My features fell into their familiar sneering lines, as was always the case when I was discomposed. I put it down to the shock: but I found myself prey to one of those irritating little spurts of compassion. It made itself known long enough that the words were out of my mouth before I realized it. Or could stop them.
"Never mind, Potter. You may go for a ride on your broom. On condition that I come with you to keep an eye on you. I expect this will, in the end, cause me less trouble than picking up the pieces afterwards."
"Really?" He looked pleased. "I didn't realize you rode.. I mean I know you referee Quidditch sometimes, but…"
"Use your brain, Potter. I am a wizard, which even an imbecile like you must have noticed. I fear you will find my broom is much inferior to yours, however. I am not, after all, considered by the ignorant masses to be a child genius at Quidditch." I gave him an especially nasty sneer. It was outrageous the way McGonagall indulged him so she could keep her celebrity Seeker on the Gryffindor team.
My Nimbus 2001, however, was still a rather decent broom. I looked at Potter speculatively. He certainly looked much better already for the expedition. His eyes were gleaming and a flush was in his cheeks.
"Sudden Death," I said abruptly.
"Sorry?"
"Sudden Death, Potter. Quidditch. We take it in turns as Chaser and Keeper. The first to score fifty points wins."
He laughed aloud at that. I wondered if I had gone insane. It was many years since I had played Quidditch. Or anything, really, except the occasional game of wizarding chess with a colleague. Still, in a universe where I could spend over a week alone in Potter's company without murdering him, I supposed anything was possible.
"Er. Professor?"
"Yes, Potter."
"How did you know I was here?"
"Did you really think," I drawled sardonically, "that I would not put alarm spells on everything remotely dangerous or tiring as soon as I realized I was going to have the –ah - pleasure of your company while you recuperate?"
That silenced him, I noticed with satisfaction.
We took to the air. I was Keeping first. I couldn't believe I was actually doing this. However, the sun was bright, and there was something liberating about being nearly alone in the Hogwarts landscape. It was easy to forget how beautiful it was when you normally saw it infested with teenagers. I realized this was a school, and that I should expect the place to be alive with adolescents. Nevertheless, it still seemed to come as a nasty shock to me at the start of every school year.
I swooped in a vigilant figure of eight around the rings I was guarding. Harry was not, of course, accustomed to playing Chaser. Unsurprisingly, he followed the tactic I have always called to myself The Gryffindor Idiot. He simply accelerated towards me at excessively high speed and flung the Quaffle at one of the rings. No strategy. No finesse. No subtlety.
In any event, high quality keeping skills were not required. He missed.
I flew in my turn down towards the other end of the pitch. He was hovering in front of his goals, gazing intently at my every move. I suspected he would be a better Keeper than Chaser. He was good at catching snitches, after all, and a Quaffle is substantially larger. Still…I performed a complicated-looking manoeuvre with my body-language all suggesting that I was going to aim for the right ring. At the last minute I struck the Quaffle towards the left ring with my outstretched left arm, relying heavily on peripheral vision.
Harry dived to the right. Ha. Ten points to me, I thought smugly, as the Quaffle popped neatly through the left-hand ring.
Harry blinked thoughtfully. So, Snape did know how to play Quidditch. He hadn't even been looking at the ring he had scored through. Harry flew in lazy circles, the Quaffle under his arm, as he considered his next move. Ah, yes..he could think of just the manoeuvre.
He turned the handle of his broomstick upward and circled higher, higher. When he was some forty feet above the rings, he turned his Firebolt down into a vertical divebomb. He reckoned it would pretty near impossible to tell which ring he was actually aiming for, approaching at this angle.
Snape looked rather startled as Harry arrowed towards him. He hovered by the central ring, ready to dive: whether in front of a ring to save the Quaffle, or out of the way to save his life was unclear. Harry veered slightly towards the left. Snape hesitated, clearly trying to decide whether it was a feint. He made up his mind, and lunged to the right. The Quaffle dropped through the ring on the left.
Ten-all, and Snape had a shot in hand. Harry read his intentions, to Snape's visible irritation, and managed to bat the Quaffle away from the rings he was guarding with a jaunty little flip of his broomstick tail. Harry punched the air. The gesture shrivelled somewhat when he saw the look on his opponent's face.
Third time, Snape scored and not Harry.
Fourth time, Harry scored and not Snape.
The final round. Harry pondered. He really did not want to lose this competition. It would give Snape far too much satisfaction to beat Harry Potter, the youngest Seeker in a century, and son of the Quidditch hero James to boot. He would be unbearably smug all evening. That meant it was crucial that Harry scored this round; at least then he would be guaranteed a draw. He had already run through most of the manoeuvres that he knew and Snape, sneaky sod that he was, would be unlikely to be fooled by the same trick twice. Hmm….
I watched him circling as he brooded on his next move. I was very pleased with myself. It would be most gratifying to beat young Mr Potter at Quidditch. He had far too good an opinion of himself in that respect… Now, what was he up to this time?
As I watched, I noticed in alarm that his broom had started to quiver slightly. My heart began to race faster. Damn it…I shouldn't have suggested this; he wasn't well enough yet…I was poised to fly to the rescue when I saw that he had begun to sway on the broom, which was now jerking erratically.
I zoomed towards him, anxious for his safety. I couldn't get to my wand; if I didn't reach him in time, he would fall…I let my breath out in relief as I drew close; he was still firmly seated on his wobbling broom; I reach to catch him.
To my utter indignation, the boy then laughed – yes, laughed – turned that ridiculously high-powered broom of his on a Knut, and zipped at full speed in the opposite direction.
He scored, naturally. My breast swelled with righteous fury.
The cheating brat.
I was so put out by this that I played my own shot wide and missed by a considerable margin. I said nothing at all to him as we returned our brooms to the shed, but strode along with stiff shoulders.
He trotted at my side. He could have been panting from the effort to keep up, I supposed, but I was more inclined to think he was suppressing giggles.
Harry couldn't help smirking. Snape's face….
A whirl of white wings brushed his cheek.
"Hedwig!" Harry yelled in delight. He had left her with the Weasleys; someone must have them told where he was and they had sent her back.
She clucked at him and nibbled his ear. She held out her leg, to which a parcel was attached. Snape had turned at Harry's cry.
"Fan mail, Potter?" he asked sardonically.
"No..it's from the Weasleys…it's my birthday tomorrow…..Wow!"
Harry beamed at the little wizarding chess game. His old one had come from out of a Christmas cracker and wasn't really up to much. This one had beautifully carved characters, who waved at him imperatively as if keen to begin playing.
There was also a letter, which Harry scoured eagerly.
Dear Harry, Ron had written.
How are you, mate. Mum said you had been ill and couldn't come down to London yet. That's a bugger, eh? She says you're staying at Hogwarts with Snape, is that right? Blimy Harry, that must be awful. I can't even imagine how terrible that would be. I'll bet you wish you were back with those Muggles, even they can't be as bad as spending your summer with that greasy old git!
It's pretty quiet here. Everyone's busy, doing stuff. Can't say much, you know why. But Hermione is coming next week. Maybe you'll be well enough to travel then, it would be great to have you here. Mind you, if you're still sick it will be hard on your nerves. Fred and George keep on testing things for Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes. Bring ear-plugs. Mum never stops yelling at them.
Ginny says hi.
See you soon, I hope. Cheers then
Ron
Harry looked up. Snape was still watching him with a curious expression on his face.
"So tomorrow you come of age, do you?"
"Yeah. So I can use magic legally, that will be so cool…Finally, no more owls from the Ministry of Magic about underage spells!"
"What a singularly terrifying thought, Potter. Given how much trouble you manage to land yourself in without use of magic, it is rather daunting to imagine what your future holds."
"Well," Harry said quietly, looking away. "At least I'll be able to defend myself. And Apparate! I can learn to Apparate!"
Snape shuddered, as if he had beheld a vision of Harry popping up all over the place and it was too awful to contemplate.
"Go and sit quietly somewhere out of the way," Snape told him abruptly. "You look tired. And I have things to do. Oh, and Potter. Do try not to fall in the lake, get eaten by a werewolf, or in any other way kill, damage or maim yourself in my absence."
Harry wondered what Snape was up to. He had looked positively shifty as he swung around and strode away.