Disclaimer: Anything you recognize, I do not own.
As they entered November, the weather turned very cold. The mountains around the school became icy gray and the lake looked like chilled steel. 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 beaverskin boots. The Quidditch season had finally begun.
On Saturday, Harry would be playing in his first match after weeks of training: Gryffindor versus Slytherin. If Gryffindor won, they would move up into second place in the house championship. Hardly anyone had seen Harry play because Wood 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.
Serena found him the perfect book from the library to study: Quidditch Through The Ages. 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. And, perhaps least comforting of all, that although people rarely died playing Quidditch, referees had been known to vanish and turn up months later in the Sahara Desert.
"Harry, you'll be fine. You're only flying on a stick hundreds of feet in the air trying to catch something the size of a golfball." Thomas was hardly comforting as they stood in the freezing courtyard during one of their breaks. But Serena was more concerned about the buttons on her pea coat and Phoebe was running her hand through the flame of her lighter to see if it would burn her, he was grateful to be able to talk to another boy.
"Have you ever played before?"
"Nah. When my mum was alive, we mostly just tried to catch fairies. Afterwards, I was more into books and experiments."
"Oh, fairies exist?" Harry asked in interest.
"No."
From where they were standing, Harry could see Snape cross the yard. Harry noticed at once that Snape was limping. Even though Phoebe quickly put away her lighter, something about the four of them together seemed to make Snape suspicious and he limped over.
"What's that you've got there, Potter?" It was Quidditch Through the Ages. Harry showed him. "Library books are not to be taken outside the school. Give it to me. Five points from Gryffindor."
"He's just made that rule up." Harry muttered angrily as Snape limped away. "Wonder what's wrong with his leg?"
"I don't care, but I hope it's really hurting him." Phoebe put in.
The Gryffindor common room was very noisy that evening, everyone talking, everyone studying and trying to hurry through their work in time to watch the game the next day. Harry felt restless. He wanted Quidditch Through the Ages back, to take his mind off his nerves about tomorrow. Why should he be afraid of Snape? Getting up, he told the others he was going to ask Snape if he could have it.
"Nice knowing you." Thomas told him, looking at him as though he were a dead man walking, but Harry had an idea that Snape wouldn't refuse if there were other teachers listening.
He made his way down to the staff-room and knocked. There was no answer. He knocked again. Nothing. Perhaps Snape had left the book in there? It was worth a try. 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.
"You truly are the Boy Who Lived. Did you get it?" Thomas asked as Harry joined them.
"What's the matter?" Serena demanded, seeing the look on his face. 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 we saw him. He's after whatever it's guarding! And I'd bet my broomstick he let that troll in, to make a diversion!"
"Would he really do that? He's an awful teacher, but-." Serena started.
"You can just leave it at 'he's awful'. He would." Phoebe seemed certain of his guilt, as was Harry, but Serena still seemed uncertain.
"But what's he after? What's that dog guarding?" Thomas had that 'its time for an adventure' tone of voice.
Harry went to bed with his head buzzing with the same question. Neville 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." Serena urged.
"I'm not hungry." Harry felt terrible. In an hour's time he'd be walking onto the field.
"Harry, you need your strength. Seekers are always the ones who get clobbered by the other team." Seamus Finnigan informed him.
"Thanks, Seamus."
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 have been raised high in the air, but it was still difficult to see what was going on sometimes. Phoebe, Thomas and Serena joined Neville, Seamus and Dean up in the top row.
As a surprise for Harry, they had painted a large banner on an old sheet. It said Potter for President and Dean, who was good at drawing, had done a large Gryffindor lion underneath. Then Thomas and Serena had teamed up to do a tricky little charm so that the paint flashed different colors.
Meanwhile, in the locker room, Harry and the rest of the team were changing into their scarlet Quidditch robes.
Wood cleared his throat for silence.
"Okay, men." He began.
"And women." Chaser Angelina Johnson put in.
"And women. This is it."
"The big one." Fred Weasley added.
"The one we've all been waiting for." George carried on.
"We know Oliver's speech by heart." Fred told Harry. "We were on the team last year."
"Shut up, you two. This is the best team Gryffindor's had in years. We're going to win. I know it." Wood glared at them all as if to say 'or else'. "Right. It's time. Good luck, all of you."
Harry followed Fred and George out of the locker room and, hoping his knees weren't going to give away, into the field.
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." Lee Jordan 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!" Serena and Phoebe squeezed together to give Hagrid enough space to join them.
"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. No sign of the Snitch yet, eh?"
"Nope." Thomas kept his eyes glued to the game.
"Harry hasn't had much to do." Serena complained.
"Kept outta trouble, though, that's somethin'." Hagrid muttered, 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 Wood's game plan.
"Keep out of the way until you catch sight of the Snitch." Wood had said. "We don't want you attacked before you have to be."
When Angelina had scored, Harry had done a couple of loop-the-loops to let off his feelings. 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 Fred Weasley came chasing after it.
"All right there, Harry?" He had time to yell, as he beat the Bludger furiously toward Marcus Flint.
"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. Slytherin Seeker Terence Higgs 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 Higgs. 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 Gryffindors below. Marcus Flint had blocked Harry on purpose, and Harry's broom spun off course, Harry holding on for dear life.
"Foul!" The Gryffindors screamed. Madam Hooch spoke angrily to Flint and then ordered a free shot at the goal posts for Gryffindor. But in all the confusion, of course, the Golden Snitch had disappeared from sight again.
Down in the stands, Dean Thomas was yelling:
"Send him off, ref! Red card!"
"What are you talking about, Dean?" Neville asked.
"Red card! In soccer you get shown the red card and you're out of the game!"
"What's soccer?"
"Qudditch without flying or the snitch." Phoebe tried to explain quickly, learning as far forward as she could to keep Harry in sight.
"What?" Neville asked again, looking even more confused.
Lee Jordan was finding it difficult not to take sides.
"So, after that obvious and disgusting bit of cheating-."
"Jordan!"
"I mean, after that open and revolting foul."
"Jordan, I'm warning you-."
"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 Spinner, who puts it away, no trouble, and we continue play, Gryffindor 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 Gryffindor goal- posts, as he had half a mind to ask Wood 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.
"Harry!" Serena shrieked in panic.
"Did something happen to it when Flint blocked him?" Seamus 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, Phoebe seized Hagrid's binoculars, but instead of looking up at Harry, she started looking frantically at the crowd.
"What are you doing?" Thomas demanded, ducking as she swung the big binoculars back and forth.
"Snape. Look at that snake." Thomas 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.
"What should we-?" Thomas started, but Phoebe had already slid underneath the bleachers and disappeared.
She sprinted under the seats, dodging swinging legs and tripping over old candy wrappers, until she reached the teacher's stand. She dug into her bag and pulled out her lighter. She held the flame against the hem of Snape's ropes and it caught instantly. She tucked it back into her bag and backed away, but kept close enough to watch.
It took perhaps thirty seconds for Snape to realize that he was on fire. A sudden yelp told her she had done her job. She smirked and started running back to her original seat.
The small distraction was enough. Up in the air, Harry was suddenly able to clamber back on to his broom.
"Neville, you can look!" Thomas said. Neville had been sobbing into Hagrid's jacket for the last five minutes. Serena looked ready to do the same but lit up when she saw the change.
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, but it made no difference. Harry hadn't broken any rules and Lee Jordan was still happily shouting the results: Gryffindor had won by one hundred and seventy points to sixty.
Harry heard none of this, though. He was being made a cup of strong tea back in Hagrid's hut, with Thomas, Phoebe and Serena.
"It was Snape." Thomas was explaining. "Phoebe and I saw him. He was cursing your broomstick, muttering like a crazy person, his eyes glue on you like when a raccoon sees a trash bin."
"Why do I have to be the trash bin?" Harry wasn't fond of Thomas's analogy.
"Rubbish." Hagrid protested, who hadn't heard a word of what had gone on next to him in the stands. "Why would Snape do somethin' like that?"
The group looked at one another, wondering what to tell him. Harry decided on the truth.
"I found out something about him. 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 and it clattered to the floor. Fang whined and tried to crawl into Phoebe's lap.
"How do you know about Fluffy?" Hagrid demanded.
"Fluffy?" They echoed.
"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?" Harry asked eagerly.
"Now, don't ask me anymore." Hagrid said gruffly. "That's top secret, that is."
"But Snape's trying to steal it."
"Rubbish." Hagrid repeated. "Snape's a Hogwarts teacher, he'd do nothin' of the sort."
"So why did he just try and kill my best friend?" Serena was getting possessive and hysterical again. Harry patted her shoulder awkwardly.
"I'm tellin' yeh, yer wrong! I don' know why Harry's broom acted like that, but Snape wouldn' try an' kill a student! Now, listen to me, all four 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!" Harry cried triumphantly. "So there's someone called Nicolas Flamel involved, is there?"
Hagrid looked furious with himself.