Tory Potter and the Pathological Liar

Quidditch

"Suspicious" was the first word that came to mind when November came around.

The weather turned very cold, almost overnight. The mountains around the school became ice grey and the lake like chilled steel. Every morning, the ground was covered in frost.

Mr. Hagrid could be seen from the upstairs windows defrosting broomsticks on the quidditch field. He was always bundled up in a long moleskin overcoat, rabbit fur gloves, and enormous bearskin boots.

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 Oliver had decided that, as their secret weapon, Harry should be kept, well, secret. Unfortunately, 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 underneath him holding a mattress.

It was really lucky that Harry and I now had Hermione as a friend. We didn't know how we'd have gotten through all our homework without her, with all the last-minute quidditch practice Oliver was making Harry do. Of course, since I went along for emotional support, I also needed homework help. In any case, Hermione had also lent him Quidditch Throughout 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 the 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.

Hermione had been 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 four of us were out in the freezing courtyard during break, and she conjured them up a bright blue fire that could be carried in a jam jar.

We were standing with our backs to it, the other three getting warm, when Professor Snape crossed the yard.

Harry and I noticed at once that Professor Snape was limping.

We moved closer together to block the fire from view - we were sure it wouldn't be allowed. Unfortunately, something about our guilty faces caught his eye.

He limped over. He hadn't seen the fire, but he seemed to be looking for a reason to tell us off anyway. "What's that you've got there, Potter?"

It was Quidditch Throughout the Ages.

Harry showed him.

"Library books are not to be taken outside the school," said Professor Snape, "Give it to me. Five points from Gryffindor."

"He just made that rule up," Harry mumbled angrily as Professor Snape limped away. "Wonder what's wrong with his leg…"

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

I pursed my lips at the boy, but didn't say anything in the man's defense.

The Gryffindor common room was very noisy that evening.

Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I sat next to a window.

Hermione was checking our Charm's homework for us. She would never let us copy ("How will you learn?"), but by asking her to read it through, we got the right answers anyway.