VIII: That Time Hermione Set Snape on Fire and It Was Iconic

As we entered the Quidditch season, the Hogwarts spirit was higher than it had been all year. Tension between the houses built as teams began fighting over the Quidditch field, all of them wanting to get in as much practice as possible. Everyone was working their hardest to earn house points. All of the Gryffindors donned red and gold house scarves, and some gave their extras to us first years. But the greatest change of all wasn't the season or the spirit: it was my social life.

Every day, more and more people realized I wasn't Voldemort Jr. At the start of the term, students would avoid even making eye contact with me. But nowadays, even perfect Percy the Prefect would wave to me in the hall. At first, Hogwarts felt like home because it was away from Malfoy Manor. Now, Hogwarts felt like home because it was.

Even though I still have a headache from the encounter with the mountain troll, I was happy it happened. It brought us all closer together. Hermione had loaned Harry Quidditch Through the Ages for the upcoming game, and although the latter wasn't much of a reader, he genuinely found it interesting. She had also volunteered to correct half of Ron's essays—and by half, I mean all. Hermione had finally accepted that Harry and Ron's rule-breaking saved her life. She had become more lax about school conduct, and even conjured a little fire in a jar to warm us up outside, which we weren't sure was allowed. We huddled around the fire in the freezing courtyard, trying to catch falling snowflakes on our tongue. We were now a quartet of sorts, and Snape despised all four of us. We were just discussing how much we hated the man when a familiar voice caught us by surprise.

"Potter!" Snape snapped. All of four of us immediately shut our mouths. I feared he'd heard what we said, but to our relief, he found another way to get us in trouble.

"What's that you've got there?" He suspiciously eyed the book in Harry's hand.

Harry showed Snape the cover, diverting his eyes.

"Library books are not to be taken outside the school," Snape scolded. "Five points from Gryffindor." He snatched the book out of Harry's hand and limped away, his expression never changing from his default frown of disapproval.

"He just made that rule up," Harry muttered once Snape was out of sight. "What's wrong with his leg?"

"Dunno," Ron said, "but I hope it's painful."

Hermione forced us to spend most of that evening perfecting essays on the importance of wideye potions. She said we couldn't afford to anger Snape any more than we already had, and Ron and I agreed. But Harry wasn't so quick to let Snape boss him around; he decided he was getting his book back. He stormed out of Gryffindor tower and set out for the teachers' lounge.

Harry returned around ten minutes later, gasping for air and empty-handed.

"He tried to take it," he said once he had caught his breath.

"What?" asked a confused Ron.

"Snape," Harry said. "He tried to get past that three-headed dog. He was talking about it while Filch was bandaging up his leg."

"But what did he try to take?" I inquired.

"I think it's the package from Gringotts," Harry said.

"What package?" Hermione puzzled. Guilt hit me as I remembered she missed out on tea with Hagrid.

"You mean the package you thought someone tried to steal?" I said. Harry nodded.

"We think that Hagrid took it here and had the dog keep it safe," Ron said.

"And Snape tried to take it," Harry finished.

"Ron, how do you know about this?" Hermione asked.

"Oh, Harry told me when we weren't talking to you."

I always despised Snape, but I never imagined he would try to steal something worthy of a Dark wizard, and especially not something under Hogwarts protection. But now that Harry suggested it, it seemed pretty plausible. Maybe it was just my hatred for Snape speaking, but he was the most suspicious person that I had ever met.

"I could see Snape doing that," I said with a shrug, but Hermione wasn't so quick to accept our theory.

"Look, I don't like Snape either, but he wouldn't steal something Dumbledore wanted safe."

"Honestly, Hermione, you think all teachers are saints," Ron grumbled. "I'm with Harry. I wouldn't put anything past Snape."

Harry was no less troubled the next morning. After breakfast, he would be playing in his first ever Quidditch game, and he was more nervous than I had ever seen him. He didn't eat a single thing or even look at any of us. He spent the entire meal staring down at his untouched plate, an anxious look frozen on his face. I didn't know Harry Potter could get nervous.

"You've got to eat something, Harry," Hermione said.

"I'm not hungry," he mumbled without moving his eyes from his plate.

"You'll need your strength," Seamus said. "Seekers are always getting clobbered by the other team."

"That's reassuring," Harry muttered. That was the last thing he said all breakfast.

When Hermione, Ron, and I arrived back in the common room, the upcoming Quidditch game was the only thing on anyone's mind. Everyone was dancing, and a radio on top of the mantle was blasting the Weird Sisters' "Do the Hippogriff." Some enthusiastic Gryffindors were having Lavender paint their faces with red and gold streaks of eye shadow while Dean, Seamus, Neville, and two older boys I didn't recognize were making a banner out of a torn up sheet.

"What's this music?" Hermione grimaced, covering her ears as the radio gave off feedback from Myron Wagtail's scream-singing.

"It's art, Hermione," I said.

"No, it's not!" Ron argued. "Bill and Charlie always forced me to listen to the Weird Sisters. They're awful."

"Your brothers or the Weird Sisters?" I asked.

"Both."

"You have zero taste in music," I scoffed, making Ron roll his eyes. "Come on, let's go get our faces painted!" I dragged Ron and Hermione along to where Lavender, who had finished her makeup session, was gossipping with Parvati and Fay.

"Can I have some face paint?" I asked Lavender, putting on the friendliest face I possibly could. Maybe she forgot about the parchment-throwing incident.

"Sorry," Lavender said, "but I don't do makeup for criminals." Parvati and Fay laughed behind her, making the smile slowly fade from my face.

"You know what, Lavender?" Ron interjected. "Sadie might not be the nicest person—or the most agreeable—or the most socially adept—but she is not a criminal!" The three girls stopped their laughing as Ron snatched the Lavender's eye shadow palette from her hand and painted my cheeks red and gold.

"Thanks," I said to Ron. "I think."

"You can pay me back by turning the bloody radio off."

"I'm good," I said with a shrug.

Lavender, Parvati and Fay had realized by now that I'm not a threat, so instead of being scared of me, they can be complete jerks. It stung, but it was better than being feared by everyone who made eye contact with you. Normal people had drama, right?

Meanwhile, Dean was circling around the Gryffindor banner, examining his work from every angle in true artist fashion. I walked over to see it for myself, and I wasn't disappointed. The words "POTTER FOR PRESIDENT" covered the banner. To the left of the words was a Gryffindor crest that looked too perfect to be drawn.

"I don't want to be that person," I said, catching Dean's attention, "but did you draw that?"

"I tried."

"Well, I just wanted to say it looks good," I said. I was getting so much better at this conversation thing. If only Ron could see me now.

"Eh," Dean protested, "it took me forever. And now I have to draw another on the right—"

"Mate, I don't think we have time for that," Seamus said.

Dean glared at him. "But then it won't be symmetrical!"

"I can draw fast," I said.

"Maybe," Neville chimed in, "But can you draw as well as the Deanmeister—"

"Stop calling me that," Dean muttered.

"Whatever. But seriously, can you draw?"

I shrugged. "I'd like to think so."

"Have at it, then," Dean said, handing me a thin, cylindrical black stick twice the width of my palm.

"What's this?" I asked.

"It's a pen," Dean answered as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "You do know what a pen is… right?"

"Should I?"

"It's okay," Neville assured me. "I didn't know what it was at first either."

"You wizards need to get with the times," Dean chided. "Basically, it's like a quill and inkwell, except it's practical."

"What's so impractical about a quill and ink?" I asked, so offended.

"Well, that's what people used in the fourteenth century, and they all died of the Plague. Coincidence? I think not."

"The—the Plague?" Neville and I stuttered in unison.

"Yep," Dean said with a solemn sigh. "It wiped out the entire population. Users of the quill and inkwell are at the highest risk."

Neville and I gasped and exchanged worried looks.

"Would you two relax?" Seamus interjected. "The bubonic plague isn't around anymore. And for the record, Dean, it didn't kill the entire population. Only twenty-five million people or so."

Dean rolled its eyes. "It's called hyperbole, Seamus."

"What's hyperbole?" I asked.

"Nevermind," Dean mumbled. "Anyway, a pen is like a quill, except you don't have to refill it. If you want to use it, just click on this part." He took the pen from my hand and pushed down on one side, causing a silver, pointy end to shoot out the other side. The silver point brushed his hand, causing a thin black line to appear on his dark skin. "And click again when you're done." He pushed on the clicky part again and the pointy part disappeared. "Now, if you could make the crest the opposite way as the one I drew, that would be great. For the aesthetic, you know." He handed me the pen again, and naturally, I started clicking it, making the silver point appear and disappear over and over. I was fascinated.

Dean slapped my hand. "Stop that, you're gonna break it."

I stopped clicking and began to draw an outline of the Gryffindor crest: a simple shield shape containing a roaring lion on a red and gold checkered background. It only took me a few minutes to draw it; after all, I had plenty of practice with art. Drawing was the only way I knew how express myself. Until I met Manuel, I had no one to talk to, and I didn't know how to write. So, instead of talking to people with words, I talked to my sketchbook with pictures. Maybe that's why I'm so socially awkward.

"She is good," Neville said, admiring my drawing.

"How'd you do that so fast?" Dean complained. "It takes me that long to draw just one line! You can't afford to mess up with pen… I wish a brought a pencil with me…"

"A pencil?" Neville and I asked.

Dean shook his head. "Nevermind."

"Now for the finishing touches," one of the two fifth years said as he raised his wand at the banner. "Reparo." The holes in the sheet began to patch themselves together. It looked as good as new.

"Colovaria," the other boy said, causing the sheet's faded maroon color to brighten itself to a vibrant red. The words "POTTER FOR PRESIDENT" changed from a black outline to a shining gold, and the crests looked just like the one hanging in the Great Hall. Harry would love it.

At eleven o'clock, the field was filled with students and teachers from every house. The Slytherin and Gryffindor Quidditch teams were huddled together in the Quidditch pitch, planning for the game that would start any minute. One of the upperclassman had charmed our banner to levitate in the air, and Harry gave the biggest smile when he caught sight of it. Lee Jordan, one of Fred and George's friends, was pacing around the commentator's booth, doing some vocal warm-ups. McGonagall sat beside him with her head in her hands.

Once Madam Hooch blew her whistle, both teams mounted their brooms and took their positions.

"Hello everyone," Lee shouted into his microphone, "and welcome to the House Tournament!" A series of cheers erupted from the crowd. "To start off the Quidditch season, today Gryffindor will be kicking Slytherin's a—"

McGonagall covered the microphone, causing unbearable feedback to fill the stadium.

"Sorry, Professor," Lee continued once the mic was his again. "On that note, take it away, Madam Hooch!"

Another blow of the whistle, and the game began.

"And Gryffindor is in possession of the Quaffle thanks to Chaser Johnson—damn, she's hot—"

"JORDAN!" McGonagall shouted.

"Sorry, Professor—anyway, Johnson passes to Gryffindor Chaser Spinnet—Spinnet passes to Gryffindor Chaser Bell, who—oh no, Slytherin Captain and Chaser Marcus Flint steals the Quaffle—he passes to Slytherin Chaser Pucey—is that the best you can do Flint?—Looks like he's going to score—no, blocked by the one and only amazing Gryffindor Captain and Keeper Oliver Wood!—Gryffindor has the Quaffle now—Wood passes to Bell—Bell passes to—nope, Slytherin Beater What's-His-Face hits her with a Bludger—not cool, man—Pucey has the Quaffle now—he flies towards the Gryffindor goalpost—Will he score? Probably not—Gryffindor Beater Weasley—I'm not quite sure which one—hits a Bludger straight at Pucey's head!—OUCH, that must've hurt—but do I care? Not really—An excellent steal from Johnson—she shoots—and she scores past that idiot Slytherin Keeper Bletchley! Ten points to Gryffindor!"

The Gryffindors cheered, while the Slytherins shouted a series of boos. Ron, Hermione, and I, yelled words of encouragement at Harry.

"C'mon, scoot over," a gruff voice said. Ron, Hermione, and I turned around to see Hagrid seating himself next to us.

"Hagrid!" we shouted. We squeezed in together to make room for him.

"Bin watchin' from me hut," Hagrid explained, "but I thought I'd join the crowd." He lifted a pair of binoculars to his face and scanned the field. "Any sign o' the Snitch?"

"No," Ron said. "Harry hasn't had much to do yet."

"Gryffindor Seeker Potter—youngest seeker in a century—seems to have caught sight of the Snitch!" Jordan continued. "He dives through the air, like the majestic Gryffindor he is—"

Harry gave a small smile at Lee's comment.

"Oh, no, here comes Slytherin Seeker Higgs—never liked that guy—he seems to see the Snitch too—the Seekers are racing towards it—Potter is in front—he reaches towards the Snitch—he's going to catch—no, Flint blocks Potter—nearly knocked him off his broom, that son of a—"

"JORDAN!" McGonagall scolded.

"Sorry, Professor."

Madam Hooch blew her whistle, and shouted "FOUL! Free shot for Gryffindor!"

The Seekers began looking every which way in confusion. They had lost the Snitch.

"So after that obvious and disgusting bit of cheating—"

"JORDAN!"

"I mean, after that revolting foul—"

"Jordan, I am warning you—"

"Sorry, Professor—What I meant to say was, after Flint nearly kills Potter—definitely not cheating at all—Slytherin receives a penalty—Spinnet takes the shot—and another ten points for Gryffindor!"

More cheers erupted from the crowd of Gryffindors.

"Slytherin in possession now—Flint goes for the goalpost—gets hit in the face by a Bludger! Hope it broke his nose—just joking, Professor—c'mon, laugh a little—oh, Slytherins score—ten points to Slytherin, unfortunately."

This time, the celebratory cheers came from the Slytherins and the Gryffindors were the ones booing. Meanwhile, Harry's face lit up. I followed his line of vision to a whirring, golden sphere in the air: the Snitch. He tried to dive towards it, but his broom began to jerk back and forth. A few murmurs trickled through the stands, and soon enough, everyone was pointing at Harry.

"Dunno what Harry thinks he's doin'," Hagrid said. "Musta lost control o' his broom… but he couldn' have…"

Harry's broom rolled over, almost throwing him off the side. The crowd gasped. He was hanging onto his broom with one hand, holding on for dear life.

"What happened?" Ron worried.

"Maybe something happened when he knocked into Flint," Seamus suggested.

"Can't have," Hagrid said. "Only powerful dark magic can do sumthin' like that to a Nimbus Two Thousand."

This must have given Hermione an idea. She seized Hagrid's binoculars and directed them towards the teachers' stands, her brow furrowed in concentration.

"I knew it!" she exclaimed. "Look at Snape!"

I snatched the binoculars from her and zoomed in on Snape. He was murmuring something under his breath, never blinking or taking a breath.

"What is he doing?" I asked.

"He's jinxing the broom!" Hermione said with brilliance.

"What do we do?" said Ron.

"Leave it to me."

Without another word, Hermione disappeared into the stands. Meanwhile, Harry's broom was still too out of control for him to remount it. Luckily, the Snitch was still nowhere to be found, so he could still win the game if whatever Hermione had in mind would work. Knowing Hermione, there was a good chance it would.

Everyone, including the Gryffindor team, was too focused on Harry to notice that Flint had scored five times. Then, the crowd let out another gasp, but this time it wasn't for Harry. Bright blue flames had caught onto Snape's robes, and they were rapidly spreading around the teachers' stands. Professor Sprout tried to fan the fire out with her robes, but to no avail. Flitwick, the smart one, stopped the fire by shooting water out of the end of his wand. After the fire was gone, Flitwick poured some more water onto Snape's head for good measure, which the latter didn't seem too happy about.

Hermione appeared beside me again, smiling. "That worked," she said, very pleased with herself. I looked into the Quidditch pitch to see that Harry's broom was now still and calm, hovering in the air as it should be. He attempted to climb back onto his broom, but it proved difficult.

Ron simply stared at Hermione in disbelief. "Did you just… set fire to a teacher?"

"I'm brilliant, aren't I?" Hermione beamed.

The crowd let out another gasp. I looked back at Harry to see his hand slip from the broom. He was falling from almost fifty feet up: if someone didn't do something now, he could die.

So naturally, I did the first thing that came to mind. I pulled my wand from my pocket and whispered: "Wingardium Leviosa."

I levitated the broom so it was positioned below Harry. He fell onto it, let out a sigh of relief, and the game continued as normal. A sly smile appeared on my face.

"Never seen a broom do tha' in me life," Hagrid marveled. "Catch a player like that. Not complainin', o' course."

Hermione suddenly caught sight of the wand in my hand. "Sadie!" she exclaimed. "You didn't—did you?"

"Levitation charm," I said, twirling my wand in my hand.

"Yeh coulda forfeited the game!" Hagrid scolded.

"I could've?"

"Hagrid's right," Ron said. "Anyone who casts a spell on a player forfeits their team. It's illegal in the Quidditch world."

"It's not illegal if you don't get caught," I muttered, hurriedly stuffing my wand back in my pocket.

Harry was finally able to dive for the Snitch, but suddenly, he clapped a hand to his mouth as if he would throw up. He landed on the ground on all fours, and spit a small golden object into the palm of his hands.

"I got the Snitch!" he shouted, holding it above his head for everyone to see. Madam Hooch blew her whistle to signify the end of the game, but it was inaudible over the cheers from the Gryffindors. The team gathered around Harry, each giving him congratulatory high fives and pats on the back.

"And, as all of us expected, Gryffindor wins—one hundred and seventy points to sixty!" Lee shouted into his microphone.

We spent the afternoon in Hagrid's hut explaining everything to Harry over tea. But Hagrid, who hadn't heard our conversation about Snape in the stands, wasn't so quick to believe us.

"Rubbish," he said. "I know yeh don' like Snape, but he wouldn' do summat like that."

Harry, Ron, Hermione, and exchanged knowing glances, daring each other to tell Hagrid about Snape's past transgressions. Harry was the one to speak.

"We found out something about him," he explained. "He tried to get past the three-headed dog, but it bit him. He was probably after whatever it's guarding."

Hagrid spilled tea all over himself. "How do yeh know about Fluffy?"

"Fluffy?" the four of us questioned.

"Yeah, he's mine. Bought 'im from a Greek wizard las' year."

"You named a demon dog Fluffy?" I said.

"Codswallop!" Hagrid nearly yelled, making me jump back in my seat. "Fluffy isn't a demon! He's adorable!" He took a deep breath to regain his composure. "I lent 'im to Dumbledore to guard—" He stopped himself short.

"To guard what?" Harry coaxed.

"Nothin' yeh need to worry 'bout," Hagrid assured. "It's top secret."

"But Snape's trying to steal it!"

"Rubbish," Hagrid repeated. "Snape's a Hogwarts teacher."

"Then why'd he try to kill Harry?" Hermione said. Her opinion on Snape had certainly changed.

"At leas' he stopped," Hagrid said uncertainly.

"The only reason he stopped was because Hermione set him on fire!" Ron blurted.

Hagrid dropped his teacup. "What?"

"Thanks, Hermione!" Harry said.

"You should be thanking Sadie," said Hermione humbly. "She was the one who levitated your broom so it would catch you."

Hagrid sighed. "No one should be thankin' anyone! I dunno why Harry's broom acted like that, but Snape wouldn' try ter kill a student."

"I know a jinx when I see one!" Hermione retorted. "You have to make eye contact, and Snape wasn't blinking!"

"I'm tellin' yeh, yer wrong!" Hagrid said. "Listen ter me, all four o' yeh—yer meddlin' in things that don' concern yeh. You need ter forget abou' Snape, an' forget abou' Fluffy, alright? That's between me, Professor Dumbledore, an' Nicolas Flamel—"

"So there's a Nicolas Flamel involved, is there?" Harry said.

Hagrid froze.

"I shouldn'ta said that," he muttered. "I should not have said that."