Hermione Jean Riddle: The Dark Lord's Daughter Book 1

Chapter 17

HERMIONE'S POV

 As we 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, rabbit fur gloves, and enormous beaverskin boots.

The Quidditch season had begun. On Saturday, the first match would be held: Slytherin versus Gryffindor. And I wasn't allowed to play. Dumbledore said that Harry was allowed to play because "there isn't a reserve seeker for the Gryffindor team" but Slytherin had one. If Slytherin won, we would move up into first place in the house championship.

I know from Flint that 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 there were people like the Hufflepuffs telling him he'd be brilliant or people like us telling him they'd be running around underneath him holding a mattress.  

I was really lucky that I had Pansy and Astoria as friends. Without them, I really don't know how I could have gotten through the massive load of homework the teachers were giving out. Pansy had also lent me the book Quidditch Through the Ages, which turned out to be a very interesting read.

I 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 Quidditch, referees had been known to vanish and turn up months later in the Sahara Desert. 

Pansy, Astoria and I had been in the courtyard one day, holding a jar of blue fire to keep us warm, the fire I had conjured up the day before. We were standing there when we noticed Snape crossing the yard to Potter and the younger Weasley twins.

  "What's that you've got there, Potter?" asked Snape

"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?" we heard as we passed him.

"Dunno, but I hope it's really hurting him," said Ron bitterly. 

 The next morning dawned very bright and cold. The Great Hall was full of the delicious smell of fried sausages and the cheerful 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 Ginny.

"I'm not hungry."

"What's this? Potter needs baby service?" we mocked as we passed their table, sporting green and silver scarfs around our necks.

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." I heard as we walked away.

"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.

Pansy and Astoria joined Draco, Theo and Blaise up in the top row. We had doubled one of our bedsheets to make a green banner that said "SLYTHERIN PRIDE" on it. The day before, I had performed a tricky little charm so that the paint flashed different colors.

Meanwhile, in the locker room, The rest of the Slytherin team were changing into their green Quidditch robes (Gryffindor would be playing in red), while Hermione sat on the benches, helping them to polish their brooms so it would be sleek and shiny.

Flint cleared his throat for silence.

"Okay, men," he said.

"And women," Hermione chimed.

"And women,"Flint agreed. "This is it."

 "This is the best team Slytherin'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."

THIS IS REALLY HARD TO WRITE UNLESS IT'S IN HARRY'S POV

"Now, I want a nice fair game, all of you," she said, once we were all gathered around her. I noticed that she seemed to be speaking particularly to the Slytherin Captain, Marcus Flint, a sixth year. I thought Flint looked as if he had some troll blood in him. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the fluttering banner high above, flashing Potter for President over the crowd. His heart skipped. I felt braver.

"Mount your brooms, please."

I 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 sc -- no, stopped by an excellent move by Gryffindor Keeper Wood and the Gryffindors take the Quaffle -- that's Chaser Katie Bell of Gryffindor there, nice dive around Flint, off up the field and -- OUCH -- that must have hurt, hit in the back of the head by a Bludger -- Quaffle taken by the Slytherins -- that's Adrian Pucey speeding off toward the goal posts, but he's blocked by a second Bludger -- sent his way by Fred or George Weasley, can't tell which -- nice play by the Gryffindor Beater, anyway, and Johnson back in possession of the Quaffle, a clear field ahead and off she goes -- she's really flying -- dodges a speeding Bludger -- the goal posts are ahead -- come on, now, Angelina -- Keeper Bletchley dives -- misses -- GRYFFINDORS SCORE!"

Gryffindor cheers filled the cold air, with howls and moans from the Slytherins.

Way up above them, I 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, I had done a couple of loop-the-loops to let off his feelings. Now he was back to staring around for the Snitch. Once, I 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  my way, more like a cannonball than anything, but I dodged it and Fred Weasley came chasing after it.

"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.

I 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.



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 I dodged another Bludger, which went spinning dangerously past my head, that it happened. My broom gave a sudden, frightening lurch. For a split second, I thought I was going to fall. I gripped the broom tightly with both my  hands and knees. I'd never felt anything like that.

It happened again. It was as though the broom was trying to buck me off. But Nimbus Two Thousands did not suddenly decide to buck their riders off. I tried to turn back toward the Gryffindor goal-posts -- I had half a mind to ask Wood to call time-out -- and then I realized that my broom was completely out of his control. I couldn't turn it. I couldn't direct it at all. It was zigzagging through the air, and every now and then making violent swishing movements that almost unseated me.

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..."

The Slytherins were cheering. No one seemed to have noticed that my broom was behaving strangely. It was carrying him slowly higher, away from the game, jerking and twitching as it went.

HERMIONE'S POV

I was standing near the Gryffindors, watching the match from above with Pansy, Astoria, Theo, Draco and Blaise. I whooped and cheered when we scored. If I had playewd though, we would be in the lead.

Suddenly, Potter's broom started bucking around.

"Did something happen to it when Flint blocked him?" Seamus, the kid with the Scottish accent  whispered.

"Can't have," Hagrid said, his voice shaking. "Can't nothing interfere with a broomstick except powerful Dark magic -- no kid could do that to a Nimbus Two Thousand."

At these words, Ginny seized Hagrid's binoculars, but instead of looking up at Potter, she started looking frantically at the crowd.

"What are you doing?" moaned Ron, gray-faced.

"I knew it," Ginny gasped, "Snape -- look."

Ron grabbed the binoculars. 

"He's doing something -- jinxing the broom," said Ginny.

"What should we do?" asked Ron.

"Leave it to me."

Before Ron could say another word, Ginny had disappeared. Suspicious, I followed her quietly, pulling on my invisibility cloak.

Ginny had fought her way across to the stand where Snape stood, and was now racing along the row behind him; she didn't even stop to say sorry as she knocked Professor Quirrell headfirst into the row in front. That was really rude of her. Reaching Snape, she crouched down, pulled out her wand, and whispered a few, well-chosen words. Bright blue flames shot from her wand onto the hem of Snape's robes.

"Aguamenti!" I whispered, extinguishing the fire.

Ginny whipped around and her rosy face paled. "Malfoy! Get away from me!"

"Pleasure to do that." I whispered another spell, the Leg-Locker Curse. "Locomotor Mortis." And I ran off, leaving her to bunny-hop back to the stands.

Suddenly, Potter was speeding toward the ground when the crowd saw him clap his hand to his mouth as though he was about to be sick -- he hit the field on all fours -- coughed -- and something gold fell into his hand.

"I've got the Snitch!" he shouted, waving it above his head, and the game ended in complete confusion.

"He didn't catch it, he nearly swallowed it," Flint was still howling twenty minutes later, but it made no difference -- Harry hadn't broken any rules and Lee Jordan was still happily shouting the results -- Gryffindor had won by one hundred and seventy points to sixty. 

What a bummer.

HARRY'S POV

After the match, we were walking down to Hagrid's hut. "It was Snape," Ron was explaining, "Ginny and I saw him. He was cursing your broomstick, muttering, he wouldn't take his eyes off you."

"Rubbish," said Hagrid, who hadn't heard a word of what had gone on next to him in the stands. "Why would Snape do somethin' like that?"

Ron, Ginny and I looked at one another, wondering what to tell him. I decided on the truth.

"I found out something about him," I told Hagrid. "He tried to get past that three-headed dog on Halloween. It bit him. We think he was trying to steal whatever it's guarding."

Hagrid dropped the teapot.

"How do you know about Fluffy?" he said.

"Fluffy ?"

"Yeah -- he's mine -- bought him off a Greek chappie I met in the pub las' year -- I lent him to Dumbledore to guard the--"

"Yes?" I said eagerly.

"Now, don't ask me anymore," said Hagrid gruffly. "That's top secret, that is."

"But Snape's trying to steal it."

"Rubbish," said Hagrid again. "Snape's a Hogwarts teacher, he'd do nothin' of the sort."

"So why did he just try and kill Harry?" cried Ginny.

The afternoon's events certainly seemed to have changed her mind about Snape.

"I know a jinx when I see one, Hagrid, I've read all about them! You've got to keep eye contact, and Snape wasn't blinking at all, I saw him!"

"I'm tellin' yeh, yer wrong!" said Hagrid hotly. "I don' know why Harry's broom acted like that, but Snape wouldn' try an' kill a student! Now, listen to me, all three of yeh -- yer meddlin' in things that don' concern yeh. It's dangerous. You forget that dog, an' you forget what it's guardin', that's between Professor Dumbledore an' Nicolas Flamel--"

"Aha!" I said, "so there's someone called Nicolas Flamel involved, is there?"

Hagrid looked furious with himself.