Motives
Chapter 7: Motives
Once the Slytherins had been led back to their dormitories, they feasted on the food that had been sent from the Great Hall. Draco, on the other hand, was too keyed up to eat without telling his friends what had happened after they left. While everyone was distracted, Draco pulled Theo and Blaise aside, glancing around nervously.
“What’s wrong, Draco?” Theo inquired a bit too loudly.
“Shhhh! Snape grabbed me while you two ran off to the library,” he began, “you’ll never guess what he asked me to do…” Draco told his tale of being entrusted to spy for Snape.
“What d’you reckon he thinks Quirrell’s up to?” Blaise thought out loud. They all had to be thinking the same thing.
“I say we go see what’s in that room tonight. Clearly it has something to do with it. We’ll just peek through the door and close it right back up, though. Whatever it is, it’s vicious—you both heard the growls coming from the room when Snape went in there.”
Blaise and Theo nodded, gulping, clearly lacking any kind of courage. The boys returned to their group of friends and ate all they could stomach—trying to push away the flutter of nerves in their bellies.
…
Midnight passed, and the castle was still and silent. Draco, Blaise, and Theo crept out of their beds and tip-toed out of their dorms and into the common room. The fire had died down to flickering embers, giving the room a rather ominous, shadowy glow.
Checking to make sure no one was watching, the trio dipped out of the room and into the surrounding dungeons. They quietly made their way to the third floor, speaking not with words but with hand signals and facial expressions, like a well-trained unit. They took as many lesser-used corridors as they could to avoid Peeves and Filch, who luckily never crossed their path.
Finally reaching the same corridor they had seen Snape go down earlier that evening, the three snakes paused in front of the arched wooden door.
Alohomora
Draco whispered the spell, and the lock clicked open. Theo took a step back just as Blaise leaned forward, toward the door.
“Coward,” Blaise muttered.
Draco reached for the handle of the door, hovering just over it, and Theo forced himself to lean forward only enough to peek through the tiny crack they had agreed on.
The door didn’t even creak, that’s just how small of a sliver Draco cracked the door open. Theo apparently couldn’t see into the room enough, and as he towered over Blaise and Draco, he wrenched the door open farther and the three boys gasped in unison.
Sleeping in the middle of the room was a giant canine-like beast with three huge heads.
“What the—“
Blaise slammed the door before Theo could wake it up with his impending exclamation.
“Well that explains Snape’s injury, but what was Quirrell going to do with it?” Draco pondered.
“It was on a trap door,” Blaise stated plainly.
“But guys…three heads!” Theo finally blurted out.
“Yes, Theodore. Three heads,” Draco and Blaise patted Theo on the back and they all turned, heading back to the dungeons.
…
November brought a stark chill to the air in Hogwarts, and the sky settled on a permanent dull gray. The winds had picked up across the highlands and they whistled and howled throughout the grounds.
Draco and the rest of the First Year Slytherins marched to the Quidditch stadium, and climbed to the top of the tall stands. It was the first Slytherin Quidditch match of the year and the whole House was abuzz with excitement for a big win especially against their rivals—Gryffindor.
Draco sported his green and silver striped scarf, and a smart black sweater embroidered with a large serpent. Blaise, Theo, Crabbe and Goyle were all dressed similarly showing off their House pride. Pansy, Daphne, and Tracey had even painted their nails a bright green and charmed their headbands to match.
The Slytherin players entered the pitch and the Slytherin stands erupted with loud cheers and excitement. The team captain, Marcus Flint, flashed a crooked smile and a wink in the direction of the Slytherin stands while Madam Hooch was trying to tell him off about conduct which clearly had been a previous issue between them.
Moments later, the teams were set in place, and Madam Hooch sent a short shrill blast through her whistle to start the game.
“And the Quaffle is taken immediately by Angelina Johnson of Gryffindor – what an excellent Chaser that girl is, and rather attractive, too –“
Great, a Gryffindor is going to be announcing the game. Draco rolled his eyes. This would be a long match, although it appeared the boy was being closely watched by Professor McGonagall.
“And she’s really belting along up there, a neat pass to Alicia Spinnet, a good find of Oliver Wood’s, last year only a reserve – back to Johnson and – no, 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 speed- ing Bludger – the goalposts are ahead – come on, now, Angelina – Keeper Bletchley dives – misses – GRYFFINDOR SCORE!”
Gryffindor cheers filled the cold air, along with howls and moans from the Slytherins. Draco grimaced, this match wasn’t starting well, but there’s still a lot of Quidditch left.
Draco was practically itching to get back on a broom and play. He could see it in Blaise’s and Theo’s eyes as well. It had been months since they had really flown a broomstick and just the memory of summer days spent flying around the Manor’s grounds was enough to send his heart soaring.
“Slytherin in possession,” Lee Jordan was saying. “Chaser Pucey ducks two Bludgers, two Weasleys and Chaser Bell and speeds towards the – wait a moment – was that the Snitch?”
Draco began furiously searching for the snitch, heart racing, and spotted it almost instantly. 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.
Potter had seen it too. He had flown downwards after the streak of gold. The Slytherin Seeker Terence Higgs had seen it, as well. Neck and neck they dove for the Snitch – all the Chasers seemed to have forgotten what they were supposed to be doing as they hung in mid-air to watch.
Potter was pulling ahead of Higgs – and it seemed the Slytherin Captain knew it. WHAM!
A roar of applause and cheers echoed from the Slytherins below – Marcus Flint had blocked Potter, sending his broom off-course.
Flint got a good reaming from Madam Hooch, but he didn’t seem to care much. Gryffindor got a free shot at the goal posts, but the snitch was safely gone by now. Draco knew where it was though. He hadn’t taken his eyes off it, even with all the commotion on the pitch.
“So – after that obvious and disgusting bit of cheating –“ Lee Jordan continued.
Professor McGonagall was growling at him now.
“I mean, after that open and revolting foul –“
Another angry word from McGonagall.
“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.”
Scoffs and eye rolls could be heard a mile away as the whole of the Slytherin stands were getting rather fed up with Lee Jordan’s announcing. Draco couldn’t believe he was still being allowed to commentate, but then again, those Gryffindors clearly got away with everything.
Potter flew between Draco and the Snitch he had been meticulously following. With a huff, Draco finally took notice of Potter’s broom starting to buck like a wild horse.
No one else seemed to notice though. Draco elbowed Blaise and pointed at Potter’s out-of-control broomstick. They shared a confunded look. Broomsticks didn’t just randomly start trying to knock you off, unless it had been cursed or jinxed. Not that Draco really cared if Potter did happen to fall a few hundred feet through the air…
“Slytherin in possession – Flint with the Quaffle – passes Spinnet – passes Bell – hit hard in the face by a Bludger, hope it broke his nose – only joking, Professor – Slytherin score – oh no …”
The Slytherins were cheering around him and Draco was surprised that no one seemed to have noticed Potter’s little broom predicament. It was carrying him slowly higher, away from the game, jerking and twitching as it went.
Draco slid a few spots over in the stands and leaned forward to whisper to Snape about the broom. Snape merely nodded and Draco returned to his place in the stands, trying not to draw attention to himself. .
Suddenly, people were pointing up at Potter 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 as the broom had given a wild jerk and Potter swung off it. He was now dangling from it, holding on with only one hand.
Draco took that moment to realize he, too, had just gasped and couldn’t even find it in himself to laugh at the poor sod. Maybe he didn’t quite hate Potter as much as he thought he did, but he couldn’t process that right now, he’d lock that tidbit away for later.
Everyone’s focus was on Potter, and Flint took the opportunity to grab the Quaffle and score about five times with no resistance. It wasn’t cheating per se, but it was definitely poor sportsman-like conduct.
Draco heard a low mumbling and looked to his left—Quirrell was muttering something under his breath, while staring unblinkingly at Potter‘s broom above the stands. What is he doing? Is he jinxing Potter’s broom…but why?
Draco’s thoughts were interrupted when he saw a flash of bushy brown hair shove Professor Quirrell from behind the seats. The Professor fell forward into the next row, nearly losing his hideous purple turban. Well she’s got guts, I’ll give her that.
Draco thought it was over and done with after her little show, but she didn’t stop there. Granger whispered an incantation and a blue flame appeared on the hem of Snape’s robes and chaos ensued. Draco was the only one who apparently had seen the whole thing and he was dumbfounded. He watched Granger scoop the blue flame into a jar and scurry back to her little lion's den. Draco was beside himself in disbelief. Little Miss Perfect just lit a teacher on fire…
Potter was able to get back on his broom, then dove toward the ground—covering his mouth and heaving like he was about to hurl. He fell to his hands and knees and coughed out—the Snitch! Draco was dumbstruck—of course Potter caught the Snitch while falling out of the sky on a bewitched broom. Only he could acquire that level of sheer dumb luck.
The game ended in total confusion and Flint was heatedly arguing with Madam Hooch that Potter never actually caught the Snitch, but almost swallowed it. His whinging fell on deaf ears, however, and she announced loudly that Slytherin officially lost to Gryffindor one hundred and seventy points to sixty.
Draco and the rest of his gang of snakes trudged back up to the castle in poor spirits. Each grumbling what should’ve been done differently or what maneuvers they would’ve done instead.
Later that evening, after the commonroom had cleared out, Draco pulled Theo and Blaise aside once more to try and make sense of what he’d seen at the match.
“Quirrell was the one who jinxed Potter’s broom. I’m not sure why, but I definitely heard him muttering some type of spell—at least until Granger came barrelling in and knocked him over…”
“Granger?!” Theo looked both shocked and confused.
“Yes, Granger. She must’ve been able to see Quirrell and Snape from across the pitch. She is rather bright, albeit a complete and total swot. Anyway, I told Snape about Potter’s broom before anyone else had noticed it—he must’ve been using a counter-curse,” Draco finished, but was still lost in thought.
“That still doesn’t explain why Quirrell was trying to throw Potter off his broom,” Blaise added.
Draco rubbed his fingers over his temples. None of this made any sense, really. Quirrell was one of the Professors who had doted on Potter since term began.
“I suppose I should take this to Snape,” Draco muttered, and the other two boys nodded and stalked off to bed.
Draco made his way across the dungeons to Professor Snape’s office and knocked twice. He waited nervously outside the door until he heard a slimy drawl, “Come in.”
The blonde pushed open the heavy door and slid into the Potions Master’s office.
“My office hours ended half past five.” It was a question of sorts.
“Professor, I have something to report on the matter we had previously discussed…”
Draco recounted what he had seen that day, and if Snape was surprised, he did not show it outwardly. After his nerves passed, Draco had been talking out the puzzle more to himself than to Snape. He paused only when the Professor’s hand raised to stop him.
“Why would Quirrell be trying to kill Potter?” Snape mused aloud.
“We couldn’t figure that out either, sir.”
“Your update will be taken into consideration, you are now out past curfew, I would advise you return to your dormitory now.” Without another look, Snape dismissed the boy, and Draco did not protest. He was exhausted and it was going to be a long night if he couldn’t solve this mystery soon.
Once he was tucked away in his bed, Draco listened to the snores of his roommates as he sifted through all of his facts thus far. He didn’t make it through half of the day’s events before drifting off into a broken and restless sleep. He dreamt of storms and two-headed snakes, a lion and a dragon.
…
When the sun rose, Draco was barely functioning on what little rest he attained. Between dreams and nightmares, he had somehow found the missing link, but lost it in that blurry state between awake and asleep. He tried desperately to pull it back from his subconscious, but it was too late—it was gone.
He grumbled as he tugged the sheets off and gathered his shower things. Draco spent a long while in the shower just trying to wake up, letting the steam envelop him like a warm, thick blanket. Finally, he got out, dressed, and met up with Vince and Greg in the common room.
They walked to breakfast at a slow pace, which was just fine by Draco’s standards. He really was not in a rush to see Potter’s smug face let alone Granger with her nose in another book, no doubt.
As they entered the Great Hall, it was painfully obvious Potter was there—surrounded by anyone who would listen to his recounts of yesterday’s match. All of the whooping and hollering coming from the Gryffindor table was doing nothing for his emerging headache, but it only took him a split second to realize she wasn’t there.
Shouldn’t she be worshipping at Potter’s feet like the rest of the pride? He made the decision—a stupid decision really, to go look for her. She’s probably just in her little tower with the rest of her straggling housemates. His feet didn’t listen to reason. Draco quickly excused himself, though Crabbe and Goyle didn’t seem to notice.
Draco wandered aimlessly around the castle, and found himself in front of the library. Of course, where else would she be?
He quietly kept to the edges of the library, scanning each aisle as he passed. It only took three sections before he spotted her mass of bushy curls reaching for a book over her head. She would topple over if someone didn’t intervene.
Wingardium leviosa
Draco flicked his wand and floated the book she had been reaching for down into her hands. Granger looked up in surprise, clearly not expecting him to come to the rescue.
“I’m fine, I could’ve done that myself.” She huffed indignantly.
“Yes, but you seemed to have forgotten you’re a witch so…” he gestured to the book in her hands, “you’re welcome.” His smirk must have been just enough to set her off because she turned on her heel and stomped away in a tizzy.
Should’ve just stayed in bed. Draco shrugged to himself and tiredly followed his feet back to the common room to wait for Theo to wake up—hopefully by lunch time.