Begin Again (Severus Snape/OC Love Story)

Chapter Seventeen: The Pure-Blood Directory

        I started to make my way towards Gryffindor tower, hoping to find Ginny. A feeling of dread swelled in my chest at the thought of my friends hating me when I told them about what I learned, especially Harry who had terrible histories with both the Black family and the Crouch family, but I decided that I needed to take the risk and trust them. Clearly Dumbledore was hinting at something when he told me about my lineage, and they might be able to help me put the pieces together since they knew more than most anyone else about Voldemort and his followers. As I meandered through the hallways, I found them strangely empty. Confused, I climbed through the portrait hole to find the common room equally deserted, when the sound of distant cheering reached my ears from outside, followed by a far-off voice.

"And that's Smith of Hufflepuff with the Quaffle," said the commentator breezily, muffled by the dense stone walls of the tower.

'That's right, the Quidditch match against Hufflepuff is today!' I remembered and darted back down from the tower and out to the pitch. It was a chilly day, but decent enough Quidditch weather. A breeze prickled my cheeks, but the occasional ray of sunlight sneaking out between cloud cover gave me sporadic relief from the cold. The sound of the half-booing, half-hurrahing crowd grew steadily louder, and it seemed the entire student body was watching the match. When I got to the field, the score posted by the commentator's box read Hufflepuff, seventy and Gryffindor, forty.

"And Harry Potter's now having an argument with his Keeper. I don't think that'll help him find the Snitch, but maybe it's a clever ruse..." the girly voice said over the rowdy cheers.

It wasn't difficult to find Hermione in the masses. "Oh Harry, focus!" I heard her shout and was quickly able to trace the lecturing tone back to her. As I scaled the stands, the commentator, who sounded rather uninterested in the actual match, tried to draw everyone's attention to a Hippogriff-shaped cloud that was floating overhead. I forced my way over to Hermione, taking the seat of a displeased looking Parvati Patil, who scoffed at me when I shoved myself into her spot.

"Rowan!?" Hermione asked, puzzled. "I thought you left this morning. What are you doing here?"

Unsure where to begin, I said "It's a bit of a long story, but I'm not going back to America. I've changed my mind."

"You did?" she cocked her head to the side momentarily, then got distracted by something happening on the pitch. I followed her line of sight to see Harry bounding towards Cormac McLaggen, who was filling in as Keeper for Ron since he was still in the hospital wing. McLaggen was, for some unknown reason, swinging around a Beater's bat, while the actual Beater looked on wide-eyed, reaching to get it back. "Oh, not again! What's he doing with Peakes's bat, now?"

McLaggen then took a swing at an oncoming Bludger. He really should've left the Beater-ing to Peakes, though, because he smacked the orb right into an unsuspecting Harry's forehead at full force, sending Harry soaring wildly off his broomstick. An echo of squeals resounded throughout the onlookers as Peakes and the other Gryffindor Beater, Ritchie Coote, sprang into action without a second thought, launching themselves at Harry's limp body as it plummeted through the air.

The pair barely reached him in time. Peakes caught Harry's right arm and Coote scrambled to grab a foot, but instead came up with Harry's empty shoe. Tossing it to the ground as Peakes struggled to balance on his broom while being dragged down by Harry's weight, Coote shot forward and managed to grab a handful of pant leg. The Beaters succeeded in guiding him to the ground gently, though he was still unconscious from taking a Bludger to the head.

Letting out a relieved gasp of air, I realized I'd been holding my breath through the entire ordeal. Hermione's hands were clutched on her wand, as though she'd been about to come to the rescue had the Beaters not made it there first.