Author's Note: Um, you know how I said I'd get the other half of chapter eleven out before the end of the month? Well … it turns out this chapter has decided to be one more of a monster, so it's being divided into thirds. I hope it's a decent Halloween Treat for you all nevertheless.
Harry woke early the morning of the match after a less than restful night. He'd had a hard time quieting his mind enough to sleep as the same two questions ran through it again and again on an endless repeat: What was the three-headed dog guarding? And, what made it something of interest to a necromancer?
With his stomach full of knots for another reason Harry went down to the Great Hall. The smell of sausages and rasher doing nothing to abate his churning innards. The rest of the students, however, were enthusiastically loading up their plates as they chatted cheerfully about the upcoming match.
"The conditions are perfect … just enough cloud coverage to keep the sun from being a problem and no wind to blow anyone off course," Harry heard Terry Boot saying to a couple of his year mates as he passed.
He claimed an empty seat beside Hermione, who oddly enough had her schoolbag with her. Probably bringing something to the match to read if she gets bored, Harry figured, not entirely sure how he felt about that, but deciding in the end that Hermione wouldn't be Hermione without a book somewhere on her person.
"Morning, Harry," she greeted him brightly, only to frown a moment later. "Why aren't you eating?"
"Not hungry," he managed, his face going rather green as he caught sight of Seamus Finnigan coating his plate of bangers and mash in a thick layer of ketchup.
"Want some?" asked Seamus, catching Harry's gaze as he looked up from his plate. "You need your strength after all, Harry. Seekers are always the ones who get nobbled by the other team."
"Thanks, Seamus, but I'm good," said Harry queasily as the sandy-haired boy tucked into his now pink potatoes.
"You really should eat something, Harry," Hermione informed him sternly. "I read somewhere that marathon runners should have carbs before a race so that they have plenty of energy. I'm sure playing Quidditch can't be too different. So maybe some porridge at least?"
"I suppose," Harry relented, pulling a bowl towards him and adding slices of apple to the top. Hopefully he wasn't about to learn if porridge tasted the same coming back up as it did going down.
He'd managed a few spoonfuls when he heard a vague, dreamy voice behind him say, "Hello, Harry."
Harry turned around and felt something loosen in his chest as he caught sight of Luna and what she was wearing. Perched precariously atop her silvery blonde head was a large hat shaped like a life-sized lion's head.
"I'm supporting Gryffindor," she said, pointing unnecessarily at her hat. "Look at what it does…."
She reached up and tapped the hat with her wand. It opened its mouth wide and gave an extremely realistic roar that made everyone in the vicinity jump.
"It is good, isn't it?" she said happily, sliding into the empty seat on Harry's other side. "I wanted to have it chewing up a serpent to represent Slytherin, but the two animation spells kept getting entangled. And a lion choking on a snake while trying to roar just didn't seem very supportive, you know?"
"I suppose not," Harry grinned, while all around them Gryffindors and Ravenclaws alike stared incredulously.
At half past ten, Luna and Hermione said good-bye to Harry as he followed the rest of the Gryffindor Quidditch team out of the Great Hall. By eleven they had joined the rest of the school in the march out to the stadium. Several students had rosettes in either Gryffindor red or Slytherin green pinned to the front of their cloaks, while others had attached triangular pennants to their wands.
No matter who they were supporting, however, there were several students were carrying either binoculars or omnioculars, which were the Wizarding equivalent with several special features in addition to the usual magnification, such as: Slow-Mo, Play-by-Play, and Instant Replay. After all, even though the stadium seats were located in towers around the pitch, it could still be difficult to see what was going on at times.
Luna and Hermione claimed a pair of seats in the topmost row of one of the Gryffindor towers. They were soon joined by the rest of the Gryffindor first years. Once everyone was settled the girls took a large banner from within Hermione's schoolbag and spread it out.
The banner had been made from one of the sheets Ron Weasley's rat, Scabbers, had chewed on and ruined. It said Potter for President, and Dean Thomas, who was good at drawing, had painted a large Gryffindor lion underneath. Hermione had then Charmed the paint with a tricky spell so that it flashed different colors.
Down in the boys' changing area of the locker room, Harry, the Weasley twins, and Oliver Wood were changing into their Quidditch uniforms: tan riding breeches worn with the cuffs tucked into padded, knee high boots; gold sweaters with scarlet Quidditch robes overtop them – their billowing sleeves obscuring the padded leather gauntlets that extended from wrist to just below the shoulder. In the girls' area, Angelina Johnson, Alicia Spinnet, and Katie Bell were doing the same.
Once changed everyone assembled in the co-ed section of the locker room. It was here that they would wait until it was time to head out onto the pitch.
At five till, Wood cleared his throat to get everyone's attention.
"Okay, men," he said.
"And women," chimed in Angelina the Chaser.
"And women," Wood agreed. "This is it."
"The big one," interrupted Fred Weasley.
"The one we've all be waiting for," added George.
"We know Oliver's speech by heart," Fred whispered to Harry, "we were on the team last year."
"Shut up, you two," huffed Wood without much heat, before continuing on with his speech. "This is the best team Gryffindor's had in years. We're going to win. I know it."
He stared at each of them in turn. His eyes agleam as if to say, or else.
"Alright then," he glanced at the clock above the blackboard against the far wall. "It's time. Good luck, all of you."
Harry pulled on his Quidditch helmet, which looked rather like a leather aviator's cap from the First World War, and followed Fred and George out of the locker room. A wave of noise greeting them as they stepped out onto the pitch. Cheers and whistles; boos and hisses – both filled the air as each teams' supporters and detractors made themselves heard. Well, at least until they were all drowned out by a loud roar from Luna's hat.
Harry glanced in the direction of the roar's origin and saw a fluttering banner high above, flashing Potter for Present. He felt a broad grin stretch across his face. He wasn't nervous anymore.
The two teams met at the middle of the pitch. Gryffindor in their gold sweaters and scarlet robes. While Slytherin was in silver sweaters and emerald green robes. Madam Hooch, who was refereeing, was waiting for them. She was clad in black-and-white Quidditch robes of her own and at her feet was a crate with the four balls waiting to be released.
"Now, I want a clean game, from all of you," she said, once they were all gather around her. Harry couldn't help noticing that she seemed to be speaking to the Slytherin Captain, Marcus Flint, in particular.
Flint, a large, barrel chested sixth year, leered over at the Gryffindor team unpleasantly as she said this. His thin lips curling back in a snaggle toothed grin that made him look all too much like the mountain troll Harry had seen a picture of in Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them.
"Everyone, mount your brooms, please," called Madam Hooch.
Harry clambered onto his Scarlet Falcon. Across from him, he could see Bole and Derrick, the two fourth year Slytherins from the Inter-house Choir, do the same before tapping their Beater's bats together in solidarity.
Madam Hooch brought her silver whistle to her lips and blew. Immediately fifteen broomsticks began to rise up, up into the air. The game had begun.
"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."
Over in the purple Staff Tower, the Weasley twins' friend and year mate, Lee Jordan, was doing the commentary for the match. He was being closely watched over by Professor McGonagall, who was responsible for the golden scoreboard.
"And she's really belting along up there, a neat pass to Katie Bell, who you all might recognize as a member of the reserve team last year – back to Johnson and – oh no, the Slytherins have taken the Quaffle.
"That's Slytherin Captain Marcus Flint speeding along with the Quaffle – he's looking to score – but no, he's stopped by an excellent move by Gryffindor's Keeper and Captain, Oliver Wood.
"Gryffindor takes the Quaffle – that's Alicia Spinnet, a superb find by Wood last year, doing a nice loop around Flint and now rocketing up the pitch. She looking to pass to Johnson and – OUCH – that must have hurt, hit in the back of the head with a Bludger from one of the new Slytherin Beaters, Lucian Bole.
"And now the Slytherins are in possession of the Quaffle – 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 – but nice play by one of the Gryffindor Beaters, anyway.
"That's Johnson of Gryffindor back in possession of the Quaffle, a clear pitch a head of her and off she goes – she's really putting her Nimbus Seventeen-Hundred through its paces – she dodges a Bludger from Slytherin's Peregrine Derrick – the goal posts are just ahead now – come on, now, Angelina – Slytherin Keeper, Miles Bletchley dives – he misses – GRYFFINDOR SCORES!"
Cheers and whistles erupt from the Gryffindor supporters; red sparks are shot from the wands of those waving pennants; and another booming roar erupts from the mouth of Luna's lion hat. Meanwhile, across the pitch the Slytherin fans howl and moan their displeasure.
"Budge up there, move along."
"Hello, Hagrid," Luna greeted the gamekeeper as he moved carefully along the top row of the tower.
"'Lo, Luna," said Hagrid, as Luna and Hermione squeezed together to give the large man enough room to join them. "I've bin watchin' from me hut –" he patted a large pair of perfectly ordinary binoculars hanging from a strap around his neck – "but it isn't the same as bein' in the crowd. No sign of the Snitch yet, eh?"
"Afraid not," said Hermione, her cheeks flushed from the cold. "Harry's been staying out of things so far."
"Keepin' out of trouble, eh? Well, that's somethin'," said Hagrid, raising his binoculars and peering skyward at the speck that was Harry.
High above them, Harry hovered, balancing his broom on the edge of the wind as he scanned the pitch for some sign of the Snitch. He was keeping out of things as per Wood's orders.
"You might see the Slytherin's Seeker, Higgs, try and run interference with us when he's not searching for the Snitch, but he's been doing this a lot longer than you, Potter," Wood had said in one of their earlier practices. "So, until you get a bit more experience I'd rather you focus finding the Snitch and getting to it before him, alright?"
And so, he'd done as told. He'd stayed out of things and stuck with circling the edge of pitch; keeping well above the main action of the match. Honestly, he felt more like a spectator with a bird's eye view more than anything else.
Or he had until one of the Bludgers had decided to come pelting his way, shooting at him like a cannonball more than anything else. Nevertheless, Harry had been able to dodge it with ease.
A moment later the Bludger was followed by Fred Weasley, who hollered, "All right there, Harry," before beating the Bludger towards the Slytherin Chaser, Graham Montague.
"Ouch – and Montague's lost the Quaffle, but Slytherin's still in possession," Lee Jordan's voice echoed around the stadium. "Pucey is speeding towards the goal posts with the Quaffle. He ducks two Bludgers, two Weasleys, and Gryffindor's Chaser, Katie Bell… He dodges them all… He's entered the scoring area – wait a moment – was that the Snitch?"
A murmur ran through the crowd as Slytherin Chaser, Adrian Pucey, dropped the Quaffle with a start as a flash of gold darted past his left ear.
At last, Harry thought angling his broom down into a steep dive down, down towards the streak of gold.
The Slytherin Seeker, Terence Higgs, had seen the fluttering gold ball, too. And so, together they raced after it. Hurtling neck and neck after the Golden Snitch.
While the Seekers did their work, everyone else on the pitch seemed to have forgotten what they were supposed to be doing as they hung midair on their broomsticks and watched on in silence.
Between Harry's Scarlet Falcon and Higgs's Cleansweep Seven, the brooms of the two Seekers were more or less evenly matched. Harry, however, was a lot smaller than the seventh year and therefore much faster.
As he sped along he could see the little round ball just ahead of him. It's wings a silver blur. Vision tunneling, Harry leaned forward, plastering himself along the handle of his broom and extended his left hand towards the Snitch – he was gaining on the winged ball – just a few more inches and – WHAM!
A roar of rage erupted from the Gryffindor supporters below – Marcus Flint had collided with Harry on purpose. Knocking the smaller boy's broomstick off course and leaving Harry clinging to his broom's handle for dear life.
"Foul!" called Madam Hooch, after a loud blast from her silver whistle. "For a Slytherin Chaser Blatching the Gryffindor Seeker, Gryffindor is a to be allow a penalty shot!"
Alicia Spinnet handily got the Quaffle past the Slytherin Keeper, Miles Bletchley, and put it through the right-side goal post to make the score twenty to zero. However, in all the confusion the Snitch had vanished once again.
Meanwhile, down in the stands, Dean was yelling, "Send him off, ref! Red card!"
"What are you talking about, Dean?" asked Ron.
"Red card!" Dean repeated furiously. "In football if you pull something like that you get shown the red card and you're out of the game!"
"Dean, this isn't football. It's Quidditch," Ron reminded him.
Hagrid, however, was on Dean's side.
"They oughta change the rules," he growled. "Flint coulda knocked Harry outta the air."
In the shadow of the gamekeeper, Luna and Hermione exchanged a glance. While neither of them particularly liked the fact that the Slytherin Captain had attempted to knock their friend out of the air. They both doubted that Harry would appreciate anyone's attempt at mollycoddling him either.
Over in the Staff Tower, Lee Jordan was struggling to keep his commentary unbiased.
"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," Lee huffed. "After Flint nearly kills the Gryffindor Seeker, which could have happened to anyone, I'm sure, a penalty shot to Gryffindor, which is taken by Spinnet – she puts it away, no trouble, and we continue play with Gryffindor still in possession."
Hovering high above the pitch, Harry had just dismissed the glint of light he'd seen down below him as the sun reflecting off of one of the foot-pegs of Montague's broomstick when it happened. His broomstick gave a sudden and violent lurch beneath him.
For a split second, he was sure he was going to fall. The only thing saving him from a fatal drop being a swift redoubling of his grip along the shaft of his broom's handle with both his hands and knees.
And then it happened again. It was as though his Scarlet Falcon was attempting to buck him off. But that was impossible. Professionally crafted broomsticks did not suddenly decide to rid themselves of their riders.
Harry tried to turn back towards the Gryffindor goal post – he was going to ask Wood to tall a time-out – only to realize that his broom was completely out of his control. He couldn't turn it. He couldn't direct it at all.
It was as he came to this realization that his broom gave yet another lurch before suddenly shooting off across the length of the pitch. All the while, making violent zigzagging, swishing movements as it went as it tried its best to hurl him from his seat.
Down below, Lee was still commentating.
"Slytherin now in possession – Flint has the Quaffle – he passes Spinnet – passes Bell – is hit hard in the face by a Bludger from one of the Weasley twins (hope it broke his nose) – only joking, Professor – Flint's entered the scoring area – and Slytherin scores…"
The Slytherins sections of the stands erupted in cheers and showers of green wand-sparks. No one seemed to have noticed that Harry's broomstick was behaving strangely.
As he struggled to keep ahold of his jerking and twitching broomstick, Harry could only hope that someone would notice that something was wrong when he was carried past the boundary line of the pitch.
What he didn't know was that things were about to become much more dangerous than a bucking broomstick.
"Dunno what Harry thinks he's doin'? Madam Hooch is goin ter get 'em fer Boundin' if he ain't careful," Hagrid mumbled under his breath.
He'd just begun to lift his binoculars so that he could get a better view of the small red speck that was Harry against the grey sky when the boy's broomstick began to roll its rider over and over again. The sight of which making the large man go very pale beneath his bushy, black beard.
At that moment, all over the stands people were beginning to realize that something was quite wrong with Harry's broomstick. They pointed and gaped open mouthed, then everyone seemed to hold their breath as one as the broomstick gave another wild jerk and managed at last to unseat its rider. Harry was now dangling underneath his Scarlet Falcon. The desperate grip of a single hand the only thing saving him from a potentially fatal fall.
"Did something happen to his broom when Flint blocked him?" Seamus whispered.
"Can't have," said Hagrid, his voice shaking. "Can't nothing interfere with a broomstick's enchantments except powerful Dark magic – no kid could manage somethin' like that."
At these words, Hermione seized Hagrid's binoculars, but instead of looking up at Harry, she started scanning the crowd frantically. Someone was bewitching that broomstick. Now if only she could figure out who.
As her eyes landed on the Staff Tower she gasped at what she saw. In the middle of the front row sat Professor Snape. He had his eyes fixed on Harry and he appeared to be muttering nonstop under his breath.
"It can't be – he wouldn't," she gasped, the binoculars nearly slipping from her lax grip. "Harry said he was on our side."
She barely noticed when Luna plucked the binoculars from her nerveless fingers and held them up to her own eyes.
The Ravenclaw was looking skyward, but she wasn't looking at Harry. Instead, her gaze was focused on a dense black cloud that appeared to be moving against the wind.
"Hermione, does that cloud look strange to you," she asked, jolting Hermione out of her stupor.
"What…cloud?" Hermione wondered, before continuing quite sternly. "Luna this isn't the time for cloud watching! We've got to help Harry! Snape's jinxing his broom!"
And in an instant, she had bolted to her feet and disappeared down the tower stairs.
Luna, however, had barely registered the other girl's disappearance. She was staring in open mouthed horror as she realized just what the approaching cloud actually was.
"It's not a cloud," she wheezed. "Oh, empty night – IT'S GORE CROWS!" she added, shrieking the last.
And as a wave of feathered Dead descended upon them the stadium descended into pandemonium.
Author's Note: Your Halloween Trick, however, is that it's a cliffhanger - please don't hate me.
In all seriousness though I'll try and have part three up as soon as I can.