QUIDDITCH

QUIRINIUS / SEVERUS

The sun was hot and bright over the Quidditch stands. Quirrell edged along a row and took a seat alongside Professor Trelawney, then watched as the fourteen players entered the pitch amidst whoops and cheers from the crowd. He scanned the red-and-gold-clad players until he located Potter, the smallest player on the pitch.

Madam Hooch blew her whistle and the players rose level with the crowd and began criss-crossing each other at high speed, the balls flying everywhere.

You know what to do, hissed Voldemort. I want that boy dead, do you understand?

Yes, Master, thought Quirrell. He stared intently at Potter's broom, easily the fastest of the fourteen. He waited until it was stationary, then muttered the spell in less than a whisper.

'Locomotor.'

He focused his whole mind on that broom, until it was under his total control. Next to him, Professor Trelawney noticed nothing. The Nimbus rose higher and higher in the air. Then it began jolting this way and that, responding to every movement of Quirrell's eyes, every twitch of his mind.

Gradually, the crowd realised what was happening. Quirrell could once again sense Voldemort's rising impatience, but Potter refused to let go of his broom. What was more, Quirrell could hear someone behind him muttering a counter-curse.

Just when it seemed Potter could not cling on another second, something or someone barged into the back of Quirrell, and he lost connection with the broom.

–––

Snape smelt the smoke before he saw it. He had been so focused on preventing Potter from being tossed off his broom that it had taken a good thirty seconds for him to realise his robe was alight. He cursed aloud and looked down: he saw no flames, though the hem of his robe was clearly singed. Perplexed, he turned his attention back to the skies, just as the red-and-gold stands erupted.

Potter was sprawled on the ground, holding up the Golden Snitch, a huge grin on his face. Reminded forcibly of James, Snape suppressed his sudden burst of loathing and scanned the row below for the large purple turban; he was convinced Quirrell had been jinxing Potter's broom, though he had no real proof. Either way, Quirrell was already at the end of the row and descending the stand, and was soon lost in the mass of students and teachers swarming over the lawns.

The Gryffindors' deafening victory chants followed Snape all the way to the Entrance Hall. He flew up the marble staircase and swiftly ascended the castle until he reached the gargoyle stood sentinel outside the Headmaster's office.

'Sherbet lemon,' Snape muttered, and the gargoyle sprang aside. Once he reached the top of the spiral staircase, he knocked on the office door and heard Dumbledore's usual 'Come in'.

'I've just come from the Quidditch game,' Snape announced, clicking the door shut.

'Ah, of course,' said Dumbledore. 'The result?'

'Never mind the result,' said Snape tersely, though his tone probably gave away the answer; Dumbledore seemed to repress a smile. 'You might be interested to know that someone in the stands was trying to dismount Potter from his broomstick during the game.'

Dumbledore sighed.

'Severus, this is too far. I know you're not fond of the boy, but –'

'I didn't mean me!' exclaimed Snape, outraged. 'I was the one trying to stop it!'

'Of course. My mistake. Did you happen to spot the person responsible?'

'Well – I couldn't see his face because he was sitting in front of me – but the evidence points to Quirrell. He would have reason to take revenge on Potter after his interference at Hallowe'en, would he not?'

'Hmm,' murmured Dumbledore, apparently unconvinced.

'You still don't believe Quirrell let that troll in as a diversion?' Snape asked in disbelief. 'I caught him inside the trapdoor room, when you yourself had sent him to the hospital wing. Not to mention he had his wand out, preparing to curse that beast of Hagrid's. And now this. You told me to keep an eye on him in the first week of term, yet you choose to ignore everything I report back to you?'

'I'm not choosing to ignore it, I'm simply choosing not to act on it,' said Dumbledore coolly.

'I'm aware of that: that Mirror of yours is still lurking in that disused classroom, anyone could stumble upon it. Why?'

'Because the Stone is in no immediate danger, and the Mirror can serve other purposes in the meantime. Look, if Quirrell is indeed interested in procuring the Stone, whether for himself or another, we cannot start levelling such accusations against our own members of staff.'

'I see,' lied Snape. 'And how many more students will Quirrell attempt to kill before you choose to act?'

'I will attend the next Gryffindor game myself,' said Dumbledore firmly. 'And perhaps you ought to referee their next game, as an extra precaution.'

'You want me to referee?' frowned Snape. Of all the requests Dumbledore had made of him, this was surely the most bizarre.

'Yes – You know the rules, don't you?'

'Yes I know the rules!' Snape snapped.

'Excellent,' said Dumbledore, leading Snape out of his office. The bell had rung for lunch. 'Then, between us, we should keep our Quidditch pitch a murder-free zone.'