
Harry left the room with his heart pounding in his chest. Dean and Hermione followed soon after, trying to console Neville, while Ron and Seamus, looking angrier than him, joined later. Back in the common room during the afternoon break, Ron, Seamus, and Harry sat together on a couch near the fire, still fuming over what had happened in Potions. Seamus gestured wildly, his face red with anger.
"It’s not fair! That slimy snake Malfoy not only sabotaged Neville but laughed in his face while Snape tore into him," he ranted. "And Snape? The worst of all! Always protecting Malfoy like he’s some precious crystal."
Ron nodded vigorously, his jaw clenched. "We’ve got to make him pay. We can’t let this slide, not this time."
"I agree," Harry said with a determined smile. "But we’ll have to do it when Snape isn’t around… that blowhard only acts tough when his greasy pet is nearby."
Hermione, sitting at a table with Parvati and Lavender, looked scandalized at hearing Harry’s epithet for Snape, and Harry noticed her struggling to stay silent. Meanwhile, Dean, sitting beside Neville, crossed his arms. "I agree, but we’ve got to be smart about this. I don’t want to get caught. I hate Snape, but getting punished for a prank doesn’t sound brilliant."
Neville raised a hand, his tone unsure. "You don’t have to do this for me, really. Malfoy isn’t worth the risk."
"It’s not just about you, Neville," Ron countered. "It’s about showing him he can’t always get away with it."
At that moment, Fred and George Weasley, accompanied by Lee Jordan, passed by the group. They caught the last part of the conversation and stopped, identical grins lighting up their faces.
"What’s going on here? Planning something interesting?" Fred asked, leaning nonchalantly against a chair.
"More interesting than usual," added George. "Does it involve a certain spoiled blond?"
Ron quickly recounted the events, emphasizing the worst details and dramatically describing Malfoy’s behavior. The twins and Lee listened intently, nodding with increasingly excited expressions.
"Ah, Malfoy," Fred said with a theatrical sigh. "A snake in dire need of being squashed."
"And who better than us to do it?" added George, rubbing his hands together.
Lee chuckled. "I say we go big. And we involve Peeves for an extra touch of chaos."
Hermione, who had been biting her tongue to ignore their plotting, approached with her arms crossed and a stern look. "Are you really planning a prank? Do you realize how risky that is? You should be more mature."
Harry turned to her with an ironic smile. "With all due respect, Hermione… hush. You’re not our mother."
Hermione looked at him, stunned, opened her mouth to retort, but stopped when Parvati and Lavender giggled and looked at her with sparkling eyes. Hermione sighed. After a moment of hesitation, a slightly mischievous smile crossed her lips. "Fine, make him pay for being such a jerk. But make sure you don’t get caught."
Ron stared at her, stunned. Then a grin spread across his face. "We definitely will. And Hermione, you should be like this more often… you’re amazing," he said sincerely, making her blush.
Dinner in the Great Hall was in full swing, a sea of chatter and clinking utensils filling the air. Harry, Ron, Seamus, Dean, Fred, George, and Lee exchanged conspiratorial glances as the moment to execute their plan approached. Neville sat beside Hermione, visibly nervous, while Parvati and Lavender stifled their laughter behind their hands.
"All set?" Fred whispered, making a final adjustment to the spell.
"Don’t forget the extra touch," George added with a mischievous grin, pointing to a small bag Lee was holding. Harry leaned toward Ron, a glint of mischief in his eyes. "You know, we could do better. Imagine Malfoy with Snape’s hair… greasy and sticky."
Ron chuckled quietly but loud enough to catch the twins’ attention. Fred and George froze, then identical smiles spread across their faces.
"Brilliant," Fred murmured. "George, are you thinking what I’m thinking?"
"I am," George replied, pulling out his wand.
The plan took on an even more elaborate twist. Malfoy, completely unaware, was laughing loudly at the Slytherin table, likely recounting another exaggerated story. Crabbe and Goyle, as usual, acted as his henchmen, nodding at every word.
Harry and Ron, who had their wands concealed under the table, triggered the first spell. Malfoy’s goblet of pumpkin juice began to bubble slightly, emitting a pungent smell. A moment later, a jet of dark, sticky liquid exploded from the cup, covering Malfoy in a substance that smelled horrendously of rancid grease.
"What the…!" Malfoy shouted, leaping to his feet.
The scene was already hilarious, but the next spell stole the show. With a quick flick of the twins’ wands, Malfoy’s hair grew long, sticky, and black—identical to Snape’s—and stuck to his face. Crabbe and Goyle, meanwhile, found their clothes shrinking comically tight.
Peeves, who had been tipped off in advance, appeared, flying over the Slytherin table and showering them with glittering confetti, singing: "Greasy hair, greasy hair, dear Malfoy is Snivellus now!"
The Great Hall erupted into raucous laughter. Gryffindors, Hufflepuffs, and even Ravenclaws were doubled over, unable to hold back their mirth. Even some Slytherins, reluctant as they were, struggled to hide their smirks. Malfoy, meanwhile, was desperately trying to rid himself of the sticky substance, tugging uselessly at his greasy, sticky hair.
Snape, seated at the staff table, shot to his feet with an icy expression, his eyes scanning the hall for the culprits. "Who did this?" he roared, but his voice was drowned out by the chaos.
Fred and George, seasoned experts at feigning innocence, continued eating as if nothing had happened. Harry and Ron exchanged satisfied looks, while Seamus wiped tears of laughter from his eyes.
Hermione, who had initially tried to maintain her composure, eventually gave in and burst into laughter. "Okay, I have to admit... that was brilliant."
"I told you," Harry replied with a grin.
Ron, meanwhile, couldn’t take his eyes off Hermione. "I never thought I’d see you laughing at something like this," he said.
Hermione blushed slightly, trying to refocus on her plate but with a small, pleased smile.
The euphoria didn’t last long. That evening, Harry would have to serve his first detention with Snape, and he headed toward the dungeons reluctantly. Each step felt heavier than the last as anger bubbled inside him. The long staircase seemed endless, and the chill of the dungeons hit him like a warning: he was nothing but prey to a professor who seemed to enjoy humiliating him. For the thousandth time, he wondered what he had done to deserve such treatment. Maybe Snape would make him scrub cauldrons by hand, without a wand. Or perhaps he’d have to sort slimy ingredients for hours... or worse, he’d be kept in detention all night. The thought made Harry’s stomach twist. Snape seemed like the type to deliberately deprive him of sleep before his Quidditch match. The idea made him clench his fists. If only Sirius were here... Sirius!
A sudden thought struck him: write to Sirius. The pent-up frustration made him want to confide in the one adult who might understand his pain and anger. He imagined Sirius storming into the school to confront Snape, maybe scolding him in front of the entire class or reducing him to the same blubbering mess as Uncle Vernon.
When he reached the Potions classroom, he noticed the door was slightly ajar, and Snape wasn’t alone. Filch was with him. Snape had his robes hitched above his knees, revealing a leg that was badly mangled and bleeding. Filch was handing him bandages.
“Damned thing,” Snape was cursing. “How do you keep all three heads under control at once?”
Harry hesitated, his nerves taut. He didn’t want to step in and face Snape just yet. Maybe the professor had forgotten about the detention. A part of him knew it was unlikely, but hoping didn’t cost anything. He was about to eavesdrop a little longer when his foot brushed against the door, making it creak.
“POTTER!” Snape bellowed, abruptly cutting off the conversation. Harry froze, his face flushing red.
Taking a deep breath, he pushed the door open. Snape glared at him, his robes still raised just enough to show the bandaged leg. Filch gave Harry a disgusted look but bid Snape goodnight and left without a glance at the boy. But Harry didn’t care; his eyes were fixed on the bloodstains he had glimpsed on Snape’s bandages. Before he could get a better look, Snape swiftly lowered his robes.
“What were you doing out there? Eavesdropping?” Snape advanced menacingly, and Harry felt like a mouse cornered by a cat.
“I was just waiting for… for detention,” he stammered, trying to keep his voice steady.
Snape stared at him for a long moment, then gestured brusquely toward a pile of dirty cauldrons in the corner. “Start cleaning. Without magic. And let me warn you, Potter, if they’re not spotless, tomorrow’s Quidditch match will be nothing but a distant dream.”
Harry bit his tongue to keep from retorting. He grabbed the first cauldron and began scrubbing, but the knot in his stomach wouldn’t loosen. What had Snape been doing near the dog? And that leg… had he been bitten?
The questions hammered at him as he worked, and the realization that he’d never get clear answers from Snape only made him angrier. When he finished, his hands blistered from the harsh soap, he left the classroom with one thought: he had to tell the others.
Fortunately, detention with Snape ended at a reasonable hour, and when Harry returned to the common room, he found his friends still awake, gathered around the fire. The tense faces of Ron, Hermione, Neville, Seamus, Dean, Parvati, and Lavender turned to him as he hurried to join them.
“How did it go?” Ron asked, noticing Harry’s red, swollen hands.
“Snape made me scrub cauldrons for hours without magic,” Harry replied bitterly, rubbing his numb fingers. Then he leaned in slightly. “But there’s something I saw, and we need to talk about it.”
Curiosity lit up their faces. Harry cleared his throat and began, keeping his voice low.
“When I got there, Snape was already in the room. But he wasn’t alone. Filch was bandaging his leg, and Snape was saying…” He paused, trying not to sound overly dramatic. “‘How do you keep all three heads under control at once.’”
There was a moment of heavy silence. Then Parvati exclaimed, “He was talking about the three-headed dog! The one we saw on the third floor.”
“Exactly,” Harry nodded, glancing around to gauge their reactions. “And when I think about it… Halloween. When we saw Snape sneaking into that corridor…”
Neville timidly raised a hand. “I was there with you, remember? Snape was acting weird that night, and the troll was loose. Maybe he let it in to distract everyone!”
“Exactly!” Harry agreed enthusiastically. “And now he’s been bitten by that dog. He must have tried to get past it!”
Lavender wrinkled her nose, shrugging. “I don’t know. I don’t think it was Snape. I can’t explain it, but… I have a feeling it wasn’t him.”
“Really, Lavender?” Ron scoffed, rolling his eyes. “We’re talking about Snape. He’s capable of anything. You can’t trust him.”
Hermione stepped in before the argument escalated. “Hold on a second. Before jumping to conclusions, let’s consider the facts. It’s possible Snape was in the corridor, yes. But he might not have been the one to let the troll in. Maybe someone else is interested in… whatever is under that trapdoor.”
Parvati leaned forward, her eyes alight with curiosity. “But then what’s under that trapdoor? It must be something really important to have a three-headed dog guarding it.”
“Something worth risking getting mauled over,” Dean added, finally speaking. He seemed hesitant but intrigued.
Ron turned to Harry. “You saw that leg, right? If he got bitten, it means he tried. Maybe he didn’t know how to handle the dog, but he gave it a shot.”
“And what if there’s something else we don’t know?” Neville added, nervously wringing his hands. “We can’t be sure until we know what he’s after.”
“That’s why we need to find out,” Harry said with determination. “There’s something important down there, something Snape wants. And if it’s dangerous, we can’t let him get his hands on it.”
“How do you plan to do that?” Seamus asked, raising an eyebrow. “We can’t just waltz in there. We need information.”
Hermione ran a hand through her hair, visibly stressed. “We’ll figure it out, but we have to be careful. And most importantly, we can’t do anything reckless. I don’t want us getting into trouble with Dumbledore over something foolish.”
“You always think about trouble,” Ron muttered, but Hermione shot him a glare, while Seamus and Dean chuckled.
Lavender spoke again, this time more hesitantly. “What if it’s someone else? I mean, I’m not sure it’s Snape… but whoever it is, we can’t ignore this.”
“She’s right,” Parvati said, looking at Harry. “But we shouldn’t face this alone. We’re a group, right? We’ll help each other.”
Parvati’s words seemed to bring a strange calm to the discussion. Hermione nodded, reluctant but resolute. “Fine. But we have to be smart about this. First, we gather information. Then we decide what to do.”
The group agreed, and with many unanswered questions, they slowly dispersed, each lost in their own thoughts.
Harry went to bed with those questions buzzing in his head. Neville’s loud snores filled the room, but Harry couldn’t fall asleep. He tried to clear his mind—he needed to rest, he had to, with his first Quidditch match just hours away—but it was hard to forget Snape’s expression when he had glimpsed the professor’s injured leg.
At dawn the next day, the morning was bright and cold. The Great Hall was filled with the delicious aroma of fried sausages and the cheerful chatter of students eager to watch a great match.
“You need to eat something.”
“I don’t want anything.”
“Just a piece of toast,” Hermione coaxed.
“I’m not hungry.” Harry felt awful. In just an hour, he’d be stepping onto the field.
“Harry, you need your strength,” said Seamus Finnigan. “Seekers are always the ones the other team targets—just look at how many times Lynch has been knocked off his broom!”
“You’re a real fountain of encouragement, Seamus,” Dean said sarcastically.
“Thanks for the morale boost, Seamus,” Harry said, watching him pour a generous amount of ketchup over his sausages.
Parvati and Lavender, who had gold and scarlet stripes painted on their faces, exchanged a look before standing up decisively.
“You know what, Harry?” Parvati said with a mischievous smile. “You need a little encouragement.”
Before Harry could respond, Parvati gave him a quick kiss on his left cheek, immediately followed by Lavender on the right. Harry froze, completely dumbfounded, his cheeks turning as red as his scarlet Gryffindor robes. If Sirius had been there, he would have laughed until he cried and teased him about it for the rest of his life.
“For Gryffindor!” the two girls shouted together, clapping their hands.
Ron and Seamus burst into laughter, and even Hermione couldn’t help but smile, shaking her head. “Maybe now you’re ready,” she said, stifling a giggle. Harry put a hand to his face, trying to hide his embarrassment but couldn’t help a small smile from escaping.
By eleven o’clock, the entire student body and the players’ families were packed into the stands surrounding the Quidditch pitch. Many were armed with binoculars. Even though the seats could lift into the air, it was sometimes still hard to follow what was happening on the field. All the first-year Gryffindors sat in the highest row. To surprise Harry, they had painted a large banner from one of the sheets that Scabbers had chewed through. Across it, they had written Potter, you’re all of us, and underneath, Dean, who was very good at drawing, had sketched a large lion, the Gryffindor symbol. Hermione had then performed a clever charm to make the colors shimmer.
Meanwhile, in the locker rooms, Harry and the rest of the team were changing into their scarlet uniforms (the Slytherins would be playing in green). Harry was nervously adjusting his gloves, trying to ignore the knot in his stomach that seemed to tighten with every passing second. While the other team members joked and encouraged one another, Harry sat silently on the bench, staring at the wooden floor of the locker room. It was his first day as Gryffindor’s Seeker, and the thought of letting the team down made it hard to breathe.
“Harry!” A familiar voice broke through his thoughts. He looked up and gaped: standing in the doorway of the locker room was Sirius, wearing his usual cheeky smile and sporting windswept hair that seemed to defy all logic.
“Sirius!” Harry exclaimed, jumping to his feet. His anxiety eased slightly at the sight of his godfather.
“What are you doing here?” he asked, incredulous but thrilled.
“Where else would I be?” Sirius laughed. “I wouldn’t miss your first match for anything in the world. I’ve got a seat in the stands next to Hagrid. But I wanted to stop by first to give you a quick word.”
Harry looked at him, struck by his reassuring tone. “I’m scared I’ll mess it up,” he admitted. “What if I ruin everything? What if I can’t catch the Snitch?”
Sirius crouched in front of him, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Harry, listen to me. It’s normal to be scared before your first match, believe me. Even your dad was terrified before his first game. He was in his second year, and that morning he couldn’t eat a single crumb of bread. He spent the whole time messing with his hair until Lily smacked his hand to make him stop.”
Harry smiled, imagining the scene. “And how did that match go?”
Sirius’s smile widened. “Well, let’s just say James scored sixty points so fast the Slytherins were stunned. Not only did he help win the game, but he became a legend within a week.”
“Really?” Harry asked, feeling slightly more relieved.
“Really. And Quidditch is in your blood. But you know what’s the most important thing?” Sirius continued. “It doesn’t matter if you win or lose today, Harry. What matters is that you get on that broom and give it your all. The rest will take care of itself.”
Harry nodded, feeling a surge of courage run through him. Sirius’s presence, the warmth in his voice, everything seemed to make the moment less overwhelming.
“Thanks, Sirius. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
Sirius stood up and gave him a light punch on the shoulder. “You don’t need to thank me, kid. Now go out there and show the world who you are.”
“I’ll try.”
“Good. I’ll head to the stands now,” Sirius said, checking his watch. “I can’t wait to see you in action. And remember, Harry: no matter what happens, I’m already proud of you.”
With one last encouraging look, Sirius walked away, leaving Harry with a newfound determination. He pulled on his gloves, grabbed his Nimbus Two Thousand, and prepared to head onto the field. He was ready.
The Quidditch pitch was buzzing with electrifying anticipation. Red-and-gold Gryffindor flags waved everywhere, and the stands were packed with excited students. The crisp air was filled with cheers and chants. Dean Thomas, Seamus Finnigan, and Neville Longbottom stood in the front row, holding a handmade banner reading Potter, you’re all of us! enchanted by Hermione to shimmer with changing colors.
Sirius Black, seated next to Hagrid, watched the field with a proud, paternal smile. He had managed to snag a front-row seat and was enthusiastically waving a small lion flag.
The game was fast and brutal. The Slytherins were known for their aggressiveness, and they didn’t disappoint. Flint, the captain, had already managed to push Katie Bell off course as Marcus Flint scored the first goal for Slytherin.
“They play dirty!” Parvati exclaimed indignantly, clutching her scarf.
“What else is new?” Ron muttered, clenching his fists.
The Quaffle bounced back and forth, and Gryffindor’s Beaters, Fred and George Weasley, did their best to protect the team. Angelina Johnson made a spectacular shot, tying the score.
“Way to go, Angelina!” Dean shouted, clapping his hands.
But Gryffindor’s enthusiasm turned to outrage. At one point, Marcus Flint, the Slytherin captain, shoved Angelina with a rough push, nearly knocking her off her broom.
“Referee! Send him off! Red card!” Dean Thomas yelled from the stands, startling Seamus beside him.
Ron gave him a puzzled look. “Dean, this isn’t football. There are no red cards in Quidditch!”
Dean glared at him. “There should be! That guy’s a public menace!”
Even Hagrid, seated next to Sirius, nodded vigorously. “He’s right. That Flint’s as dirty as a ghoul in a cellar. Madam Hooch should toss him out.”
“Red card or not,” Seamus said, “Gryffindor’s not giving up.”
Harry, meanwhile, flew high above the field. He seemed perfectly at ease, and Sirius, from the stands, smiled with pride. “Look at how he moves, Hagrid. He was born for this.”
But then, suddenly, something happened.
Harry’s Nimbus Two Thousand began to shake. At first, it was a subtle tremor, but it quickly became violent, as if trying to throw him off.
“What’s happening to his broom?” Neville asked, clutching Hermione’s arm.
“This can’t be normal,” Hermione murmured, her expression worried. “Someone’s using a spell.”
Sirius stood up in the stands, his fists clenched. “Something’s wrong. Harry would never make movements like that.”
As Harry desperately tried to maintain control, Ron noticed something. “Snape,” he hissed. “Look! He’s muttering something and hasn’t taken his eyes off Harry!”
Hermione didn’t want to believe it, but she had to admit Ron was right. Without wasting a moment, she stood up. “I have to stop him.”
“You can’t do it alone,” Dean said, grabbing her arm. “I’m coming with you.”
“Better three than two,” Seamus added, determined.
They quickly made their way down the stands, trying not to attract too much attention. When they reached Snape, Hermione whispered urgently, “Seamus, we need a distraction.”
Seamus didn’t need to be told twice. With a crooked smile, he pulled out his wand and made his way between the spectators. “Cover me; time for my specialty,” he whispered to Dean.
Hermione and Dean stood in front of him, pretending to watch the match. Seamus pointed his wand at Snape’s robes and muttered, “Incendio.”
A small flame ignited on Snape’s black robes. Across the stands, Sirius, Hagrid, Ron, Lavender, Parvati, and Neville saw Snape leap to his feet, slapping at the fabric to put out the fire.
“What’s he doing?” Parvati yelled from the stands. “Has he gone mad?”
Harry’s broom suddenly stopped shaking. Up in the air, Harry was able to regain control of his broom.
“Neville, you can look now!” Ron said. For the past five minutes, Neville had been sobbing with his face buried in Hagrid’s jacket.
Harry dived toward the ground, and as the spectators watched, he cupped a hand to his mouth as if about to be sick. He fell to all fours on the field, coughed… and something golden dropped into his hand.
“I caught the Snitch!” he shouted, holding it up above his head, and the match ended in a frenzy.
“Harry Potter catches the Snitch! Gryffindor wins by one hundred and seventy to sixty!” Lee Jordan yelled into the microphone.
The stands erupted into a cacophony of cheers and celebration. The collective roar of Gryffindor filled the air as Harry held the Golden Snitch aloft, his face lit with a radiant smile. Ron and Neville hugged, Parvati and Lavender screamed themselves hoarse, and even Hermione, usually reserved, exploded with joy, dragging Seamus and Dean into an impromptu group hug.
“Whoa, Hermione!” Seamus laughed, clearly amused. “I’ve never seen you so excited and carefree!”
Hermione ignored the comment, too caught up in the moment, and Dean, with a look of pure satisfaction, added, “But who cares? We won!”
A few rows ahead, Sirius jumped to his feet, arms raised triumphantly in the air. “That was amazing!” he shouted, his face glowing with pride.
Hagrid gave him a hearty pat on the back, making Sirius stumble slightly. “What did I tell you, Sirius? He’s James’s son; there was no way he could lose!”
After watching Harry land on the field, the first-year students rushed to join him, followed by Sirius and Hagrid. Harry was still clutching the Golden Snitch in his right hand, his face glowing with happiness and the rush of adrenaline.
“Harry! You were incredible!” Ron shouted, throwing an arm around his shoulders.
“That catch on the Snitch! I couldn’t believe my eyes!” added Dean.
“And when you dodged that Bludger at the last second?” exclaimed Seamus, gesturing wildly. “Phenomenal!”
Lavender and Parvati, their cheeks flushed with excitement, didn’t waste any time. “You were amazing, Harry!” exclaimed Parvati, giving him a kiss on the cheek. Lavender followed suit, and then Hermione joined in, making him blush all the way to the tips of his ears.
Ron burst out laughing, but before he could say anything, Sirius interrupted.
“Careful, kid,” his godfather joked with a mischievous smile. “You’re a magnet for girls already at eleven, I see. I’ll teach you how to handle the crowd… or maybe not; you seem pretty comfortable already!” Everyone burst into laughter as Harry tried to cover his face with his hand. Then Sirius pulled Harry into a vigorous hug, almost lifting him off the ground.
“I don’t know if I could be prouder, my boy. Your dad would’ve given anything to see you play today.”
Harry, a bit embarrassed but overjoyed, smiled. “Thanks, Sirius. But I thought I was going to fall for a moment…”
Sirius’s face suddenly grew serious, darkening slightly. “If it really was a jinx, we need to find out who did it. I don’t want you taking any risks, Harry.”
“We think it was Snape,” Parvati blurted out, earning reproachful looks from the others—more for breaking the secrecy than for the accusation itself, Harry thought.
Sirius stiffened, his expression darkening. “Snivellus? He’s got some explaining to do.”
The kids laughed at the nickname Sirius had given Snape, but Sirius wasn’t in a joking mood. He took a determined step forward, as if about to march toward the teachers’ stand.
“I need to have a word with him!”
But Hagrid stepped in decisively, placing his massive hand on Sirius’s shoulder. “Oh no, Sirius Black, you won’t!” he exclaimed. “You can’t act like this in front of the kids. And Snape would never do such a thing.”
Ron clenched his fists. “But we all saw him, Hagrid! He was muttering something and didn’t blink while Harry’s broom went crazy!”
Hagrid let out a heavy sigh, shaking his head. “Nonsense! Why would Snape do that? You’ve got no proof. It’s just a coincidence.”
“Coincidence?” Lavender interjected firmly. “Even his injured leg isn’t a coincidence. Harry, Ron, and Neville saw him that Halloween night.” She realized too late she had let this slip.
Neville, seeing that the damage was already done, hesitantly nodded. “On Halloween, he tried to sneak past the three-headed dog. And it bit him. We think he wanted to steal whatever the dog is guarding, whatever it is.”
“Three-headed dog?” Hagrid repeated in an alarmed tone. He turned to Neville with wide eyes. “Fluffy,” Hagrid muttered finally, trying to downplay it. “The three-headed dog… is mine.”
“The dog’s name is Fluffy?” Hermione asked incredulously.
“Calling a beast like that Fluffy doesn’t seem like the best choice…” Ron commented.
“Yeah, I got him from a Greek bloke at the pub. He’s just guarding something,” Hagrid said, looking visibly nervous.
“Guarding what?” Ron pressed.
Hagrid clamped his mouth shut, but his face reddened as he struggled to find an excuse. “Don’t ask me any more questions. It’s a top-secret matter. I can’t talk about it.”
Sirius raised an eyebrow, his gaze sharp. “So, he’s guarding something, and you can’t talk about it, huh? This is getting interesting.”
“But Snape’s trying to steal it!” Harry insisted. “And we know he got bitten. Maybe he was trying to take whatever Fluffy is guarding.”
“Rubbish!” Hagrid retorted, stomping his foot. “Snape is a Hogwarts teacher. He’d never do such a thing.”
Ron crossed his arms. “Really? Then why did he try to kill Harry today?”
Hagrid’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t be ridiculous, boy. I don’t know what happened to Harry’s broom, but Snape wouldn’t try to kill a student!”
Hermione seemed to agree with Ron, shaking her head resolutely as she looked at Hagrid. “I saw it with my own eyes! He didn’t even blink while he was muttering something. I’ve read all about jinxes; that’s how they work!”
Dean and Seamus nodded. “We saw it too,” Seamus added. “It looked strange, Hagrid. Really strange.”
“It’s time to stop with these wild theories!” Hagrid snapped. “You’re meddling in dangerous things that don’t concern you. Forget about the dog, forget about what it’s guarding.”
“But what is Fluffy guarding, exactly?” Neville asked.
Hagrid opened his mouth to answer but stopped abruptly, his face turning crimson. “It’s none of your business. It’s an agreement between Dumbledore and Nicolas Flamel!”
A cold silence fell over the group. “Nicolas Flamel?” Harry repeated, catching every nuance in Hagrid’s voice.
“Aha!” said Harry. “So, there’s someone named Nicolas Flamel involved!”
Hagrid’s face took on a furious and exasperated expression.
Sirius chuckled but then grew serious, leaning toward Harry. “Harry, promise me one thing. You and your friends mustn’t play detective. If you happen to find out anything, come straight to me. I’ll inform Dumbledore.”
Hagrid glared at him, his eyes blazing. “Don’t encourage them, Sirius! They’re just kids, and this is stuff that doesn’t concern them!”
“But it does concern them if someone is trying to kill them, Hagrid,” Sirius replied calmly, crossing his arms.
“I’m warning all of you,” Hagrid said, looking at each of them in turn. “Don’t get involved in things you don’t understand. It’s too dangerous.”
And so, as the Quidditch field filled with shouts and laughter of celebration, the mystery of Nicolas Flamel began to take shape in Harry and his friends’ minds.