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EIGHT: THE QUIDDITCH MATCH

The morning of the first Quidditch game of the year dawned bright and sunny. Perfect condition, according to Oliver Wood. Harrison wasn't so sure. He felt as though his stomach was about to eject itself from the confines of his body in a display of protest.

Hermione watched as her friend moved food around his breakfast plate without bothering to take a bite.

"You have to eat something," she said softly. "You'll be sick if you don't."

"I think I'll be sick if I do," Harrison replied. "I don't think I've ever been so nervous in my life."

Neville stared at him incredulously. "Not even two weeks ago you jumped on top of a troll's back, and now you're nervous about Quidditch."

"Well, that was more spur of the moment," Harrison replied moodily. "Besides, Hermione was in trouble. I couldn't just stand there like a muppet."

Hermione fought back the smile at his words. "Well, at least have some toast."

Neville blinked in confusion. "What's a muppet?"

Harrison knew better than to argue with Hermione. He knew he would lose in an instant. He took a piece of toast and spread a light layer of butter atop it. He bit into the corner, and found that once he had tasted food, his stomach began telling him he should eat more.

Hermione sighed with relief as Harrison finished the piece of toast and then reached to take another.

While he ate, Hermione explained to Neville exactly what a muppet was, and why being one wasn't the best thing in the world. She had a feeling she'd lost him at the world 'Kermit' but at least she'd tried.

Harrison managed several pieces of bacon to go with the toast, until he'd eaten just a little less than usual for breakfast. He exchanged a glance with Oliver Wood, who nodded and wolf whistled to get the teams attention. The team shot up eagerly and followed the captain away from the Great Hall and out to the Quidditch pitch.

Hermione and Neville stayed several paces back, and many more Gryffindor students trickled out. The Slytherins quickly followed suit, and the majority of Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff also went to watch the first match of the season. With the rivalry between Slytherin and Grffindor, it was going to be an interesting game.

Harrison was back to feeling nervous again as the team waited to go onto the pitch.

In the past few weeks, the team had been practicing, and he'd felt quite at home whilst in the air. Now that there was pressure riding on his flying abilities, he wasn't feeling quite so confident.

"Scared Harrison?" Oliver Wood asked.

"A little," he confided.

"That's alright. I felt the same way before my first game too."

"What happened?"

"I, uh, I don't really remember. Took a bludger to the head two minutes in. Woke up in hospital a week later."

Harrison's eyes widened in fear. Oliver really needed to brush up on his pep talk skills. Moments later the team mounted their brooms and flew onto the pitch, rising higher into air and flying a loop to the sound of the school cheering for the two teams.

While the team captains levelled out on either side of Madam Hooch, Harrison's eyes scanned the crowd, searching for Hermione and Neville. He managed to spot them amongst the rest of the Gryffindor first years, and was uplifted to see the sign that read 'Evans for President' that Dean had made.

The whistle blew, and immediately, Harrison's mind was back in the game. The last few weeks had been spent training and learning exactly what a Seeker was meant to do during a game. In actual fact, his job wasn't all that hard. He just had to be particularly observant, and find a small golden ball the size of a walnut.

In terms of gameplay, Seeker's weren't really involved in the main event. Oliver's best piece of advice had been to fly high and out of the way of the rest of the team. It was also the best way to keep an eye out for the snitch.

The game itself was brutal. The Slytherin's seemed to have picked their players for size rather than skill, and considering that the three Gryffindor chasers were all females, they had the advantage when it came to sheer bulk.

The trio of chasers, however, worked extremely well together. Despite it being Katie Bell's first year on the team as well, she, Alicia and Angelina all managed to work as a well-oiled team. Plus, Oliver Wood was excellent at keeping the quaffle away from the goalposts.

The Weasley twins were back for their second year on the team, and as Beaters, it was their job to keep the Bludgers away from the rest of the team, and hit them towards the Slytherins in an attempt to distract the other team. The twins were far better at it than the Slytherin Beaters.

Harrison swept his eyes over the pitch, waiting for the glimpse of gold that would win them the game. With the snitch being worth one hundred and fifty points, it was imperative for their team to be the ones to catch it. In more than ninety-five percent of all Qudditch games, the catcher of the Snitch was the team who won the match.

Harrison's heart jumped a little as he caught sight of the snitch near the goalposts, and immediately he drove his broom forward, racing to get to the other side of the pitch before the Slytherin Seeker could realise where the snitch was hiding.

Before he could make it even halfway across the pitch, his broom began bucking like a wild bronco. Harrison's hands gripped tightly around the handle, and he dug his heels into the foot-rests of his Nimbus 2000. The broom, however, refused to respond to any of his commands, and he felt like he was riding a bull as it tried to dislodge him.

Groans and gasps came from the audience, but Harrison had his mind on his broom. He saw the Weasley twins begin circling below him, ready to catch him should he fall. That was a slightly terrifying notion, but at least they were ready.

In the stands, Hermione was pale and shaking. Neville gripped her shoulder, his fingers digging in enough to potentially leave bruises.

"What's happening?"

Hermione snatched a pair of binoculars out of one of the second years hands, ignoring the shout of protest. Hermione, panicking but trying to remain level-headed, used them to scan the crowd, and found herself watching Professor Snape staring up at Harrison, his eyes unblinking, his lips moving in a chant. Hermione narrowed her eyes.

There was no way that Professor Snape was trying to jinx Harrison's broom, that didn't make any sense at all. He'd been so helpful throughout the last few weeks. She wouldn't go so far as to call him friendly, but she certainly didn't think that he was capable of sabotaging an eleven-year-olds broomstick.

She refocused on him, and noticed Professor Quirrell was behind Snape, wringing his hands together uselessly, and staring, also unblinkingly, up at Harrison.

Quirrell?

Strange, Hermione thought, but far more likely than Snape.

Hermione grabbed Neville and dragged him over to the set of stairs, both of them racing down them and through the underground passageway to get to the teachers stands. Neville was panting breathlessly by the time they'd reached the lower level of where Snape and Quirrell were both sitting.

"What's – going – on?" Neville gasped.

"Quirrell," Hermione whispered. "I think he's jinxing Harris's broom."

"Quirrell?" Neville repeated. "Why would he?"

Hermione ignored that for the moment. She and Harrison had been talking about whether they should admit to Neville about Harrison's birth parents, but as yet had been undecided. Perhaps this would be the incentive they'd needed to bring him in on the secret. But that would be up to Harrison.

"I don't know. But we have to stop him," Hermione said.

Neville stared in confusion. "How?"

Hermione climbed up two stairs, making sure to stay out of sight of the teachers, and pointed her wand at Quirrell's robes. "Incendio."

It took a moment for the Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor to realise that is robes were aflame but the moment he did, there was a gasp of relief from the watching crowd. Hermione caught a glimpse of her best friend through the teacher's seats, and felt her heart unclench as she saw him steadily riding his broom once more.

Neville stared at Hermione in amazement.

"You just set a teacher's robes on fire," he whispered.

Hermione grabbed Neville's arm and dragged him down the steps and back to the underground passageway.

"You won't tell anyone, will you?" Hermione asked.

Neville shook his head, his eyes still wide with disbelief. "Never."

Hermione was satisfied with the answer, and they made their way quickly back to their seats.

They were just in time to watch Harrison force his broom into a dive, racing after the golden snitch, the Slytherin Seeker hot on his tail. Harrison was faster though, and was far more prepared to take risks. Keeping his broom in a dive, he rocketed towards the ground at an alarming speed. The Slytherin Seeker pulled up more than five feet from the ground, while Harrison barely had a foot to spare. He stayed low, and stretched his hand out, straining to reach the fluttering gold ball.

He felt his feet touch solid ground, and his balance was ruined. He bucked forward, losing his broom, his mouth wide open, and he felt something solid hit the back of his throat. Immediately his gag reflex forced it out of his throat, and into his waiting hands, he spat out the snitch.

The crowd went wild!

Harrison raised the snitch n the air, shaking it in victory as his teammates immediately flew down to join him on the ground. The twins hoisted Harrison onto their shoulders, and the Gryffindors in the stands went hoarse from screaming.

Harrison looked up into the crowd and waved frantically at Hermione and Neville. He grinned widely and shook his fist harder. Quidditch had quickly become his favourite sport.

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Later that night, after a celebratory feast in their common room, (with food supplied by the Weasley twins), Harrison, Hermione and Neville sequestered themselves into a quiet corner of the common room.

"Quirrell?" Harrison mused in confusion. "I've never really spoken to him at all. Seems weird that he'd try to kill me."

Neville raised an eyebrow at his friend. "Seems weird that anyone would try to kill you."

Harrison caught Hermione's eye, and he silently asked her opinion. She nodded approvingly, and Harrison looked around the room to see who was nearby. The first years had all dispersed, and no one was close enough to eavesdrop.

"Nev...I – I haven't been entirely honest with you," Harrison said shakily.

"How do you mean?"

"Well...I was adopted by my mum, well she's my aunt really, when I was little. She'd just got a divorce, so she filed to have her name changed. She had mine changed too. To Harrison Evans. From Harry Potter."

Neville stared at him, his face expressionless. After a moment, he sat back in stunned disbelief.

"Wow. That was not what I thought you were going to tell me."

"What were you thinking?" Harrison asked curiously.

"Well...it may have involved your mum having a drunken one-night stand with Dumbledore, but I'm not going to go into details."

Hermione snorted with laughter. She and Harrison had discovered that Neville had a very dry sense of humour once they'd managed to pry him out of his shell.

"I'm really sorry Neville. I was going to tell you," Harrison promised. "It's just...I don't really think of myself as being him. The whole Boy-Who-Lived thing."

Neville nodded. He could understand Harrison's point of view really. He couldn't imagine the type of pressure that would have been placed on Harrison by the entirety of the wizarding world if his identity had become known.

"Who else knows?" Neville asked curiously.

"Just Hermione," Harrison replied. "And the Professors, of course. My name was down as Harry Potter in the register. Professor McGonagall had it changed on all the rolls in class."

"So...if the only people who know about your birth name are the Professors and our Hermione here, (and I doubt she's part of a conspiracy to kill you), then...it sort of makes sense for it to be one to the Professors trying to do you harm. Do you think Quirrell's a Death Eater?"

Harrison's brow scrunched in confusion. "A what?"

"Death Eater," Hermione repeated. "That's what You-Know-Who's army called themselves during the war."

"Weird," Harrison commented. "And...well, isn't Quirrell a little young to have been in the war? He's what, barely thirty?"

"Well, he'd have been about eighteen when You-Know-Who was defeated," Hermione answered. "So, it's not impossible, though it does seem unlikely. Plus Professor Dumbledore seems like he'd be pretty strict about not letting known war criminals into his school."

"Maybe it wasn't Quirrell," Harrison prevaricated. "Maybe it was one of the Slytherin parents."

"Except that the curse on your broom stopped when Quirell lost his concentration," Neville replied.

"The big question is, why would he risk it?" Hermione asked. "And in front of the entire school? If he wanted it to look like an accident he'd have been better off cursing you when you were in the last dive."

"Thanks Hermione," Harrison snarked. "Really comforting."

Hermione glared at him. "That's not what I meant."

"Anyway," Neville broke in, "why would he want to kill you? You-Know-Who's been gone for a decade, and any of his followers who are still free all deny ever following him anyway. He couldn't take the credit for it even if he wanted to."

"It does seem strange," Hermione agreed.

Harrison had a thought flit through his mind and he perked up immediately. "Hey, maybe we could go and rummage through his room."

Neville shook his head frantically, and Hermione looked thoughtful.

"You're not seriously thinking about this are you?" Neville demanded.

"If we can do it, and not get caught...it could be worth it. Something's off about Professor Quirrell," Hermione said. "And not just his smelly turban."

"Maybe we could work out why my scar twinges every time I'm in his class," Harrison suggested.

Neville's eyes immediately went to Harrison's forehead, and he frowned in consternation. "How're you hiding your scar? I've seen you without your bandana, and I've never noticed."

"I use this muggle invention called make-up," Harrison replied. "It's basically a powder. I just put it on every morning before classes."

Hermione ignored the boys as her mind worked over the problem associated with getting into a Professor's private office. For one, she and the boys couldn't go together. She and Harrison were so well known for hanging out together, that most people assumed that where Harrison was, so too was Hermione. That would work in their favour when they went their separate ways.

"Are professors required to go to Quidditch matches?" Hermione asked.

"I think so," Neville replied. "They were all at this one. Even that crazy Divinations teacher."

Hermione nodded and worked out a fairly good way to ensure that Quirrell would be preoccupied, and that she wouldn't really be missed.

"Harrison, you and Neville need to keep your eyes on Quirrell at Saturday's Quidditch match. Make sure he stays put. I'll get into his office and see if I can find anything that would tell us why Quirrell would want you dead. And if anyone asks where I am, just pretend to get flustered and say 'female troubles'."

Harrison flushed bright red.

"Excellent!" Hermione laughed. "Just like that."

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A/N: I really dislike writing Quidditch matches, and that probably showed. Sorry!