The quidditch game
The start of November was a start to the Quidditch season, as well as a start to cold weather. The library had been opened the day after the Troll got in, though there noticeably were a few less books than before. Harry really didn't like being kicked out at the same time every day-- how was he meant to study when he could hardly spend any time in the library? The common room had some books, of course, but not nearly as many. He supposed he could resort to stealing... but he had the suspicion Madam Pince would notice any book missing.
The mornings, days, and nights were colder, and the sun rose later, and every morning, the ground was covered in frost. Hagrid could be seen from the upstairs windows defrosting broomsticks on the Quidditch field, bundled up in a long moleskin overcoat, rabbit fur gloves, and enormous beaver-skin boots.
Harry knew for certain that the afternoons were warmer than the mornings, but only slightly, and only some days. Other days, the noons were colder. This was one of those days-- Madam Pince had kicked them out of the library, and they were now out of warmth, sitting in the courtyard. Of course, there were better places... but those places were probably upstairs, and Harry didn't feel like going upstairs. It wasn't his fault that Lisa and Padma had followed him.
"You know, you've been way nicer since Halloween," said Lisa, making silly hand gestures at Sly, who trilled at her happily. "Are you worried one of us 'll get hurt thinking you don't like us or something? I mean, I'm not complaining- I think it's lovely."
"No, I don't think I am," Harry said, trying to get back to where he had been reading. "I just got thinking I should be nicer- since you're my friends."
"That's sweet," Padma giggled. "You know, I think you'd kind of like a cat-- you're sort of like one, anyways. Parvati used to pretty much beg our parents to let us get one, but they never did. Of course, that didn't stop her from learning as much about them as she possibly could. And obviously, I had to suffer and listen to her relay it to me. Sorry, not relevant- I meant- well- you act kind of like a cat. You've gotten nicer over time."
Harry almost wanted to frown, but he couldn't make his face do it. He was smiling. Maybe he was a bit worried for them- but he was allowed to be. They were trustworthy. "Yeah, okay. Can we go to the dorm? I'm starting to get cold."
"I was waiting for you to say something."
"I didn't want to go alone."
"I don't care why, I just don't want to get frostbite again- it's not nice." He closed his book and stood up. Sly rushed into his pocket before he even told her to.
"You've gotten frostbite before?" Lisa looked at him a bit weirdly while they went inside. And she was still looking at him that way as they climbed up the staircase. Really, she was acting as if it was surprising. He thought frostbite was some common thing. And it clearly didn't kill him, so that couldn't have been it. Why did the way she was looking at him make him feel so... uneasy?
He wasn't able to think on it for much longer, because the moment they entered the common room, A boy in a higher year grabbed Harry's wrist, dragging him away from Lisa and Padma. "Potter! Finally! Was about to go and search for you myself! Er- my bad- I'm Roger Davies. I'm on the Quidditch Team. Etta's got news." He said quickly, taking Harry to a table. Etta and the other Quidditch members had been sitting there. Well, he wasn't lying.
"Harry! Hi! Oh- right. Right... my news. Okay, well, I'm just gonna say it outright. Gryffindor's new Seeker has caught a horrible cold because he's been out in the cold too much, all the mini-matches- ironic, right?- and he can't play because... well, that's just why. So... we're... playing Slytherin... tomorrow." Etta briefed, forcing a very big smile.
The boy beside Etta had been more shocked than anyone else. His mouth was gaping.
"Close your mouth, that's disgusting." muttered Etta, slapping the back of his head. He grumbled something at her, but it didn't look like she cared. "Now, Harry, let me introduce you to everyone. Roger Davies, he's Beater. He should've introduced himself to you already. Danial Green, big mouth Chaser. Trust me, he cannot shut up, but he's totally sweet. Steve Malerr, second Chaser. He's... er, adequate. I'm sure you know Penelope-- Clearwater, obviously-- Prefect and third Chaser. She's the best, really. He's Edward O'Farrely, second Beater. He was going to be Captain, but Jason- er, last year's captain- said it should be me. Speaking of-- me-- Etta, Keeper, and current Captain. And you, Harry, our star player and Seeker."
"Why's he star player?" Malerr asked, annoyed.
"Because, Steve," Etta sounded bitter, for some reason. "he's a first year and still got on the team. Which practically never happens, you know. No offence, you barely scraped by since everyone else trying out sucked."
"Yikes, burn, Steve!" Penelope said, laughing as she pointed at him. He went very red in the face, and his ears, just a bit longer than Harry's, looked almost as though they'd pressed themselves flat to his head.
"Can't they just cure the Gryffindor Seeker's cold, though? Isn't there a spell for it?" Harry asked.
"Ah," Etta bared her teeth, suddenly looking uncomfortable. "that would work, normally, but, no. It's muggle-- magical common cures for colds really only work if the cold was caused by something magical, and since it wasn't, there's no found cure-- well, there is, technically, but it's not exactly... er, legal- or functioning. But nevermind that-- now--" she clapped loudly. "Listen up, everyone! We're going to have a quick practice to make sure some of you haven't forgotten how to play. Bet it'll just be a quick thirty minutes. And no horsing around this practice, got it? Full - on - serious! Get your brooms and your uniforms! And do it quick!"
It was longer than thirty minutes-- for some reason, Etta kept noticing the slightest mistakes. Harry supposed it couldn't entirely be helped-- they shouldn't have been playing just yet, but it wasn't really helpful when he was too tired to want to go up the stairs. But that wasn't new.
He thought he'd get some kind of break at night, but of course, he'd been wrong. The whole night he slept, he kept thinking, kept waking up, sweaty, to the voices scolding him over nothing. And before he woke up, he kept having a horrible nightmare-- it made him feel sick. He kept dreaming that he was flying in the middle of a Quidditch game-- the two Bludgers flew at him from every direction, but everyone was too busy chasing after the Quaffle to notice, and the Beaters were nowhere to be seen; Not his team's, nor the opposing. Whenever a Bludger suddenly got a hit on him, his limbs would go numb, and his broom would drift. If he got so unlucky that he fell off his broom, instead of hitting the ground, a bright green light would flash him in the eyes, and then, a whisper that sounded like someone, or something, speaking to him-- "Transfer to Slytherin. Slytherin," It'd say.
He felt uneasy, maybe mortified, and even more sick every time he dreamt it, which was constant. Through all that, paired with Terry's obnoxious snoring, he hadn't gotten even a wink of real sleep. Before he knew it, the sun had risen, and the other boys in the dorm had been awake. He thought maybe he'd get some food at breakfast, but he only found himself pushing his food around instead. The thought of passing out on his broom made him think back to his nightmare-- a couple people at the table had been trying to convince him he shouldn't risk not eating, but he didn't want to risk something bad happening if he did eat.
Hedwig brought Harry a basket of frosted pasties with a note of encouragement signed by some N.M., but he couldn't bring himself to eat them either. He felt like he was breaking some rule. It wasn't a rule, really-- first years were allowed to play. He was allowed to play. But he didn't even try out. He was only on the team because he'd broken a rule- he wasn't supposed to have flown while Madam Hooch wasn't there, but he'd been rewarded for it. And now he was about to play an actual game. It didn't feel right at all, but it was far too late to back out.
By eleven o'clock, Harry felt like his knees would've buckled if a slight breeze hit him, or if someone even breathed a little too strongly near him. Almost everyone from every House had been up in the stands, waiting for the game to start. He found that he was very hungry, actually.
Lisa, Luna, and Padma had been settled midway in the Ravenclaw stands, while Ron and Hermione had been at the top of the Gryffindor. That's where they told Harry they'd try to be, atleast. But he wasn't up there with any of them-- he was in the Locker Room, where either playing team had been dawning their appropriately coloured Quidditch robes; Ravenclaw in dark blue-- Slytherin would be in green.
Etta cleared her throat, and faked a cough. Everyone on the Ravenclaw team looked at her.
"Now that I have your attention." She started, and took a deep breath. "Everyone. Look, I just... okay. Okay. We may not be the team with a winning streak, or the team who's held the cup for almost a decade, but we are a good team. We are going to go out there, and do our best. We are going to thrive, and we are going to try. Ravenclaw, this year, is gonna be our year. And if it's not, we'll try again next year. Now, am I the only one here who's excited to kick Slytherin's arse months early? Let's get out there!"
Steve and Edward clapped, being the first ones to leave. Danial rolled his eyes, but he was smiling.
"That was lovely, Etta, good job," said Penelope, as they all walked out to the field. Madam Hooch, who was refereeing, had been waiting expectantly for both teams. Slytherin had been walking out the same time as them.
Harry didn't pay full attention to Madam Hooch as she spoke, but he heard what she was saying, mostly. "I want a nice, fair, game. All of you." She stared at Etta and Marcus Flint, the Slytherin Captain.
If she said anything else, Harry really didn't catch it-- he was busy glancing at Slytherin's team. Mostly bulk- the kind of kids he supposed would get along just fine with Dudley. Draco looked like the odd one out-- mainly because he was half their heights, and he was the thinnest on the team. He seemed calmer, much calmer, than Harry did, and his hair seemed to glow in the bright sunlight. Draco noticed Harry looking, and waved with a large smile. Harry didn't think he'd ever seen anything of the such from Draco- he smirked much more often- but he smiled and waved back anyways, pushing his thoughts aside. He hoped his smile didn't look as forced as it felt. When he turned forward, out the corner of his eye, he saw a blurry Padma and Lisa cheering loudly, using their wands to send blue sparks flying. Luna was beside them, half her face painted royal blue and the other a deep green. They were where they said they'd be. He turned to look at the Gryffindor's stands, but Madam Hooch commanded everyone to their brooms at that moment. Harry stumbled onto his Nimbus Two-thousand, and Madam Hooch blew her silver whistle loudly.
And, suddenly, they were off; "And the Quaffle is taken immediately by Penelope Clearwater of Ravenclaw! Just how does she keep up being Prefect and best Ravenclaw Chaser?" Lee Jordan, a Gryffindor boy with dreadlocks, had been commentating. McGonagall had been keeping a close eye on him from behind. "And she's really soaring, proving that Ravenclaw name, close pass to Steve Malerr-- Oh! No, Slytherin Chaser Marcus Flint obtains the Quaffle! He's going to sc-- oh, nope! Not a chance, thanks to Ravenclaw Keeper Henrietta Crocker! Excellent block there, Green grabs the Quaffle, slick move around Pucey-- OUCH! That must have hurt, hit in the back of the head by a Bludger! Quaffle taken by the Slytherins-- that's Draco Malfoy off to the goal posts, but he's blocked by a second Bludger-- sent his way by Roger Davies, Ravenclaw back in possession of the Quaffle, a clear field ahead and off goes Clearwater-- she's really flying-- dodges a speeding Bludger sent by Bole- the goal posts are ahead-- come on, now, Clearwater, can't miss now-- Keeper Bletchley dives-- ooh- he misses- RAVENCLAW SCORES!"
Cheers filled the air, followed by howls and cries from the Slytherins.
"Budge up there, move along."
"Hagrid?" shrieked Padma, surprised by Hagrid nearly pushing her.
"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, yeh know. No sign o' the Snitch yet, eh?"
"No, Harry hasn't had much to do. He's been flying around the top there." Luna pointed. Up in the sky, high above the game, Harry was flying in the air, keeping an eye out for the Snitch.
"Kept outta trouble, though, that's somethin'," said Hagrid, raising his binoculars and peering skyward at the speck that was Harry.
Way up above them, Harry was gliding over the game, squinting tightly for gold. He caught sight of a flash of gold near the stands, but it was just a reflection from one of the Weasleys twins' wristwatches, and once a Bludger decided to come for his head, Harry narrowly dodged it and Roger came chasing after it.
"All right there, Harry?" Roger yelled, as he threw the Bludger furiously toward Marcus Flint. Harry tried his best to nod without toppling off his broom entirely. He was feeling a bit queasy, and more by the second.
"Slytherin in possession," Lee Jordan was saying. "Chaser Pucey ducks two Bludgers, two Beaters, and Chaser Green, and speeds toward the-- wait a minute, 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. Draco flashed by, and caught the Quaffle before Penelope or Malerr could get it, and barely scored a goal, as Etta had been distracted too and just barely missed.
In a great rush of excitement Harry dived downward after the streak of gold. Slytherin Seeker Terence Higgs had seen it, too. All the Chasers seemed to have forgotten what they were supposed to be doing as they hung in midair to watch him and Harry race neck and neck for the Snitch.
Harry was faster than Higgs, by just a little less weight-- he could see the golden Snitch, it's little wings fluttering just ahead- he focused on only the Snitch, and suddenly, he was passing Higgs. And then he passed Higgs. He reached out for the Snitch, but--
WHAM!
A roar of rage echoed from the stands-- Flint appeared out of nowhere, and he had blocked Harry- obviously on purpose, no matter how he contorted his face into pretend shock. Harry's broom spun off course, and he had barely held on as it spun circles.
"Foul!" screamed the Ravenclaws.
Madam Hooch spoke angrily to Flint and then ordered a penalty at the goal posts for Ravenclaw. But in all the confusion, the Golden Snitch had disappeared from sight again.
Down in the Gryffindor stands, a boy was yelling, "Send him off-- red! Red card!"
"What the world are you talking about, Dean?" asked Ron confusedly.
"Red card!" said Dean furiously. "In football you get shown the red card and you're out of the game!"
"Dean, this isn't football," Ron rolled his eyes.
Hagrid, in the Ravenclaw stands, had been conversing with a very-bitter Lisa.
"They oughta change the rules! Flint coulda knocked Harry outta the air!" Hagrid said.
"Exactly! That could've been fatal, and he's so young, too! What was Flint thinking?!" Lisa agreed. "He's insane! What kind of--"
Lee Jordan, meanwhile, was finding it difficult not to take sides. "So, after that obvious and disgusting bit of cheating--"
"Jordan!" growled McGonagall.
"I mean, after that open and revolting foul-"
"Jordan, I am warning you."
"Alright, alright. Flint nearly kills the first-year Ravenclaw Seeker, which could happen to anyone, I'm sure, so a penalty to Ravenclaw, taken by Clearwater, who puts it away, no trouble, and we continue play, Ravenclaw still in possession."
It was as Harry dodged another Bludger that came for his head, it happened. His broom gave a sudden lurch. He thought it was just his own mistake- that he'd accidently made it go too far. But when it dove again, he knew for sure something was wrong. He had half a mind to assume he would fall- that his nightmare would come true. He gripped the broom tightly with both his hands and knees. He tried to steady it, but it bucked the exact opposite direction.
It's trying to throw you off, said the voices lowly. You should fall.
As if he didn't know the first half of that already, and he knew much better than to let go. He would've tried to call over to Etta, but the broom was jumping so much he couldn't tell left from right, stand from goalpost, nor player from Bludger. His broom went one way, then the opposite way, and then making violent swishing movements every direction that almost unseated him. Every time he tried to scream, he took only a sharp breath and fell silent.
Lee was still commentating, albeit a bit boredly. "Slytherin in possession-- Flint with the Quaffle-- passes Malerr-- passes Green-- Ooh! Flint hit hard in the face by a Bludger! Hope it broke his nose-- only kidding, Professor-- Malfoy steals the Quaffle and scores, near miss by Crocker..."
The Slytherins were cheering. No one seemed to have noticed that Harry's broom was acting strangely. It was carrying him slowly higher, away from the game, jerking and twitching as it went.
"'Dunno what Harry thinks he's doing," Hagrid mumbled. He stared through his binoculars. "If I didn't know better, I'd say he'd lost control of his broom...but he can't have...."
Padma took the binoculars, and looked through them. "He has! He's not doing the thing he does when he's trying to go a certain direction! He's actually lost control of his broom!" She screamed, and suddenly, people had finally noticed and were pointing up at Harry all over the stands.
His broom had started to roll over and over, and flip side to side, with him only just managing to hold on. Then everyone gasped; Harry's broom had jumped while it spun and Harry swung off its side, now hanging from it, barely, by one hand.
"Can't 've happened when Flint knocked him over," Hagrid said, his voice shaking. "Can't nothing interfere wi' a broomstick except powerful Dark magic-- no kid could do that ter a Nimbus Two Thousand."
"It probably is dark magic! Lisa, look!" Padma shook Lisa, pointing at where the teachers sat.
"Snape?" Lisa asked.
"I don't think it's Professor Snape," said Luna, glancing over.
Padma gave her a weird look. "Who do you think it is?"
Luna squinted, looked unsure for a moment, and then pointed unsteadily. "He's not the only one keeping direct eye contact with Harry's broom-- it doesn't look like it."
Then Padma squinted, looking to see where Luna had pointed. Then she gasped. "I'll be right back! If Harry falls, do that spell he did back during the Troll attack, okay? Immobulus, remember that!"
"I'm probably not gonna be the only--! Oh, screw it, okay." Lisa tried, but Padma had already pushed past too many people.
Out on the field, nearly all of Ravenclaw team had been circling under Harry, prepared to catch him, while Flint had taken the Quaffle and scored five times. Draco took a bat from one of the mortified Beaters, and threw it at Flint, who was sent off coarse, soaring towards the ground.
"Padma, please, hurry up," Lisa muttered, biting her lip desperately.
"She'll make it," said Luna, smiling lightly.
Padma ran along the stands, pushing her way through, and was suddenly running along the row behind him. "Hermione?!" she gasped. Hermione had her wand out, extended to Snape's robes.
"Padma! I've got it," She said, but Padma hit Hermione's wand, making it aim at Quirrell's foot. A sudden shriek let Padma know she had done right, because just as, there was a collective sigh of relief across the stands letting her know Harry had gotten back on his broom. She peeked out between the stands just in time to see Harry pulling himself back up on his broom as she dragged Hermione away before any of the professors realised.
"Padma! Why would you do that?! It was Professor Snape!" asked Hermione.
"No, Hermione! It had to be Professor Quirrell! It sounds a bit odd, but let me ask you this-- Snape wouldn't be that obvious, right? And he's like, totally evil. And he lived during a war! Wouldn't he know how to curse a broom, of all things, without muttering under his breath?"
"I... oh, fine, but why would it be Professor Quirrell?" Hermione asked, as cheers spread across the crowd. Ravenclaw had scored-- thanks to Etta kicking the Quaffle a little too hard, Penelope was able to catch it and make a goal.
"Just a guess. But it's valid. Snape's not bald and doesn't stink." Padma said. When she looked back out at the field, Harry was speeding towards the ground, but suddenly, he clasped his hands over his mouth and flew off his broom, hitting the ground before he had actually gotten close. The crowd gasped and paused in anticipation as he sat up to sit on his knees and retched, hitting his throat. Something gold and glittering fell out of his mouth and into the grass.
There was an uproar of cheers, and he shouted-- "I caught the Snitch!"
Despite the conclusion being quite obvious, the game ended in total confusion. And, admittedly, Harry was a bit confused too.
"He didn't catch it, he nearly swallowed it!" Flint screamed. He was still howling twenty minutes later, but it made no difference-- Harry hadn't broken any rules and the Ravenclaws were still cheering, Lee still shouting out the results. Ravenclaw won a hundred and seventy points to sixty. Harry heard none of it, however; He was being made a cup of hot tea in Hagrid's hut with his friends. His queasiness had yet to fade and his fall had left him with a headache.
"It was Snape," Ron was explaining, "Hermione and I saw him. He was cursing your broomstick, Harry. Muttering, all that! He wouldn't take his eyes off you!"
"Rubbish! Oh- well, mostly!" Hermione said suddenly. Hagrid, who hadn't heard a word of what had been going on during the whole Harry's broomstick malfunctioning thing, agreed.
"Why would Snape do somethin' like that?"
"Er..."
Ron and Hermione looked at one another, as if they knew something.
"What?" Lisa asked. "It's not like we're gonna tell him."
"We saw him on Halloween. He was going to the Third-floor." Ron told Hagrid. "He tried to get past that three-headed dog on Halloween, and it bit him. We think he was trying to steal whatever it's guarding."
"Ronald thinks that. I think otherwise, now." said Hermione, looking at Padma meaningfully. "I've done a bit more thinking. I mean, I do think he was trying to do something, but I don't think he was cursing Harry's broom."
"He wasn't," said Luna, stirring her tea.
"How'd yeh know about Fluffy?" Hagrid asked finally, looking shocked.
"Fluffy?" Everyone else wondered.
"Yeah! Bought him off a Greek chappie I met in the pub las' year-- I leant him ter Dumbledore ter guard the-- er--"
"You haven't got to tell us, Hagrid." Harry insisted. He didn't need to listen to the voices berating him to know that he already knew what that dog was guarding. The little package from Gringotts-- obviously. That had to be it.
"Yes he does! Well- I- I-I mean, you don't have to, but we'd really like it if you did," Lisa encouraged, taking a long sip of tea. "And we won't tell anyone! Promise!"
"Nope, can't. Top secret, that's it." Hagrid denied, and Harry just knew, that he had to be right. "And it's not 'im anyway. He's a Hogwarts teacher,"
"But Hagrid, he's trying to steal it!" Ron insisted.
"Ronald, he is not! He is a professor!" Hermione scolded, slapping Ron's hand. He slapped hers in turn.
"Actually, I agree," Luna said. "He couldn't be trying to take something if Headmaster Dumbledore got a three-headed dog to guard it. He wouldn't make it."
"Yeah, but, like," Lisa spun her hand in a circle. "What's so important that a three-headed dog would have to guard it, anyway? Like, something super expensive? Super magical? Something illegal that's not, like- totally unethical, I guess?"
"I'm surprised you even know unethical is a word, considering you lack ethics half the time," scoffed Padma.
"Would you shut up? I'm asking a serious question here--"
"Oh, that's a first!"
"You think you're so great, don't you? You should know, half the things you're annoyed with me for aren't even my fault!"
"You want a list? I can name a couple things--"
"If you two are done," Harry shoved Lisa's side, and then Padma's. "I think I really get why Dumbledore would hide something important. Hogwarts is the safest place to store things, even before Gringotts. Well, I think so." Hagrid was staring at him and looking unsteady; Harry stared at him in turn.
"Yeah. Hogwarts is so large, and there's almost always someone around." Ron nodded. "Peeves would rat you out before you could even say his name. But... well, I mean, you never know--"
"Ronald! That's enough!" Hermione snapped, "We're going to enjoy eachothers company and be grateful that Harry isn't hurt! Drop - it!"
Ron, shocked, gulped down his tea and stopped talking about it.
"Good," Hagrid nodded. "Yeh better off not meddlin' in wha' doesn't concern yeh. Forget Fluffy, an' what he's guarding. That's between Professor Dumbledore an' Nicolas Flamel."
"Nicolas Flamel," Luna smiled, nodding. "Thank you, Hagrid."
Hagrid clasped his hands hard over his mouth. He was furious at himself, and Harry found himself wondering even hours after they had left for dinner;
What was Dumbledore hiding?