Harry and the Pirates, Chapter 09
The Honour of their House
by Technomad
Soon, all of Slytherin House was eagerly anticipating their first Quidditch game of the season. The Troll Incident was not forgotten, particularly when Fred and George Weasley received a Howler from their mother about their treatment of their little brother, but everybody was eagerly discussing their chances against their traditional rival, Gryffindor.
"We've been beating the tar out of Gryffindor for years," Draco Malfoy gloated, "and we'll keep on doing it! With Flint and Pucey as Chasers, Higgs as Seeker and Bletchley as Seeker, we can't lose!"
Harry gave Ron, Hermione and Dudley significant looks. To his eye, the Slytherins were badly overconfident. Ron mouthed "Later," meaning that they'd discuss it somewhere where the blond pureblood couldn't listen in. They often found it easier to discuss things without Draco Malfoy giving them the benefit of his views…or, as he saw them, his wisdom from on high.
All of them had been checked out on brooms by Madame Hooch, who had pronounced them able to fly. Harry and Ron were both natural fliers, while Dudley and Hermione were less sure of themselves. Nonetheless, all four of them kept up practicing.
"After all," Dudley had commented to Harry, "this might be a lifesaver sometime, in Roanapur or somewhere else." Harry nodded. He could easily see situations arising where an unexpected ability to fly out of trouble could save them. They could also prove very useful to Balalaika, or another employer, by being able to fly without showing up on electronic detection systems.
The day of the game dawned, cool and clear, a lovely Scottish late-autumn day. Bundled in their warm gear, the boys from Roanapur were ensconced in the top of the Slytherin supporters' section of the benches, with Hermione and Ron beside them.
"Honestly, this game is silly," Hermione complained. "I mean, most of it more-or-less makes sense…if you call flying around with a couple of cannon balls flying there with you trying to stave your ribcage in sensible. But the whole 'Seeker' thing makes the rest of the game futile, as often as not. Why worry about scoring, if you've got a good Keeper and Seeker? Just keep the other side from scoring, have your Seeker catch the Golden Snitch, and Bob's your uncle, you've won the game!"
"But, Hermione…the Snitch makes the game interesting! Even when you're 'way behind, if your Seeker catches the Snitch, you can still win!" Ron looked at Hermione like she'd suggested legalizing cannibalism. Draco, a few seats away, looked equally horrified.
"Yes…your Seeker can make up for having a weak team. So wouldn't it make sense to concentrate on the Seeker and keeping the other side from scoring, without trying to score yourself?"
The boys all looked at each other. "Got to admit, she's got a point," Dudley drawled. Ron and Draco both looked very calculating.
"After this is over, would you mind talking to Flint?" Draco finally asked. "He might just find what you're saying interesting."
"Only if you boys come along with me," Hermione answered. Harry and Dudley nodded. They had figured out just how important Quidditch was to Flint, and both of them felt that their friend would be much safer with them there. While Flint had always been friendly, telling him that his approach to the game he loved was miles off-base might not be safe.
The game itself was a lot of fun to watch, Harry decided. Lee Jordan, the commentator, was pretty obviously biassed against Slytherin, but Ron explained that he was a Gryffindor himself, and a year-mate of Ron's twin brothers, who were both playing.
"I've got to say, Ron, your brothers work together like two halves of a single person," Draco commented, watching the twins effortlessly manipulate the Bludgers to keep the Slytherin Chasers, Flint and Pucey, off-balance and allow the Gryffindor Chasers to monopolize the Quaffle. When the Quaffle went through the Slytherin goal, the crowd roared.
"We're not popular with our schoolmates, it seems," Harry remarked. "I wonder just why?"
"Oh, that could be because our house was apparently the main recruiting ground for He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named…you know, the guy who, you'll remember, killed a lot of their relatives and kept the wizard world in a state of terror till he met Harry here," Ron said, with an airy tone that belied the pain in his eyes. "Like it or not, we're under a cloud."
"And some tosswits love to toss fuel on the fire by going around snubbing people for their ancestry," Dudley growled, giving Draco Malfoy a very dark look. "Some tosswits tend to forget that Muggle birth isn't the same thing as 'weak wizard,' don't they?" Draco's comments about "Mudbloods" and pureblood superiority had not gone unnoticed, it seemed.
Draco paled, but made no comment in his own defense. One evening, they had had a "friendly" bout between Dudley and Harry, on one side, and his two bodyguards Crabbe and Goyle. Draco had more-or-less cornered them into it, but it had gone very badly for Crabbe and Goyle, who had informed Draco that one more such stunt and they were through with him. They had clearly never encountered Muggle martial arts.
Despite the Gryffindors' fine playing, the game went to Slytherin, mainly because Higgs, the Slytherin Chaser, outflew his Gryffindor counterpart with ease and snagged the Snitch. Harry noticed how downcast McGonagall looked. Beside him, Dudley was deep in discussion with Ron and Hermione.
When they went back in, Dudley explained: "We're going to try to figure out just what factors affect a Quidditch game, so that we can start up a bookmaking service. Weather, previous wins, personnel, what brooms are being flown, and all other variables. A bookmaking service will be a good way to make some extra money."
"Good thinking," Harry commented. Then they came around a corner, and Harry gestured for his friends to be quiet.
They had come across Professor Snape, talking quietly and earnestly with Professor Quirrell. They heard Snape snarling: "Don't try it, Quirrell. You don't want to be my enemy!"
"I d-d-don't know what you're t-t-talking about, Severus…" Quirrell stammered. Snape picked him up by the front of his robes and slammed him against the wall.
"Don't you dare lie to me! You're after it, and I'm warning you, keep off! You don't know what you're dealing with!" With that, Snape contemptuously dropped Quirrell, who all but collapsed in a heap, and stalked back to the castle, radiating outraged dignity from every inch of him. Harry was reminded of an angry cat.
Quirrell was putting himself back to rights, muttering "Oh, I don't know about that, Severus. When my master returns, with my help, you'll regret every bit of what you did to me today…you filthy traitor!" Harry thought that he heard a strange, high-pitched voice answer, but since Quirrell was turning toward them, he signalled for his friends to leave quickly, and joined them.
Harry and his friends made themselves scarce before Quirrell spotted them. They hurried back to the castle, to find a place where they could talk in reasonable privacy.
"Well, this is interesting," Ron started. "I wonder just what Quirrell is up to, and why Snape's trying to stop him?"
"Maybe Quirrell's in search of something that would improve his teaching? Buddha knows, he could stand improvement on that front!" Dudley snorted. All four of the friends laughed. In their time at Hogwarts, they had all formed impressions of their teachers. McGonagall was strict and stern, but knew her subject well, and was endlessly patient with those who were honestly struggling. While they liked him in general, they thought Snape wasn't well-suited to teach beginners; he couldn't relate to people who honestly had no interest or talent for potions, and his snappish sarcasm bothered some of their more timid classmates. Longbottom, in particular, was a perennial target. Flitwick and Sprout both clearly knew their subjects, and could energize a class.
Quirrell, on the other hand, was down with Binns in the category reserved for the worst teachers in the school. Binns' droning made Harry sleepy, and only Hermione's meticulous note-taking kept him afloat in that class. And Quirrell was so timorous, and stuttered so much, that it was an ordeal to listen to him. More than once, Harry had wanted to shake the man, to get him to do something…to write things down on the blackboard, if he was too frightened to say them.
The other Slytherins, and everybody else, from what Harry had gathered, also considered Quirrell an encumbrance. Harry had heard the older Slytherins complaining bitterly that with the calibre of teachers that Hogwarts had had for Defence Against the Dark Arts, their chances of being Aurors, or following any career that might bring them up against wielders of Dark Magic, were vanishingly small.
"I wonder," mused Hermione, "could it be something to do with that corridor on the third floor? The one we're supposed to stay away from?"
The four friends looked at each other. Investigating that corridor had suddenly soared to the top of their list of Things To Do.
