"Now, if you'll observe, my dear, croquet is a combination of two things — balance, timing, peripheral vision, superb coordination, and a killer's instinct."

Gomez Addams

Chapter 12: Quidditch

As they entered November, the weather turned very cold. The mountains around the school became icy grey and the lake like chilled steel. Every morning the ground was covered in frost. Hagrid could be seen from the upstairs window defrosting broomsticks on the Quidditch field, bundled up in a long moleskin overcoat, rabbit fur gloves, and enormous beaver-skin boots.

The Quidditch season had 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 to 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.

It was really lucky that Harry now had Hermione and Erica as friends. He didn't know how he'd have gotten through all his homework without them, what with all the last-minute Quidditch practice Wood was making them do. Erica had also lent him her copy of 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 1573; that Seekers were usually the smallest and fastest players, and that most serious Quidditch accidents seemed to happen to them; though 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 the incident with the mountain troll, and since becoming closer with Erica (an equally studious girl who did just fine when she broke the occasional rule), and Hermione was nicer for it. The day before Harry's first Quidditch match the four of them were out in the freezing courtyard during break, and she 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. Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Erica 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.

"Library books are not to be taken outside the school," Snape said. "Give it to me. Five points from Gryffindor."

"The book is mine, Professor," Erica protested, her gaze hot. "I let Harry borrow it."

Snape glanced between her and the book. He opened the back cover, and sure enough, Erica's name was printed inside.

Snape's lips curled into a mean sneer, but he simply thrust the book into her hands and walked away.

"Ass," Erica huffed. She ignored Hermione's scolding for using foul language.

"He didn't even give the points back, lousy git!" Ron agreed.

Harry was angry as well. "He just wanted to get me in trouble," he muttered. "That wasn't even a real rule. Wonder what's wrong with his leg?"

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

~)8(~

The Gryffindor common room was very noisy that evening. Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Erica sat together next to a window. Hermione was checking Harry and Ron's Charms homework for them while Erica scribbled a letter. Hermione never let them copy ("How will you learn?") but by asking her to read it through, they got the right answers anyway.

Erica knew what they were doing, but she never said anything.

Harry felt restless. He needed something to take his mind off his nerves about tomorrow. Harry stood up. He needed to move, work out some energy. He told Ron, Hermione, and Erica that he was going for a walk.

Harry walked the stairs three times to blow off steam. Then he found himself wandering the lower halls, and passed by the staffroom.

He wouldn't have stopped had he not heard Snape's voice inside.

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

Harry gasped, then (in fear that he had been heard) sprinted all the way back to Gryffindor Tower.

His friends looked startled at his sudden entrance.

"What's the matter?" Ron asked.

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

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

Hermione's eyes were wide, and Erica's eyes were skeptical.

"No — he wouldn't," Hermione said. "I know he's not very nice, but he wouldn't try and steal something Dumbledore was keeping safe."

"I have to agree with Hermione, Harry," Erica concurred. "I don't like the man, he's a huge jerk, but it seems unlikely that Dumbledore would keep him around if he had even the slightest suspicion that Snape was trying to steal whatever is being guarded."

Erica was telling the truth. She did not like Snape. He may have been brewing her potion for her, but he was a bully. To Harry, to poor Neville, to really anyone who wasn't a Slytherin. And that was not okay.

"Honestly, you two, you think all teachers are saints or something," Ron snapped. "I'm with Harry. I wouldn't put anything past Snape. But what's he after? What's that dog guarding?"

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 worries and theories about Snape and the three-headed dog weren't easy to forget.

~)8(~

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," Hermione wheedled.

"I'm not hungry."

"Please, Harry?" Erica begged, her eyes blown big like puppy eyes. "Just something sugary. It'll give you a boost of energy."

But Harry shook his head. He felt terrible. In an hour's time he'd be walking onto the field.

"Harry, you need your strength," Seamus said. "Seekers are always the ones who get clobbered by the other team."

"Thanks, Seamus," Harry said, watching Seamus pile ketchup onto his sausages.

~)8(~

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, Hermione, and Erica joined Neville, Seamus, and Dean the West Ham fan up in the top row. A surprise for Harry, they had painted a large banner on one of the sheets Scabbers had ruined. It said Potter for President, Erica's idea no doubt, and she and Dean, who were both good at drawing, had done a Gryffindor lion underneath. Then Hermione had performed 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 (Slytherin would be playing in green).

Wood cleared his throat for silence.

"Okay, men," he said.

"And women," said Chaser Angelina Johnson.

"And women," Wood agreed. "This is it."

"The big one," Fred Weasley said.

"The one we've all been waiting for," George said.

"We know Oliver's speech by heart," Fred told Harry, "we were on the team last year."

"Shut up, you two," Wood said. "This is the best team Gryffindor's had in years. We're going to win. I know it."

He 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, 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 the Slytherin Captain, Marcus Flint, a fifth year. Harry thought Flint looked as if he had some troll blood in him. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the fluttering banner high above, flashing Potter for President over the crowd. His heart skipped. He felt braver.

"Mount your brooms, please."

Harry clambered onto his Nimbus Two Thousand.

Madam Hooch gave a loud blast of 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."

The Weasley twins' friend, 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 goalposts, but he's blocked by a second Bludger — sent his way by Fred or George Weasley, can't tell which — nice play by the Gryffindor Beater, anyway, and Johnson back in possession of the Quaffle, a clear field ahead and off she goes — she's really flying — dodges a speeding Bludger — the goalposts are ahead — come on, now, Angelina — Keeper Bletchley dives — misses — GRYFFINDORS SCORE!"

Erica burst into cheers with her housemates, and they cut through the cold air and moans of the Slytherins alike. And Erica had thought Quodpot was fun to watch!

"Budge up there, move along."

"Hagrid!"

Ron, Hermione, and Erica 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," Ron said. "Harry hasn't had much to do yet."

"Kept outta trouble, though, that's somethin'," Hagrid said, raising his binoculars and peering skyward at the speck that was Harry.

Way 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 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, Hary?" 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!" screamed the Gryffindors. Harry heard Erica screaming something a little stronger.

Madam Hooch spoke angrily to Flint and then ordered a free shot at the goalposts 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?" Ron said.

"Red card!" Dean said furiously. "In soccer you get shown the red card and you're out of the game!"

Erica was just as angry. "And in baseball, the Ump can just throw you out!"

"But this isn't soccer or baseball, guys," Ron reminded them.

Hagrid, however, was on Dean and Erica's side.

"They oughta change the rules. Flint coulda knocked Harry outta the air."

Lee Jordan was finding it difficult not to take sides.

"So — after that obvious and disgusting bit of cheating —"

"Jordan!" Professor McGonagall growled.

"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 Spinnet, 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 goalposts — 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…"

Erica gasped. "Harry!"

Suddenly, people were pointing up at Harry all over the stands. His broom 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 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."

"He's right," Erica whispered, her face white. "Broom magic is extremely powerful and specialized. It takes a lot to get past it."

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?" Ron moaned, grey-faced.

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

Erica snatched 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.

But then something caught Erica's eye. Professor Quirrell, also, was not breaking eye-contact with Harry. And he did not resemble the anxious, stuttering professor Erica knew from class. Instead, his gaze was clear and focused. And dark.

And the change in him made Erica's insides freeze.

"He's doing something — jinxing the broom," Hermione was saying.

"What should we do?"

"Leave it to me," Erica growled. She thrust the binoculars into Ron's hands, and before he or Hermione could say another word, she 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 flew up to try and pull Harry safely onto one of their brooms, 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. Marcus Flint seized the Quaffle and scored five times without anyone noticing.

"Come on, Erica," Ron muttered desperately.

Erica had fought her way across the stands where Snape and Quirrell stood. She wasn't sure which one of them was jinxing the broom, but either way, she was going to put a stop to it. Erica raced along the row behind them, purposefully knocking into Quirrell, sending him headfirst into the row in front of him.

One down, one to go.

Reaching Snape, Erica crouched down, pulled out her want, and whispered a few, well-chosen words. Bright blue flames shot from Erica's wand onto the hem of Snape's robes.

Erica ducked down further and waited, worrying her lips and gripping her wand so tight her knuckles were white.

It took perhaps thirty seconds for Snape to realize that he was on fire. A sudden yelp told Erica she had done her job, Snape's eye contact had been broken. Erica scooped the fire into a little jar from her pocket (one of Hermione's jam jars), and she got the hell out.

Snape would never know what happened.

Whether it had been Quirrell or Snape, Erica didn't know, but what she had done was enough. Up in the air, Harry was suddenly able to clamber back onto 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, 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 Ron, Hermione, and Erica.

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

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

Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Erica 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?" Harry said 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 said again, "Snape's a Hogwarts teacher, he'd do nothin' of the sort."

"So why did he just try to kill Harry?" Hermione cried.

This afternoon's events certainly seemed to have changed her mind about Snape.

Erica opened her mouth, as if to answer, or argue, but Hermione steamrolled over her.

"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!"

Erica opened her mouth to tell them that Quirrell hadn't been blinking either, but thought better of it. It's not like they would believe her. Besides, who would believe Professor afraid-of-his-own-shadow Quirrell could, or would, jinx Harry's broom?

Still… Something about his stare… It had frightened Erica. Something had always felt off about the professor, but Erica had never really thought anything of it.

Until now.

"I'm tellin' yeh, yer wrong!" Harry said to them hotly. "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 Dumbldore an' Nicolas Flamel —"

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

Hagrid looked furious with himself.

Three more chapters to go today!

Sammiemoosam