10

Chapter 11 Surviving Quidditch

A/N- Direct excerpts from the book are set off with *

Harry woke up in the morning feeling like he had done battle with a troll. Once he had come fully to his senses, he remembered that this was exactly what had happened. It still seemed more like a dream than reality. Not so long ago, he had not even known he was a wizard. Now, he was fighting massive beasts in girls' bathrooms. Life was strange indeed.

After sitting up and putting on his glasses, Harry looked around and saw that Hermione and Ron were also waking up. Madam Pomfrey was bustling around the infirmary in a businesslike manner, conducting diagnostic spells and dispensing potions to her charges. For a split-second, he considered making a run for it.

"No, you don't."

Harry turned around to see that Professor Snape was standing behind him. He hadn't noticed the man and had no idea how long he had been there. Blushing, Harry wondered why he had even wanted to leave. He wasn't used to having anyone fuss over him. Snape seemed to be very concerned with Harry's safety and well-being, but no one else ever had. The Dursleys had always ignored injuries and illnesses.

"I wasn't going to do anything, Sir," Harry lied.

"Hmph," Snape replied. "Let's see how much damage you did to yourself with your latest bout of Gryffindor foolishness."

Before he could protest that it was clearly Madam Pomfrey's job to check him, Snape was running a wand up and down a few inches from Harry's head and muttering incantations that he couldn't hear. Harry decided that arguing was useless and settled for pouting. He didn't know why he was being difficult. This situation was confusing to him. Snape had treated him like the muck scraped off his shoe for the past couple of months and now was suddenly concerned about him again.

"Your concussion seems to have healed. Just to be safe, I'd like you to have a calming potion and this headache draught," Snape was saying.

"I don't have a headache," Harry started to say.

Madame Pomfrey had joined them by then. She pursed her lips at Harry, so he held out his hand for the potion vials. After swallowing them with a grimace, he tried to lay back down. Snape stopped him.

"Spare me the dramatics, Mr. Potter. I have run a diagnostic on you and given you the recommended potions. If you would like, Madam Pomfrey can repeat the spells?" Snape said in a tone that indicated this was the height of foolishness.

"No," Harry grumbled.

The last thing he wanted was more fussing. He could see that Hermione and Ron were getting dressed. Harry sent a pleading look at Snape as the man sat in a chair by his bed. They had classes soon.

"You two may go," Madam Pomfrey told the other two Gryffindors, with a pointed look at Snape.

"Just one moment, Mr. Potter," Snape intoned.

Harry sighed and waited, leaning back. He watched his friends leave, and Madam Pomfrey return to her office. Although he was curious about the difference in Snape's behavior, Harry also was nervous about being alone with the professor. He had tried to apologize to the man, and it had done no good. He couldn't see what had changed.

It might have been Harry's imagination, but he thought Snape seemed slightly ill at ease too. For a man that always seemed so exacting and self-assured, it did not seem possible that he might find a conversation with Harry uncomfortable. The two of them sat in silence for more than five minutes. Harry stared at his hands, where he could still see the faint outlines of scratches from his fight with the troll.

"I owe you an apology, Mr. Potter," Snape began.

Harry goggled at him. That was the last thing he had expected. He had been sure that Professor Snape was about to yell at him or at the very least subject him to a sneering lecture about his stupidity. An apology seemed entirely out of character. He couldn't remember any time an adult had apologized to him. Still, there were times when Snape seemed respectful, treating him almost as if he were another adult.

"Sir?" Harry asked, unable to think of anything to say.

"You apologized to me, and I have been avoiding you," Snape continued after a pause as if he were selecting his words carefully. "It is not easy for me to separate you from your father sometimes, but that is my burden and not yours. You are not him."

Harry had no response to this. He stroked the threads of the white infirmary blanket, avoiding Snape's coal-black eyes. Harry wasn't sure what the man wanted from him. Fortunately, Snape continued as if he did not expect Harry to respond yet.

"It is true that you are often impulsive and reckless. You break the rules and act without a thought of the consequences. You have repeatedly ended up in life-threatening situations in the short time you have been a part of the wizarding world. I made a vow to keep you safe. You are making that quite difficult."

These words made Harry feel ashamed. He had not thought of his behavior in quite this light. It made responding difficult.

"Sir, the troll …" Harry began.

"I know, Harry. Miss Granger told me everything," Snape's eyes bored into Harry's.

"She did?"

"The truth," Snape said firmly," not that claptrap she spewed to Professor McGonagall."

"Oh," Harry said, unsure what to say to that. He had not missed the fact that Snape had called him by his name, which he rarely did.

"Tell me, Mr. Potter, was the situation with the troll like the one with the Rememberall or the one with Professor Quirrel?" Snape asked, returning to lecture mode.

Harry bit his lower lip, trying to act like he didn't understand the question.

"Did you run willingly into an adventure, or were you trying to help a friend?" Snape clarified.

"I was trying to help Hermione, Sir," Harry muttered.

"Why weren't you at the feast?"

"Hermione wasn't at the feast," Harry said.

"Yes, I know. You could have told a teacher or had a prefect tell a teacher. Were the instructions not clear for where you were to go?" Snape asked.

"Umm," Harry said.

"That is not an answer, Mr. Potter!" Snape growled.

"Yes, Sir," Harry answered.

"Yes, what?"

"Yes, Sir. They were clear. We didn't. We just didn't think. We just went. We needed to save Hermione. It was a troll!" Harry looked into Snape's eyes, trying desperately to get the man to understand.

"Yes, I am aware that it was a troll. It could have stomped you to death without a second thought. What do you know of trolls?" Snape spat.

"Nothing, Sir," Harry replied. "Well, much more now."

"Don't be cheeky, Mr. Potter," Snape sighed. He seemed less angry and more frustrated now.

"Yes, Sir."

"You, and each of your friends, will write a five-foot essay on trolls and spells that can be used to defeat them, as well as which year they are learned in," Snape ordered. "In addition, you will meet me in detention at seven each evening, starting tonight and continuing throughout next week. You clearly need more supervision."

"But, Sir!" Harry protested.

"Yes?" Snape challenged.

Harry was tempted to say that Snape was the head of Slytherin House and that Harry was not in his house and neither were his friends. He also thought that a week of detention was a terrible punishment. He knew that potions detentions usually involved scrubbing gunk from cauldrons and cutting up slimy things. However, the look on Snape's face told him that it was both useless and foolish to argue.

"Yes, Sir."

With a nod, Snape stood up. He seemed to be giving Harry a visual once-over again. Harry did his best to look healthy.

"You may go," Snape said, apparently satisfied.

"Thank you, Sir."

"Stay out of trouble, Mr. Potter," Snape groused. "You are already taking years off of my life."

This was almost like a joke, and Harry smiled despite the conversation's somber tone. He walked out of the infirmary with Snape, and they found themselves in a comfortable silence back to Gryffindor Tower. Snape gave Harry a parting nod as he told the portrait the password.

As soon as he was through the door to Gryffindor Tower, Hermione and Ron descended on him. They both seemed to be talking at once, and he could barely make out that they were asking him if he was okay and what Snape had wanted. He felt dizzy from all of the attention. He wasn't used to so many people caring about him. He had barely known Hermione before the troll incident, it seemed. He is acquiring a lot of friends at Hogwarts.

"I'm fine, Hermione," Harry assured her since she seemed to be the pushier of the two.

"Harry, we were so worried!" Hermione cried, grasping him again in a hug.

Harry tried not to stiffen. He wasn't used to hugs or physical contact of a more pleasant nature from anyone, especially not friends. Although it was nice to have someone worry about him, he was also finding it suffocating.

"What did Snape want?" Ron questioned in a low, worried voice.

"Oh, he just wanted to make sure I was all right," Harry told them, trying to make light of it. "I have to tell you guys something, though. He assigned us a punishment essay. We have to do five feet on trolls."

It was almost comical to watch Ron's look of horror contrasted with Hermione's getting out a notebook and interrogating Harry on what precisely the essay had to be about. She bossily assured them that she would help them with it and suggested that they go to the library to start it right away as soon as classes were over for the day. At the same time, the encounter was still fresh in their memories.

"But Hermione," Ron said as they headed to breakfast, "I don't want to remember it!"

That day in potions class, Harry tried his best to be well-behaved. The class was brewing a Sleeping Draught. Even though it included disgusting Flobberworm mucus, he meticulously followed the steps. Harry almost sighed with relief when his potion was the required dark purple color. When Snape glanced down at it on his patrol down their aisle, he gave Harry the smallest nod of approval. Harry grinned. It might as well have been a gold medal. He quickly ladled his potion into a crystal vial.

After class, Harry nervously approached Snape's desk and handed him the vial. Snape nodded but said nothing. The man likely knew why his student was standing in front of him. He was just watching him squirm.

"Did you need something, Mr. Potter?" Snape murmured, not looking up from the parchments he was scribbling on with a finely feathered dark green quill.

"Yes, Sir. About detention tonight," Harry began.

"Seven o'clock, Mr. Potter. I believe we will need a new stock of Flobberworm mucus. Harvesting them should give you plenty of opportunity for contemplation of your recent behavior."

The thought made Harry's stomach turn. Those flobberworms were disgusting. Still, he had not expected detention to be easy or fun. Leave it to Snape to come up with the grossest job possible.

"Yes, Sir. But tonight …"

"Yes?" Snape stopped writing and deposited his quill in a stand to look Harry in the eye sternly.

"I have Quidditch practice," Harry said as quietly as he could, almost afraid to say the words.

"You will have to leave in time to be at your detention, Mr. Potter," Snape informed him. "You will need to be dressed for detention as well. I doubt Professor McGonagall wants Flobberworm mucus on your Quidditch robes."

"Yes, Sir."

Harry turned and left. He knew that Oliver Wood would not be happy to learn that he had a week's worth of detention. Harry and his friends had earned a certain amount of notoriety for fighting a fully-grown mountain troll and knocking it out. However, Gryffindor seemed to still be counting on Harry an awful lot as the new Seeker. Harry thought this was rather foolish. He was new on the team, and it was a sport he had never played.

When he told Oliver Wood about the detention in the hallway outside of the Great Hall, the reaction was exactly as he would have expected.

"All week? The week before we play Slytherin?" Oliver ground out the words as if he could barely get them out.

Harry nodded miserably.

"He did this on purpose!" Fred insisted. "Snape doesn't want Gryffindor to win. He knows we need Harry."

"No," Oliver said. "We can work around this."

"How? He has detention at seven every night?" George demanded.

Harry, who was still just learning to tell the twins apart, agreed with George, but not Fred. He didn't think that Quidditch was the reason for Snape's punishment. It seemed to him that Snape really did care about him. Harry just wasn't sure why.

"I'll figure it out," Oliver said. "In the meantime, we will have long practices tomorrow and Sunday!"

Most of the team had gathered around them now, and they were all glaring daggers at Harry. As they went into the Great Hall for dinner, Oliver rounded on Harry. He tried to remember that, unlike his cousin and their gang, the larger boy was not going to beat on him.

"Give me a copy of your schedule," Oliver ordered. "I will make sure that someone can take you out on the pitch for every free period to run you through your paces." He pointed his finger at Harry's chest. "And you will be there!"

Harry looked after the captain miserably as he walked away. It was his first chance to be a part of a real team, and he had already messed it up. Harry felt like he was ready to lose his lunch and had no appetite for dinner. Instead of heading into the Great Hall, he walked back to the Common Room. He figured he might as well try to get some homework done since he had detention and practice all weekend and during all his free periods.

The week went by in abject misery. The November weather was freezing cold, and Harry's teammates were treating him frostily as well. Wood had become worried that their "secret weapon" would become their downfall if Harry couldn't practice with the team. He went from Quidditch practice to detention at a run. Twice he was caught by Filch and lost points, and once, he was late. Harry almost broke down into tears when Snape informed him that it would add another day of detention.

Snape's detentions consisted of cutting up disgusting ingredients, scrubbing cauldrons, copying lengthy admonishing lines, and writing essays about his behavior. On the day before the Quidditch match, Harry barely made it to detention. He accidentally dropped his bag onto the floor when he put it on the table. The contents spewed out, attracting Snape's attention. He swooped in and grabbed a book from the top of Harry's mangled belongings.

"What is this?"

"It's a book, Sir," Harry responded tiredly without thinking.

"That's five points for your cheek, Mr. Potter," Snape snapped. "I can see that it is a book." Snape pushed Quidditch through the Ages under Harry's nose. "Why do you have this?"

Now Harry was confused. Hermione had given him the book, which she had retrieved from the library, for him because she said he looked depressed. He had barely looked at it twice. His week had been full of grousing teammates, snarling teachers, and homework. He didn't see why he should be in trouble for having the book.

"I'm sorry, Sir," Harry said sincerely. "I didn't mean to be disrespectful. Hermione gave it to me. I was worried about the game, and she thought it might help."

"You do not need this book, Mr. Potter," Snape informed him firmly. "You need to focus on what your captain is telling you to do and nothing else. You are a first year. Do not get too ahead of yourself. I was against your playing that game, to begin with. It seems like I was right. You are clearly exhausted. I have half a mind to tell Professor McGonagall to take you off the time right now."

"What?" Harry demanded, feeling the tight coil inside him snap. "You can't do that! I've been working so hard."

"Do not take that tone with me, Mr. Potter," Snape sneered. "I can, and I will. If it is endangering your health. You are clearly not prepared for the rigor …"

Even though he was too old to throw a tantrum like a toddler, Harry was tempted to pick something up and throw it at Snape. He had never felt so angry at the man. As his magic began to coil inside of him, Harry knew that he was about to have an attack of accidental magic again if he didn't cool off. Part of him was already past caring. Snape was unfair again.

"I am too! It is your fault! You are the one who has me in detention for a week!" Harry shouted as the torches on the walls flickered dangerously.

"Control yourself this instant," Snape said in a dangerously low voice. "Stop that. You have been here for over two months. You should be able to stop it."

Closing his eyes, Harry nodded and concentrated. He reached deep inside himself to feel the coil of anger. If he let it go any further, he felt that it would be even worse than what had happened at the Leaky Cauldron. Snape was right. Hogwarts had taught him control. He could also feel his magic growing stronger, though.

After a few minutes, the torches stopped flickering and returned to their normal state. Harry began to breathe normally again as well. He hadn't realized his breathing had become labored as he tried to get control of himself. The experience was both exhilarating and terrifying. He could feel the power, and even though it was out of control, knowing it was there was exciting.

Snape huffed and gently cuffed Harry on the back of the head. "What is wrong with you? You are not a young child anymore, Mr. Potter. You should not be having temper tantrums."

Harry couldn't help but smile. It felt like something had just changed between them. He realized that he had felt the same the first time he had lost control. He needed Snape. He was starting to realize that.

Harry looked up at Snape with chagrin. "I am sorry, Sir."

Snape pulled out a chair and pointed to it. Harry sat at the unspoken order and looked down at the mess under his feet. His homework parchments were everywhere, both the corrected returned ones and the unfinished papers he was working on. No wonder he could never find anything. Snape pulled out his wand, and the entire mess piled itself neatly on the table beside Harry.

"You have to teach me how to do that, Sir," Harry said, only half joking.

"In due time, Mr. Potter. We have a more important matter at hand, I believe," Snape looked at Harry seriously. "You are overwhelmed."

"It's only for this week, though, Sir. After the first game, there won't be so many practices," Harry pleaded. He was also thinking there would not be nightly detentions with the dungeon bat but did not think it wise to voice it.

At the look on Snape's face, Harry had a suspicion that he had read his thoughts. Harry blushed. He had forgotten Snape was some kind of mind reader. He would have to learn more of what magic could do.

Snape smirked but must have decided to let it pass. He did seem to be studying Harry, though, perhaps deciding what to do with him. Harry tried to make himself look contrite and not exhausted. He wasn't sure that he pulled it off.

"I do hope that you do not earn yourself more detentions, Mr. Potter," Snape began. "However, it still remains that you are young for Quidditch. Your age was not my only concern. You are small and unhealthy." He held up a hand when he saw Harry clearly about to protest. "Let me continue. I understand that this is important to you. I am afraid that it has become so important that you are putting too much unneeded pressure on yourself."

"Please," Harry begged. "Please don't take it away." He hated how it made him sound like he was whining.

"Why is this so important to you, Mr. Potter?"

Harry just shook his head.

"Very well," Snape told him. "Your detention for tonight is to write me an essay explaining why you want to be on the Quidditch team, how you benefit from it, and how you feel that you will be able to achieve top marks in your end-of-term exams while still playing Quidditch."

All Harry could do was gape at the man. His grades were not horrible, but he was barely squeaking by in most of his courses. His potions grade was one of the highest, but that was because he wanted to impress Snape. Harry had a feeling that Snape knew this.

"Yes, Sir," Harry said, taking a fresh parchment out.

Before he began to write, Snape grabbed the quill from his hand. He then proceeded to spend almost ten minutes lecturing Harry on the proper use and care of a quill. He made Harry trim the quill three times until it met his approval. Finally, Harry began the essay. It took him an hour, but he felt like he had been honest and sincere. After all, he was motivated.

"Sir," Harry looked up. "How long does it need to be?"

"Don't worry about that," Snape said. "If you think you have addressed the issues, you can give it to me."

"Yes, Sir."

Harry stood up and walked over to Snape's desk. As he handed him the scroll of parchment, he dithered on whether or not to ask his next question. The man looked up and seemed to be challenging him. He again knew what Harry was about to say before he said it.

"Am I allowed to play in the game tomorrow, Sir," Harry asked.

"Yes," Snape said mildly. "It is too late to get a replacement, and it would not be fair to the team."

Harry nodded miserably.

Snape stood up and came around to the desk. In another uncharacteristically gentle gesture, he reached out and put a hand lightly on Harry's shoulder. He left it there for a moment, squeezed, and then released his hand.

"I know that you think I am doing this to punish you, Harry," Snape told him. "However, I am really trying to look out for your best interests. Your health and safety are and always will be of paramount importance to me. I am not suggesting that others do not care for you, but I obviously have a different perspective. It is my job to keep you safe."

Snape turned and went back to his desk without a word. Harry gathered his things and put them back into his bag, trying to be neater about it without taking too long as he was wrapping his mind around the man's words. He turned to Snape.

"Why?" Harry finally said.

"Why what?" Snape murmured, looking down at the papers on his desk.

"Why is it your job to keep me safe?" Harry asked. "It's not that I am not grateful or anything. I mean, no one ever … Just … why?"

He felt like the words were not coming out right and that he really did sound ungrateful. This, in turn, made him feel horrible. Snape had done so much more for him than anyone else, and he didn't want the man to think he didn't appreciate it. He still was puzzled, however. Life had caused him to be distrustful of adults. As far as he could tell, Snape had no official guardianship over him. His aunt and uncle still controlled him. Dumbledore had some kind of power over Harry's life that Harry also didn't understand since he was the one that had given Harry to the Dursleys as a baby. Where did Snape fit in?

"As I told you, I made a vow to your mother's memory and to Headmaster Dumbledore to watch over you," Snape told him softly. "I had never intended to be involved in your life, Harry. I was sure you would be an insufferable spoiled prince, leveraging your fame to force others to do your bidding. I thought that you were safe and happy with your muggle relatives and that they were providing for all of your needs."

At Harry's look of disbelief, Snape nodded. "Obviously, I was wrong about that. When I found out your true circumstances and took you out of your situation, I was, in fact, taking a sort of responsibility for you. It is nothing official," he assured Harry, at his confused and hopeful glance up, "but it is a responsibility I take seriously."

"But when I first came to Hogwarts …" Harry began.

"Yes," Snape said simply.

Neither of them seemed to know what to say about that period. It had been a difficult time for Harry, and he began to wonder if it had also been difficult for Snape. He had assumed that the man merely wanted nothing to do with him. He had never thought to wonder if maybe he had just felt burdened with too big of a responsibility.

"You don't have to, you know," Harry assured Snape.

"I don't have to what?" Snape seemed genuinely confused.

"You don't have to take responsibility for me," Harry clarified. "I have been on my own as long as I can remember. I don't really need anyone."

"Oh, I beg to differ, Mr. Potter," Snape made a noise that might have been a laugh. It was close to a snort. "Are you not the same boy that went running after a troll and almost flew into a wall for his first time on a broom to rescue a toy?"

"I'm fine," Harry protested. "I was fine. And none of the other teachers cared! Professor McGonagall barely scolded me, and she even gave us points for the troll."

When he saw the look on Snape's face, he stopped this line of argument and decided to quit while he was ahead. Snape obviously disagreed that he was fine on his own. As far as Harry was concerned, they just did things differently in Gryffindor.

"You are proving my point, Mr. Potter," Snape told him dryly.

"Okay," Harry said gruffly. "Thank you for letting me play in the game tomorrow."

"Please be careful, Mr. Potter," Snape told him as he left.

Harry was a bundle of nerves the next morning. People all knew he was the Gryffindor Seeker, and they seemed to be in two camps. Harry was either going to fail miserably, or he was going to be spectacular. Wood informed him that he bloody well better be spectacular.

Floating atop of the pitch, Harry groaned. As he scanned for the glinting gold ball, he looked for Professor Snape in the crowd. He knew that the man was here for Slytherin, but Harry was hoping that he was secretly cheering for him. Even the Potter for President banner did not soothe his nerves. Harry's job was to avoid both Bludgers and players until he saw the snitch.

When he spotted the snitch, he felt a rush of excitement. The rest of the game was a blur for him. Even when he almost got knocked off his broom by Marcus Flint, Harry managed to stay focused. He hoped Professor Snape wasn't paying too close attention to that. He realized, though, that something was really wrong when his broom suddenly seemed to be out of his control.

Harry hadn't been playing Quidditch for long, but everyone said he was a natural on a broomstick. He had also had hours of practice recently. His Nimbus 2000 felt like an extension of himself by now, and he knew exactly how it was supposed to respond. Something was very wrong. He found himself trying to send a mental message to Snape.

"Something is wrong with my broom!"

It was a long shot, he knew. If Snape could really read minds, Harry didn't know that he could do it at this great distance. They had always been in the same room. The number of people around might also make a difference. It had always been the two of them alone. There were hundreds of people in attendance at the game.

By now, the rest of the team had noticed something was wrong. The Weasley twins were trying to catch up to him, apparently to grab him. Harry's broom was jerking so violently that they couldn't get near him, though. He was trying so desperately to hang on that he couldn't even call out. Harry was sure he would lose the tiny amount of breakfast he had eaten if he opened his mouth.

Harry was trying so hard to hang on with his hands that he fell right off the broom and was hanging in the air. He could barely hear one of the twins; he wasn't even sure which one, yell to him to let go so they could catch him. Then, as suddenly as it had started, the jerking stopped. As soon the broom stopped bucking like an out-of-control horse, Harry climbed back on and gave the twins a thumb's up.

Harry was so relieved that he almost forgot he was supposed to be playing a game. He saw the snitch glistening invitingly below him and shot after it. Harry wasn't going to risk anything happening to his broom again. In his urgency, he overshot the snitch just a bit and ended up catching it all right—with his mouth.

The other players seemed to have no idea what had happened. In fact, Harry wasn't even sure at first. He felt like he was going to vomit. Instead, he spit the little golden ball into his hand. It fluttered its wings teasingly and then settled there. He beamed at it.

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

The rest of the team landed, and Harry was treated to his teammates and housemates clapping him on the back and cheering him. He heard Slytherin's Marcus Flint complaining that Harry's nearly swallowing the snitch shouldn't count, but it wasn't against the rules. Not much was against the rules in Quidditch, Harry was finding.

As he was heading off the field, he saw Professor Snape standing with Flint and the rest of the Slytherin team. Snape shot him a glance with the barest smile. Harry grinned back. He barely gave a thought to the fact that Snape's robes looked singed.

Rowling, J.K.. Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone (p. 205). Pottermore Publishing. Kindle Edition.