lxix. blackbird
The excitement ebbed and flowed around him, eddying higher and higher like the morning sun and the brisk November wind. All Severus could think about was his bed, a dram of Dreamless Sleep, and the allure of a Saturday lie-in.
He'd liked Quidditch well enough as a boy and still enjoyed betting on the sport with Minerva, if only to raise the cat's hackles, but the veneer had long since worn for Severus, leaving him tired and irritable as he climbed the steps into the staffing section, wishing he could cast something to deaden the sound about the space, but he assumed the rest of the professors would take exception to that. He slid into a seat on the far row and leaned back, out of the sun, letting his eyes slide shut.
Perhaps a minute later, the smell of Earl Grey filled his nose.
Severus cracked open his eyes to spy a thermos of tea hovering before him. Minerva, having come up the stairs as well, stood with her wand in hand, smirking.
"I prefer Breakfast blend in the morning," Severus grumbled as he folded his fingers about the thermos and it stopped floating, weight settling in his hand.
"Good thing it's not all for you, then, Severus."
The Potions Master conjured himself a cup and poured hot tea into it regardless of his preferred flavor, sending the thermos back to McGonagall. "Have you come to watch your precious Gryffindors lose?"
"If you mean win, then yes, of course." She perched on the edge of the bench next to him, tugging her tartan cloak tighter about her shoulder. "Och, it's cold in the shade. It's a wonder you don't freeze to death."
"One can only hope. Go sit in the sun if it bothers you."
"I will, once Jordan graces us with his presence," Minerva replied, a weary sigh leaving her lips.
"He's by far the worst commentator you've ever allowed up here."
"Oh, I don't think so. Do you remember the game Black commentated in your school days?" She let out a sound that was still incredulous all these years later. "Now that was the worst commentary I've ever heard."
Severus' fingers tightened on the cup, and in a single motion, he downed the remnants of his scalding tea and grimaced. He dismissed the cup without taking out his wand. "No, I don't remember. I was in the hospital wing that weekend." Having a particularly stubborn pair of antlers—courtesy of the Marauders—removed. Perhaps it was for the best, as it did spare him having to listen to whatever inane shite Sirius Black's had said.
"Have you seen your new Seeker play yet, Severus?"
"No."
Minerva pursed her lips, eyes moving across the pitch to the far side of the stadium, all decked in silver and green. "For my Gryffindors' sakes, I hope she doesn't have James' talent."
The muscles in his jaw jumped as Severus grit his teeth, reminded now of two of his least favorite people, and it was not yet noon. "A troll taped to a broom would have more talent than James Potter ever did."
Minerva went to argue, a flush of anger in her cheeks, but Jordan finally arrived, and the bitter cat moved on—treading on Severus' feet as she went, much to his displeasure. He was cleaning the scuffs off his boots when he caught a glimpse of something pale in his peripheral vision, and forced himself to swallow a groan.
"Severus," Lucius greeted, hair riled in the breeze, spilling like threads of platinum over his cheek and brow. That the wizard managed to look stately even at this Merlin-forsaken hour irritated Severus to no end, but his face remained placid, genial—or what passed for genial with the Potions Master.
"Lucius," he replied. "I must admit, I didn't think to see you here this morning."
The Malfoy patriarch simpered, taking the seat Minerva had vacated, flicking imaginary lint from his robes before resting his walking stick across his knees. The snake head glinted in the sunlight. "I simply had to come and see the girl who usurped my son's position on the team for myself. If her performance is lackluster, I do trust you'll see the benefit in having her replaced?"
"I can make the recommendation." Not that it came down to Severus' decision in the end. He had no say over Quidditch placements and could only recommend a player for removal if their marks in Potions proved poor. Even if Potter proved a piss-poor player, Slytherin would probably let her stay on the team just to spite Lucius.
"Usually I would leave such a childish dispute to children, but Draco's letters have been incessant, and I can little stand his complaining. Narcissa has told the boy arguing with a witch is unseemly, but he…."
Severus turned a deaf ear to Lucius, wondering what fate decided to curse him with the man's presence today. Most of the seats in the lower stands had been filled, students keen and eager for the first game of the season to begin. Severus watched the pitch, catching movement at the gates as the teams were allowed out, and the volume in the stadium increased to something near riotous. The other Houses snickered, laughed, pointed; Potter was an incongruous addition to the hulking Slytherin team, her head barely reaching Bole's shoulder, who happened to be the shortest brute in the bunch. Even at the distance, the girl radiated nerves, face pale, and Flint bent to her ear, muttering something that did nothing to change her hunted expression.
"Lucius, what a surprise."
Slytherin stood at the end of the row, a smile plastered on his young, winsome face, Selwyn standing sullen at his elbow. Wordless, Severus rose and offered Slytherin his seat, but the wizard waved him off and sat on his other side, pushing Selwyn on to sit by Lucius. Malfoy stiffened, his drawling monologue interrupted, and inclined his regal head.
"Good afternoon…Professor."
From the corner of his eye, Severus saw Slytherin's lip curl. "How are things at the Ministry? I assume Minister Gaunt has been keeping you busy."
Lucius' fingers clasped his cane and released, the only outward sign of his distress aside from the lines about his eyes and the stiffness of his spine. "Naturally. The Ministry and the Minster are always busy working for the betterment of our society."
"You needn't feed me the party line, Malfoy. You know better than that."
Lucius swallowed. "Yes, of course, my—of course."
Inwardly sighing, Severus diverted his attention from the meaningless posturing happening around him. Hooch stood in the middle of the pitch now, bringing the two team captains together. As usual, Flint and Wood did their best to break one another's fingers while their teams looked on, prolonging the moment until a sharp look from Hooch broke them apart. The teams mounted their brooms, and Severus narrowed his eyes at Potter, waiting to see what she would do. If the jeering reached her ears, the girl gave no sign; she stared straight ahead, goggles in place, grip tight, face grim but determined.
Bull-headed, Severus thought. Should have been a bloody Gryffindor.
The whistle blew, the players kicked off—and the girl soared, quick and furious like spellfire in the sky, going higher and faster and farther than any of the others as the game began and the Snitch disappeared with a spark of gold. Spinnet—Gryffindor's Seeker—made to follow, but Potter was already gone, hurtling skyward—and then down again, breaking through the players, a divisive tactic even Severus recognized meant to split apart the Chasers. She flew reckless and hard—not graceful, not like a hawk on the prowl, but rather a scavenger, a black-feathered crow spiraling and swooping, pestering, her eyes kept keen for the sparkle that would end the game in their favor.
"Here we are, first Quidditch game of the season, both Houses ready to give it their all! For Slytherin, we have Flint, Pucey, Montague, Bletchley, Derrick, Bole, and Potter! For Gryffindor; Weasley, Weasley, Wood, Johnson, Bell, Spinnet, and—of course—Longbottom!" The part of the stands draped in crimson and gold hollered their approval. "The Slytherin team this year is riding the new Nimbus Two Thousand and One; marvelous broom, bit of an unfair advantage in my opinion, but what can you expect from their team—?"
"Jordan."
"All right, Professor, all right. Gryffindor in possession already with Longbottom leading the charge—beautiful shot there with a Bludger from Fred Weasley—or George, I can never—anyway, Longbottom has the Quaffle, now Johnson. Watch out, Angelina—excellent evasion! That girl can fly! Longbottom, Johnson, and Bell in formation, Longbottom in possession again. Bletchley doesn't have a hope of blocking this—."
It happened fast. Unseen from above, Potter dove, swift and unrelenting, shouting something at Longbottom, because he looked up and swerved out of her way—right into Flint. Potter was a small girl with the build of a Bowtruckle, but Flint had the stocky solidity of a troll, and Longbottom collided into him with an audible thud, almost as if he'd hit a brick wall. Unruffled, Flint snatched the Quaffle from Longbottom's stunned fingers and bolted in the opposite direction.
"Ooh, nasty tricked played there by Slytherin's new Seeker, second year Harriet Potter. Bad luck, Neville…."
Slytherin guffawed, watching the girl far more closely than Severus thought necessary. Fuck, I should have never helped her fight him. "My, I didn't think little Potter had it in her to fight dirty. Always full of surprises, that one. It seems your boy won't be playing Quidditch this year, Lucius."
Malfoy said nothing.
Severus laid his hand on his opposing wrist, his thumb idly running over the space between the edge of his hidden wand holster and the protruding bone, his eyes still following the game. The Vow had been silent for weeks, suffering only the occasional prickling or numbness. Severus found it curious, considering Quidditch was dangerous, no matter how one looked at it. The Vow reacted to intent and primal understanding; it didn't care about rules or Charms on brooms or watching professors. Severus himself tensed whenever the girl threw herself forward or dropped recklessly; the danger was controlled but indisputably there, and yet the Vow did nothing.
As Severus contemplated the issue, he theorized it had a direct connection to the girl's conception of danger, rather than his own. After all, when Quirrell grabbed Potter last term, Severus' wrist hadn't started to burn until she apparently woke in front of the Mirror of Erised. The magic of the Vow had been perplexing wizards and witches for centuries, and Severus doubted he'd live long enough to ever truly grasp its full implications.
"Hmm…it appears the Boy Who Lived is having difficulties."
Indeed, Longbottom had broken formation and flew in erratic circles about the pitch, trying to shake off a persistent Bludger. The Bludger chased the boy, and though the Weasley twins whacked it away several times, the ball flitted away from other prospective targets and came shooting at Longbottom again.
Severus grunted. "It's been tampered with."
No sooner had he spoken, the whistle blew and Hooch grounded the players, the stands erupting in confused shouts and discontent booing. Minerva stood for her place by Jordan, and seeing as Slytherin wasn't about to make himself useful, Severus rose as well, stretching his sore back. "I guess will see what has occurred."
Left with Slytherin, Lucius paled. Serves the git right.
He trailed the Head of Gryffindor down from the staffing section back onto the grounds and through the gates to the pitch itself. The wind lowed through the expanse and carried with it the shouting voices of the two teams, a mixture of green and red players taking advantage of Hooch's distraction to yell and throw accusations. Potter had enough sense to stand out of the way behind Montague; Wood grabbed hold of Flint's uniform, his face flushed, and the Weasley twins eyed Pucey as if contemplating how best to hit the thick-headed boy.
"—nothing by slimy, underhanded Slytherin cheaters—."
"—don't know what you're talking about, Wood—."
"—blatant tampering! It's bad enough you've taught your Seeker how to cheat, too—."
"—scared of short runt like Potter, are you? Pathetic—."
"Wood!" McGonagall interjected when the fool made to strike Flint. She hurried over, one hand braced on her hat, keeping it in place. "Mr. Wood, release him this instant, this is highly improper—."
Severus sneered. "Ten points from Gryffindor for improper conduct, Wood." Minerva bristled.
"Professor Snape, I do think we can be lenient, considering—."
Moving on, Severus ignored the witch's annoyed glower and strode over to Hooch, the wind catching and throwing his hair into his eyes, cloak billowing. The referee had the rogue Bludger pinned to the grass with magic, containing it, though the ball did its damnedest to break her spell. It thrashed and rolled, tearing at the sod in its attempts to go after Longbottom.
"Oh, it's been tampered with, all right," Hooch said before Severus could speak. "Stunned it twice, and the blasted thing won't do as it's supposed to. The other one seems just fine."
Frowning, Severus flicked his wrist, wand sliding down into his hand. He spoke a basic counter-curse, and when nothing occurred, tried another. A third yielded similar results, and a fourth—meant for Dark spells—did nothing at all. "Where did you keep these, Hooch? Your office?"
"Aye. No students have been in there, not unless I've been there, too."
"This isn't a student's doing. None of the dunderheads at this school could overpower the Charms on a Bludger." And, Severus supplied in his own head, none of them could use something creative enough to thwart me. Who, then? And why? If they meant to maim or kill the Idiot Who Lived, there were far simpler ways to go about it, and Severus doubted anyone with the skills capable of overriding the Bludger's magic would bother with rigging a bloody school Quidditch match. What a waste of time.
"Watch out!"
Hooch's spell wavered, and the Bludger rocketed from the ground, nearly taking Severus' head with it. "Fuck—."
"Severus—!"
He whirled about, wand raised, and snarled, "Expulso."
The Bludger exploded. The Gryffindors screamed as small bits pelted their heads. They turned wide, fearful eyes to their Potions Master with his wand still extended, and Severus grinned, the look only serving to terrify them further. Bloody cowards. He stuck it wand back in his sleeve. "Find a spare," he said, turning heel and marching off the field.
The game resumed soon enough. Hooch retrieved a new, acceptable Bludger from her locked office, and though the players took to the skies again without further mishap, Severus remained at the gate, standing in the tunnel's shadow with his shoulder leaning on the wall, listening to the intermittent groan of wood and formless cheering. Minerva stayed as well, hands together, knuckles white with controlled concern.
"You don't think it's like—last term?" she asked in an undertone, placing special emphasis on her words. Above, the students roared as Gryffindor managed to make a goal. "You don't think it's him again?"
"Doubtful, but who are we to guess his whims?" Severus muttered. Bitter, he clenched his teeth and thought of how easily that Bludger could have gone after a different student, how easily it could have broken the bones of a girl no bigger than a bird—. "Where is Albus?"
"At the Ministry. Gaunt has taken a special interest in recent events here at Hogwarts and has been calling Albus in to account more often than usual."
Silent, Severus thought about this—and about Cloyd Dogbane and a dead Death Eater on the floor of a tent, Slytherin hissing "Sssomeone seeks to play us!" and probing Lucius for intelligence on Gaunt's movements. The strange game played between Gaunt and Slytherin was not new; for a decade, they delighted in undermining one another, and Albus had long theorized Gaunt would eventually make a more blatant move against the Defense instructor. Was this the Minister's doing? Was he interfering at Hogwarts?
The crowd screeched, howled, feet bouncing on the stands as the two Seekers dove, and Potter rose first, fist held high with a glimmer of gold sparkling between her thin fingers. Slytherin House cheered. From his place in the shadows, Severus hardly noticed.
A/N: As part of the Slytherin team, I totally believe Harriet would learn how to play dirty—especially since that seems to be their default play style.