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QUIDDITCH
As they entered November, the weather turned very cold. The mountains around the school became icy gray and the lake like chilled steel. Every morning the ground was covered in frost. Hagrid could be seen from the upstairs windows defrosting broomsticks on the Quidditch field, bundled up in a long moleskin overcoat, r...
The Quidditch season had begun. On Saturday, Harry would be playing in his first match after weeks of training: Gryffindor versus Slytherin. If Gryffindor won, they would move up into second place in the house championship.
Hardly anyone had seen Harry play because Wood had decided that, as their secret weapon, Harry should be kept, well, secret. But the news that he was playing Seeker had leaked out somehow, and Harry didn't know which was worse—people telling him he'd be brilliant or people telling him they'd be running around undernea...
It was really lucky that Harry now had Hermlone as a friend. He didn't know how he'd have gotten through all his homework without her, what with all the last-minute Quidditch practice Wood was making them do. She had also tent him Quidditch Through the Ages, which turned out to be a very interesting read.
Harry learned that there were seven hundred ways of committing a Quidditch foul and that all of them had happened during a World Cup match in 1473; that Seekers were usually the smallest and fastest players, and that most serious Quidditch accidents seemed to happen to them; that although people rarely died playing Qu...
Hermione had become a bit more relaxed about breaking rules since Harry and Ron had saved her from the mountain troll, and she was much nicer for it. The day before Harry's first Quidditch match the three of them were out in the freezing courtyard during break, and she had conjured them up a bright blue fire that coul...
«What's that you've got there, Potter?»
It was Quidditch Through the Ages. Harry showed him.
«Library books are not to be taken outside the school,» said Snape. «Give it to me. Five points from Gryffindor.»
«He's just made that rule up,» Harry muttered angrily as Snape limped away. «Wonder what's wrong with his leg?»
«Dunno, but I hope it's really hurting him,» said Ron bitterly.
The Gryffindor common room was very noisy that evening. Harry, Ron, and Hermione sat together next to a window. Hermione was checking Harry and Ron's Charms homework for them. She would never let them copy («How will you learn?»), but by asking her to read it through, they got the right answers anyway.
Harry felt restless. He wanted Quidditch Through the Ages back, to take his mind off his nerves about tomorrow. Why should he be afraid of Snape? Getting up, he told Ron and Hermione he was going to ask Snape if he could have it.
«Better you than me,» they said together, but Harry had an idea that Snape wouldn't refuse if there were other teachers listening.
He made his way down to the staffroom and knocked. There was no answer. He knocked again. Nothing.
Perhaps Snape had left the book in there? It was worth a try. He pushed the door ajar and peered inside—and a horrible scene met his eyes.
Snape and Filch were inside, alone. Snape was holding his robes above his knees. One of his legs was bloody and mangled. Filch was handing Snape bandages.
«Blasted thing*,» Snape was saying. «How are you supposed to keep your eyes on all three heads at once?»
Harry tried to shut the door quietly, but —
«POTTER!»
Snape's face was twisted with fury as he dropped his robes quickly to hide his leg. Harry gulped.
«I just wondered if I could have my book back.»
«GET OUT! OUT!»
Harry left, before Snape could take any more points from Gryffindor. He sprinted back upstairs.
«Did you get it?» Ron asked as Harry joined them. «What's the matter?»
In a low whisper, Harry told them what he'd seen.
«You know what this means?» he finished breathlessly. «He tried to get past that three-headed dog at Halloween! That's where he was going when we saw him—he's after whatever it's guarding! And Id bet my broomstick he let that troll in, to make a diversion!»
Hermione's eyes were wide.
«No—he wouldn't, she said. «I know he's not very nice, but he wouldn't try and steal something Dumbledore was keeping safe.»
«Honestly, Hermione, you think all teachers are saints or something,» snapped Ron. «I'm with Harry. I wouldn't put anything past Snape. But what's he after? What's that dog guarding?»
Harry went to bed with his head buzzing with the same question. Neville was snoring loudly, but Harry couldn't sleep. He tried to empty his mind—he needed to sleep, he had to, he had his first Quidditch match in a few hours—but the expression on Snape's face when Harry had seen his leg wasn't easy to forget.
The next morning dawned very bright and cold. The Great Hall was full of the delicious smell of fried sausages and the cheer ful chatter of everyone looking forward to a good Quidditch match.
«You've got to eat some breakfast.»
«I don't want anything.»
«Just a bit of toast,» wheedled Hermione.
«I'm not hungry.»
Harry felt terrible. In an hour's time he'd be walking onto the field.
«Harry, you need your strength,» said Seamus Finnigan. «Seekers are always the ones who get clobbered by the other team.»
«Thanks, Seamus,» said Harry, watching Seamus pile ketchup on his sausages.
By eleven o'clock the whole school seemed to be out in the stands around the Quidditch pitch. Many students had binoculars. The seats might be raised high in the air, but it was still difficult to see what was going on sometimes.
Ron and Hermione joined Neville, Seamus, and Dean the West Ham fan up in the top row. As a surprise for Harry, they had painted a large banner on one of the sheets Scabbers had ruined. It said Potter for President, and Dean, who was good at drawing, had done a large Gryffindor lion underneath. Then Hermione had perfor...
Meanwhile, in the locker room, Harry and the rest of the team were changing into their scarlet Quidditch robes (Slytherin would be playing in green).
Wood cleared his throat for silence.
«Okay, men,» he said.
«And women,» said Chaser Angelina Johnson.
«And women,» Wood agreed. «This is it.»
«The big one,» said Fred Weasley.
«The one we've all been waiting for,» said George.
«We know Oliver's speech by heart,» Fred told Harry, «we were on the team last year.»
«Shut up, you two,» said Wood. «This is the best team Gryffindor's had in years. We're going to win. I know it.»
He glared at them all as if to say, «Or else.»
«Right. It's time. Good luck, all of you.»
Harry followed Fred and George out of the locker room and, hoping his knees weren't going to give way, walked onto the field to loud cheers.
Madam Hooch was refereeing. She stood in the middle of the field waiting for the two teams, her broom in her hand.
«Now, I want a nice fair game, all of you,» she said, once they were all gathered around her. Harry noticed that she seemed to be speaking particularly to the Slytherin Captain, Marcus Flint, a sixth year. Harry thought Flint looked as if he had some troll blood in him. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the flutteri...
«Mount your brooms, please.»
Harry clambered onto his Nimbus Two Thousand.
Madam Hooch gave a loud blast on her silver whistle.
Fifteen brooms rose up, high, high into the air. They were off. «And the Quaffle is taken immediately by Angelina Johnson of Gryffindor—what an excellent Chaser that girl is, and rather attractive, too —»
«JORDAN!»
«Sorry, Professor.»
The Weasley twins' friend, Lee Jordan, was doing the commentary for the match, closely watched by Professor McGonagall.
«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—no, the Slytherins have taken the Quaffle, Slytherin Captain Marcus Flint gains the Quaffle and off he goes—Flint flying like an eagle up there—he's going to scno, stopped...
Gryffindor cheers filled the cold air, with howls and moans from the Slytherins.
«Budge up there, move along.»
«Hagrid!»
Ron and Hermione squeezed together to give Hagrid enough space to join them.
«Bin watchin' from me hut,» said Hagrid, patting a large pair of binoculars around his neck, «But it isn't the same as bein' in the crowd. No sign of the Snitch yet, eh?»
«Nope,» said Ron. «Harry hasn't had much to do yet.»
«Kept outta trouble, though, that's somethin',» said Hagrid, raising his binoculars and peering skyward at the speck that was Harry.
Way up above them, Harry was gliding over the game, squinting about for some sign of the Snitch. This was part of his and Wood's game plan.
«Keep out of the way until you catch sight of the Snitch,» Wood had said. «We don't want you attacked before you have to be.»
When Angelina had scored, Harry had done a couple of loop-the-loops to let off his feelings. Now he was back to staring around for the Snitch. Once he caught sight of a flash of gold, but it was just a reflection from one of the Weasleys' wristwatches, and once a Bludger decided to come pelting his way, more like a ca...
«All right there, Harry?» he had time to yell, as he beat the Bludger furiously toward Marcus Flint.
«Slytherin in possession,» Lee Jordan was saying, «Chaser Pucey ducks two Bludgers, two Weasleys, and Chaser Bell, and speeds toward the—wait a moment—was that the Snitch?»
A murmur ran through the crowd as Adrian Pucey dropped the Quaffle, too busy looking over his shoulder at the flash of gold that had passed his left ear.
Harry saw it. In a great rush of excitement he dived downward after the streak of gold. Slytherin Seeker Terence Higgs had seen it, too. Neck and neck they hurtled toward the Snitch -all the Chasers seemed to have forgotten what they were supposed to be doing as they hung in midair to watch.
Harry was faster than Higgs—he could see the little round ball, wings fluttering, darting up ahead— he put on an extra spurt of speed —
WHAM! A roar of rage echoed from the Gryffindors below—Marcus Flint had blocked Harry on purpose, and Harry's broom spun off course, Harry holding on for dear life.
«Foul!» screamed the Gryffindors.
Madam Hooch spoke angrily to Flint and then ordered a free shot at the goal posts for Gryffindor. But in all the confusion, of course, the Golden Snitch had disappeared from sight again.
Down in the stands, Dean Thomas was yelling, «Send him off, ref! Red card!»
«What are you talking about, Dean?» said Ron.
«Red card!» said Dean furiously. «In soccer you get shown the red card and you're out of the game!»
«But this isn't soccer, Dean,» Ron reminded him.
Hagrid, however, was on Dean's side.
«They oughta change the rules. Flint coulda knocked Harry outta the air.»
Lee Jordan was finding it difficult not to take sides.
«So—after that obvious and disgusting bit of cheating
«Jordan!» growled Professor McGonagall.
«I mean, after that open and revolting foul
'Jordan, I'm warning you —»
«All right, all right. Flint nearly kills the Gryffindor Seeker, which could happen to anyone, I'm sure, so a penalty to Gryffindor, taken by Spinner, who puts it away, no trouble, and we continue play, Gryffindor still in possession.»
It was as Harry dodged another Bludger, which went spinning dangerously past his head, that it happened. His broom gave a sudden, frightening lurch. For a split second, he thought he was going to fall. He gripped the broom tightly with both his hands and knees. He'd never felt anything like that.
It happened again. It was as though the broom was trying to buck him off. But Nimbus Two Thousands did not suddenly decide to buck their riders off. Harry tried to turn back toward the Gryffindor goalposts—he had half a mind to ask Wood to call time-out—and then he realized that his broom was completely out of his con...
Lee was still commentating.
«Slytherin in possession—Flint with the Quaffle—passes Spinnet—passes Bell—hit hard in the face by a Bludger, hope it broke his nose—only joking, Professor—Slytherins score—A no...