Chapter 3
Severus Snape
He's in the staff room, drinking a cup of tea – strong, black, lemon, two sugars - he should be in his office, marking assignments, there's a pile of them three feet high on his desk but he's skived off for early, because he doesn't like being in his office, it reminds him of Potter, it reminds him of when he threw the jar of cockroaches at Potter, and some student might come and bother him in his office, and he doesn't feel like being bothered by students. And anyway he's got a couple of hours worth of detentions tonight, he's got plenty of time to wrestle with that stack of parchments, plenty of time to wince at the grammar and the spelling - a Spell-Checking Quill only goes so far – and the handwriting that gets worse every year, if only there was some way to get the students to type the frigging things ...
He wishes his tea was something stronger, he'd have liked to nick off to his private quarters for a slug of firewhisky and a cigarette but that's a slippery slope, he's afraid of where it might end if he starts down that track. If he starts drinking on school nights, if he starts losing his grip, if he gets into a downward spiral of misbehaviour, who knows where it might end? He remembers the scandal in his OWL year, when the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher simply disappeared over the Christmas break and when classes resumed there was a new teacher – Professor Flitwick – but they all knew what had happened, and he thinks, sourly, I'm not like that, it's Karkaroff who can't be trusted with underage girls ... but that didn't stop him becoming Headmaster at Durmstrang, did it? And the Dark Mark didn't stop him, either, it's blighted my life but it didn't stop Karkaroff from becoming Headmaster, and I know how he got out of Azkaban, he shopped me and Rookwood to the Ministry, not that I care, I shopped him first, but Rookwood is severely pissed off and if he catches up with Karkaroff, Karkaroff will die very slowly ... that shit Karkaroff, Madame Maxime knew what he was like, she watched him like a hawk at the Yule Ball, hell, I'm not like that - Dumbledore knows I'm not like that, he trusts me.
And then he remembers the Yule Ball, he hadn't recognised Hermione Granger for a minute, he'd thought that it was one of the Beauxbatons girls who was hanging off Viktor Krum's arm. He thinks, yes, we all noticed that Granger is a girl that night, even Filius, who must be nearly as old as Dumbledore ... even Draco. And when a teenage boy can't stop looking at an attractive girl, when he can't stop thinking about her, when he can't stop talking about how much he detests the filthy Mudblood Gryffindor and the two boys she spends most of her time with, when he can't decide whether he hates the Scarhead or the Weasel the most ... Merlin's beard, I've seen enough teenage soap dramas acted out in my classroom to know what's going on, even if Draco doesn't. And Granger is a good deal more attractive than pug faced Pansy Parkinson, even when she doesn't tame that mass of hair with Sleekeazy's Hair Potion. Damn it, why am I thinking about Granger, I can't stand the blasted girl, she's an insufferable know-it-all ... and she's only fifteen.
Fifteen! Who'd want to be fifteen again, fifth year had been the absolute pits ... the year when he first noticed girls, before that he hadn't paid much attention to them, girls weren't dangerous, they didn't try to hex him ... but in fifth year he'd noticed that the redhaired Muggle-born Gryffindor who was so good at Charms was a girl, how could he not notice her, the way that James Potter was constantly hitting on her, and the memory makes him writhe ... Go on ... go out with me and I'll never lay a wand on old Snivelly again. Not that he'd ever had a chance with her, if she wasn't even interested in the Gryffindor Quidditch champion, in handsome, popular James Potter, why would she ever look at him? And then he'd called her a filthy Mudblood – and by the time he'd really got to know her in old Slughorn's special advanced tutorials for his two most brilliant NEWTs students, by the time they had become friends, it was too late, she was already going out with Potter. Sure, he'd fancied her, who didn't – she was gorgeous, she was gorgeous even at two o'clock in the morning, with her hair hanging limply over her face and the sleeves of her robes rolled up, as she stirred a smoking cauldron full of one of the Slug's more temperamental elixirs while the lazy old bastard snored in his bed – but he didn't really care if she was seeing Potter, no, he didn't care one little bit. And there'd been other girls, and all cats are grey in the dark, they're all the same when you pull their knickers down, witches or Muggles, they're all the same.
He gulps his tea, he doesn't like where his thoughts are going and it definitely wouldn't be a good idea to start drinking on the job, it's definitely better if he keeps all his vices for his own time, for Saturday nights, when he's finished his detentions and his paperwork, when his time is his own and he can do what he likes with it, and if he chooses to spend it in Muggle nightclubs, looking for companionship - adult, consensual companionship - that's nobody's business. And he has no qualms about obliviating them afterwards, they're only Muggles, and it's best if they don't remember him.
He takes another gulp of tea, leans back in his armchair – the comfortable low armchair he'd claimed for himself years ago and defended against all comers ever since – and tells himself to calm down, take it easy, the staff room is a safe place to lurk until the day is over, hardly anyone comes into it now, they're too scared of running into Umbridge, and poor bloody Pomona has hardly been seen since the inspections started, she's hiding out in her greenhouses, too ashamed of Umbridge to show her face, and this gives him a vicious sense of satisfaction, Umbridge is a truly nasty piece of work ... and a Hufflepuff! Delicious! That sadistic bitch is a Hufflepuff! He thinks about letting that drop, the way he let it drop that Lupin was a werewolf, but he can't do that to Pomona, she's always been decent enough to him, and the Hufflepuff students behave themselves in class, they don't give any cheek, he hasn't got any reason to hate them – not like the Gryffindors, not like Potter. Potter, bloody Potter, just thinking about Potter is making his hand tremble, making him spill his tea. Dumbledore hadn't been angry when he'd told him that he'd stopped giving Potter Occlumency lessons, he'd just looked sad and disappointed, well of course Dumbledore would be disappointed with the boy, disgraceful behaviour, looking into a Pensieve without permission, typical of the vile, arrogant, undisciplined brat, but he still feels as if he's failed, as if he's let Dumbledore down.
He thinks, if only Potter had come to me and apologised ... but he didn't, and I couldn't be the first to raise the subject, I'd have lost all authority over the wretched boy. And Black would have laughed about it with him, laughed about how I'd had to tuck my tail between my legs and come crawling to his godson. And Black is always going to be one up on me, how could I have been so stupid as to say it, Sirius Black showed that he was capable of murder at the age of sixteen. But Black only tried to kill me, he didn't succeed, it was only a student prank, wasn't it? How could I have been so stupid as to remind the Headmaster of what I started doing when I was eighteen, of what's in that god-damn Ministry file, the list of names of people that I killed ... wizards anyway, I couldn't be expected to know the names of the Muggles.
Try to look on the bright side, the Dark Lord had been pleased with him when he told the Dark Lord that he'd managed to sabotage the Occlumency lessons, Dumbledore had realised that Potter wasn't making any progress and had ordered the lessons stopped ... and Potter hadn't been making any progress, he refused to apply himself, the brat just wouldn't try, it had been a total fucking fiasco – and he couldn't understand it, OK, perhaps he'd been a bit more aggressive than he should have been, but he'd shown Potter how much it can hurt if you don't guard your mind, so why wouldn't Potter apply himself? And why did the loathsome little bastard have to look in that Pensieve, why did he have to look? And he'd had to leave the room, he'd had to go and see to Montague, the boy had been missing for over twenty-four hours, and he still doesn't know what's wrong with him, he hasn't been hexed, but Montague's mind is a mess, he's had some kind of traumatic experience ...
Then he thinks, what did Potter expect to see in that Pensieve, he knows what I am, he was there when I showed Fudge the Dark Mark, he must guess at what I've done, the kinds of memories that I don't want him to see. But why did it have to be that memory, the memory that I put in the Pensieve for his own protection, the memory I use to fuel the Killing Curse - I won't kill him, unless I do it Muggle-style, with my bare hands - while that memory is locked away. And the memory comes flooding back into his mind for the second time in ten minutes, he can hear his own voice, I don't need help from filthy little Mudbloods like her, and Lily's, I'd wash your pants if I were you, Snivellus.
And then he remembers the memories that he'd seen in Potter's mind ... childhood memories that reminded him too much of his own, though it seems that the Muggle uncle had never beaten the boy ... James Potter and Lily Evans in the Mirror of Erised, that had hurt, seeing Lily's face again, and James putting his arm around her, the boy must be stupid, weak, self-indulgent to wallow in such visions, because wild horses wouldn't drag him to look into that mirror and see some cruel mirage, some tormenting vision of happiness which had never been, could never be ... but the memory that had really unnerved him, that had brought the bile up from his stomach, was the memory of Cedric Diggory's dead body lying in the graveyard at Little Hangleton.
He'd crawled on his belly to the Dark Lord in that graveyard, in abject fear of his life, and he'd been right to be afraid, from what Lucius had told him later, when they were both licking their wounds at the Manor, he'd been under sentence of death, the Dark Lord had said, one who I believe has left me for ever ... he will be killed, of course. The Legilimency had been brutal but the crucio hadn't been too bad, a token gesture really, the Dark Lord was so anxious to find out what had happened to young Barty Crouch, and what Fudge and Dumbledore's next move would be, and he'd washed up with nothing worse than a couple of cracked ribs from screaming so much. Lucius had copped it much, much worse when the Dark Lord asked about his diary, when the Dark Lord found out that the thing had ended up at Hogwarts and that Potter had a hand in its destruction, the Dark Lord had gone berserk, he'd nearly killed Lucius, he'd beaten Lucius as if he were a house elf.
He wonders how Lucius could still be loyal to the Dark Lord after a beating like that, because it's not just the pain, it's the humiliation, a beating like that while everyone watches. But then he thinks, if Lucius has qualms, if he has doubts, if he's afraid for Draco, he's hardly likely to tell his best friend, he's hardly likely to tell me, the Dark Lord's faithful servant stationed at Hogwarts for fifteen years. And Lucius should be afraid for Draco, the kid is not shaping up to be anything like the same kind of merciless bastard that his father is - they should all be afraid for their sons, Crabbe, Goyle, Nott and the others - because Dumbledore's centaur says that the coming war is going to be bad, it's going to make the first war look like a teddy bears' picnic. The first war - we call it a war, but it was only terrorism, it wasn't war the way the Muggles fight a war – was bad enough but the coming war is going to be worse, and for this war the Dark Lord will need soldiers, he'll need cannon fodder, he'll need a supply of reckless young fools who can't imagine turning thirty, let alone dying.
He remembers his father's books about the Muggle version of the war against Grindelwald, the stories of the young men who were afraid that the war would be over by Christmas, afraid that the war would be over before they had a chance to win medals and glory. Well, the Muggles had had a gutful by the time it was over, they had six years of it, and they would have had more if Dumbledore hadn't stepped in, it would have been another hot war, not a Cold War, and another tide of blood washing over Europe ... and then he thinks, wizards are as stupid as Muggles, I was as stupid as any of those Muggle idiots, falling over themselves for a chance to win the Victoria Cross, falling over themselves for a chance to win the Knight's Cross. Oh, I couldn't wait to take the Dark Mark, the Dark Lord offered me the things that I really wanted - and not just glory, not just the honour of his approval, he offered me more tangible things as well - I just didn't know the price that I'd have to pay.
He thinks, a Slytherin should always have an exit strategy but once you let him put his Mark on your arm you're fucked, there's no way out, it's a lifetime of service or death - but I didn't know that, I didn't know that once I was branded with his Mark I wouldn't be able to raise hand or wand against him, none of his Death Eaters can, because the Dark Mark is a choke chain. And I thought, if Lucius has taken the Mark, it must be OK, and I followed Lucius like a sheep in a slaughterhouse follows the Judas goat ... and to think that there was once a time when I practically worshipped Lucius - wealthy, handsome, charming, pureblood Lucius Malfoy! Well, things have changed now, Lucius is having to peddle hard to regain the Dark Lord's favour and if he screws up again the Dark Lord will kill him, but the Dark Lord loves me, hahaha, because I'm the one who can give him the information on Potter that he craves, he's completely obsessed with the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord, he's completely obsessed with hearing the full prophecy ... the effort that Dumbledore is putting into guarding it is just making him hungrier and hungrier for it.
But there is one memory of Potter's that he returns to again and again, it nags like a loose tooth, Potter's memory of his Sorting. He thinks, if Harry Potter had been Sorted into Slytherin, I would have been his Head of House, and perhaps things would have gone differently from the beginning. He remembers Potter's first Potions class ... staring across the room at James Potter's face and the Gryffindor badge had brought it all back, his awful disappointment in his first year at Hogwarts. He had been so sure it would be different, Hogwarts was a wizard school, surely things would be different from the Muggle school where every minute in the playground had been torment and if they could catch him after school, if they could catch the ugly little long-haired freak with the weird name, their favourite game was to cut his hair off - because next day it would be back, shoulder length and greasy. The Muggle boys had tortured him relentlessly until he grew older, stronger, until even without a wand he knew how to hurt them, but things would be different at Hogwarts, he would be amongst his own kind.
But things hadn't been different, the Marauders had given him hell for seven years and it was always four against one because he didn't have close friends amongst the Slytherins in his year, he hung around with the older kids, with the older gang dominated by Lucius and Bellatrix. So he'd looked across the room, at the boy with James Potter's face and Lily Evan's eyes, and it wasn't going to happen again, he wasn't going to endure another seven years of hell, he'd been determined to have the upper hand from the very beginning. But the Boy Who Lived had dared to challenge him, Potter had said I don't know. I think Hermione does, though, why don't you try her? - and some of the class had laughed, they'd actually laughed. He'd been both incredulous and furious, and he'd thought, I did not ask for information, but to teach you respect, to show you that the greasy git your father tormented is the one who has the power now.
And then he thinks, damn my hair, hair has its own magic and mine has always been bloody uncontrollable, well, I'm not Gilderoy Lockhart, it's not my lifetime ambition to rid the world of evil and market my own range of hair-care potions, what a moron, and as camp as a row of tents, I'd have liked to have jammed the Wagga Wagga werewolf right up his arse. And then Dumbledore appointed Lupin! And that had hurt, it hurt to have Lupin back at Hogwarts, no matter how many times Dumbledore said I know how upsetting this must be. He'd felt able to argue with Dumbledore about that, the thing was a werewolf, it was dangerous, but he'd been overruled, and he'd had to spend the year watching the brute, standing over it to make it take its Wolfsbane Potion, was Dumbledore insane, to let the creature near Potter?
OK, Lupin hadn't been helping his old friend Black, and Black wasn't the traitor ... he winces at the thought of how he'd stuffed up in the Shrieking Shack, if he'd only looked at the rat he would have seen it for what it was, but he'd nearly lost control at the sight of Black, he'd wanted revenge, he'd wanted revenge on Lily's betrayer, and he'd been hard put not to kill Black on sight, but Dumbledore wouldn't have liked that, and it wouldn't have been a pretty sight for the brats to see. That useless bastard Lupin, if only he'd told them that the Marauders were unregistered Animagi, if only he'd shown them the Marauders' Map - and that hurts, too, it hurts to think of how clever the Marauders were, a wizard has to sweat for years to master the Animagus spell, and the Map is the kind of genuinely creative, innovative magic that he really admires. And why had he shown Lupin the Map, why hadn't he kept it, made a proper investigation of it? That was incredibly bloody stupid ... he'd wanted to score some points off the werewolf, and that had backfired badly.
He could protest against Lupin's appointment but he couldn't say a thing when Dumbledore gave Moody the job, the bastard was qualified, he couldn't argue against that. Dumbledore had said, "I know how you feel, but there were no applicants for the job this year, none at all, Alastor Moody is only doing this for me as a favour - and I will have a word with him." But he'd been really upset, he'd thought, Moody hates me, and he knows what's in my Ministry file, the file that's supposed to be confidential, he can use it to stand over me and he will, but he'll be cunning enough to do it when Dumbledore isn't around, and that's Dumbledore's weakness, he has to believe the best of everyone, even that prick Moody, I know what he's like, and a little voice had said, of course you know what he's like, he's a nasty Slytherin bastard just like you. And then Dumbledore had jerked his chain, just a gentle tug but he'd felt like a dog brought to heel, he'd said, "Severus, I know that you bend the Ministry guidelines on the use of Legilimency - and he'd thought, how can I be expected to keep a houseful of Slytherins in order if I don't know what the little prats are thinking before they do, Slughorn did it all the time - but Alastor Moody won't stand for it, please don't provoke him."
So he'd avoided eye contact with Moody from the night that he arrived, he'd kept his head down, he hadn't given him any excuse, but that wasn't good enough, Moody had to take it out on Draco. He'd known very well that Moody had bounced Draco around like that to punish Lucius - what an arsehole, picking on the kid just because he looks like his father, talks like his father - and he hadn't been able to protect Draco. And once Draco had been dismissed, with a detention with Moody to add to his bruises, he'd had to stand there and take it, he'd bent his neck to avoid looking Moody in the face, he'd carefully placed his wand on top of a pile of unmarked Potions essays, out of easy reach - a Gryffindor might have thought this was a threat, a challenge, but Moody was a Slytherin, he'd understand. Moody would understand that he was abasing himself, deliberately making himself defenceless, like a low-ranking wolf exposing his throat to the pack leader.
And then Moody had ripped into him, "Do you like Quidditch, Snape? Were you at the World Cup, was it you who summoned the Dark Mark?" And he'd been shocked, Albus knows I wasn't there, it was Lucius and some of the old crowd, they had a few drinks too many and decided to have a little fun with the Muggles and they don't know who cast the Dark Mark, either. Moody had taunted him, threatened him - told him, you go running to Dumbledore about this, you go running to Dumbledore about anything, and a copy of your Ministry file might just fall off the back of the Knight Bus, right into the hands of Rita Skeeter, and after what happened at the Quidditch World Cup, I don't think people are going to like what Rita Skeeter could make out of what's in that file, all the lovely juicy details in that file ... and he'd thought, Moody has cracked up completely, you don't need to be a Legilimens to see that. Moody is just insane enough to do it, even though it will drop Dumbledore in the dirt, too, because Skeeter is looking for an angle on Dumbledore and she doesn't care what it is.
And then he'd realised just how much Moody was trying to provoke him, Go on Snape, have a go, I know you want to - but you're a good boy now, Snape, aren't you, Dumbledore's pet Death Eater, you don't kill people any more. And he had wanted to have a go at Moody, he'd imagined saying the words, he'd imagined the flash of green light, and his left forearm had started to burn, for the first time in thirteen years, and that had been frightening, so frightening that his hands had started to shake - and after that he had been careful, very careful, never to be alone with Moody. He would never have dared to speak to Moody the way that he did the night that his office was broken into if Filch hadn't been there as a witness, Moody would have to watch his tongue if there was a witness - oh, Barty Crouch was good, he was bloody good, he'd played the part of Moody to perfection and bluffed him, Snape, totally.
And now he wonders if he really wants the Defence job, or if it's just a bone to fight over with Dumbledore, something that he only wants because Dumbledore won't give it to him. But then he thinks, damn you, Albus, because you wouldn't give me the job, the Ministry got their foot in the door and of course Potter had to cause trouble and because it was Potter, Harry-precious-Potter, who started up that ridiculous student group, because it was Potter who got caught, you sacrificed yourself to keep Potter at Hogwarts. I know you had to, there's nothing more important than keeping Potter safe, and I know that you'll be back - but you're not here now, and I miss you, Albus. And Umbridge threatened me, she threatened me with my Ministry file, she's holding that over my head, that bloody file haunts me every day of my life, but why did I have to let her get to me? Because Potter was there, listening to every word she said, Do you have any idea why Dumbledore has consistently refused to appoint you? ... the Ministry wants a thorough understanding of teachers' backgrounds ... he must have loved that, watching Umbridge put the boot in, watching Umbridge humiliate me. It's always Potter, it's always about Potter – it's been about Potter since before the day he was born ...
He finishes his tea, glances at the clock on the staff room wall, it's five o'clock and he can hear the bells ringing for the end of classes for the day, and then he hears screams and yells reverberating from somewhere above him, delightful, another catastrophe for Umbridge to sort out, if she can, because he won't be lifting a finger, she can't expect him too, he's only the Potions master, what would he know about foolish wand waving? He saunters up to the fifth floor corridor, where the commotion is the loudest, to find that it's been turned into a quagmire. Students are trapped in their classrooms and Filch is having hysterics, screaming, how do you expect me to clean this up with a mop? Sweet Merlin, someone has done a good job on this, and he suspects the Weasley twins, it's got their signature written all over it and of course they were responsible for those fireworks ... Fred and George Weasley were a flaming nuisance in Potions and he'd been glad to be shot of them after their OWL year, but this is amazing magic for a couple of teenagers – and they wouldn't have got the spell out of a book, either, this is all their own work.
Filius is bustling about, being helpful, levitating students across the bog, what a joke, when he knows that Filius could clear this mess away with a flick of his wand ... but then he remembers Marietta Edgecombe's spots, Filius is skating on thin ice, Umbridge had nearly choked with disbelief when Filius told her that he couldn't lift that charm, that he couldn't lift a student's spell – because that clever little enchantment will be Granger's work.
He thinks, I like Filius, he's alright, and I don't mind the Ravenclaws, they usually pay attention and work hard in class ... I'd better have a word with Filius, I'd better warn him, because Umbridge will be looking for any excuse to fill this place up with Ministry stooges, stupid cow, I'm pretty sure that she's not one of the Dark Lord's creatures but she might as well be, the Dark Lord was tickled pink when I told him that Dumbledore had been driven out of Hogwarts.
And what the hell is Minerva playing at, half the school heard that shouting match with Umbridge this morning, it was over Potter of course, and there's no need to sweat, Potter will qualify for Auror training ... he's the weapon and he'll be in my NEWTs class whatever mark he scrapes in his OWL. This could have been an opportunity for Minerva to teach Potter about what the Muggles call realpolitik, but no, she has to fight cat-and-dog with Umbridge and she'll end up getting kicked out of Hogwarts and how is that going to help Potter?
Filius looks up and smiles at him, he catches the thought, brilliant work, I'd be proud to have these lads in Ravenclaw. He smirks back, and then, impulsively, he leans down and whispers into Filius' ear, "Ten points to Gryffindor", magic of this standard is worth more than ten points but normally he'd rather be fried in Lobalung lard than give points to Gryffindor.
Then he spots Umbridge, down the other end of the corridor, and Pansy Parkinson is tugging on her sleeve and saying something to her ... damn, he thinks, Pansy acts as if she's thicker than a concussed troll whenever she's around Draco, well I wouldn't have made her a prefect if she wasn't smarter than that, it's a crying shame that her ambition is entirely focused on becoming Mrs Draco Malfoy.
Then he listens to the chatter around him, Fred and George Weasley were seen, caught redhanded, and now they've been cornered by the Inquisitorial Squad in the Entrance Hall, Umbridge is on her way down to deal with them ... so he exchanges a significant look with Filius and they head down together, he's thinking, she can expel them for this, and Molly Weasley will have kittens if they're expelled. But by the time they get down to the Entrance Hall, it's nearly over - the Weasley boys are raising their wands and shouting "Accio brooms!", and their broomsticks come hurtling into the Entrance Hall and stop sharply in front of their owners, one of them still dangling the chain that pegged it to the wall of Umbridge's office, and he can't help but be impressed by the strength of their Summoning Charms. He thinks, all the Weasleys are talented, bar the youngest son, god alone knows what Granger sees in him, but at least he's not a complete dolt like Longbottom and he doesn't seem to care that she's smarter and magically more powerful than he is ... and she'll want brats, witches always do, and I suppose she thinks he'll make a good father one day.
The Weasleys are mounting their broomsticks and shouting something defiant, something about opening up a business in Diagon Alley ... Umbridge shrieks, "STOP THEM", but the Inquisitorial Squad are too slow and the Weasleys kick off from the ground fifteen feet into the air, shout, "Give her hell from us, Peeves!", wheel around and speed out of the open front doors of the Entrance Hall. Peeves sweeps his hat off and salutes - he's never seen the poltergeist treat a student with anything but contempt before - Umbridge is looking like she'll burst with rage, and there is a tremendous roar of applause.
Filius is grinning like a Cheshire Cat, and he has difficulty in restraining himself from laughing openly, oh, what a pathetic excuse for a witch Umbridge is, she has hardly any more magic than Filch, and she calls herself the Headmistress! But suddenly it isn't funny any longer, Draco and the rest of the Inquisitorial Squad are looking utterly crestfallen and the whole school is laughing at them, the whole school is hooting and jeering at a dejected little group of Slytherins, and he knows what that feels like, to be humiliated in the middle of a circle of onlookers. And now he's really angry, he's furious - this is just like the last Quidditch final, the year that Black broke out of Azkaban, two hundred people wearing green against six hundred in Gryffindor red and gold, Slytherin House against the rest of the school, as usual. Marcus Flint and the rest of the team played their hearts out in that match, they tried every trick in the book, but it wasn't good enough - the score was eighty to twenty in Gryffindor's favour when Potter caught the Snitch, and the whole school cheered. And then he remembers Montague ... what the hell happened to him? He's the captain and the best player on the Slytherin team, was it sabotage? Did those Weasley twins do something to him? Revenge for getting kicked off the Gryffindor team? Oh, if they'd been caught at it, it would have been a harmless little prank ... and he knows that his body is generating waves of anger and a frisson of uncontrolled magic strong enough for Filius to feel, because Filius is looking alarmed and stepping away from him, but he just doesn't care, all he can think is you fucking idiot, you gave points to Gryffindor, are you fucking insane?