Pandora Malfoy and the Philosopher's Stone

Chapter Thirty-Five: The Cursed Broomstick

Harry's broom was carrying him higher and higher, away from the game, jerking and twitching as it went.

A curse, I realised, a sick feeling washing over me. Someone's cursing his broom with Dark magic!

"Look at Harry!" I said, my breath catching in my throat.

"Dunno what he thinks he's doing," Hagrid said, staring through his binoculars. "If I didn' know better, I'd say he'd lost control of his broom... but he can' have..."

Suddenly, people were pointing up at Harry all over the stands. His broom had started to roll over and over, with him clearly only just managing to hang on. Then, the whole crowd gasped — Harry's broom had given a wild jerk, and Harry swung off it. He was now dangling off it, holding on with only one hand.

"Did something happen to it when Flint blocked him?" Seamus asked.

"No," I said, my voice a little shaky. "Only Dark magic can interfere with a broomstick like that — magic way beyond the ability of even a seventh-year student."

At these words, I had a sudden thought. I turned my Omnioculars away from Harry, looking through the crowd instead. Hermione, it seemed, had had the same idea, as she'd grabbed Hagrid's binoculars and started doing the same as me.

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

"I knew it!" Hermione gasped, as I pointed to a place in the stands opposite us. "Snape — look!"

Ron grabbed the binoculars, and the two of us watched Snape, who had his eyes fixed on Harry, and was muttering nonstop.

"It's him that's cursing the broom!" I said, a little shocked.

"What should we do?"

"Leave it to me," Hermione said.

Before any of us could reply, Hermione had disappeared. I turned my Omnioculars back to Harry, whose broom was now vibrating so much that it was clear it'd be almost impossible for him to hang on much longer.

By now, I was on my feet, the rest of the crowd doing the same, watching, terrified, as the Weasley twins flew up to try and pull Harry safely onto one of their brooms. But it was no good — every time they got near him, the broom would jump higher still. They dropped lower and circled beneath him, obviously hoping to catch him if he fell.

"Come on, Hermione," Ron muttered desperately.

I moved my Omnioculars over to the stand opposite again, watching as Hermione raced along the row behind Snape. As she reached him, she crouched down, pulled out her wand, and whispered an incantation. Flames shot from her wand and onto the hem of Snape's robes, and she quickly started making her way back to us.

It took perhaps ten seconds for Snape to realise he was on fire. When he finally did, he gave a small yelp, frantically stamping out the flames. He caught Quirrell and the astronomy professor with his flailing arms as he did so, knocking them both backwards off their seats without even bothering to apologise.

Finally, up in the air, Harry was suddenly able to clamber back onto his broom.

Neville had been sobbing into Hagrid's jacket whilst all this had been going on, so I quickly said, "Neville, it's alright, you can look!"

Harry was speeding towards the ground when I saw him clap his hand to his mouth as though he was going to be sick. He hit the pitch 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.

"That can't count!" Flint howled, flying over to Madam Hooch along with the rest of the Slytherin team. "He didn't catch it — he nearly swallowed it!"

But it didn't make any difference. Harry hadn't broken any rules, and Lee Jordan happily yelled the result into his microphone — Gryffindor had won by one hundred and seventy points to sixty (apparently, when Harry's broom had been cursed, Marcus Flint had seized the Quaffle and scored five times without anyone noticing). The eruption of cheers at this news almost deafened me.

After the match, Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I headed down to Hagrid's hut — a small wooden house on the edge of the Forbidden Forest. There was only one room inside, with hams and pheasants hanging from the ceiling, a large table with equally large chairs in one part of the room, and an even bigger bed with a patchwork quilt in one corner.

"It was Snape," Ron explained, as Harry was made a cup of strong tea. "We saw him. He was cursing the broomstick, muttering; he wouldn't take his eyes off Harry."

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

The four of us looked at each other, wondering what to tell him. Eventually, Harry decided on the truth.

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

Hagrid dropped the teapot.

"How d'yeh know abou' Fluffy?" he demanded.

"Fluffy?"

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

"Yes?" Harry said eagerly, and I glared at him. Hagrid had just been about to tell us, I was sure of it.

"Now, don' ask me any more," Hagrid said gruffly. "Tha's top secret, tha' is."

"But Snape's trying to steal it!"

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

"So why did he just try and kill Harry?" Hermione cried. The afternoon's events certainly seemed to have finally convinced her that Snape wasn't some sort of saint.

"I know a curse when I see one, Hagrid," I said softly. "You've got to keep eye contact, and Snape wasn't blinking at all. And the fact that he was mumbling the incantation rather than using nonverbal magic means it was likely too Dark and complex to cast it any other way than out loud."

"I'm tellin' yeh, yer wrong!" Hagrid said hotly, and I flinched backwards a little, swallowing anxiously. "I don' know why Harry's broom acted like that, but Snape wouldn' try an' kill a student!"

Hermione gave me a look that was clearly a mix of worry and curiosity at my reaction, and I shook my head the slightest amount.

"Now listen to me, all four o' yeh," Hagrid continued. "Yer meddling 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!" Harry said. "So, there's someone called Nicolas Flamel involved, is there?"

Hagrid looked furious with himself, and I sent another glare at Harry. The best way to get people to tell you things was to stay quiet, let them fill the gaps — not interrupt them as they were in the middle of telling you what you wanted to know.

As we walked back up to the castle a while later, I said, "You know, I'm sure I've heard the name Nicolas Flamel somewhere before. I'm pretty sure he's famous for something or other... advances in some branch of magic, I think."

"I think I've heard of him before as well," Harry said, a slight frown on his face as he tried to remember where. "Nicolas Flamel... Nicolas Flamel... no, no idea."

"Maybe it's best to check the library again," I said. "But this time, let's not give up after a week."

"Let's not give up at all," Hermione said.

We all nodded in agreement.

"We can get start on it now," I said. "Come on, let's go and find Nicolas Flamel."

***
A/N: tysm for 12k reads! 😊🖤

Word count: 1311