As November came, the weather turned cold. The mountains around the school became icy grey and the lake formed a thin sheet of it over top of it. Every morning the ground was covered in frost. Hagrid could be outside, defrosting broomsticks on the Quidditch field, bundled up in a long moleskin overcoat, rabbit fur gloves, and enormous beaverskin boots.

The Quidditch season had begun. On Saturday, Harry would be playing in his first match after weeks of training: Slytherin versus Gryffindor. If Slytherin won, they would knock Ravenclaw out of the top spot.

Hardly anyone had seen Harry play because Flint had decided that, as their secret weapon, Harry should be kept, well, secret. But the news that he was playing Seeker had leaked out somehow, and Harry didn't know which was worse—people telling him he'd be brilliant or people telling him they'd be running around underneath him holding a mattress.

It was really lucky that Harry now had Hermione as a friend. He didn't know how he'd have gotten through all his homework without her, what with all the last-minute Quidditch practice Flint was making them do. She had also lent him Quidditch Through the Ages, which turned out to be a very interesting read. Harry learned that there were seven hundred ways of committing a Quidditch foul and that all of them had happened during a World Cup match in 1473; that Seekers were usually the smallest and fastest players, and that most serious Quidditch accidents seemed to happen to them; that although people rarely died playing Quidditch, referees had been known to vanish and turn up months later in the Sahara Desert.

Hermione had become a bit more relaxed about breaking rules since Harry and Ron had saved her from the mountain troll, and she was much nicer for it. The day before Harry's first Quidditch match the three of them were out in the freezing courtyard during break with Blaise and Daphne, and Hermione had conjured them up a bright blue fire that could be carried around in a jam jar. They were standing with their backs to it, getting warm, when Snape crossed the yard. Harry noticed at once that Snape was limping. The five of them moved closer together to block the fire from view; they were sure it wouldn't be allowed. Unfortunately, something about their guilty faces caught Snape's eye. He limped over. He hadn't seen the fire, but he seemed to be looking for a reason to tell them off anyway.

'What's that you've got there, Potter?'

It was Quidditch Through the Ages. Harry showed him.

'Scared about tomorrow, Potter? Oh dear, well, I hope we can rely upon you to do your bit,' said Snape with a devious grin.

'He's just trying to scare me,' Harry muttered angrily as Snape limped away. 'Wonder what's wrong with his leg?'

'Dunno, but I hope it's really hurting him,' said Ron bitterly.

The Slytherin common room was very noisy that evening. Harry, Blaise, and Daphne sat together in the corridor, watching the lake absent-mindedly. Daphne was checking through the boys' Charms homework for them. She would never let them copy, but by asking her to read it through, they got the right answers anyway. Daphne was remarkably intelligent; she would've been sorted into Ravenclaw if it wasn't for her overwhelming ambition.

Harry felt restless. He had read through Hermione's book a million times but he couldn't think about anything other than Snape's leg. Why should he be worried about Snape? Getting up, he told Daphne and Blaise he was going to ask Snape about his leg.

'On your head be it,' they said together, but Harry had an idea that Snape's bark was worse than his bite.

He made his way down to the staffroom and knocked. There was no answer. He knocked again. Nothing. Perhaps Snape was in the potions lab? It was worth checking here first though, Harry thought. He pushed the door ajar and peered inside—and a horrible scene met his eyes. Snape and Filch were inside, alone. Snape was holding his robes above his knees. One of his legs was bloody and mangled. Filch was handing Snape bandages.

'Blasted thing,' Snape was saying. 'How are you supposed to keep your eyes on all three heads at once?'

Harry tried to shut the door quietly, but—

'POTTER!'

Snape's face was twisted with fury as he dropped his robes quickly to hide his leg. Harry gulped.

'I just wondered if I could have my book back.'

'GET OUT! OUT!'

Harry left, before Snape could take any more points from Gryffindor. He sprinted back upstairs.

'Did you find anything out?' Blaise asked as Harry joined them. 'What's the matter?'

In a low whisper, Harry told them what he'd seen.

'You know what this means?'' he finished breathlessly. 'He tried to get past that three-headed dog at Halloween! That's where he was going when you and Ron saw him—he's after whatever it's guarding! And I'd bet my broomstick he let that troll in, to make a diversion!'

Daphne's eyes were wide.

'No—he wouldn't,' she said. 'He's abnormally strict, but he wouldn't try and steal something Dumbledore was keeping safe. He still believes in the best interests of the school somewhere behind all that hatred.'

'Honestly, Daphne, you think all teachers are saints or something,' snapped Blaise. 'I'm with Harry. I wouldn't put anything past Snape, Dad's told me stories about what he was like at school … the stereotype of a Slytherin that gives us all a bad name. But what's he after? What's that dog guarding?'

Harry went to bed with his head buzzing with the same question. Goyle was snoring loudly, but Harry couldn't sleep. He tried to empty his mind—he needed to sleep, he had to, he had his first Quidditch match in a few hours—but the expression on Snape's face when Harry had seen his leg wasn't easy to forget.

The next morning dawned very bright and cold. The Great Hall was full of the delicious smell of fried sausages and the cheerful chatter of everyone looking forward to a good Quidditch match.

'You've got to eat some breakfast.'

'I don't want anything.'

'Just a bit of toast,' wheedled Daphne.

'I'm not hungry.'

Harry felt terrible. In an hour's time he'd be walking onto the field.

'Harry, you need your strength,' said Ron, who'd come over to the Slytherin table to wish him luck. 'Seekers are always the ones who get clobbered by the other team.'

'Thanks, Ron,' said Harry, watching Ron swipe a sausage from one of the dishes.

By eleven o'clock the whole school seemed to be out in the stands around the Quidditch pitch. Many students had binoculars. The seats might be raised high in the air, but it was still difficult to see what was going on sometimes.

Ron joined Neville and the other Gryffindors near the top of the stands, Hermione was stood on the other side of Ron with a Ravenclaw scarf wrapped around her neck. Despite the fact that Ron felt obliged to support his brothers and his House, it didn't mean he wouldn't support Harry too.

Meanwhile, in the locker room, Harry and the rest of the team were changing into their emerald Quidditch robes (Gryffindor would be in red).

Flint cleared his throat for silence.

'Okay, lads,' he said.

'Excuse me?' balked Keeper Genevieve Prewett.

'Sorry, Gen,' Flint grumbled. 'This is it.'

'The big one,' said the beater Derrick.

'The one we've all been waiting for,' said his teammate Bole.

'Shut up, you two,' said Flint gruffly. 'We are carrying a legacy much greater than ourselves, we have a responsibility to those who came before us. We cannot be the team to break the winning streak.'

He glared at them all as if to say, 'Or else.'

'Right. Its time. Good luck, all of you.'

Harry followed the rest of the team out of the locker room and, hoping his knees weren't going to give way, walked onto the field to loud cheers.

Madam Hooch was refereeing. She stood in the middle of the field waiting for the two teams, her broom in her hand.

'Now, I want a nice fair game, all of you,' she said, once they were all gathered around her. Harry noticed that she seemed to be speaking particularly to Flint. 'Mount your brooms, please.'

Harry clambered onto his Nimbus Two Thousand. Madam Hooch gave a loud blast on her silver whistle. Fifteen brooms rose up, high, high into the air. They were off.

'And the Quaffle is taken immediately by Angelina Johnson of Gryffindor—what an excellent Chaser that girl is, and rather attractive, too—'

'JORDAN!'

'Sorry, Professor.'

A Gryffindor boy that Harry had seen with the Weasley twins was doing the commentary for the match, 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, the Slytherins 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 the Gryffindors 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 the Slytherins—that's Adrian Pucey speeding off toward the goal posts, 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 speeding Bludger—the goal posts are ahead—come on, now, Angelina—Keeper Bletchley dives—misses—GRYFFINDORS SCORE!'

Gryffindor cheers filled the cold air, with howls and moans from the Slytherins.

'Budge up there, move along.'

'Hagrid!'

Ron and Hermione squeezed together to give Hagrid enough space to join them.

'Bin watchin' from me hut,' said Hagrid, patting a large pair of binoculars around his neck, 'But it isn't the same as bein' in the crowd. No sign of the Snitch yet, eh?'

'Nope,' said Ron. 'Harry hasn't had much to do yet.'

'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 about for some sign of the Snitch. This was part of his and Flint's game plan.

'Keep out of the way until you catch sight of the Snitch,' Flint had said. 'We don't want you attacked before you have to be.'

Now he was back to staring around for the Snitch. Once he caught sight of a flash of gold, but it was just a reflection from one of the Weasleys' wristwatches, and once a Bludger decided to come pelting his way, more like a cannonball than anything, but Harry dodged it and Peregrine Derrick came chasing after it.

'Watch out, Potter!' he had time to yell, as he beat the Bludger furiously toward Gryffindor Captain Oliver Wood.

'Slytherin in possession,' Lee Jordan was saying, 'Chaser Pucey ducks two Bludgers, two Weasleys, and Chaser Bell, and speeds toward the—wait a moment—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.

Harry saw it. In a great rush of excitement he dived downward after the streak of gold. Gryffindor Seeker Patricia Stimpson had seen it, too. Neck and neck they hurtled toward the Snitch—all the Chasers seemed to have forgotten what they were supposed to be doing as they hung in midair to watch. Harry was faster than Stimpson—he could see the little round ball, wings fluttering, darting up ahead—he put on an extra spurt of speed—

WHAM! A roar of rage echoed from the Slytherins below—Alicia Spinnet had blocked Harry on purpose, and Harry's broom spun off course, Harry holding on for dear life.

'Foul!' screamed the Slytherins.

Madam Hooch spoke angrily to Spinnet and then ordered a free shot at the goal posts for Slytherin. But in all the confusion, of course, the Golden Snitch had disappeared from sight again.

Down in the stands, Crabbe was yelling, 'Send her off, ref!'

'What are you doing, Crabbe? Shut up! Why do you care about Potter?' said Malfoy.

'It's still Slytherin!' said Crabbe furiously.

'But it's Potter, Crabbe,' Draco reminded him.

Lee Jordan was finding it difficult not to take sides.

'So—after that slightly questionable action—' he received a deadly glare from McGonagall who was trying to maintain a pretence of no bias. 'All right, all right. Spinner nearly kills the Slytherin Seeker, which could happen to anyone, I'm sure, so a penalty to Slytherin, taken by Flint, who puts it away, no trouble, and we continue play, Slytherin still in possession.'

It was as Harry dodged another Bludger, which went spinning dangerously past his head, that it happened. His broom gave a sudden, frightening lurch. For a split second, he thought he was going to fall. He gripped the broom tightly with both his hands and knees. He'd never felt anything like that. It happened again. It was as though the broom was trying to buck him off. But Nimbus Two Thousands did not suddenly decide to buck their riders off. Harry tried to turn back toward the Slytherin goal posts—he had half a mind to ask Flint to call time-out—and then he realized that his broom was completely out of his control. He couldn't turn it. He couldn't direct it at all. It was zigzagging through the air, and every now and then making violent swishing movements that almost unseated him.

Lee was still commentating.

'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—Slytherins score—oh no…'

The Slytherins were cheering. No one seemed to have noticed that Harry's broom was behaving 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' know better, I'd say he'd lost control of his broom… but he can't have…'

Suddenly, people were pointing up at Harry 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. Harry's broom had given a wild jerk and Harry swung off it. He was now dangling from it, holding on with only one hand.

'Did something happen to it when Spinnet blocked him?' Ron whispered.

'Can't have,' Hagrid said, his voice shaking. 'Can't nothing interfere with a broomstick except powerful Dark magic—no kid could do that to a Nimbus Two Thousand.'

At these words, Hermione seized Hagrid's binoculars, but instead of looking up at Harry, she started looking frantically at the crowd.

'What are you doing?' moaned Ron, gray-faced.

'I knew it,' Hermione gasped, 'Snape—look.'

Ron grabbed the binoculars. Snape was in the middle of the stands opposite them. He had his eyes fixed on Harry and was muttering nonstop under his breath.

'He's doing something—jinxing the broom,' said Hermione.

'What should we do?'

'Leave it to me.'

Before Ron could say another word, Hermione had disappeared. Ron turned the binoculars back on Harry. His broom was vibrating so hard, it was almost impossible for him to hang on much longer. The whole crowd was on its feet, watching, terrified, as the Weasleys twins flew up to try and pull Harry safely onto one of their brooms - an act of real sportsmanship from the pair - but it was no good—every time they got near him, the broom would jump higher still. They dropped lower and circled beneath him, obviously hoping to catch him if he fell. Flint seized the Quaffle and scored five times without anyone noticing.

'Come on, Hermione,' Ron muttered desperately.

Hermione had fought her way across to the stand where Snape stood, and was now racing along the row behind him; she didn't even stop to say sorry as she knocked Professor Quirrell headfirst into the row in front. Reaching Snape, she crouched down, pulled out her wand, and whispered a few, well-chosen words. Bright blue flames shot from her wand onto the hem of Snape's robes. It took perhaps thirty seconds for Snape to realize that he was on fire. A sudden yelp told her she had done her job. Scooping the fire off him into a little jar in her pocket, she scrambled back along the row—Snape would never know what had happened.

It was enough. Up in the air, Harry was suddenly able to clamber back on to his broom.

'Neville, you can look!' Ron said. Neville had been sobbing into Hagrid's jacket for the last five minutes.

Harry was speeding toward the ground when the crowd saw him clap his hand to his mouth as though he was about to be sick—he hit the field on all fours—coughed—and something gold fell into his hand.

'I've got the Snitch!' he shouted, waving it above his head, and the game ended in complete confusion.

'He didn't catch it, he nearly swallowed it,' Flint was still howling twenty minutes later, smug in their success—Harry hadn't broken any rules though Lee Jordan was still trying to find one. Slytherin had won by two hundred and twenty points to twenty. Harry heard none of this, though. He was being made a cup of strong tea back in Hagrid's hut, with Ron and Hermione.

'It was Snape,' Ron was explaining, 'Hermione and I saw him. He was cursing your broomstick, muttering, he wouldn't take his eyes off you.'

'Rubbish,' said Hagrid, who hadn't heard a word of what had gone on next to him in the stands. 'Why would Snape do somethin' like that, to a Slytherin an' all?'

Harry, Ron, and Hermione looked at one another, wondering what to tell him. Harry decided on the truth.

'I found out something about him,' he told Hagrid. 'He tried to get past that three-headed dog on Halloween. It bit him. We think he was trying to steal whatever it's guarding.'

Hagrid dropped the teapot.

'How do you know about Fluffy?' he said.

'Fluffy?'

'Yeah—he's mine—bought him off a Greek chappie I met in the pub las' year—I lent him to Dumbledore to guard the—'

'Yes?' said Harry eagerly.

'Now, don't ask me anymore,' said Hagrid gruffly. 'That's top secret, that is.'

'But Snape's trying to steal it.'

'Rubbish,' said Hagrid again. 'Snape's a Hogwarts teacher, he'd do nothin' of the sort.'

'So why did he just try and kill Harry?' cried Hermione. 'I know a jinx when I see one, Hagrid, I've read all about them! You've got to keep eye contact, and Snape wasn't blinking at all, I saw him!'

'I'm tellin' yeh, yer wrong!' said Hagrid hotly. 'I don' know why Harry's broom acted like that, but Snape wouldn' try an' kill a student! Now, listen to me, all three of yeh—yer meddlin' in things that don' concern yeh. It's dangerous. You forget that dog, an' you forget what it's guardin', that's between Professor Dumbledore an' Nicolas Flamel—'

'Aha!' said Harry, 'so there's someone called Nicolas Flamel involved, is there?'

Hagrid looked furious with himself.