Chapter Six
The day after our defeat of the mountain troll I sent Laura an owl telling her about the event. I didn't get an owl in return, but I didn't care. I knew when I did get messages from her they usually meant trouble was coming. That's why I was perfectly content without mail.
As November progressed, the weather turned very cold. The mountains around the school became icy gray and the lake 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.
I still hadn't received any mail, but no news, in this case, is good news!
The Quidditch season had begun. On Saturday, Harry and the rest of the Gryffindor team would be playing their 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 (whistle, whistle), and Harry didn't seem sure to 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. I knew this because he announced it to Ron, Hermione, and me one night at dinner. We tried to console him, but I don't think it worked too well.
In my view, it was really lucky that Harry now had Hermione as a friend. He never would have gotten through all of the homework we'd been getting with all the last-minute Quidditch practice that Wood was making him and the rest of the team do. Hermione had also lent him Quidditch Through the Ages so that he could read up on the rules and such. While the rest of us sat around and talked or worked on homework, Harry was either out on the Quidditch field practicing or pouring over Quidditch Through the Ages.
Hermione had become a bit more relaxed about breaking rules since the incident with the troll, and she was much nicer for it. That made things a bit more comfortable between everyone. The day before Harry's first Quidditch match we were all out in the freezing courtyard during break, and she had conjured us up a bright blue fire that could be carried around in a jam jar. We were all standing with our backs to the fire trying to get warm when Snape crossed the yard. I noticed that he was limping but put it in the back of my mind as I tried to concoct an excuse for why we were out there.
We all moved closer together to block the fire from Snape's view: we knew it wouldn't be allowed. Unfortunately, something in our 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 us off anyway.
"What's that you've got there, Potter?"
It was Quidditch Through the Ages. Harry showed it to him.
"Library books are not to be taken outside the school," Snape told him. "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?"
"Dunno, but I hope it's really hurting him," Ron said bitterly.
I bit back the urge to shout out the answer to their question. This was going to get hard really, really soon.
The Gryffindor common room was very noisy that evening. We were all sitting together next to a window. Hermione was checking our Charms homework for us. She would never let us copy ("How will you learn?"), but by asking her to read through it we got the right answers anyway.
I could tell that Harry was restless. He kept getting up out of his chair, walking around a little, sitting back down, and then tapping his fingers on the table. Finally, I couldn't take it anymore. "Harry, what is wrong with you?" He looked up at me.
"I'm going to go ask Snape if I can have my book back," he said.
"Better you than me," Hermione and Ron said together. I laughed, and Harry left.
I don't know how long Harry was gone, but when he came back, he didn't have a book. "Did you get it?" Ron asked as Harry came over to our table, apparently not noticing Harry's empty hands. "What's the matter?" Harry was breathing rather hard and looked a little frightened.
Here's what had happened:
Harry had gone to the staffroom and knocked. When no one had answered after another knock, he thought maybe Snape had left the book in there and looked in. According to him, Snape and Filch had been inside, alone. Snape had been holding his robes above his knees over a bloody and mangled leg. Filch had been handing Snape bandages.
"Blasted thing," Snape had been saying. "How are you supposed to keep your eyes on all three heads at once?"
Harry had tried to shut the door quietly, but Snape had caught him.
"POTTER!"
Snape had dropped his robes quickly to hide his leg.
"I just wondered if I could have my book back," Harry had told him.
"GET OUT! OUT!" Snape had yelled at him.
Harry had left, before Snape could take anymore points from Gryffindor, and sprinted back upstairs.
"You know what this means?" he finished breathlessly. "He tried to get past that three-headed dog on 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."
Not such a good bet, Harry, I thought.
Hermione's eyes were wide.
"No --- he wouldn't," she said. "I know he's not very nice, but he wouldn't try to steal something Dumbledore was keeping safe."
"Honestly, Hermione, you think all teachers are saints or something," snapped Ron. "I'm with Harry. I wouldn't put anything past Snape. But what's he after? What's that dog guarding?"
Again I bit back the urge to shout out the answer.
We all went off to bed then. I don't know how well any of us slept. I for one hardly slept at all. Twice I nearly got out of bed to dedicate as many spells as I could to memory. I forced myself to stay in bed.
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," Ron told Harry.
"I don't want anything."
"Just a bit of toast," wheedled Hermione.
"I'm not hungry."
"At least drink something," I said, cutting a piece of sausage. They all looked at me. "What? At least it'll wake him up."
"He needs to eat something," Hermione told me.
"For once, I agree with Hermione," Ron said.
"I'm sitting right here," Harry remarked.
"Sorry," we all said together.
"Harry, you need your strength," Seamus Finnigan told Harry. "Seekers are always the ones who get clobbered by the other team."
"Thanks, Seamus," Harry muttered. Then, to please everyone, Harry took a gulp from his goblet and a bite of his toast. I smiled to myself and continued with my small breakfast.
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.
Ron, Hermione, and I joined Neville, Seamus, and Dean Thomas up in the top row. As a surprise for Harry, we had painted a large banner on one of the sheets Scabbers had ruined. It said Potter for President, and Dean, who was good at drawing, had done a large Gryffindor lion underneath. Then Hermione had performed a tricky little charm so that the paint flashed different colors.
The Gryffindor team walked out onto the field to loud cheers. The Slytherin team was already there.
Madam Hooch was refereeing. She was standing 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. "Mount your brooms, please."
Everyone got onto their brooms.
Madam Hooch gave a loud blast on her silver whistle.
Fifteen brooms rose up high into the air, Madam Hooch being one of them, and 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 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, mine being one of them, with howls and moans from the Slytherins.
"Budge up there, move along."
"Hagrid!"
Ron, Hermione, and I all squeezed together to give Hagrid enough space to join us.
"Bin watchin' from me hut," Hagrid told us, 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 replied. "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.
We had seen Harry do a couple loop-the-loops when Angelina had scored, but he was now back to sitting quite still in the air. Once, a Bludger had gone pelting his way, but Harry had dodged it and Fred Weasley had gone chasing after it.
"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 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 and put on an extra spurt of speed ---
WHAM! A roar of rage echoed from us Gryffindors below --- Marcus Flint had blocked Harry on purpose, and Harry's broom spun off course, Harry holding on for dear life. I stood up in my rage, trying not to curse too badly. A few people joined me, Hermione and Ron being two of them.
"Foul!" all 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.
I was watching the scene below with anticipation, but behind me Dean Thomas was yelling, "Send him off, ref! Red card!"
"What are you talking about Dean?" Ron asked.
"Red card!" Dean said furiously. "In soccer you get shown the red card and you're out of the game!"
"But this isn't soccer, Dean," Ron reminded him.
Hagrid, however, was on Dean'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!" growled Professor McGonagall.
"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 way, no trouble, and we continue play, Gryffindor still in possession."
I sat back down in my seat, but not comfortably.
It was as Harry dodged another Bludger, which went spinning dangerously past his head, that it happened. His broom gave a sudden, frightening lurch. I gasped and stood up again.
"Courtney, what's wrong?" Ron asked. I couldn't answer; I had to be sure.
It happened again. Then, Harry's broom began zigzagging through the air, and every now and then made violent swishing movements.
Lee was still commenting.
"Slytherin in possession --- Flint with the Quaffle --- passes Spinnet --- passes Bell --- hit hard in the face by the Bludger, hope it broke his nose -- only joking, Professor --- Slytherins score --- oh no . . ."
The Slytherins were cheering. No one else 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 . . .."
"He has," I told everyone, not taking my eyes off of Harry. No one said anything, but I knew their thoughts. I was going to have some serious explaining to do after the match.
Suddenly, people were pointing up at Harry all over the stands. His broom had started to roll over and over, with him only just managing to hold on. Then the whole crowd gasped. Harry's broom had given a wild jerk and Harry swung off it. He was now dangling from it, holding on with only one hand.
"Did something happen to it when 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, 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, gray-faced.
"I knew it," Hermione gasped, "Snape --- look."
Ron grabbed the binoculars. Then he handed them to me. I looked across the field and saw Snape in the middle of the stands opposite us. He had his eyes fixed on Harry and was muttering nonstop under his breath.
"He's doing something --- jinxing the broom," I heard Hermione say, but I was no longer looking at Snape. I was looking at the man a few rows behind him: Quirrell. He was also in a sort of trance and muttering. Anger surged in me. I took the binoculars away from my eyes.
"What should we do?" Ron asked.
"Leave it to me."
Before Ron could say another word, Hermione had disappeared. I focused 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, Hermione," Ron muttered from beside me.
I focused my gaze back on Snape. I could see Quirrell fall over behind him and relaxed a little. Then, I saw a little light over where Snape was sitting. It took about thirty seconds for Snape to realize that he was on fire. I saw the horror on his face as he did realize it. Then the light was gone.
I began to laugh, but never took the binoculars away from my eyes. I looked back up at Harry. He was able to clamber onto his broom.
"Neville, you can look!" Ron said with glee. Neville had been sobbing into Hagrid's jacket for the last five minutes.
Harry was speeding toward the ground when we all 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. I threw the binoculars at Hagrid and ran down toward the field.
"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.
We didn't hear any of this. We had all gone back to Hagrid's hut, and Hagrid was making Harry a cup of strong tea.
"It was Snape," Ron was explaining, "We all saw him. He was cursing your broomstick, muttering, he wouldn't take his eyes off you."
"Rubbish," said Hagrid, who hadn't heard a word of what had gone on next to him in the stands. "Why would Snape do somethin' like that?"
We all looked at each other, wondering what to tell him. Harry, I suppose, decided to tell him 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?"
"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 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 said again. "Snape's a Hogwarts teacher, he'd do nothing of the sort."
"So why did he just try and kill Harry?" Hermione cried.
The afternoon's events certainly seemed to have changed her mind about Snape.
"I know a jinx when I see one, Hagrid, I've read all about them! You've got to keep eye contact, and Snape wasn't blinking at all, I saw him!"
I chose not to comment on this. I'd seen him, too, but I'd also seen Quirrell.
"I'm tellin' yeh, yer wrong!" Hagrid said 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 Dumbledore an' Nicolas Flamel --"
"Aha!" Harry said, "so there's someone called Nicolas Flamel involved, is there?"
Hagrid looked furious with himself.
On our trip back up to Gryffindor tower, Hermione began drilling me. "Courtney, how did you know?" she asked me suddenly.
"How did I know what?"
"That Harry had lost control of his broom?"
"Oh, well, it was obvious, wasn't it?"
"But you said it after Hagrid had told us that it wasn't possible. No one else thought he had."
"I'm just smart like that," I said with a forced and very fake grin.
"Whoa, what's all this about?" Harry asked.
"Well, Courtney was the first person to notice your broom had gone out of control," Hermione explained. "She somehow knew you didn't have control anymore."
"How?" Harry and Ron asked. Luckily we were at the Portrait of the Fat Lady. I said the password and the portrait swung aside.
"Good work in the match today, Harry," I said, and then hurried off to the girls' dormitories.
The conversation was dropped, but I should have known better than to trust that it would never come up again.
The day after our defeat of the mountain troll I sent Laura an owl telling her about the event. I didn't get an owl in return, but I didn't care. I knew when I did get messages from her they usually meant trouble was coming. That's why I was perfectly content without mail.
As November progressed, the weather turned very cold. The mountains around the school became icy gray and the lake 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.
I still hadn't received any mail, but no news, in this case, is good news!
The Quidditch season had begun. On Saturday, Harry and the rest of the Gryffindor team would be playing their 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 (whistle, whistle), and Harry didn't seem sure to 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. I knew this because he announced it to Ron, Hermione, and me one night at dinner. We tried to console him, but I don't think it worked too well.
In my view, it was really lucky that Harry now had Hermione as a friend. He never would have gotten through all of the homework we'd been getting with all the last-minute Quidditch practice that Wood was making him and the rest of the team do. Hermione had also lent him Quidditch Through the Ages so that he could read up on the rules and such. While the rest of us sat around and talked or worked on homework, Harry was either out on the Quidditch field practicing or pouring over Quidditch Through the Ages.
Hermione had become a bit more relaxed about breaking rules since the incident with the troll, and she was much nicer for it. That made things a bit more comfortable between everyone. The day before Harry's first Quidditch match we were all out in the freezing courtyard during break, and she had conjured us up a bright blue fire that could be carried around in a jam jar. We were all standing with our backs to the fire trying to get warm when Snape crossed the yard. I noticed that he was limping but put it in the back of my mind as I tried to concoct an excuse for why we were out there.
We all moved closer together to block the fire from Snape's view: we knew it wouldn't be allowed. Unfortunately, something in our 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 us off anyway.
"What's that you've got there, Potter?"
It was Quidditch Through the Ages. Harry showed it to him.
"Library books are not to be taken outside the school," Snape told him. "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?"
"Dunno, but I hope it's really hurting him," Ron said bitterly.
I bit back the urge to shout out the answer to their question. This was going to get hard really, really soon.
The Gryffindor common room was very noisy that evening. We were all sitting together next to a window. Hermione was checking our Charms homework for us. She would never let us copy ("How will you learn?"), but by asking her to read through it we got the right answers anyway.
I could tell that Harry was restless. He kept getting up out of his chair, walking around a little, sitting back down, and then tapping his fingers on the table. Finally, I couldn't take it anymore. "Harry, what is wrong with you?" He looked up at me.
"I'm going to go ask Snape if I can have my book back," he said.
"Better you than me," Hermione and Ron said together. I laughed, and Harry left.
I don't know how long Harry was gone, but when he came back, he didn't have a book. "Did you get it?" Ron asked as Harry came over to our table, apparently not noticing Harry's empty hands. "What's the matter?" Harry was breathing rather hard and looked a little frightened.
Here's what had happened:
Harry had gone to the staffroom and knocked. When no one had answered after another knock, he thought maybe Snape had left the book in there and looked in. According to him, Snape and Filch had been inside, alone. Snape had been holding his robes above his knees over a bloody and mangled leg. Filch had been handing Snape bandages.
"Blasted thing," Snape had been saying. "How are you supposed to keep your eyes on all three heads at once?"
Harry had tried to shut the door quietly, but Snape had caught him.
"POTTER!"
Snape had dropped his robes quickly to hide his leg.
"I just wondered if I could have my book back," Harry had told him.
"GET OUT! OUT!" Snape had yelled at him.
Harry had left, before Snape could take anymore points from Gryffindor, and sprinted back upstairs.
"You know what this means?" he finished breathlessly. "He tried to get past that three-headed dog on 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."
Not such a good bet, Harry, I thought.
Hermione's eyes were wide.
"No --- he wouldn't," she said. "I know he's not very nice, but he wouldn't try to steal something Dumbledore was keeping safe."
"Honestly, Hermione, you think all teachers are saints or something," snapped Ron. "I'm with Harry. I wouldn't put anything past Snape. But what's he after? What's that dog guarding?"
Again I bit back the urge to shout out the answer.
We all went off to bed then. I don't know how well any of us slept. I for one hardly slept at all. Twice I nearly got out of bed to dedicate as many spells as I could to memory. I forced myself to stay in bed.
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," Ron told Harry.
"I don't want anything."
"Just a bit of toast," wheedled Hermione.
"I'm not hungry."
"At least drink something," I said, cutting a piece of sausage. They all looked at me. "What? At least it'll wake him up."
"He needs to eat something," Hermione told me.
"For once, I agree with Hermione," Ron said.
"I'm sitting right here," Harry remarked.
"Sorry," we all said together.
"Harry, you need your strength," Seamus Finnigan told Harry. "Seekers are always the ones who get clobbered by the other team."
"Thanks, Seamus," Harry muttered. Then, to please everyone, Harry took a gulp from his goblet and a bite of his toast. I smiled to myself and continued with my small breakfast.
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.
Ron, Hermione, and I joined Neville, Seamus, and Dean Thomas up in the top row. As a surprise for Harry, we had painted a large banner on one of the sheets Scabbers had ruined. It said Potter for President, and Dean, who was good at drawing, had done a large Gryffindor lion underneath. Then Hermione had performed a tricky little charm so that the paint flashed different colors.
The Gryffindor team walked out onto the field to loud cheers. The Slytherin team was already there.
Madam Hooch was refereeing. She was standing 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. "Mount your brooms, please."
Everyone got onto their brooms.
Madam Hooch gave a loud blast on her silver whistle.
Fifteen brooms rose up high into the air, Madam Hooch being one of them, and 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 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, mine being one of them, with howls and moans from the Slytherins.
"Budge up there, move along."
"Hagrid!"
Ron, Hermione, and I all squeezed together to give Hagrid enough space to join us.
"Bin watchin' from me hut," Hagrid told us, 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 replied. "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.
We had seen Harry do a couple loop-the-loops when Angelina had scored, but he was now back to sitting quite still in the air. Once, a Bludger had gone pelting his way, but Harry had dodged it and Fred Weasley had gone chasing after it.
"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 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 and put on an extra spurt of speed ---
WHAM! A roar of rage echoed from us Gryffindors below --- Marcus Flint had blocked Harry on purpose, and Harry's broom spun off course, Harry holding on for dear life. I stood up in my rage, trying not to curse too badly. A few people joined me, Hermione and Ron being two of them.
"Foul!" all 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.
I was watching the scene below with anticipation, but behind me Dean Thomas was yelling, "Send him off, ref! Red card!"
"What are you talking about Dean?" Ron asked.
"Red card!" Dean said furiously. "In soccer you get shown the red card and you're out of the game!"
"But this isn't soccer, Dean," Ron reminded him.
Hagrid, however, was on Dean'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!" growled Professor McGonagall.
"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 way, no trouble, and we continue play, Gryffindor still in possession."
I sat back down in my seat, but not comfortably.
It was as Harry dodged another Bludger, which went spinning dangerously past his head, that it happened. His broom gave a sudden, frightening lurch. I gasped and stood up again.
"Courtney, what's wrong?" Ron asked. I couldn't answer; I had to be sure.
It happened again. Then, Harry's broom began zigzagging through the air, and every now and then made violent swishing movements.
Lee was still commenting.
"Slytherin in possession --- Flint with the Quaffle --- passes Spinnet --- passes Bell --- hit hard in the face by the Bludger, hope it broke his nose -- only joking, Professor --- Slytherins score --- oh no . . ."
The Slytherins were cheering. No one else 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 . . .."
"He has," I told everyone, not taking my eyes off of Harry. No one said anything, but I knew their thoughts. I was going to have some serious explaining to do after the match.
Suddenly, people were pointing up at Harry all over the stands. His broom had started to roll over and over, with him only just managing to hold on. Then the whole crowd gasped. Harry's broom had given a wild jerk and Harry swung off it. He was now dangling from it, holding on with only one hand.
"Did something happen to it when 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, 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, gray-faced.
"I knew it," Hermione gasped, "Snape --- look."
Ron grabbed the binoculars. Then he handed them to me. I looked across the field and saw Snape in the middle of the stands opposite us. He had his eyes fixed on Harry and was muttering nonstop under his breath.
"He's doing something --- jinxing the broom," I heard Hermione say, but I was no longer looking at Snape. I was looking at the man a few rows behind him: Quirrell. He was also in a sort of trance and muttering. Anger surged in me. I took the binoculars away from my eyes.
"What should we do?" Ron asked.
"Leave it to me."
Before Ron could say another word, Hermione had disappeared. I focused 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, Hermione," Ron muttered from beside me.
I focused my gaze back on Snape. I could see Quirrell fall over behind him and relaxed a little. Then, I saw a little light over where Snape was sitting. It took about thirty seconds for Snape to realize that he was on fire. I saw the horror on his face as he did realize it. Then the light was gone.
I began to laugh, but never took the binoculars away from my eyes. I looked back up at Harry. He was able to clamber onto his broom.
"Neville, you can look!" Ron said with glee. Neville had been sobbing into Hagrid's jacket for the last five minutes.
Harry was speeding toward the ground when we all 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. I threw the binoculars at Hagrid and ran down toward the field.
"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.
We didn't hear any of this. We had all gone back to Hagrid's hut, and Hagrid was making Harry a cup of strong tea.
"It was Snape," Ron was explaining, "We all saw him. He was cursing your broomstick, muttering, he wouldn't take his eyes off you."
"Rubbish," said Hagrid, who hadn't heard a word of what had gone on next to him in the stands. "Why would Snape do somethin' like that?"
We all looked at each other, wondering what to tell him. Harry, I suppose, decided to tell him 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?"
"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 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 said again. "Snape's a Hogwarts teacher, he'd do nothing of the sort."
"So why did he just try and kill Harry?" Hermione cried.
The afternoon's events certainly seemed to have changed her mind about Snape.
"I know a jinx when I see one, Hagrid, I've read all about them! You've got to keep eye contact, and Snape wasn't blinking at all, I saw him!"
I chose not to comment on this. I'd seen him, too, but I'd also seen Quirrell.
"I'm tellin' yeh, yer wrong!" Hagrid said 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 Dumbledore an' Nicolas Flamel --"
"Aha!" Harry said, "so there's someone called Nicolas Flamel involved, is there?"
Hagrid looked furious with himself.
On our trip back up to Gryffindor tower, Hermione began drilling me. "Courtney, how did you know?" she asked me suddenly.
"How did I know what?"
"That Harry had lost control of his broom?"
"Oh, well, it was obvious, wasn't it?"
"But you said it after Hagrid had told us that it wasn't possible. No one else thought he had."
"I'm just smart like that," I said with a forced and very fake grin.
"Whoa, what's all this about?" Harry asked.
"Well, Courtney was the first person to notice your broom had gone out of control," Hermione explained. "She somehow knew you didn't have control anymore."
"How?" Harry and Ron asked. Luckily we were at the Portrait of the Fat Lady. I said the password and the portrait swung aside.
"Good work in the match today, Harry," I said, and then hurried off to the girls' dormitories.
The conversation was dropped, but I should have known better than to trust that it would never come up again.
