And he did. For when he kicked off with one of the old Shooting Stars, Harry felt a rush of joy as the air shot through his hair, and his robes whipped out behind him. He did a series of loop-the-loops without too much difficulty, then flew in circles around the applauding Hagrid and Tonks.

"I knew it!" said Hagrid, whooping. "Yeh've got ter go see Professor McGonagall straigh' after dinner!"

"Actually," said Harry, climbing off his broom, "we've got detention with Filch this evening. Tonks and I had some issues with Snape."

"He hates Harry!" said Tonks, stomping her foot on the grass.

"Rubbish!" said Hagrid. "Why would he?"

Yet Harry couldn't help thinking that Hagrid couldn't quite meet his eyes when he said that.

"Blimey!" said Hagrid, checking his watch. "It's nearly half-past four!"

"So?" Tonks crossed her arms. "Dinner runs from four to six. We've still got plenty of time to eat."

"Yeah, I guess –"

"Why does Snape hate me?" Harry asked, interrupting Hagrid. "It's like he was waiting to attack me or something. What's the deal?"

"Yeah!" said Tonks, taking a step forward. "Spill the beans, Hagrid! We know you know!"

Hagrid sighed. "All righ', all righ', settle down. Let's jus' say that James Potter and Severus Snape didn' quite get along. Some bad incidents between 'em. That's all I'm saying!"

"Snape fought with Harry's dad?" Tonks asked. "He didn't poison him or anything, did he?"

Harry scowled. "I wouldn't be surprised. He's a creepy git, that's what."

"Oi," said Hagrid, lowering his brows. "That's still a teacher yeh're talkin' about. But no, Snape didn't poison yer dad or anythin'. Mostly jus' spells an' stuff, though yer dad was usually with his group o' friends."

Harry scratched his cheek. "So, dad outnumbered him?"

"Pretty much, yeah," said Hagrid, nodding. "Look, most people are rather silly in their youth, 'specially around their Hogwarts years. The main thing is that James Potter grew inter a fine Head Boy. Lots o' maturin' there."

Tonks looked more bemused than anything else. "You're making it sound like Harry's dad bullied Snape or something."

Hagrid shrugged.

"Don't care," said Harry, surprising even himself. "I'd feel a lot more sorry for Snape if he didn't pick on kids. What a loser."

"Yeh're the one who said it," said Hagrid. He took the Shooting Star, which Harry handed to him. "OK, it's gettin' late now. Yeh'd best get in a good dinner before yer detention with Filch. Mind yeh, that ruddy fool can be right nasty at times. And don' even get me started on Mrs Norris."

They returned to the castle and had a decent dinner until six o'clock. As expected, Filch hadn't yet shown up in the Entrance Hall; and Harry couldn't help wondering if it had anything to do with Snape failing to give a specific time.

"Here's a plan," said Tonks, as they stood waiting near the house-point hourglasses (Slytherin was in the lead). "Let's wait somewhere else and say we got confused over the 'first floor'. You know some people call the ground-floor that, right?"

Harry nodded. "Yeah, but Snape said to meet Filch here. Might as well head upstairs so long."

They sat on the first-floor balcony until Filch arrived. He lamented the cessation of the old punishments (including chains and shackles), before setting Harry and Tonks to work around the corner.

"You'll have these back when this is done," Filch said, pocketing their wands. "And don't even think of getting help. I'll be coming around every now and then to check."

Harry groaned as Filch left. "Great, just what I needed. More Muggle-cleaning."

"What?"

"Er, nothing," said Harry, picking up his bucket and mop. "I'll do the rooms. You focus on the corridor."

"Sure, OK," said Tonks.

And they spent the next few hours cleaning.

Harry and Tonks went straight to Professor McGonagall's office the next morning. And when Tonks told of Harry's performance on a broom, Professor McGonagall looked both amazed and relieved before telling them to return to the office after breakfast.

So they waited, and when Harry and Tonks returned to the office later that morning, Professor McGonagall introduced Harry to Oliver Wood, captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch Team. Wood looked as if all his dreams had come true at once. He rushed Harry to the Quidditch stadium and immediately took him through a series of easy drills.

"Brilliant!" he said, once Harry demonstrated a loop-the-loop on a Shooting Star. "Amazing! Spectacular! I never would've thought –"

"What nonsense?"

Harry spun around to see a big, burly Slytherin stop his Cleansweep Seven nearby. He'd been flying around with some of his friends across the stadium, and had seen the action.

"None of your business, Flint," said Wood, pulling Harry back towards the sidelines. "It's bad enough having you lot here as well."

Flint raised his arms at his sides. "Hey now, there's enough space for all of us here, right?" Then he looked down at Harry and scoffed. "Nice try. But fielding Harry Potter won't scare us."

"Like I said, none of your business."

Flint sneered. "Best hope he doesn't get hit by a Bludger. One swing from my boys, and the Boy Who Lived becomes the Boy Who Broke."

Cackling, Flint spun around and shot to the sky. Harry felt the blood leave his face as he considered the possibility of getting hit by a Bludger.

"Not to worry," said Wood, slapping Harry on the back. "Fred and George are the top Beaters in the school."

They'd better be.

As expected, Malfoy was a horrible mix of furious and envious over the next few days. He taunted Harry with Bludger-to-the-face gestures at every available opportunity, earning him a dungbomb to the face on Tuesday afternoon.

The detention that evening was well worth-it.

On Thursday afternoon at half-past three, Harry and Tonks rushed down the sloping lawns for their first class with Madam Hooch. They arrived at a smooth lawn on the opposite side of the grounds to the Forbidden Forest.

The Slytherins had already arrived, so the Gryffindors wasted no time in standing beside the remaining brooms lying on the grass. Seconds later, Madam Hooch arrived and approached Harry.

"Congratulations, Mr Potter. It's not every day that someone makes the team before my first lesson."

Harry felt a rush of joy upon seeing Malfoy scowl behind Madam Hooch's back.

"Thanks, ma'am," Harry said, smiling. "I'll do my best."

Madam Hooch got things started at once. She explained and demonstrated the basics of summoning a broom, after which she had the group of twenty practise the task themselves.

"Up!" they all shouted, and to nobody's surprise, Harry's broom jumped into his hand at once. The only other students who were standing with a broom in hand as well were Malfoy, Zabini, Fay, and Seamus.

"You sound far too frightened, boy," Madam Hooch told a quavering Neville. "And as for you –"

"Hermione Granger," Hermione said.

"– that posture is far too rigid for this task. Try again."

Madam Hooch repeated the task until half the class had succeeded. Then she moved on to demonstrating how to properly mount a broom. Harry and Tonks were delighted when Madam Hooch told Malfoy he'd been doing it wrong for years.

At last, it was time to practise their kick-off. Unfortunately (though not too unexpected), Neville jumped the whistle and pushed off hard on the count of two. He soared higher by the second until his fingers slipped from their grip.

WHAM.

And he fell to the ground, breaking his wrist.

After issuing a stern warning against unsupervised flying to the rest of the class, Madam Hooch took the tear-streaked Neville back to the castle. No sooner were they out of earshot than Malfoy burst into laughter and insulted Neville. The other Slytherins joined in at once, at which Parvati jumped to Neville's defence.

"Ooh, sticking up for Longbottom?" said Pansy Parkinson, sneering. "Never thought you'd like fat little cry babies, Parvati."

At that moment, Malfoy darted forward and snatched Neville's Remembrall out of the grass. Harry grabbed Tonks's hand as she stepped forward.

"Just ignore him," he whispered to her. "He's not even worth it."

Malfoy gave a smug grin as he held up the Remembrall. "Come and get it, Potter. Pretend it's a Snitch ... the closest you'll come to catching one."

Harry rolled his eyes.

"Scared?" said Malfoy. He kicked off on a Comet Two Twenty and flew to the topmost branches of an oak. "I thought you were a Seeker!"

"You call that flying?" Tonks shouted. "Harry can do a lot better without even trying!"

Malfoy swooped down at once, then came to a stop before Harry and Tonks. "What was that? Say that to my face!"

"She said you suck."

"You're all talk, Potter," said Malfoy, rising in the air. "Perhaps I should leave –"

"DRACO MALFOY!"

The look on Malfoy's face was priceless as Professor McGonagall came running across the lawn. Livid, she berated Malfoy for daring to defy Madam Hooch's instructions.

"Twenty points from Slytherin ought to do!" she said, as Malfoy climbed off the Comet in a hurry. "And thirty points from Slytherin plus detention for theft!"

"What –"

"Silence, Malfoy!" said Professor McGonagall, swiping the Remembrall from his hand. "One more word, and I'll put you in another detention! Now stand over there and keep shut!"

Harry, Tonks, and the rest of the Gryffindors bore the same, smug expressions which the Slytherins often flashed behind Professor Snape's back.

The lesson resumed upon Madam Hooch's return. She thanked Professor McGonagall for her assistance and carried on with their kick-off lesson.

Later that evening, at dinner, Malfoy strutted to the far end of the Gryffindor table, with Crabbe and Goyle at his side as usual. He challenged Harry to a wizard's duel at midnight in the trophy room, causing Tonks to scoff.

"Yeah, right," she said, pouring herself some orange juice. "Then you run to Filch and never show up."

Malfoy snarled. "I suppose your family knows a thing or two about running away. What's that story about a disgrace and a Mudblood, again?"

"Don't," said Harry, as Tonks made to stand up.

"How predictable," said Malfoy. "I suppose I can't expect a Muggle-lover like you to understand the importance of a wizard's duel. Take the offer and prove your worth."

"Take a hike and fall off the mountain," said Harry.

They finished their dinner before setting off for the common room. But while Harry and Tonks were climbing a staircase, pondering Malfoy's challenge, Tonks's expression suddenly lit up.

"Oh no," said Harry, recognising that look. "What are you planning now?"

"You know, we've been here for weeks but still don't know what's going on on the third floor. Let's go check it out!"

Harry blinked. "And suffer a most painful death? No thanks."

"Come on! Don't be boring!"

"Sure," said Harry, carrying on up the stairs. "And what if the door opens to a killer trap or something? You willing to risk it?"

Tonks groaned. "Fine. Stay boring, then."

Nothing too bizarre happened over the next month or so. Harry pushed on with his classes and studies, started proper Quidditch-practice, and tried his best to avoid falling for the Slytherins' tricks. The days passed in a routine manner until the end of October.

"Troll – in the dungeons – thought you ought to know."

Quirrell's announcement (and subsequent faint) caused widespread panic in the Great Hall on Hallowe'en. Harry and Tonks were among the many students ushered out of the Hall and back to their common room.

"Hang on," said Hermione ahead of the group. She was talking to one of the prefects while climbing a staircase. "Isn't that where the Slytherins stay?"

Percy was the first to answer. "No need to worry about them. The other prefects and staff have got it all under control. Won't be much of a fight, really."

"Take one for the team, Perce!" said either Fred or George. Percy frowned and told them to get moving.

They finished their Hallowe'en feast in the common room.

On the second Saturday of November, Gryffindor played Slytherin in the first game of the season. The stadium was packed with hundreds of students, and most of the staff, who'd come to watch the match. Banners of red and gold flashed here and there across the Gryffindor stands (including Dean's one that read: Potter for President), while the Slytherin crowd displayed their own assortment of flags and banners.

Standing in the cold November air, Harry was grateful that Tonks had basically forced him to eat a sandwich earlier. So when it came to mounting their brooms and kicking off, Harry at least had some sort of fuel to burn throughout the match.

"And they're off!" said Lee Jordan in the commentator's podium. "Quaffle's taken by Johnson. Johnson passes to Alicia Spinnet – an excellent find of Oliver Wood's. Spinnet rounds the clueless Flint and speeds down the left – which is Slytherin's right. Pucey and Warrington coming in from either side. But Spinnet drops the Quaffle to Katie –"

WHAM.

"Oh!" Lee and the Gryffindor crowd groaned. "Bludger from Derrick knocks Bell off course. Quaffle's free and taken by Flint down the right. Bludger sent by Weasley. Deflected by Bole. Other Weasley chasing down the second Bludger. And now the Slytherin Chasers are heading down the right!"

This was leagues above practice. Harry's mouth hung open as he watched the game from above, trying to follow the movements of the Quaffle. But then he quickly remembered his role and carried on searching for the Golden Snitch.

"Johnson's moving in to score!" said Lee. "Remember, kids: only one attacking-Chaser can enter the scoring zone at a time. No Stooging! Johnson goes left, shoots ... SCORES past Bletchley to make it ten-zero for Gryffindor!"

Gryffindor cheers filled the stadium like a tidal wave of noise. The Slytherins booed.

From there on out, the teams were fairly even at first and were each taking chances at goal. But then came the questionable tactics, with Marcus Flint stopping not only a number of Gryffindor goals, but also Harry himself. The resulting penalty was taken by Alicia Spinnet, bringing Gryffindor up by thirty.

At some point during the match, Harry's Cleansweep Seven gave a series of violent lurches that nearly threw him off. He hung on for dear life as the broom just kept getting worse and worse (with many of Harry's teammates trying to assist him). It went on for so long that by the time Harry finally got an opportunity to push forward, the Slytherins had already scored nearly a dozen cheap goals.

This has got to be a joke.

Minutes later, Harry swiped the Snitch on a sharp turn. The final score was a hundred and eighty to Gryffindor, and a hundred and twenty to Slytherin.

"I'm really sorry," Tonks said for the umpteenth time, as they climbed the sloping lawns. She rued the fact that she'd only thought to look at Snape in the end, after having stared at Harry's bucking broom for so long.

"It's all right," said Harry, sighing. "At least we won."

Tonks scowled. "Yeah, but the Slytherins are so full of it! Watch what I do to Malfoy –"

"Forget him," said Harry, stopping halfway up the sloping lawns. "Go over that part at the stands again."

"Oh, right." Tonks rubbed her chin. "So I snuck over to bust a dungbomb under Snape. It was such a rush that I accidentally knocked over Quirrell along the way, which is when things got funny. You were free to move, but Snape was still doing his mumbling thing in the end."

Harry scratched the side of his hair. "You sure you didn't knock over anyone else?"

"Nah, it was just Quirrell."

Harry frowned. "I don't get it. Why would Quirrell want to throw me off my broom? He's useless!"

"Beats me," said Tonks, shrugging. "But I don't think it's Snape, even if he is a prat."

But Harry had other things on his mind when he returned to the castle. He quickly became annoyed at the fact that Slytherin were celebrating as well, and that Malfoy was miming struggling motions on a broom. Worse, Malfoy made a point to toast the Slytherin team out loud at the table.

"Slimy gits," Harry muttered, before looking down at his empty plate. "I hope they lose badly to Ravenclaw."

"At least you won," said Lavender. "Stranger things have happened in Quidditch over the years."

Harry was so furious over his lacklustre victory that he chose to take it up with Professor McGonagall that afternoon. She was clearly upset over the broom incident and Slytherin's tactics, but was understandably hesitant over Quirrell.

"Er, are you sure?" she asked, blinking. "This is Quirinus Quirrell we're talking about, correct? He's not exactly the perfect candidate for Defence Against the Dark Arts, let alone the Dark Arts itself."

Harry stared at Professor McGonagall's desk for a while before answering. "That's what Tonks noticed when she tried to help."

Professor McGonagall rubbed her chin. "I'm afraid I simply cannot fathom the idea of Quirrell jinxing your broom, Potter, let alone in public. Regardless, I shall take it up with the Headmaster and see what he makes of it."

"Can I come with?" Harry asked. And when Professor McGonagall failed to give an answer, Harry tried his luck by mentioning the match. "I got us one-fifty points."

"Don't push it," said Professor McGonagall, standing up from behind her desk. "But, fine. I suppose you've earned it."

They left the classroom and made their way up to the stone gargoyle guarding the Headmaster's office. Professor McGonagall gave the password (Drooble's), then took them up the spiralling staircase. It led to a gleaming oak door with a brass knocker the shape of a griffon.

"Come in," said Professor Dumbledore, and Professor McGonagall entered first. "Ah, Minerva, what can I do for you?"

"My Seeker has a rather strange story to tell. Perhaps he should do it in person."

Harry stepped into the large circular room and paused upon seeing a collection of old portraits lining the walls (most of whom were fast asleep), a strange collection of silver instruments here and there, and a crimson bird the size of a swan. The bird was sitting on a golden perch behind the office door; it had golden talons, a glittering golden tail, a golden beak, and beady black eyes which were staring at Harry.

"Good evening, Harry," said Professor Dumbledore behind his claw-footed desk. "Allow me to draw you and Professor McGonagall up a chair."

And just like that, Professor Dumbledore drew two chairs in midair with his wand. They revolved for a few seconds before falling with a soft thud on the visitor's side of the Headmaster's desk.

Wish I could do that.

Harry stared at the crimson bird and said, "Is this your owl, sir?"

"That would be Fawkes the phoenix," said Professor Dumbledore. "Phoenixes are fascinating creatures, Harry. But perhaps we can discuss that some other time. What brings you to my office?"

The fact that the Headmaster himself was calling Harry by his first name was as strange as the collection of silver instruments in the room. But Harry took it as a sign of good faith and chose to take his seat, though he didn't know where to begin. How, exactly, was an eleven-year-old supposed to speak with the greatest wizard of them all?

"Professor," Harry said, feeling a rush of nerves in his gut, "did you see how funny my broom acted today?"

"I certainly did," said Dumbledore. "You are concerned that it might happen again, correct?"

Harry frowned. "Actually, I think I know who did it ... Professor Quirrell."

Dumbledore's eyes went slightly wide for a split second, though it was a blink-and-you'll-miss-it moment. "That is a grave accusation, Harry. Care to explain how you've reached it?"

Harry told of Tonks's efforts at helping him, though he asked that Tonks not be punished for attempting to set off that dungbomb.

"That remains to be seen," said Professor McGonagall, sitting in her chair. "Headmaster?"

Dumbledore placed the tips of his fingers together and stared at Harry for a while. "You do not suspect anyone else?"

"Well," said Harry, thinking back on what Tonks had said, "Professor Snape was doing a spell as well, but Tonks said it didn't affect me. Maybe he was helping his Chasers, I don't know."

"Certainly not," said Dumbledore. "Professor Snape knows better than to jinx our students. Will you be taking this up with Professor Quirrell anytime soon?"

Harry shrugged. "He'll probably deny it."

There was a long, awkward silence before Dumbledore said, "I shall take this into consideration. Is there anything else?"

"Snape –"

"Professor Snape," said Dumbledore.

"What was he doing?" Harry asked. "At the match, I mean."

Dumbledore paused for a while. "Professor Snape was muttering a counter-curse to protect you."

"Why would he care?" Harry asked. "He hates me. I know he always fought with my dad."

Both professors froze for a moment. Then it was Dumbledore who said, "Ah, I see you're aware of that."

"It's a murky issue, Potter," said Professor McGonagall, fidgeting with her fingers. "What's done is done. Perhaps you should focus on your studies instead."

But the issue of Quirrell remained on Harry's mind throughout the week. Try as he might, Harry struggled to dismiss the incompetent professor completely. Whether it was more from his own suspicions or from trusting in Tonks, Harry wasn't sure. Either way, he did as Professor McGonagall asked until heading for Defence Against the Dark Arts on Thursday afternoon.

"G - good afternoon, c - class. Today w - we will be cont - t - tinuing our discussion on –"

Harry raised his hand. "Professor, what do you know about broom curses?"

"I - I'm sorry, wh - what?"

"I was just curious," Harry said, with a slight shrug. "I mean, you are the Defence professor after all. I'm sure my broom was cursed during that match."

Tonks and the others were giving their utmost attention to this conversation.

"P - p - perhaps you are ov - verreacting, Mr P - Potter," said Quirrell, looking even paler than usual. "D - did you g - get your b - broom checked out?"

Harry said that his Cleansweep Seven was perfectly fine.

"Oh," said Quirrell, looking somewhat relieved, "th - that is g - good news, of course. But I'm af - fraid I'm not t - too familiar with b - broom curses. Maybe t - try someone l - like Professor Snape."

But Harry wasn't entirely convinced. Was it mere coincidence or something more sinister that Quirrell's fall happened to coincide with the Cleansweep regaining its usual function?

"But you're –"

"Th - that's enough, Mr Potter," said Quirrell, in a slightly (albeit surprisingly) stern manner. For a moment, Harry winced as a sharp pain shot through his scar, which only made him even more suspicious. "Now, l - let's talk about th - the time I was l - lost in the d - desert ..."

By the end of the lesson, Harry stayed behind with Tonks to ask Quirrell a few more questions. He pressed on even through Quirrell's insistence of needing to get rest, and only stopped once his scar pained yet again.

"I r - really must go," said Quirrell, his hands trembling as he packed his bag. "S - see you n - next week, Mr P - Potter."

And he left, leaving Harry and Tonks alone in the classroom.

"This can't be a coincidence," Harry muttered, now placing his hand over his scar. "It pained twice during class."

Tonks scratched her cheek. "And not before, right?"

"Maybe once or twice since the feast, but not like this."

"Maybe we should tell Dumbledore," said Tonks, rubbing her chin. "You know, in case Quirrell's trying his luck again somehow. Or maybe it's someone else, I don't know."

Harry shook his head. "Nah, I think it's Quirrell."

Later that evening, when they told Dumbledore what happened, Dumbledore sat silent for a while before asking Harry to retell the incidents of his scar pains. Harry did as told and asked if Quirrell had anything to do with them.

"Do you believe him capable?" Dumbledore asked, and Harry gave a slight shrug.

"At the very least," said Tonks, frowning, "a lot of his stories sound like rubbish. Whenever you really ask him about something, he doesn't quite know how to answer. Doesn't mean he's evil, though."

But despite their best guesses, neither Harry nor Tonks could prove that Quirrell was anything worse than an idiot. They chose to focus on their studies even more from there on out, and decided to add the General Counter-Spell, Finite Incantatem, to the list.

"We must be studying more than Hermione these days," said Tonks one afternoon, as they went over some extracurricular charms in an empty classroom. "Think we'll make top-three?"

Harry tried the General Counter-Spell on a textbook which Tonks was levitating. It fell to the desk with a thud. "Don't see why not."

"I can't wait to learn the Shield Charm, though," said Tonks, paging through her Charms textbook. "But that's still a long way off. It's not even in here."

They studied and practised whenever they could ... at a cost. Harry and Tonks were so busy refining their magic that they didn't have much time to prank Malfoy and the like, or to socialise with their peers. They were becoming as distant to the rest as Hermione Granger was, though it hardly bothered them. At the very least, Harry and Tonks still made the time to fly their brooms or play the odd wizarding-game, like Exploding Snap.

It wasn't all that bad, really. After all, if Lord Voldemort and his followers were still out there, waiting to get back at Harry; then the best thing to do would be to build himself up as much as possible.