A/N: Aha! An update! Finally! Two things to note here. First of all, I'm well aware that the tense shifts from present to past tense in this chapter. I have no idea why I ever started writing in the present, as it's incredibly difficult and unnatural, and I simply don't have the time or energy to fight the instinct to write in the past tense anymore. At some point, I'll go back and edit the beginning so that it matches, but I don't have time right this second.
Second, I've received some feedback that people want more original content, and I totally get that. In the beginning, I felt like it was necessary for the story to get a few things set up, and that the best way to do that was to stick largely to the book. From this point on, I'm hoping that I'll be able to diverge from JKR's brilliance more and more, to include more of my original writing. That being said, I don't promise 100% original content, I'm sure I'm still going to borrow bits and pieces here and there, but I feel like the story is at a point now where I can start to pull away from the books more.
So that's all the announcements I've got right now. I apologize for the extended periods of time between chapters, but grad school is exceeding time consuming. I promise to write as much as I can though, and to try my best to update as often as possible. I always always always love getting feedback, both positive or negative (as long as you're polite about it), in any form you feel comfortable (comments/PMs/likes/reblogs/whatever). Thank you all so much for continuing to read and for your patience! Enjoy! Gen
Harry woke early the morning of the first Quidditch match, his nerves causing his stomach to tingle unpleasantly, as though an electric eel were squirming about inside. He pulled the curtains of his four-poster back to see bright sunshine streaming through the windows and the other four boys still sleeping soundly. He pulled clothes from his dresser as quietly as possible, dressing in near silence and sneaking out of the room as soon as he was clothed. He found no one in the common room yet, although he could hear the sound of stirrings in the dormitories as Gryffindors began to wake, excited for the day's match.
Harry hurried through the portrait hole and made his way through the castle to the owlery, where he stood gazing out over the grounds. Hedwig flew over and perched on the ledge next to his hand, and he began to stroke her head absentmindedly. He hadn't gotten another letter from his father telling him whether or not he and Sirius and Remus would be at the game, and he honestly couldn't decide what he would prefer. He very much wanted to see them, as he missed them very much, and writing letters back and forth was just not the same. Harry missed playing absurd games with Sirius while Remus looked on sternly, always torn between wanting to let Harry have fun and wanting to keep him safe. He misses waking up in the morning and joining the three of them at the table for café au lait, Remus handing him a page of the newspaper without looking, and Sirius exchanging it for the comics when Remus isn't looking. He misses hugging his father before he goes to bed at night, the occasional look of surprise on James' face that his son isn't too old for such things yet. And yet, at the same time, Harry was so nervous, and having his family there to watch him only adds to the pressure of being the youngest seeker in a century. He wasn't sure he could live up to all that was expected of him in that match.
After a while, Harry checked his watch, and saw that it was later than he thought, having spent almost an hour ruminating in the owlery. He darted down the steps and through the corridors, practically flying as he made his way to the Great Hall. And then – SMACK – he ran head first into perhaps the worst possible person, Professor Snape. They both fell to the floor, and Snape scowled at Harry.
"Watch where you're going, Potter!" he spat, struggling disentangle himself and stand. In doing so, his robes lifted slightly, just enough for Harry to see several large and bloody cuts on Snape's shin. He eyed them curiously, but Snape saw him and yanked his robes into proper placement immediately. "Don't you have somewhere to be?" he sneered, black eyes glinting maliciously, and Harry scrambled to his feet, hurrying off with a mumbled "Sorry, Professor."
Harry slid into the seat beside Ron still breathing hard from running through the castle.
"What's the matter with you?" Ron asked through a mouthful of scrambled eggs, and out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw Hermione give him a look of disgust.
"Just – ran into – Snape," Harry told them between breaths.
"Oh dear," Hermione fretted, "he hasn't given you a detention, has he?"
"No," Harry said, taking a large gulp of water and breathing more normally. "No, he didn't, but I'd say I was a bit lucky. Only get this – he had a bunch of injuries on his leg, like something bit him and…" He trailed off, eyes widening as he made the connection.
"And what?" Ron prompted, shoving a sausage into his mouth.
"And we were right near the forbidden corridor where the three-headed dog's locked up!" Harry exclaimed, his blood pounding. "He must be trying to get past it to steal whatever it's guarding! That's where he was going on Halloween!"
"Harry, that's quite a leap," Hermione said, sounding very unsure, but Ron nodded along enthusiastically.
"Really, Hermione, it's not that much of a stretch," Ron chimed in. "Besides, he's a big enough git to do something like that."
"But –" Hermione started, but Ron ignored her.
"What do you think it's guarding though?" Ron asked, dropping his voice to a whisper, and Harry shook his head.
"I've no idea," he answered truthfully, the same reply he'd been giving every time they discussed the topic.
Just then Oliver Wood tapped Harry on the shoulder, making him jump.
"I want the team in the locker rooms and dressed in fifteen minutes," Oliver said solemnly, and Harry nodded. Wood walked off to tell the others.
"I'd better get going," Harry said, grabbing a piece of toast as he stood up, grateful that something had distracted him enough for his nerves to calm down a bit.
Harry rushed off to the changing rooms, finding most of the team already present and pulling on their uniforms when he got there. He glanced around and saw, hanging in the large wooden nook where his practice robes usually hung, a deep scarlet robe with "POTTER" emblazoned across the back in gold letters above a large number seven. Folded on the bench beneath it where a pair of black pants with a gold and red stripe down each side, and a scarlet and gold shirt with the Gryffindor crest on the back and a small seven written with his name on the chest. Harry eyed them in awe – he had never seen such nice Quidditch uniforms, and he picked them up, impressed with quality. As he pulled the robes on, his excitement grew, and he couldn't help but feel a little bit proud to be on the team, even if they had yet to actually play. He sat on the bench and pulled on his socks (gold with a red band across the top) just as Oliver entered, staring at them each in turn and looking very serious.
"Okay, men," he started.
"And women," Angelina corrected, crossing her arms.
"And women," Oliver amended with a nod. "This is it. The big one, the one we've all been waiting for." Harry glanced over at Fred and George who were sniggering.
"We know Oliver's speech by heart," George said. "We were on the team last year."
"Shut up, you two," Wood commanded, his cheeks turning noticeably pink. "This is the best team Gryffindor's had in years. We're going to win. I know it."
Cheers echoed throughout the changing room as the other six players 'hoorah'-ed their agreement.
"Right then, you know the plan. Let's go make Slytherin sorry they ever picked up broomsticks!"
Another chorus of cheers filled the room and they gave each other high fives as they proceeded out onto the pitch. The sun was nearly blinding for a moment as they stepped out, and Harry blinked as he looked around him, surprised as his eyes began to adjust and he was able to see clearly. The stadium was packed, filled with students who began screaming the moment the team came into view. A large portion of the stadium was in solid red where the Gryffindors and the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs who were supporting them stood, waving little red and gold flags. The Gryffindor first years had surprised Harry by making a "Potter for President" banner, with a prancing lion (which he later found out was enchanted to roar every time Gryffindor scored thanks to Hermione) of Dean's creation. Harry scanned the crowd, looking for his family in the sea of red, but it was nearly impossible to tell anyone apart from so far away.
"Ladies and gentlemen, the Gryffindor Quidditch team!" a voice boomed through the stadium, eliciting an uproar from the red-clad fans. Harry glanced up at the tall commentator's tower and saw the unmistakeable dreadlocks of Lee Jordan, one of Fred and George's friends, seated next to Professor McGonagall, who was wearing a red and gold tartan robe and a very uncharacteristic smile. A few moments later, Lee announced the arrival of the Slytherin team, this time greeted by loud booing that the [much fewer in number] Slytherin fans were unable to drown out.
"Your referee of the day, Madam Rolanda Hooch!" Lee shouted, and there was respectful applause as Madam Hooch entered the pitch carrying a large crate containing the four game balls. She set it down right in the centre of the pitch, and motioned for both teams to approach her.
"Now, I want a nice fair game, all of you," she said as Wood and the Slytherin captain, a troll-looking bloke by the name of Marcus Flint, shook hands. Harry didn't think he was imagining that she seemed to give Flint an extra stern stare as she said the words. "Mount your brooms, please."
All fourteen players and Madam Hooch readied themselves, and she opened the crate with a flick of her wand. Another flick sent the quaffle soaring into the air, at which point she blew the whistle hard. The fourteen players kicked off the ground, speeding into the air, and Harry soared higher and higher, stopping to see what was happening only when he was considerably higher than the rest. Madam Hooch had released the bludgers and snitch, before joining the players in the air, and Harry had to duck quickly as one of the bludgers came hurtling toward him. He was slightly distracted, in the beginning, scanning the crowd in search of his father.
"And the quaffle is taken immediately by Angelina Johnson of Gryffindor," Harry heard Lee announce, "– what an excellent Chaser that girl is, and rather attractive too…"
"JORDAN!" Professor McGonagall bellowed, and Harry heard the crowd titter in amusement.
"Sorry, Professor," he hastened before returning to the match commentary. "And she's really belting along up there, a neat pass to Alicia Spinnet, a good find of Oliver Wood's, last year only a reserve – back to Johnson and – urgh, no, the Slytherins have taken the quaffle, Slytherin Captain and part-troll Marcus Flint gains the quaffle and off he goes - - he's going to sc- no, stopped by an excellent move by positively fabulous Gryffindor keeper Wood and the Gryffindors take the quaffle - that's chaser Katie Bell of Gryffindor there, nice dive around Flint, ha, take that, off up the field and - OUCH - that must have hurt, hit in the back of the head by a bludger, poor thing, she seems so nice too - quaffle taken by the Slytherins - 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, never can, not that it matters much really - nice play by the Gryffindor beater, whichever one it was, anyway, and Johnson is back in possession of the quaffle, a clear path ahead and off she goes – would you look at her, she's really flying – nicely dodges a speeding bludger - the goal posts are just ahead - come on, now, Angelina - keeper Bletchley dives - misses - GRYFFINDOR SCORE!"
Harry felt his stomach soar and he did a little loop-the-loop to celebrate, and that's when something caught his eye. A very large, very hairy, someone was pushing their way through the mass of Gryffindor supporters, trailed by three smaller people. Harry recognized Hagrid immediately and had a pretty good feeling about who the other three were, his spirits lifting as the last bit of nerves left him. He smiled to himself as he turned his attention to looking for the snitch, determined to win and make everyone proud.
"Budge up there, move along," Hagrid grumbled, pushing students aside as he made his way through the crowd. "Yeh gotta have good seats!" he called back to James, who was following right behind him.
Sirius kept stopping to yell out insulting things every time a Slytherin player flew even remotely close to them, and it was with great difficulty that Remus was able to push him forward and keep their little group together.
"Hagrid!" Hermione called out, waving to the gamekeeper enthusiastically, and he halted behind her and Ron, careful to stay at the back so he didn't block anyone's view.
'Bin watchin' wit' these three up in the professors' stands," Hagrid told her. "But it isn't the same as bein' wit' the students an' I told James he had to have the best seats to watch Harry."
"Hello, Mr. Potter," Hermione said politely, leaning around Hagrid and extending her hand to James. "I'm Hermione Granger, I'm –"
"Ah yes, hello Hermione, Harry's told us a great deal about you," James answered, shaking her hand with a smile. Hermione's cheeks flushed bright red.
"Remus Lupin," offered Remus, extending his hand to Hermione and nudging Sirius to take his eyes off the game unsuccessfully. "And this charming fellow is Sirius Black." Sirius gave a preoccupied wave without once taking his eyes off the players.
"You must be Ron," James added, turning to the red-haired boy next to Hermione, who nodded enthusiastically.
"It's really nice to meet you, Mr. Potter, my older brothers've told me about you, they said they've met you before," Ron sputtered, a little overcome with excitement.
"Your brothers, that'd be Bill and Charlie, right? God, they must be much older now," James signed, running a hand through his hair haphazardly.
"Yeah, Percy too. Bill and Charlie are the oldest though, they've already left Hogwarts." Ron's face looked as though he couldn't believe he was still talking, thoroughly embarrassed by himself and turning a deeper shade of red by the second.
"Mr. Black, were you ever on the Quidditch team?" Hermione asked, jumping in to stop Ron, who gave her a grateful smile. Sirius flinched visibly.
"Please, don't call me that, Sirius is fine," he said quietly. "And yes, though only in my sixth and seventh years. I played beater alongside a boy named Davey Gudgeon, though he was the year beneath us." He offered her a charming smile. "I wasn't nearly as brilliant as James though. I'm sorry to say though, mate, I think your son might be better than you," he said, grinning as he clapped James on the back.
James laughed heartily and turned his attention back to the game, just in time to see a bludger go speeding toward Harry. Fred, or perhaps George, slid in front of him and swung the heavy beater's bat sending the bludged soaring toward one of the Slytherin players as though it were the easiest thing in the world.
"All right there, Harry?" he asked, turning with a grin to the seeker as the Gryffindor fans cheered.
"Yeah, I'm fine, thanks," Harry returned, and then a small glint caught his eye. It was there, by the Slytherin goalposts, an impossibly small, shimmering gold ball, floating just between the rightmost hoop. Harry flew cautiously in that direction, not wanting to tip off the Slytherin seeker, all the while keeping his eyes firmly planted on the glimmer of gold.
"Slytherin in possession. Chaser Pucey unfortunately ducks two bludgers, two Weasleys, and Chaser Bell, and speeds toward the - wait a moment - was that the snitch?" Lee gasped as Harry suddenly sped toward the goal, confident that he had enough of a head start against the Slytherin seeker.
A bludger whooshed past him, mere inches from Harry's nose and close enough that the wind ruffled Harry's hair. The crowd lost it – Gryffindor fans were livid and even Harry could hear Sirius hurling insults at the Slytherin beaters.
"So, after that obvious and disgusting bit of cheating –" Lee started, but McGonagall interrupted.
"Jordan!" she hissed, giving him a reproachful look.
"I mean, after that blatantly revolting foul –" he amended.
"Jordan, I'm warning you…" McGonagall glared, sounding very harassed.
"All right, all right," Jordan gave up, throwing his hands in the air. "Slytherin makes a nice attempt at murdering the Gryffindor seeker, which could happen to anyone, really, so Gryffindor receive a penalty, taken by Alicia Spinnet, who puts it away, no trouble, and we continue the game with Gryffindor still in possession and hopefully not the subject of any more vicious –"
"JORDAN!"
Harry flew back to his spot above the others, feeling a little shaken but even more determined to catch the snitch now. He cast his eyes around the pitch, systematically checking every area for any sign of it to no avail. And then suddenly, something happened. His broom started vibrating, as though it were pulsing with electricity, and it began jerking uncontrollably. Harry found himself lurching side to side as his broomstick took on a life of its own, bucking as though to throw him off.
"Dirty scum, I mean Slytherin in possession," Lee continued, oblivious to Harry's struggle. "Flint with the Quaffle - passes Spinnet - passes Bell – OOH and he's hit hard in the face by a bludger, well done Weasley, hope it broke his nose - only joking, Professor – that'll be a penalty too, hardly fair in my opinion, he had it coming to him. Slytherins score, but they still trail Gryffindor…"
"Dunno what Harry's doin'," Hagrid said suddenly, causing James, Sirius, Remus, Ron, and Hermione all to look up at Harry immediately.
"If I didn't know better, I'd say he'd lost control of his broom," Sirius mused, a hint of concern colouring his voice.
"But he can't have," Remus interjected. "He's a brilliant flier, and besides it looks more like…" His voice grew quiet as he trailed off.
"More like someone's jinxing him," James finished grimly, his hands grasping the railing so tightly the knuckles were turning white.
"Did something happen to it when Flint blocked him?" Hermione inquired, her eyebrows knitting together with worry.
"Can't have. Nothing can interfere with a broomstick, especially a Nimbus, except powerful Dark magic - no kid could do that," Remus answered, sounding serious.
Hermione snatched the binoculars from Ron's hands.
"Oi, what was that for?" he yelped, shaking out his wrist where the strap had tugged on it, but Hermione ignored him.
"I knew it," she hissed, low enough for only Ron to hear. "Its Snape, look!"
"He's mouthing something, Hermione, he's got to be the one doing it," Ron whispered back, frantic. "What should we do?"
"Leave it to me," she said quietly, turning away, but Ron grabbed her arm.
"Hermione, what are you going to do?"
"I'm not sure yet," she answered, biting her lip, "but I'll think of something."
"I'm coming with you then," Ron replied, and Hermione opened her mouth to argue, but he fixed her with a very firm stare.
"Alright, fine then," she huffed, fully aware that they didn't have time to squabble over this issue.
The two of them pushed their way through the crowd, ignoring the grumbling students that they shunted aside in their haste. Within minutes, they had made it to the teachers' tower where Snape sat, but they were quickly running out of time. Harry had slipped sideways off his broom, holding on with two hands, one of which slipped off as Ron and Hermione climbed the stairs of the tower.
The game had stopped for the most part, everyone paying attention to Harry's precarious situation. Fred and George had tried to help him, but their efforts to get close caused the broom to buck even more violently and rise higher, so they hovered beneath him instead, ready to catch him if need be. Slytherin had taken the quaffle from the Gryffindor chasers, who were barely paying attention, and managed to score three goals.
Ron led Hermione through a curtain near the top of the tower, so they were underneath the benches, staring at the feet of their professors.
"Now what?" Ron hissed.
"I've got an idea," Hermione whispered back, pulling her wand from her pocket. "Aculio," she said, pointing her wand at Snape's ankle, and they saw him twitch uncomfortably as the spell sent a sensation like a horrific bee sting through Snape's ankle, but it was not enough.
"Come on, Hermione…" Ron whispered urgently.
"Aculio," she whispered again, this time flicking her wand at the delicate skin behind Snape's knee, and he gave such a start the he stood up, swatting at his robes in alarm and knocking several of his neighbours over in the process.
The distraction was all Harry needed, swinging his body up and back onto the broomstick to a cacophony of cheers from the Gryffindor supporters. He sped off as quickly as possible to shake off the effects of the situation, and the wind on his face was all he needed to get his mind in order. He flew in a circle round the pitch and then soared higher over the rest of the players, who had resumed their battle, playing even dirtier than before. Harry was quite desperate to catch the snitch as quickly as possibly, not wanting to risk his broomstick trying to throw him off again.
Gryffindor scored five more times, and Slytherin once, making the score even, while Harry soared around the pitch, eyes scouring the field for any sign of the pitch. And then, just when he was starting to grow beyond frustrated, he spotted a glint of gold, flitting back and forth near the ground in the centre of the pitch. Harry dove quickly, flattening himself against the handle of the broomstick in an attempt to move faster. He whizzed between Flint and Angelina, who were racing toward the Gryffindor goalpost, and stretched out his hand, fingers taut as he reached for the snitch, and then just as he was almost close enough to touch it, it jerked away from his hand, so quickly he didn't have time to react, and darted straight into his open mouth. Harry coughed and spluttered and spit the snitch out, catching the (now somewhat slick) golden ball in his hand and holding it high, relief and excitement flooding his mind.
"Is that -?" Lee Jordan started, catching sight of Harry's raised fist. "Harry Potter's caught the snitch! Gryffindor win!" The Gryffindor section of the stands erupted, the mass of red and gold clad supporters jumping up and down with glee. "That's just fantastic," Lee laughed, "take that Flint, you dirty, cheating flea-infested sack of –"
At that particular moment, Professor McGonagall felt it was necessary to reverse Lee's sonorous charm, and his voice could no longer be heard. Harry alit on the ground next to his teammates, who pulled him into a bone-crushing hug. Oliver, in particular, seemed especially pleased with the results, although one thing nagged at him.
"What happened with your broom there, Harry?" he asked as he began leading the other six back toward the changing room.
"No idea," Harry answered truthfully, shrugging, as the last few minutes had driven all thought of the incident from his mind. "Lucky it stopped though, I suppose."
"It couldn't have just stopped," Oliver insisted, his eyebrows knitting together. "Something like that – that's powerful dark magic, Harry, someone had to be interfering."
Harry considered the thought for a moment, trying to figure out who might want to kill him. Draco Malfoy was the obvious choice, but there was no way he had the skill to tamper with a broomstick, especially while it was in flight. Harry felt a brief flicker of fear as the idea that it could somehow have been Voldemort occurred to him, but then he reminded himself that Voldemort was very much gone, and couldn't be responsible. He continued to consider the topic for the remainder of the walk, until he was shaken out of his reverie by a number of excited spectators standing out in front of the door to the changing room.
"Dad!" Harry exclaimed, and he rushed forward.
"That was a brilliant game," James answered as he hugged his son, more excited to see him than he could put into words.
"Oi, what are we, chopped liver?" Sirius interrupted, and Harry moved to give him and Remus hugs as well.
"Really, Harry, you were spectacular," Remus told him, "I can see why they chose you."
"Thanks," Harry answered, smiling broadly.
"But what happened when you were flying?" Sirius questioned, but Harry didn't have a chance to respond.
"Harry!" Hermione called, running over to them with Ron following just behind her. "Harry, are you alright?"
"Yeah, I'm fine," he answered.
"Harry, you won't believe it, mate, it was Snape! Hermione and I saw him!" Ron added, and Harry grimaced in response.
"Of course it was Snape," Harry spat out bitterly. "The only other person who hates me as much as him is Malfoy, and it couldn't have been him."
"I highly doubt Severus…" Remus started to answer, while James and Sirius exchanged a concerned look.
"He was cursing Harry's broomstick, I saw it," Hermione answered defiantly.
"I have on doubt you saw something, but as to whether or not that something was jinxing a broomstick, I feel certain in saying you are incorrect," Remus replied calmly, trying to be rational.
Ron sucked in a sharp breath as Hermione stood up a little straighter, and even Harry raised his eyebrows in surprise. No one ever told Hermione she was wrong, not unless they wanted to have their head bitten off at least.
"I know what it was," she retorted, tone biting. "He was muttering to himself and he wouldn't take his eyes off Harry, he wasn't even blinking."
"But why would Severus want to hurt you?" James interrupted, his eyes fixed on his son.
"I – I saw something," Harry admitted, inexplicably feeling a little sheepish. "I think he was trying to get past the three-headed dog when he let in the troll on Halloween, to steal whatever it's guarding."
"What three-headed dog?" Sirius asked, and Remus looked a little confused as well. James, on the other hand, had not reacted to the news at all.
"The three-headed dog Dumbledore's keeping on the third floor," Ron hastened to explain.
"Harry, how do you know about that dog?" James inquired, ignoring Ron.
"We, well, we found it by mistake one night," Harry replied. "We were hiding from Filch and we went through the door, only we didn't realize what door it was…"
"Listen to me, Harry, listen very carefully," James told him, "I want you to stay far away from that dog. It and what it is guarding are none of your concern, and I don't want you to get involved in it, is that clear?"
"Do you know about this?" Sirius asked James, a note a betrayal adding tension to his voice.
"We can talk about it later," James answered with a wave of his hand. "Harry, have I made myself clear?"
"But, if Snape's trying to steal whatever it's guarding, shouldn't I –"
"Snape would do no such thing," Remus interjected.
"You know about this too?" Sirius demanded, incredulous.
"Dumbledore asked me to consult on a question of security," Remus answered, trying not to sound as guilty as he felt looking at the look on Sirius' face.
"And you didn't tell me?" Sirius reeled, stepping backwards.
"Sirius, please –" Remus pleaded, reaching out and grabbing Sirius' wrist. "We can discuss it later, when we're back home. But for now, all I can say is that Dumbledore asked me to tell no one, even James and I have not spoken about it." James nodded in confirmation. "But I suspect that he knows far more than I do about it anyway."
Sirius shook his head slightly, black curls bouncing, but he did not move away. He remained quiet as well, though the look on his face still clearly stated that he was upset.
"Harry, Severus would not try to steal something so well-guarded," James said, and when Harry opened his mouth to speak, he merely ploughed on, not giving his son a chance. "Even if he were, Nicholas Flamel entrusted Dumbledore for a reason, and he was right to. No one could possibly succeed in getting past Dumbledore if he desired to prevent it. Now, do I have your word that you will leave the matter alone?"
"Fine," Harry sighed after assessing his father for a moment. Despite his agreement, Harry was still wracking his brain for any inkling of who Nicholas Flamel might be, since the name had rung some faint, deeply buried bell in his mind.
"Good, let's all return to the castle now for dinner, shall we?" James asked, motioning toward the front doors.
"Yeah, I want to see if the common room still looks the same too," Sirius added, sounding only marginally more cheerful than he had a few minutes earlier.
As the walked across the great, sloping lawn toward the castle, Harry, Ron, and Hermione exchanged a look that said quite clearly that they were not going to give up their investigations that easily.