It wasn't like Severus Snape to nose around in other peoples business. What other people did on their own time, be them teachers, students, or certain dark wizards, didn't particularly interest him to be perfectly honest. But that wasn't to say that years of spying hadn't given him skill in detecting subtle actions. It was at a Quidditch match between Slytherin and Gryffindor (oh why did he still go to these) that he noticed it first.
It was cold and windy and most everyone, himself included had donned multiple layers and pulled on hats and gloves. Scarves whipping in the wind made the stadium look like a sea of serpents.
Several people had jars of blue fire on their laps, and Snape had the sneaking suspicion that they all came from the same know-it-all source. His eyes scanned the seats and down the field. There was one person whom the cold didn't seem to be affecting.
Madam Hooch, her collar upturned against the wind but without a hat or scarf, was decked out in black earmuffs and fingerless gloves. Even from here, far up in the stands Severus could see her breath around the whistle she held in her teeth, and her red cheeks, but it seemed that she hadn't yet noticed the cold. Perhaps it was simply that she was so distracted, a novelty for her. The game was progressing around her, but Madam Hooch seemed almost completely unaware of it.
Her yellow sharp eyes darted around to the stands, as if she was searching for someone, and she looked as if she were expecting Lord Voldemort to walk across the pitch at any moment. A strange mixture of exhilaration and fear plagued her features. Her distracted demeanor was obvious, and equally obvious were the Gryffindors' feelings towards this. Three times, she missed calling a penalty shot, all of which would have been easy scores for Katie Bell. When Wood began frantically signaling for a time out Hooch seemed completely unaware. The Slytherins were positively gleeful. Professor McGonagall could be heard up in the commentators box, even over the boos from the red and gold in the stands, whispering frantically behind Lee Jordon. No, this was most certainly not like Madam Hooch.
If Snape possessed any interest in the lives of his colleagues he would have vowed to find out what was making her behave unlike herself. As it was, he really didn't care what was wrong… Much.
It wasn't until almost any hour later that Gryffindor finally lost, almost to their relief. The game had been torturous. They were livid, and as they trudged tiredly up the lawn back to the castle the only topics of conversation were the complete unfairness, whether they could call for a rematch, and if perhaps it could be arranged for Hooch NOT to referee the next match, or maybe be sent up to see Madam Pomfrey. The words "Saint Mungo's" came up several times. Severus was quietly pleased. Whatever was wrong with the woman, he certainly wasn't going to stop it.
It was at breakfast the next morning when he was reminded of yesterday's oddities, in the form of a black owl. It was clearly a school owl, small and old, and as the mail arrived it circled and landed with a clatter in front of Madam Hooch who was seated down at the far end of the staff table. She looked eager and worried, but also as if she was desperately trying to hold back a smile of excitement. It wasn't often that she came into the school for breakfast, but now that Snape acknowledged it, he realized that she had been here everyday this week. He noted with mild interest that she had also, in fact, received an owl each day as well.
He watched out of the corner of his eyes as she slipped the letter off the bird's leg and tucked it into a pocket of her robes.
There was only one reason for this behavior that made sense in Severus Snape's eyes. Only one thing that fit. Madam Hooch was having a romance. Snape shuddered at the sickening sweetness of he thought. From beside him, Dumbledore chuckled and patted him jovially on the shoulder.
"A bit cold in here for you, Severus?" he inquired, his eyes twinkling. "Perhaps a lemon drop?" He reached into his robes but Snape interrupted.
"No thank you," he replied, wrinkling his nose.
Harry Potter was not having a good day. He had accidentally ingested a trial puking pastille and, though it wasn't perfected enough to deliver immediate results, Harry wondered if it wasn't perhaps going to kick in at some inopportune moment. To make matters worse he been putting off his school work all week in favor of Quidditch practice before the disaster of a match and his homework pile was becoming dangerously high (something Hermione had no qualms about pointing out). If that wasn't bad enough, his mind was still churning through the events of yesterdays match, and he was determined to stop a repeat performance. If they lost again they'd lose their chance for the cup.
"Oh if you're so upset just go and talk to Hooch, for goodness sake! I'll even go with you if you like… Or well… Better yet, get the team and go ask, oh I don't know, Dumbledore, to schedule a rematch!"
"Hermione," Harry said sternly. "Please!"
"What?"
"I'm not going to do that."
"Well than quit upsetting yourself over it."
Harry didn't reply for a moment. "I'm going to go fly for a while… get my mind off… Things." He smiled half heartedly. "I'll see you. You want to come, Ron?"
Ron looked up from his chess game with Seamus at the far end of the common room and opened his mouth to speak. Hermione cut him off.
"What about me?!" She seemed indignant. "You just assume that--"
"Alright, you can come then. Let's go." He turned towards the portrait hole, Hermione scurrying along behind him.
"I'm a… gonna… stay here, Harry," Ron called awkwardly to Harry's back. Harry waved a hand behind him in acknowledgement and pushed open the portrait of the fat lady.
The halls were nearly deserted; most everyone was outside enjoying the warm but steadily graying day. Harry skirted the lake purposefully, Hermione hurrying to keep up.
The Quidditch pitch was empty when they arrived; there were no scheduled practices. "I'm going to go wait in the stands, all right Harry?"
Harry nodded and Hermione ran off. He could hear her clamoring up the seats as he mounted his Firebolt and kicked off. It was exhilarating, and like so many times before, he didn't feel so stressed now that he was up, flying. The air, humid and heavy, was cooler now that he was moving, and it blew back his hair as he shot around the stadium. He did a loop-the-loop and heard Hermione laugh and clap from somewhere in the stands. He could feel the stress leaving him.
It had started to sprinkle by the time Harry spoke again, slowing to a stop a few feet above the ground. "Do, you want to go back in Hermione…?"
She wasn't there. He landed on the ground and dismounted. The stands were empty and quiet, save for the slowly growing pattering of rain on the seats. "Hermione?"
"Harry, are you stopping?"
He whirled around. Red faced and looking bushier than usual Hermione was heading towards him, her eyes alight and looking as though she had just flown a hippogriff several miles.
"Where were you?" he asked, his voice more accusing than he intended. Hermione bit her lip.
"Just around."
Harry raised one incredulous eyebrow. "Around? How long have you been 'Just around?' When did you leave?"
"Oh you know." She waved her hand vaguely.
Harry glared. "Oh, right, sorry, I must have forgotten."
"Oh, for goodness sakes Harry, I was just gone a little while!" Hermione snapped. "Ten minutes, I don't know. You know what I meant."
Harry grabbed his broom roughly and threw it over his shoulder. "Where were you?"
"Is it really any of your business?" She asked stiffly.
"No, but one might say that it's rude to accompany someone somewhere and then leave suddenly when the other person isn't looking."
Hermione looked at Harry warily, as if trying to decide whether to tell him something.
"Fine," she said at last. "I saw Madam Hooch coming across the ground, so I figured it wouldn't hurt to bring up yesterday's match. You know, to see if Wood had been to ask about a rematch." Harry groaned.
"Hermione."
She flushed (whether out of anger or embarrassment Harry didn't know) and looked down.
"And?" Harry prompted.
"Oh." Hermione looked up, surprised at being urged forward and hurried on.
"Well, yes a few people on the team did go down to talk to her. She said McGonagall was furious. Strange really, they're such good friends. She thinks McGonagall might try stop her from refereeing next time. And I mean, obviously the Slytherin were horribly happy about the whole thing. There isn't going to be any rematch though, but I guess that's really not much of a surprise. She… Well, she's been having some things going on, I guess. I feel quite bad for her actually."
Harry huffed. "Well, I hope she stops 'having things going on' by the next match. Wish I knew what was going on with her. Wood will be furious if we lose the next match, and we'll be out of the running for the cup."
"Does it really matter?" Hermione had stopped walking.
Harry stopped too, several paces in front of her and slowly backed up. "I mean, what's bothering her," she added.
"Yes it matters. Whatever is bothering her is making her incapable of refereeing. She's going to make Gryffindor lose the cup and to be perfectly honest Hermione, we don't need outside help for that."
"Please Harry. It's really not any of your business what's wrong with her. Just… try not to be so nosy. It always just gets you into trouble. Just forget about it."
Harry gave her an indignant look. "Well excuse me for being worried about my team."
"Well I'm sorry, but I happen to think that a woman's privacy is a bit more important than some silly game. And besides, you have a mountain of homework. You have to stop thinking about Quidditch and start focusing on your classes," she huffed angrily, and with that she stormed off ahead.
Harry groaned in exasperation. Women. Then, with a sigh, he broke into a run after her.
By the time Harry rounded the corner and came upon the lake, Hermione was nowhere to be seen.
"Hiya Harry!" Harry waved halfheartedly over his shoulder at Colin Creevey and dimly registered that he was having his picture taken.
He hurried in, past Snape who was telling people off for having too much fun, and speed up, hoping the blonde haired boy would fall behind.
"Harry! Hey Harry!" Harry didn't respond. "You'll never guess what I just got pictures of!" he declared happily, positively bouncing behind.
"Oh," Harry said vaulting the first three steps up the marble staircase.
"Yah!" Colin panted, scampering excitedly after him. "Your friend Hermione. She was –."
"Have you seen her? Where'd she go?" Harry asked sharply, interrupting the other boy and stopping suddenly.
"Uh—yah," he began, caught off guard. "Uh, it looked like she was heading to the library, but don't you want to hear about my pictures?" Harry was already bolting down the hall.
"I should have figured. Thanks Colin, I'll see you later!"
"A—Alright! Uhh, see ya Harry!" Harry dimly heard the clicking of a camera as he rounded the corner. Colin waved and took another picture.
"Put that away boy, the clicking is unbearable." Colin squeaked, eyes wide and darted away before Snape could take off any points unfairly..
Harry spotted Hermione easily in the library. She was sitting at her usual table, curled over a piece of parchment, scribbling down a letter with apparent angst, her hair blocking her from view. She hadn't spotted Harry yet, and he walked slowly up to her. She tilted her head up sharply and pulled the letter towards herself, rolling it up quickly and almost upsetting her bottle of red ink. Harry sank into the seat opposite her.
"Letter to Victor?"
Hermione looked relieved. "Oh. Uh, yeah," she mumbled, blushing.
"Oh."
Nobody spoke. Hermione looked nervously down at the table, running her quill through the grooves in the wood. Harry watched.
"Harry, I'm sorry," She said finally. "I didn't mean to snap at you. I know if I were in your position I'd be worried about the referee messing up my chances of winning the cup too but… I just… I'm trying to help you. Quidditch isn't everything you know."
Harry inclined his head in a partial nod. "No, but it is something."
"I'm going to go mail my letter. I'll see you later." Her voice was stiff.
Harry sighed. "Bye."
He didn't move from his spot in the library, starring blankly out the window until the glass began getting too obscured with rain to see through anymore. He dimly made out the small dark shape of a very little black owl flying from the direction of the owlery, and wondered vaguely if it was up to delivering a letter all the way to Victor Krum.
When he felt he couldn't sit any longer and when Madam Pince turned her sharp eyes on him, he grabbed his things and made his way out of the library. He supposed Hermione was right. He should get his buildup of work that he'd been putting off because of Quidditch practice done with. Then, only after he had finished, would he think about talking to Wood about scheduling extra practices. If Hooch was going to be a disappointing referee for whatever reason again, they had better be thoroughly prepared.
Though Harry hadn't realized it, lost in his own thoughts, his feet had taken him, not up to the tower, but down to the dungeons. It was much cooler here, and Harry had to walk with extra care to stop his footsteps from echoing tremendously, though there really wasn't any need to be quiet.
He stopped. Voices were drifting out into the corridor, and unable to control himself Harry leaned closer to the open potions room. One of the voices Harry recognized immediately as Snape's. He was talking slowly and with an even more pronounced sneer than usual, as if he was almost enjoying himself and wanted to prolong it for as long as possible. Harry crept closer to the door.
"--and have a seat." A chair was dragged across the stone and Harry heard someone awkwardly drop into it.
"Something, I can do for you Snape?" Her tone was straight forward and matter of fact, but like so often nowadays Madam Hooch's voice had a note of nervousness in it. She sounded flighty beneath her forced calm.
"Rolanda," Snape began in the same almost gleeful voice he used when describing the hideous things Harry would have to disembowel during detentions. "You might want to consider using a more reliable owl when sending out love letters."
Harry inched forward and peered around the door in time to see Hooch's sharp profile blanch.
"Severus, did you read…?"
Snape sneered. "The problems of would-be lovers don't particularly interest me."
Hooch's knuckles were white on arms of her chair. "Though I will admit, I find it rather odd... All that snogging in broom sheds and yet suggesting a date is the difficult part?"
"So you… read it?"
"Obviously."
"Snape. Severus... You won't tell anyone, will you?"
Snape rolled his yes and sneered. "Of course not. I don't particularly care who you…spend your time with. Though I can't say I think it's a truly admirable choice."
He paused. "Though there are worse candidates I suppose."
Hooch's hands released her chair in relief. That was almost a compliment coming from Snape. He might have just as well given her his blessings outright. She let out a shaky laugh and ran a short fingered hand through her spiky hair.
"Well then, if I may just have my letter."
He passed it to her, rolling his eyes. Madam Hooch stood up, adjusting her robes, and turned around. "Oh, and Rolanda? May I suggest somewhere where you will not seen by lots of students? And perhaps nowhere too exciting, you may wind up getting a history lesson of the place from your date."
Hooch gave a shaky laugh.
Harry didn't hear anything else. He turned around and hurried off as quickly as he could in the direction of Gryffindor tower, just turning out of the corridor before Madam Hooch stepped out of Snape's classroom. He reached the portrait of the fat lady in record time, and panting, gasped the password out and tumbled inside.
"There you are!" Ron exclaimed. "I though 'Mione might have finished you off! She's in a right snit."
Harry sighed and threw himself down on the sofa above Ron and the now abandoned chess board. Seamus was gone and the pieces were still in their places from the end of the game. "Did you win?" Harry asked.
"Merlin Harry, you have no faith in me." Ron pushed the pieces in a pile and slid them into drawstring pouch. "How was flying?" he asked, looking up.
"Typical," Harry replied shrugging. "I'm gonna get started on my work. Might as well make Hermione yelling at me be worth it." Ron stood up and threw himself onto the sofa next to Harry.
"Ugh. I guess I'll join you."
Four hours later, a lowered sun was blazing through the common room window and Ron's stomach was growling threateningly. With a flourish, Harry added a final period to his potions essay, threw his quill aside and immediately flexed his cramped hand. "There," he said matter-of-factly. "That wasn't so bad."
"Not so bad!?" Ron looked exhausted and had black ink smeared across the bridge of his nose and all over his hands.
"How do you manage to get it in your hair?" Harry asked with a laugh, shaking his head and reaching up to scrape dried ink out of a strand of Ron's hair.
As much as Harry hated to admit it, Hermione was right. It felt much better not to have all of that work hanging over his head and weighing down on him. His hand hurt, yes, but the dread of four different essays was gone which also meant that Harry had time now to form a plan. And quite determined to form a plan he was, because Harry was not about to let Gryffindor lose another match. As far as he was concerned there was only one way to prevent that. He had to set Hooch up with her correspondent for a date and get their relationship stable. Now if only he knew who her love interest was.
Ron's stomach gave a rather menacing growl, so stretching their writing hands, the two of them headed down to dinner.
The great hall seemed somehow more crowded than usual, perhaps because Harry was so tired and just wanted a quiet dinner. They slid in on either side of Hermione, and Harry opened his mouth awkwardly and hopefully. "We… ahh. Took your advice. My essays are all done," he told her smiling delicately. She looked up from the book she had propped up on a water jug and glared at Harry. "Nice to see you decided to listen to me for once." "Nice to see you appreciate out effort," Harry muttered. Hermione rolled her eyes. "I'm glad you two did your work. Now have some pudding." She turned back to her book, but Harry could see she was smiling slightly.
Dinner was an interesting ordeal. Harry was determined to find out who Hooch was sending letters to and equally determined not to let Hermione know what he was doing. He figured the best way to do that would be to not tell Ron. He had to make sure it was all said and done before the match. After all, in complete honesty, this was worse than the time Snape refereed. At least it wasn't a surprise when he was unfair against Gryffindor and you had some idea of how you should change your strategy. In fact, Harry had half a mind to ask him to referee the next match. At least it wasn't going to be against Slytherin.
As he picked at his pudding he glanced surreptitiously up at Madam Hooch, hoping to see her in turn glancing at one of the other teachers. Well, he had ruled out Snape, considering the conversation he had just heard between them. What about Hagrid? They were bound to have things in common. WaitSnogging in broom sheds? Harry found it very difficult to believe Hagrid could comfortably fit into a broom shed with brooms and another person. Well, two down.
It seemed outrageous to go down the line of teachers up at the high table and imagine them with Hooch. He snorted out loud into his pudding when he thought of Dumbledore, his beard thrown over his shoulder, wrapping his arms around the Quidditch instructor in a broom shed. Hermione raised an eyebrow at Harry, but Ron, oblivious to everything but his potato, didn't look up. Well, Snape said to go somewhere where they wouldn't be seen by students. Was it because she didn't want students to know about it? Was it someone she needed to keep secret? Dumbledore was seeming more and more plausible, especially as (right as Harry looked up) he leaned forward to look down the table and signaled an offering of lemon drops to her. Harry sighed. This was going nowhere.
He glanced back up at the head table. Dumbledore was holding out the tin to McGonagall who appeared to have taken one and begun choking on it. Tears were rolling down her reddening face and her eyes were wide. Dumbledore seemed to think this was the reaction one aught to have to a lemon drop and popped another into his mouth smiling jovially.
The next week went by in a blur. Although Harry was staying caught up in his work, he was getting more and more worried about the upcoming match with Hufflepuff. The only consolation was that they at least, were equally nervous about it. Not knowing how Hooch was going to act made Harry, by the third week, very nearly suggest to Snape as they passed in the hall that he should referee, but perhaps luckily, he thought better of it at the last moment.
Hermione had seemingly forgiven Harry for his attempts at meddling and seemed unaware that he was continuing to do so. Hooch for her part was still behaving like a nervous first year and her behavior reminded him strongly of the way Colin Creevey acted whenever he got within a five foot radius of Harry.
He had never seen someone supposedly in love acting so strange. This supported his newest theory of Hooch's love interest being perhaps, someone she shouldn't be in attracted to (again, Dumbledore flashed across Harry's mind).
With the match just one week away, Harry had given up hope. He threw himself down on the sofa in the common room letting out a long groan of annoyance. Hermione was back in the library, writing another letter to Victor ("I haven't heard from him in so long!"), and Ron was down at dinner. Still, the common room was noisy and most people were gathered around the blazing fire.
"Hey, Harry!" Colin Creevey bounded energetically over to Harry and leapt up onto the arm of the sofa. Harry leaned away, warily. Colin took this as an invitation to spread out and slipped down onto the cushion of the sofa.
"Uh, hi," Harry said, pulling his hand out from under Colin and trying to get some breathing room. Colin turned his wide eyes upon Harry.
"I got those pictures I wanted to show you Harry! And I got 'em done so they can move! You wanna see 'em now?"
Though he wanted to say "No, not really," his mouth opened before his brain could send down the proper words.
"Sure."
Colin eagerly pulled an elastic band off the stack he was holding behind his back and scooted closer to Harry. Harry inched away and took the proffered stack, turning it right side up. He immediately choked. It was a picture of Hermione (as he now remembered Colin trying to explain before)… in a broom closet… Snogging Madam Hooch.
This was not what Harry had expected, though now that he thought of it, he really didn't know what he had thought it would be. And… and it all made sense! That black owl… Not wanting lots of students around on the date… Hermione sending letters to "Victor…" Her not wanting Harry to try to find out what was wrong with Hooch…
"Why didn't you show these to me sooner?!" Harry exclaimed, leaping up and grabbing his bag.
Colin fell to the floor with a thud. "I – I tried, remember? I – ?"
But Harry wasn't listening. He was rushing out the portrait hole, Colin running behind him.
"Colin, you're brilliant, did you know that?" Harry called over his shoulder. "I'm just gonna borrow these for a minute, I'll bring them right back!" Collin nodded importantly, beaming, eyes alight, but Harry, already yards ahead, didn't see.
Now that he thought of it, he didn't know where he was going. Was he really planning on bursting into the library and brandishing the picture under Hermione's nose? Or was he going to go running out to Hooch and just say, "Go ask Hermione to Hogsmeade with you so that Gryffindor can win the match!" No, that was a sure fire way to freak the woman out. Not looking, he speed up and turned the corner.
"Oomph." He had run directly into Snape, and fallen flat onto his back on the ground.
"Potter," Snape ground out, strolling around him. "Watch where you are going." He stalked off. Or rather, he started to. Harry lifted himself up into a sitting position, not realizing that the sound of Snape's footsteps had stopped.
"Potter!" Snape's foot snapped down on top of the picture that had fallen from Harry's hand when he fell. Harry scrambled to his feet. "How did you get this?"
Harry's mind was racing. Now seemed like a very good time for a lie.
"Colin Creevey gave it to me." Oops.
"I see." Snape bent down and picked up the picture. "And did he realize that it was none of his business?"
Don't get Colin in trouble. Say no.
"Yes."
"I see."
Harry shifted uneasily under Snape's gaze. "And where, may I ask, were you going with it?"
"I… I don't really know sir."
"Brilliant, Potter." Harry lifted his gaze from the floor just enough to glare at Snape.
"Well, I was going to go see Hermione and try to get her to bring Hooch out to Hogsmeade." It sounded very stupid when he said it out loud.
"How sweet," Snape drawled. "Why?"
Harry's mind raced. Because Hermione could use, ummm... A break from so much hard work and she really likes Madam Hooch… and….
"Because if Hooch actually gets into a relationship instead of just worrying about it she might not be so distracted during the Quidditch match against Hufflepuff."
Damn. Stupid honesty again.
"How noble," Snape murmured sarcastically. "And here I though it was just for your own selfish gain." He rolled his eyes.
Harry tried to intensify his glare, though Snape was making him almost feel bad. He was surprised when Snape continued on, more softly.
"That woman runs herself ragged over the smallest things. Hogsmeade, you say?" He sighed and stood in silence for a second. Then without saying another word, he handed the photograph back to Harry continued down the hall. Harry stood in shook for a moment, beyond surprised at having the photo returned. For a second, Snape had almost seemed like a decent human being.
Shoes stopped clicking in the hallway and Harry looked up sharply. Snape had stopped and turned around. "And ten points from Gryffindor for running in the corridors. Now get going," he barked.
Or not…
Marveling at the oddness of the situation, Harry pocketed the pictures and hurried down to the library. Hermione was reading. Harry mustered up a grin and plopped down across from her.
"You look happy," she said mildly, looking up.
"I am," he told her, fabricating his story as quickly as possible. "I just decided that I have nothing to lose. I am going to ask Ginny to go to Hogsmeade with me… on… on a date. After all, why shouldn't I? I don't care what people think and it's really not that big of a deal." Hermione looked thoughtful. Harry waited, hoping. She smiled.
"I'm so happy for you."
Hmmmm. He decided to continue, just in case. "See, I was just thinking, if you like someone, why not ask them, you know? You have nothing to gain by not doing it. So I'm just gonna go see what she says." Hermione bit her lip and looked down but seemed to be smiling.
"That's great for you Harry, I'm really happy for you."
"Well, I think I'll go face Ron now," he said, lifting himself up and deciding he better warn Ginny that Hermione would soon be congratulating her on a nonexistent date.
"Alright." Hermione closed her book. "You know, I think I'm going to, to go for a walk. I'm really excited for you Harry. Tell me what she says! Though, I'm sure she'll say yes."
"Oh, thanks." He grinned. "Well, uh, Ron you know…"
"Yes. See you."
Harry backed out of the library grinning in what he recognized was a terribly stupid fashion. Once safely out of view of the library, Harry broke into a run. Perhaps this would turn out all right after all. If only he had an excuse to talk to Madam Hooch as well. He sighed, but feeling relieved at how well that went, hurried off in search of Ginny.
As the last days before the Hufflepuff match flew by, Harry wondered if Hermione had requested a date (the thought still seemed very strange, though almost more bearable than images of Dumbledore in the broom shed).
He kept dropping subtle hints to her, but she made no sign that she even heard them and when the day of the match dawned, warm but cloudy, he wondered if this would be the game that put Gryffindor out of the running.
He said goodbye to Ron, who was eating eggs next to Ginny, as he ran past the Gryffindor table, grabbing a piece of toast. With a wave to Ginny he hurried out with his Firebolt to the changing rooms.
"-- our last chance," Wood was saying passionately as Harry slipped in. "We all know what happened last time, so we've just got to make sure we score early and often. Hooch is fair, you know as well as I, but--"
"Hooch?" Fred interrupted.
Wood looked up sharply. "Yes…"
"Oliver," George began, "Merlin everyone's been talking about it all morning. Didn't you hear?"
Wood turned to Fred, a look of horror on his face. "What?"
"Well… Snape apparently told Hooch she should take a break, go down to Hogsmeade. She's been really stressed. Anyway, he says he didn't want to referee but nobody else could so…" Wood made an odd choking sound as Fred trailed off.
Harry didn't know whether to laugh or cry.