"It'll never work," Rosier said grimly.
Severus turned to Avery. The other boy was chewing his lower lip nervously, avoiding Severus' eyes. Wonderful. Even Avery thinks it's bound to fail. He paused. When did I start caring what Avery thinks about anything? He gave a half-grunt, turned his back to his classmates and folded his arms across his chest with a scowl. He was angry, and even the spectacular view to the west across the lake, the setting sun tingeing the water a rippling gold, could not lift his mood.
"Perhaps you'd care to elaborate?" Severus responded, his voice dripping with icy sarcasm.
"It's too complicated," Rosier replied. "And I don't fancy trying to break into Gryffindor Tower to switch the brooms back."
"There's no need to. After Potter falls, there will be complete chaos on the pitch. It will be easy to switch them back then." This is getting ridiculous, Severus thought. It was really very straightforward, if only Rosier would get his head out of his arse and see.
"I'm still not ... how exactly is it going to work?" Avery asked, hesitating on seeing his classmate's expression.
"I will try to explain it again, Avery. This time in words of one syllable." Severus paused. "We take Burke's broom. The one he is not going to use," he continued, giving Rosier a pointed look. "We apply the hexes. We switch it with Potter's broom before the match. Potter flies the hexed broom. Potter falls. Potter is embarrassed in front of the entire school and, if we are lucky, injured in some marginally life-threatening manner. We switch the brooms back. We are not caught. And no one ever knows it was us."
"Well, I don't see how it'll work if Burke isn't involved. I mean, what if he ends up using the hexed broom. We could end up killing our best player. Keech'd kill you," Avery replied shrilly.
Severus rolled his eyes and replied in exasperated tones. "Burke won't have the hexed broom; Potter will."
"What about that, then? Burke's broom isn't working properly. Potter'll notice his broom is wonky all of a sudden. That's why Burke isn't flying it in the first place." Rosier scowled.
"We fix it ourselves."
"You must be joking, Snape." Avery laughed. "What do any of us know about fixing brooms?"
"It will not have to be perfect," Severus replied through gritted teeth, but in his heart he knew Avery was right. Damn it!
"And it's not like they're exactly the same," Avery muttered to himself. He flinched at the murderous glare he received in reply.
"What exactly do you mean, Avery?" Severus asked in the silky tones his friends knew were the warning sign of an impending Snape blow-up.
"Well, um," Avery glanced to Rosier, seeking assistance. "They're the same model, but they won't be exactly the same. I mean, they'll look a little different - different damage, nicks on the handle, that sort of thing."
Severus turned away again, scowling. "You're assuming Potter has the intelligence to notice."
Rosier joined in, keeping his voice neutral to prevent his friend's temper from reaching critical mass. "Snape, remember, this is Potter we're talking about. He probably sleeps with the bloody thing." He paused. "And what about Burke? He'll notice the broom he has isn't his."
An impatient sigh escaped Severus' lips. "Burke won't even consider flying it. He thinks the steering is defective, remember? It won't ever leave his trunk."
Rosier shifted on his boulder, wincing. "It's a good idea, Snape. Really, it is, but I don't see it working. Potter is bound to notice the switch."
"Thank you for your approbation, Rosier." Severus paused, suppressing a small disappointed snort before continuing sarcastically, "You have no idea how much your words of comfort mean to me."
"Sod off, Snape."
Severus turned and gave his friend a twisted smirk, which Rosier answered with one of his own. Bastard.
The three of them were silent as they watched the sun slip behind the Forbidden Forest. Avery absent-mindedly pulled at loose threads at the end of his sleeve and Rosier drew circular patterns in the dirt with his feet. Severus felt his chest tightening as he thought about the hours he'd put into research and planning, the nights he'd gotten almost no sleep in order to keep up with his homework, and the OWL revision he hadn't begun, all for a plan that was, apparently, unworkable. I can't believe we're going to just let this go. I know I can make this work. It's a brilliant idea.
"What nights do Gryffindor practice?" Avery asked suddenly.
Severus turned. "What?"
"What nights do Gryffindor have Quidditch practice?"
"Why?" Rosier asked.
Severus thought for a moment. "I know they split Tuesday evenings with Slytherin, but other than that ...." He shrugged. Had Burke ever mentioned the other teams' practice schedules? "It's not the same every week. Why?"
Avery glanced from one companion to the other, obviously trying to not look smug. "It's all in the timing, really, isn't it?"
"Stop trying to be subtle, Avery; it's completely beyond you. What are you talking about?" Rosier demanded impatiently.
Avery narrowed his eyes at Rosier for a moment before continuing. "We switch the brooms after the last Gryffindor practice before the match. The less time Potter has the broom, the less likely he is to notice it isn't his, especially if he doesn't actually use it again until the match." Avery leaned back against a large boulder, looking very content. The other two exchanged a glance.
Severus felt his heart skip a beat and the tension squeezing his chest loosen a little. You're not free of me yet, Potter.
- -
Severus didn't want to raise Burke's suspicion by asking him about the Gryffindor
practice schedule. After Potter's "accident," Burke would likely remember
his curiosity and realise that he was somehow involved. From Burke, this information
would go first to Keech, then to Lestrange, then good-bye Dark Order promotion.
So, for the next few days, the three conspirators kept watch for any Quidditch
activity from the Gryffindors, to no avail. Toward the end of the week, Severus
was getting desperate. While Rosier and Avery pored over books on broom charms,
he took to prowling the corridors near Gryffindor Tower in the evenings, trying
to catch sight of Potter or his team-mates heading off for practice. Unfortunately,
the only result of his spying was more frequent run-ins with Potter and Black,
with the usual consequent detentions. After his third night in a row polishing
armour under Filch's scowling supervision, Severus was beginning to wonder
if it was all worth the effort.
Then, just as he was beginning to lose hope, what Severus needed literally fell into his lap. The Tuesday before Halloween was unseasonably mild; the three Slytherins took their morning break in the large courtyard facing the greenhouses. They discussed alternative strategies for discovering the Gryffindors' schedule. Then, as Severus was outlining the expansion of their reconnaissance efforts, a small sheet of parchment drifted onto his lap from above.
"What the - ," he grunted as he picked up the sheet.
"What is it?" Rosier asked.
Avery looked up. "Looks like Dryden dropped something out the library window."
Rosier followed his glance. The boys heard laughter and exasperated complaints from above as a hand was quickly withdrawn and the window slammed shut.
Severus stared, dumbstruck, at the parchment. Rosier looked back down at the sheet in his friend's hand.
"What is it?"
I don't believe it.
"Snape!"
Severus' head jerked up. "What?"
Rosier snorted. "What's so fascinating?" He took the parchment and gave Severus a sardonic look before glancing at it. Then he looked again, his eyes widening in surprise. Rosier handed it back, laughing out loud.
"What is it?" Avery asked.
"The Gryffindor practice schedule," Severus replied quietly. He felt a warm wash of relief and excitement as the weight of worry he'd carried for days evaporated.
"Quick, copy it down," Rosier said excitedly, pulling writing materials out of his bag. As Severus scribbled out the schedule for the next three weeks, Avery kept an eye out for the parchment's owner.
Less than a minute later, Avery gave a warning. "Someone's coming."
Rosier got his ink and quill and the copy in his satchel just as Nina Bottle dashed around the corner, laughing over her shoulder, with Dryden in pursuit. When Dryden saw the three Slytherins, he froze. Seeing her friend stop, Bottle turned and saw Severus holding her schedule. She ambled over, her laughter quickly transforming into an imperious expression. She held out her hand. "Give it here, Snape."
"Give what where, Bottle?" he replied smoothly, not bothering to hide the document.
Without warning, she lunged forward and snatched the sheet out of Severus' hand. Despite himself, he flinched. She flourished the parchment, a smirk on her face.
"The difference between a Chaser and a loser, Snape. It's all in the hands."
"Piss off, Bottle," Severus spat.
The girl minced away in mock horror. "Ooo, so scared! Slytherus swore at me!" She draped an arm over Dryden's shoulder and pretended to swoon. "Help me, help me!" she cried out in feigned terror, the back of a hand pressed to her forehead.
Severus felt his face twist into an angry grimace as Dryden burst out laughing. As they strolled away, Bottle muttered over her shoulder, "Moron."
"Once I'm done with Potter, you're next, you repulsive cow," Severus whispered.
- -
That evening, when Burke was at Quidditch practice, Severus, Rosier and Avery were sitting on Avery's bed. Burke's damaged broom lay between them on the rumpled coverlet. Dozens of sheets of parchment, Severus' notes on time-delaying hexes and Rosier's on broom repair, lay scattered around them on the bed. A few of the crumpled, smudged sheets had fallen to the floor.
"You can't just do a Hurling Hex, Snape. Use your imagination," Avery said, teasing.
"I have no intention of doing so, Avery. And don't ever question my imagination again." Severus turned to Rosier, who was examining the broom closely. He continued in lecturing tones. "I think some more personal effects will complement the Hurling Hex nicely."
Rosier looked up at him. "What do you mean, personal?"
"Genitalibus roboribus. A common enough hex, I suppose." Severus frowned at Avery's puerile snigger. "But embarrassing enough to suit our purposes, especially in front of a crowd." Especially in front of Evans. "In combination with Strumis pudendis, it should have sufficiently painful effects for our purposes. Potter certainly won't be sitting a broom for a while." He paused as he glanced between Rosier and Avery's blank stares. "Scrofulous tumours. Pus-filled scrofulous tumours." Avery snorted and Rosier grinned. "In a location which makes it unlikely he'll seek Madam Pomfrey's ministrations." Avery blushed a blotchy pink and Rosier laughed so forcefully he almost fell off the bed. Severus allowed himself a momentary glow of self-satisfaction. It really was a brilliant choice, if he didn't say so himself. If Potter tried to cure it himself, he'd only end up worsening his condition. The curse's symptoms were similar to those caused by a handful of more common curses, all of whose counter-curses intensified the effects of Strumis pudendis. "They'll take weeks to disappear on their own and will eventually spread over the entire body." He paused. "To the best of my knowledge, there is only one book in the Hogwarts library which contains the counter-curse, and it currently resides there." He pointed at the pile of books on his bedside table.
- -
Ten days later, after dinner, Severus and Rosier left the castle by way of one of the hidden entrances to the Slytherin dungeons. Less than an hour later they returned, Potter's broom hidden under Severus' cloak. Too easy, he thought as they re-entered their common room. It had been so simple: hide in the Slytherin change rooms until the Gryffindors returned from practice, wait in the corridor until they were all in the showers, sneak in, and make the switch. Rosier had stood look-out while Severus had done the deed; it had taken less than ten seconds to make the switch. Serves the idiots right for not having any protections on their change rooms.
"Now we wait for the fun to begin," Rosier said.
- -
The day of the Slytherin-Gryffindor match dawned clear and bright. At breakfast in the Great Hall, Severus listened to the ragged wind randomly batter the panes of the soaring windows. Most of the surrounding Slytherins were engrossed in Raeburn's angry attempts to convince Burke to fly his faster, damaged broom. The longer the argument went on, the paler Rosier became, but Severus knew that Burke wouldn't change his mind.
Thank you, Raeburn, you brainless twit. The more vehemently the sixth-year quarrelled with Burke, the less likely it was that the Beater would change his mind. Of all the elements of chance that had come into play with the plan, Raeburn's unknowing assistance was the most satisfying to Severus. He anticipated that this would be the first of many victories over his fellow Dark Order member. He looked forward to a year of lording it over the pretentious blowhard after Lestrange passed over Raeburn to chose Severus as his successor.
As the morning progressed and the time of the match drew nearer, Severus became less able to contain his agitated anticipation. An hour before the match, Severus' eagerness had reached fever pitch. For once, he couldn't concentrate on his Potions homework, and his restlessness drove him out of the dungeons and into the upper school. He wandered, unseeing, through the corridors as his mind flashed from one scenario of Potter's destruction to another. How would it happen? A bludger? A crash with another broom? Perhaps with Bottle? Severus grinned evilly at the thought. Kill two birds with one stone, so to speak. In each mental mini-drama, he saw Potter fall, flailing, tumbling out of the sky, seemingly forever. The conclusion of each scenario shot a warm dart of contentment straight into the pit of his stomach.
Forty minutes later, Severus joined Rosier and Avery in the Slytherin stands.
Rosier twitched aside his cloak for a moment to show Potter's broom, in case
the opportunity arose to switch the brooms back at the end of the match. A
sinister smile played over Severus' thin lips for a few seconds as he glanced
at the chanting, flag-waving silver and green-bedecked students surrounding
them. As he sat between his friends, Severus allowed himself to be enveloped
by the almost overwhelming physical assault of the noise, the vibration of
hundreds of feet stamping the old wooden stands, and the palpable sport-induced
blood-lust in the air.
Then, all thoughts were swept away by a roar from the surrounding crowd
as the Slytherin team arrived on the pitch. Out of the corner of his eye,
Severus saw Avery open his mouth to say something, then think better of it
as a second roar erupted from the other three sides of the pitch, as seven
flashes of red and gold rose up to take their positions opposite the Slytherins.
The stadium quieted as hundreds of spectators strained forward, waiting for Madam Hooch to release the Quaffle. In that moment, Severus looked over to the Gryffindor Chasers. Jones gave a short glance to Bottle on her right, then Potter on her left, sending them off to form up. He didn't envy the Gryffindor captain, caught between the Scylla and Charybdis of Potter and Bottle's monumental egos.
On his left, Severus could feel Avery quivering in anticipation. As he turned to deliver a withering rebuke, the crowd cried out in full voice as the Quaffle rose and the match began.
The Slytherin stands quieted as the Gryffindor Chasers took possession. Jones drew a Slytherin Beater with her to the far side of the pitch, then a quick backhand pass to Potter, a quick flick ahead to Bottle, a neat fake to Jones, then the Quaffle was past Keech for the first goal of the match. Severus cringed as Bottle enacted her traditional first goal of the match celebration, a piercing, ululating shout, both fists in the air in triumph. The Slytherin spectators groaned as Jones intercepted Keech's pass to Raeburn and the slaughter began in earnest.
Over the next hour, Severus watched with mounting anxiety as the match proceeded. As Potter's broom remained distressingly obedient regardless of its rider's diving, looping, turning and rolling, Severus' frustration and worry mounted. What the hell is going on? A glance at Rosier revealed that his friend's thoughts were working in the same direction.
The match was turning into a disaster for the overmatched Slytherins, especially the Chasers. Potter feasted on sloppy Slytherin passes. Jones seemed to have eyes in the back of her head, able to anticipate the opposing Chasers' every move. Bottle's ferocity with the Quaffle ensured Keech was the busiest player on the pitch. Burke's unerring bat was the only thing prolonging the match, as he single-handedly kept the Gryffindor Seeker from the Snitch. Despite Keech's best efforts, the goals kept piling up against the Slytherins. And still, Potter kept flying. Occasionally, he appeared to struggle with his broom, but he always managed to get back on course. Severus could feel his right hand twitching, unconsciously straining for his wand as he contemplated risking more direct action.
"Bloody hell!"
Severus was jolted out of his thoughts by Avery's shout, immediately followed by an enraged clamour roaring through the Slytherin stands. "What? What?" he demanded loudly, looking around the pitch, glancing around the spectators in front of them, who had leapt to their feet. He glimpsed Madam Hooch, Lestrange and Keech flying quickly towards Raeburn, who was hunched over his broom, his hands over his face. Severus saw the Gryffindor Chasers clustering near the centre of the pitch, just in front of the Slytherin stands. The shouting of the crowd was deafening. "What happened?" he yelled at the back of Rosier's head. Rosier turned. By his friend's shocked expression, Severus knew that something extraordinary had happened.
"I don't believe it!" Rosier yelled back. "She just fired it at the back of his head!"
"What!" Severus was getting angry at the lack of information.
"Bottle shot the Quaffle straight at the back of Raeburn's head!" Avery shouted over his shoulder.
"What?" Severus shouted back at Rosier, shocked, though a snide voice in the back of his mind said, 'Good girl.' He glanced down at the pitch, where Raeburn was being attended to by Madam Pomfrey while Madam Hooch conferred with Keech and Jones. Even at that distance, Severus could see the blood covering the boy's face and hands. "What happened to Raeburn's face? I thought she hit him in the back of the head?" he asked no one in general.
"His face smacked into his broom," Avery answered.
Bloody hell, is right.
"Hope Hooch throws her out," Avery continued as the noise around them began
to die down.
As Severus watched, a very angry-looking Keech returned to the Slytherin goalposts. Madam Hooch, accompanied by Jones, flew over to where Bottle, Potter and the two Gryffindor Beaters were still hovering. Severus couldn't hear the discussion between the teacher and Bottle, but the girl was giving the half-shrug of the universal 'Who, me?' gesture. Two minutes later, an exasperated-looking Madam Hooch sped away, blowing her whistle for a Slytherin penalty shot. Realising that this was the only punishment coming for Raeburn's broken and bloody face, the Slytherin crowd erupted into enraged shouts and catcalls.
"What the hell?" Avery bellowed, his face the colour of the Gryffindor team robes. Severus and Rosier were two of the few Slytherins not on their feet protesting the lenient call. Avery was screaming himself hoarse, practically having a tantrum. Rosier looked over at him and cocked an eyebrow in amusement. Severus peered between two fourth years and saw Potter and Bottle hovering just in front of the Slytherin stands, their backs to the crowd, making a good show of ignoring the screams for her blood. Stupid cow.
As Severus watched, Bottle leaned over to Potter to yell something in his ear. The two Gryffindors then slowly twisted their heads around to face the Slytherin crowd, which responded by redoubling their shouts. Bottle and Potter exchanged amused glances. Potter turned his attention back to the pitch, to watch Madam Hooch hand the Quaffle to Lestrange for the penalty. A malevolent grin spread across the girl's face as she turned back to watch Lestrange's shot batted away by the Gryffindor Keeper. The Slytherin crowd groaned and slowly retook their seats as the match resumed. Across the pitch, the stands shook with the cheers and gleeful stomping of the Gryffindors as they chanted their Keeper's name.
Out of the corner of his eye, Severus saw Rosier's tight grimace as the Gryffindor Chasers took possession of the Quaffle and formed up to attack the Slytherin goals. Just then, their view of the pitch was obscured again as most of the Slytherins around them jumped to their feet.
"Carey's seen it!" Avery shouted gleefully as he bounced on his toes to see over the students in front of him. Severus stood and followed the crowd's gaze. Both Seekers were on the trail of the Snitch. He saw a brief flash of gold as it darted past the Slytherin stands, twenty feet above their heads. A smirk crossed his face as Burke expertly smashed a Bludger at the Gryffindor Seeker, forcing him to dodge away, allowing Carey to bear down on his target unchallenged as it raced towards the Gryffindor goals. Severus watched, a small pool of still quiet in a sea of screaming Slytherins, as Carey veered sharply, almost ploughing into Lestrange, who scrambled to get out of his way. Like the rest of the crowd, Severus ignored the Chasers and the action at the respective goals as the two Seekers dove, twisted and looped after the darting golden ball. Then, just as Carey rolled to avoid a Bludger, the Snitch veered straight into the Gryffindor Seeker's path. The match was over. Gryffindor 280-Slytherin 50.
Five minutes later, Severus, Rosier and Avery trudged back to the castle, surrounded by bitterly disappointed Slytherins loudly debating various plans of revenge against Bottle.
Why didn't it work? Severus thought as he stood on the front steps of the castle, waiting for the crowd in front of them to clear. Those hexes were perfectly cast. He glanced over to Rosier.
"What happened?" Rosier mouthed, unable or unwilling to shout over the crowd.
"Later," he replied. As the crowd moved into the Great Hall for lunch, the enclosed space of the castle seemed to amplify the excited post-match chatter going on around them. Avery seemed to have entirely forgotten about the hexed broom, engrossed as he was with two sixth-years in a vituperative denunciation of Bottle.
After half an hour of listlessly pushing a pile of uneaten shepherd's pie around his plate, Severus left with Rosier for their dormitory. In a daze, he sat on his bed while Rosier paced.
"What are we going to do?"
Severus shrugged. "Wait until Tuesday and switch the brooms back. Remove the curses. Put it back in Burke's trunk. Pretend none of this happened."
"What if Potter notices before then?"
Neither boy spoke as they contemplated the possible consequences.
Tuesday couldn't come soon enough.