Quidditch
One thing about sports that always was the same, no matter if muggle world or wizarding world, was the fact that the matches took place in any weather. Harry had never particularily enjoyed these matches before, partly because of the cold, partly because it was sports, partly because of Dudley and his gang. Now though... the cold still bothered him a bit, and Wood's training regiment was pretty harsh, but much to his surprise, he found himself enjoying practicing with his team, inspite of the low temperatures and the muscle aches afterwards.
In that however, he was (un)surprisingly alone. 'It's not too late to call it quits', Tom urged after a particularily cold session. 'Just say that oh, you're still feeling the troll encounter and will be unable to play - I seriously doubt anyone would give a damn under these circumstances.'
Harry simply rolled his eyes. 'Yeah, not gonna happen, Tom. First, I actually feel fine, and second, I'm not in the habit of letting people down, especially because they haven't given me any reason to. Third, I know exactly why you're so insistent about me dropping, and honestly, it's starting to get tiresome.'
'Yes, well, can you blame me? I had a broom fall to pieces some twenty feet above ground, and Quidditch is played even higher than that, and you're being targeted by bludgers - nevermind the opposing team. I don't know about you, but falling from your broom because some dumbass beater mistook your head for a bludger was not in my plans.'
Cue another eyeroll. 'And now you're being dramatic.'
'You've never seen a Quidditch match', Tom grumbled darkly. 'That used to be a favoured tactic by Gryffindors back in my day, and from what I've heard, it made its way into my old house's team.'
'Good thing I'm good at dodging, then', Harry quipped.
Tom groaned. 'Bloody Gryffindors...'
Still, as the first game approached, Harry did get increasingly nervous, partly because a lot of people expected a whole lot of him, partly because a lot of other people expected him to fall off his broom, and partly because Wood's training sessions became incredibly last minute, causing Harry to fall behind with his homework at times - thank Merlin for Hermione and her brain, as she helped him keep up, which was especially helpful with Potions, even if Snape had eased off for some inexplicable reason, much to just about everyone's surprise.
Granted, the Potions Master was still incredibly unpleasant to be around (likely due to a nasty looking leg injury), and still biased towards Slytherins, but he had significantly eased off Harry, having not berated him in any way since Halloween, and at times looking like he wanted to say something, but wasn't sure about it. This had, unfortunately, the side-effect of Snape cracking down even harder on Neville, causing his already frail confidence to break even further. Naturally, this didn't sit too well with his friends, including Tom. 'A shame that whatever did his leg in didn't target his head', he complained at one point. 'Would've improved his attitude - and his looks.'
'Wonder what could've caused that injury', Harry mused. 'Do you think it was the troll?'
'Doubtful', Tom grumbled. 'If it was, he'd be a leg short - and we both saw the dried blood on his cloak. No, if I had to guess, I'd say it was some kind of cut, or... oh, bugger.'
'What?', Harry wondered as he flipped through the pages of Quidditch Through the Ages.
'You know how we figured that whatever special package Hagrid was asked to fetch when he got you was now hidden in the third-floor corridor? Well, something important enough to have someone break into Gringotts would need to be under more guard than just a locked and hopefully enchanted door. It would need..."
'A guard dog? You mean there's a magic dog in the third-floor corridor?', Harry skeptically asked.
Tom smiled thinly. 'My guess would be a Cerberus - three heads, stupidly large, surprisingly docile when calm, enjoy music... What? I like more animals than just snakes, you know.'
'How the hell would Dumbledore have gotten a three-headed dog to-- nevermind, he probably asked Hagrid', Harry groaned.
'It would be right up his alley', Tom agreed. 'I think the correct question ought to be: why would Snape have gotten himself bitten by the pooch?'
'I know this may sound like a bad stereotype, but between his bat-like appearance and foul attitude, I wouldn't be surprised if he was looking to go after that package. Bloody hell, you think he let the troll in as a diversion?'
'Considering it put students in danger - people Snape clearly hates - I would not be too surprised if he did to get a chance to go after whatever was in the package. Guess he didn't count on there being a three-headed puppy standing guard', he smugly concluded.
Harry narrowed his eyes. 'One thing doesn't fit, though - he was at the feast when the troll was spotted by Quirrell, and he was in the bathroom after we... stopped it.'
Tom was pensive for a short while. 'His presence later can be explained by flying down stairs - possibly in every sense of the expression. But yes, I doubt the troll let itself in, and a beast of its caliber does not go unnoticed for too long... unless...'
'Quirrell? But why would he help Snape?', Harry wondered.
'Snape, even though he's a jerk and a shite teacher, is admittedly brilliant at brewing potions - and considering that Quirrell may be hearing the Grim Reaper knocking on his door, the chance of Snape coming up with some snake oil to safe or at least prolong his life may well get him to do his bidding. Nevermind the fact that supposedly, Snape is quite knowledgeable about the Dark Arts...'
'Yeah, I'm pretty sure that Mind-Control-spell you try to teach me every now and then falls under that category', Harry said.
'It does, but not where I was wanting to go - Quirrell isn't under its influence, trust me, I'd know', Tom replied. 'No, rather, I think whatever is eating at Quirrell - literally - can be treated with some rather naughty spells, which Snape may well know, or at the very least pretend to know.'
'But what the hell would be worth coercing a fellow teacher into letting a bloody troll into a school?'
Whatever it was, Harry had to push it from his mind as the day of the first match dawned. He had barely slept the night before, too anxious to shut his eyes, and this had only added to his misery. It didn't help that his stomach was somewhat upset, leaving him unwilling to try and eat something - naturally, the delicious smells of grilled sausages did nothing to help, and neither did the happy chattering of his classmates.
'Tom?', he began.
'Oh no, too late to back out now, kiddo', his companion replied far too smugly.
'I wasn't... okay, maybe it crossed my mind... is still crossing... do you have any advice on how to deal with anxiety?'
'Well, there's always cigarettes, but something tells me it isn't the sort of advice you were looking for.'
'Yeah, no kidding', Harry snorted. 'Wait, is that something you used to do?'
'I may have developed a bit of a smoking habit around the time I took my O.W.L.s... like I said, 1943 is one year I do not care to remember. Anyways, I will say this only once, but: I have watched more Quidditch matches than I care to remember, and I will say that as far as talent goes, you have more of it in your pinky than some of the seekers in my day had in their whole bodies. You can do this, Harry - you're quick, you've got good reflexes, you've got a good eye for small, shiny stuff, and as much as it pains me to say it, you're a natural on those bloody brooms, and, most importantly, you've got the element of surprise - Slytherin won't see you coming. You have got this.'
Harry nodded to himself, taking a deep breath. 'You're right, you're right. I can do this.'
Tom smirked. 'Get out there and show Hogwarts what true skill looks like.'
His confidence renewed, Harry did manage to munch down at least a little something before making his way to the Quidditch Pitch. The turnout was incredible; it looked as though half of Hogwarts had turned up, and Seamus, Ron, Neville, Dean and Hermione had fashioned a banner to support the new seeker, complete with a golden lion with round glasses and a lightning bolt scar on its forehead, animated by Hermione to glow.
'Okay, now that is impressive', Tom observed as the lion glowed again. 'And seriously on the nose.'
The mood inside the locker room was somewhat tense as the seven players put on their Quidditch uniforms - red and gold, as opposed to the green and silver of today's opponent, Slytherin - and when Wood gave a short speech to motivate the team - apparently, he used that speech regularly, as Fred and George joked.
'Well, you know what they say about broken clocks', Tom quipped. 'Bloody hell, Flint's still haven't bred out the troll embarrassment of 1666?'
Harry didn't get a chance to reply (though Marcus Flint did bear some resemblance to the troll he had faced in the bathroom), as Madam Hooch - the referee - gave the command for the players to mount their brooms ('Well, that's an innuendo...' 'Shut it!') and with a blow of her whistle, the match was on.
Harry shot into the air, immediately going into search-and-catch mode to spot his price, doing his best to block out the incredibly biased, but still hilarious commentary of Lee Jordan from his booth and the colourful curses and commentary of Tom in his mind. Needless to say, only one of these things was effective.
'Well, keep your head down until you find the damned snitch, no point in getting yourself into trouble - watch out!'
'Huh, looks like the Slytherin team isn't half bad, can't say if should be happy about it or not... okay, your Keeper isn't asleep, either.'
'Watch out watch out watch out-- oh, nevermind, not meant for us, that looks like it hurt the Bell girl though..., oh, she's fine.'
'Alright, your girl-team there is pretty good, and these two menaces know their Bludgers... oh come on come on come on-- great, we scored! Can't believe I'm rooting for Gryffindor... wait, what are you-- NO LOOPINGS, YOU MADMAN!'
Harry couldn't help it, hearing the usually so composed Tom screech like a little girl was just too funny, and he cackled as he positioned himself again to look for the snitch - just to see it wheeze past one of the Slytherin Chasers. Harry immediately took off after it, ignoring the angry screeching and cursing from Tom about the speed and the maneuvers he flew. He bypassed Higgs - the opposing Seeker - with relative ease, his small and light frame making his already fast broom even faster, and he could see the small golden ball before him, and he gave a bit more speed -
WUMM! All of the sudden, he crashed into a large shape, causing his broom to tumble and him to nearly fall onto the pitch, with only his quick reflexes preventing this, causing him to hold on to his broom. Loud and angry yells could be heard from the Gryffindors - both in the stands and flying above the pitch.
'THAT DIRTY BLOODY HALFBREED!', Tom raged as Harry pulled himself back up onto his broom. 'I WILL FIND YOU FLINT, AND I WILL MAKE YOUR DEATH A SLOW AND PAINFUL ONE!'
Harry meanwhile was too busy looking for the Snitch again and evading the Bludgers sent his way - or at least that was his focus until all of a sudden, his broom sudenly bucked.
"Something's wrong", Hermione noticed as she watched the match through her binoculars. "Look at Harry's broom."
Sure enough, everyone in her vicinity focused their gazes on Harry, whose broom was no bucking so badly, it was a wonder he was still holding on, nevermind being still able to fly at least somewhat.
"Could it have taken a hit when Flint fouled him?", Seamus asked.
"Ain' possible", Hagrid said with a shaky voice. "Brooms cannot be confused so easily - only dark magic could do somethin' like that. No child could do tha'to a Nimbus..."
Neville went white as a sheet meanwhile. "Look, over there", he half-whispered. "Snape - he's-he's doing something-"
Hermione forced herself to look away from Harry and at the Teacher's Stand, where, sure enough, she saw Snape with his gaze focused on Harry while muttering something.
'That- that-'
"He's hexing his broom", she whispered.
Neville shook in fright. "We gotta do something", he repeated. "We gotta do something."
Hermione angrily narrowed her eyes. "I've got this", she announced and whirled around. Neville couldn't help it, he ran after her, while the rest of the group stayed behind and worriedly gazed up at Harry. By now, other people had noticed that something was wrong, too; Lee Jordan was busy calling for a break, while Madam Hooch, the Gryffindor team and, most remarkably, Pucey, Montague and Derrick of the Slytherin team tried to pull Harry onto one of their brooms - to no avail, every time one of them approached the bucking Nimbus, it made some sharp turn. In an unexpected twist, when Marcus Flint used the confusion to score a goal and even out the score, his fellow Chasers Pucey and Montague gave him their opinions on things like sportsmanship - loudly.
Hermione meanwhile snuck underneath the stands, follwed closely by Neville, and made her way to where Snape was seated. "What are you planning to do?", he whispered to her.
"I'm going to make him stop", she angrily whispered in response as she whipped out her wand.
"You're... oh Merlin, please don't get yourself in trouble", he whispered. "Can... can I help?"
Hermione nodded tensely as she gazed around the assembled teachers - who for some braindead reason had yet to take action! What was that madness?
"Go distract Professor Quirrell", she instructed. "He's closest to Snape - ask him if there's anything he can do about Harry's broom."
Neville nodded eagerly and shuffled off towards the DADA teacher. "Excuse me, Professor Quirrell, but is there something you can... you can do to fix this?"
While Neville was busy talking to Professor Quirrell, Hermione snuck under Snape's seat and thought about the next step, rapidly going through all charms she had read about in her textbooks.
"Frigus Ignis", she whispered, finally settling for the Bluebell Flames, and aimed her wand at Snape's robes. Sure enough, they caught fire, and, after maybe a minute, he noticed and let out a furious roar, causing quite the commotion, one which Hermione used to sneak away.
"Bloody hell, Hermione!", Neville let out on the way back. "Did you- you- you set Snape on fire?!"
"Hush, not so loud", she angrily whispered. "I know, I know, I shouldn't have done that, but honestly? He deserves it!"
Neville's jaw was by now close to the ground, and Hermione rolled her eyes. "Oh, honestly, Snape is absolutely horrible."
"Yeah... yeah... but I've never heard you badmouth a teacher before", he marveled. "Who are you and what have you done with Hermione?"
'Merlin, Morgana, Nyarlahotep and Nephrem-Ka, this is a nightmareeee!', Tom yelled as the broom suddenly went into another steep dive to evade a fellow player trying to help Harry out.
'Is there anything you can do?!', Harry asked, panicking.
Tom's thoughts raced. 'Not without taking over again', he grit out. 'And I'd need to stay in control to keep going, but I won't be able to do that, I already know that!'
Harry put the angry curses he had picked up from Tom to use. 'If I find whoever is responsible for this, I will feed them to that Cerberus on the third floor!'
'Less murder-talk, more concentrating!', Tom yelled in a surprising turn of events.
'Trying to-- oh, nooo!', Harry yelled in turn when he found himself slipping off his broom for a short second, before all of a sudden, his broom just - relaxed.
'Well, just in the nick of time', Tom said, calming down.
"I'm good!", Harry yelled when Wood approached him.
"You sure?", the captain asked, and when Harry nodded, he gave a quick thumbs up. "Catch the Snitch and call it a day! Best not to push your luck!"
'Never thought I'd agree with that lunatic, but he's got a point', Tom grumbled.
Sure enough, after Wood yelled the information towards Madam Hooch, the match quickly went back on track - at least, for a short moment, because as if to make up for the earlier peril, the Snitch shot past him, and Harry and Higgs found themselves in another race for it.
'Okay, your broom seems to have recovered again, so push it as far as you safely can - safely, I said! - and grab the damned - what are you-- NO DON'T STAND UP YOU LUNATIC!'
Ignoring Tom's screaming, Harry slowly stood up on his broom when the Snitch shot up for a quick second, and reached out, feeling its wings against his hand - just as Higgs, fed up with this first year one-upping him, angrily steered his broom against his, causing Harry to fly off onto the ground. Fortunately, they were less than twenty feet above ground, and he landed (relatively) softly on the grass.
'Uh, yet another moron I will kill sooner rather than later', Tom grunted while Madam Hooch shrilly tore Higgs a new one, and Harry thought that he heard the words "permanent ban" in her tirade. Not that he listened, he was too busy coughing.
"Harry!", he heard one of the Chasers - Angelina, if he wasn't mistaken - besides him. "Are you alright?"
Harry didn't reply, instead continuing to cough until finally, the thing in his throat dislodged and dropped into his hand. "Yeah", he rasped and raised said hand. "I caught the Snitch!"
The cheering this caused was almost deafening - even overlapping Flint's pointless angry rants about how Harry had broken the rules ('Don't worry, I'm pretty sure you didn't'). Not that Harry stuck around to listen to the Slytherin's rants, as, after Madam Pomfrey checked him for any injuries - by some miracle, he had only some minor bruises (he suspected Tom had subconsciously healed the injuries right after the fall, something with which Tom agreed), he, Hermione and Neville had headed down to Hagrid's hut for a cup of tea.
"It was Snape", Hermione revealed as Hagrid was busy brewing. "Neville spotted him mouthing some incantation when the trouble with your broom started."
"Bah, there's no way Snape would do som'in like that", Hagrid grumbled.
"No, I know what I saw", Neville insisted with a somewhat unusual boost of confidence in his voice. "He was maintaining his eye contact on Harry and moving his mouth - Gran said that that's telltale for incantations."
"Nonsense - why would he do som'in like that?", the halfgiant asked as he set down the pot on the stove.
"He hates Harry", Neville suggested. "Even if he kept his distance lately, he's been even worse than usual since Halloween - maybe he simply snapped when it looked like Slytherin would lose?"
"Bah, don'be ridiculous", Hagrid grumbled. "Aye, he did get bitten by Fluffy on 'alloween, but he ain' the sort to just snap."
"Fluffy? Is there a dog somewhere in the castle?", Harry asked, smelling an opportunity to discover something about what he and Tom had speculated the past few days.
Hagrid meanwhile nearly dropped the pot he had just taken off his stove. "Shouldn'ave said that", he grumbled to himself.
"I thought you only had Fang here", Harry pushed further, petting the large dog as he did so.
"Ah, yes, Fluffy's a new one - bought'im last year from some chap in Greece - makes for a good guard dog, my Fluffy, so I lent him to Dumbledore--" Hagrid cut himself off.
'Fluffy? He named a Greek Cerberus Fluffy?!', Tom asked.
'It's Hagrid, what do you expect?'
"What's he guarding?", Hermione meanwhile asked, her curiosity raised.
"Nah, nah, no more questions", Hagrid deflected. "Top secret, Dumbledore's orders, shouldn'even have said as much as I did."
"But Hagrid, if Snape had a run-in with, err, Fluffy, he must have tried to get past him!", Neville excitedly said. "The third-floor corridor - your guard dog must be there, and there must be something hidden there!"
"Ah, no, no, there's nothing there!", Hagrid deflected, visibly incensed. "'Sides, it's none o'your business, so just forget everything 'bout Fluffy and what he's guarding far away from here, that's a matter only Dumbledore and Nicholas Flamel need to concern themselves with--" He quickly shut his mouth and looked angry at himself as soon as he realized what he'd said.
'Oh, bugger', Tom groaned. 'I think I know what Dumbledore's hiding.'
'Hang on, how do you know?', Harry asked, confused.
'Nicholas Flamel is an alchemist - over six hundred years old', Tom grumbled. 'And I'm willing to bet what remains of my soul that the key to his long life is being hidden in the third-floor corridor.'
'Wait, an alchemist... isn't the white whale for alchemists--'
'Oh yes', Tom sighed. 'Dumbledore decided to hide the bloody Philosopher's Stone in a school full of idiot children.'