Gryffindor Vs Slytherin

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"Now, I want a nice fair game, all of you," Madame Hooch said sternly to the Gryffindor and Slytherin Quidditch players gathered around her. "Mount your brooms please."

Harry's head was buzzing with excitement as the 15 brooms rose in the air. This was it. He could do this. He was going to win, and then his housemates were going to like him - and he wasn't going to die in the process, proving Tom wrong. Everything was going to be fine. Excellent, in fact. Everything was going to be excellent.

And with a sharp whistle, the game began.

The part Harry had to play was pretty boring, to be honest. Flint didn't want him messing anything up, so he was supposed to wait for the snitch to show up, and stay put until it did. Luckily, he felt quite content to enjoy the wind in his hair, along with the excellent commentary.

"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."

Harry laughed a little, as he sat on his broom, vigilant and nervous. Lee Jordan was commentating on the match that day, and was an avid Quidditch fan, a friend of the Weasley twins as well, so his opinions promised to be amusing.

"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, Slytherin 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 Gryffindor 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 Slytherin – that's Adrian Pucey speeding off towards the goalposts, 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 goalposts are ahead – come on, now, Angelina – Keeper Bletchley dives – misses – GRYFFINDOR SCORE!"

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

The rest of the game continued similarly, with Lee Jordan's commentary changing tones with the flow of the game.

"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 – Slytherin score – oh no..."

Yes, everything was going just fine until 27 minutes into the game.

It was as Harry dodged another Bludger, which went spinning dangerously past his head, that it happened. His broom gave a sudden, drastic lurch, and for a split second, he thought he was going to tumble right off. He gripped the broom tightly with both his hands and knees. What had just happened? Did the broom malfunction? Wait, do brooms malfunction? How does a broom malfunction?

Wait a second. How did the broom work anyway? He was suddenly horrified by himself. He'd never even thought about it. Here he was, flying around dangerously on an enchanted house-cleaning tool, not having a clue how or what kind of enchantment was keeping him in the air. Honestly, how stupid of him! No wonder Tom was so upset! He -

He was startled out of his musings when it happened again, and again, and again. It swerved and jolted and lurched mercilessly, as though it was trying to buck him off. But it was not until he tried to move over to the side of the pitch that he realized that his broom was completely out of his control. He couldn't turn it. He couldn't even make it move at all, voluntarily. It was zig-zagging through the air and every now and then making violent swishing movements which nearly had him falling to his death. He could feel Tom's panic in the back of his mind.

Meanwhile, no one seemed to have noticed that his broom had apparently decided that it didn't want to play Quidditch anymore. It was carrying him slowly higher and higher, away from the game, jerking and twitching as it went. Why couldn't it dive down lower? Maybe then he could jump off...

Suddenly, people were pointing up at Harry all over the stands. His broom had started to roll sideways, and he was barely 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 from it, holding on with only one hand.

He could hear shouts from his team mates, and was relieved when Chaser Terence Higgs started making his way toward him. Apparently though, he didn't end up needing any help at all, because his broom stopped misbehaving as soon as the commotion was directed somewhere else, and smoke erupted from the spectator stands.

When he finally felt control of the broom return to him, he sighed in relief.

"Alright there, Potter?" Flint shouted over at him.

He gave an uneasy grin. "Yes, I'm...quite well...considering..."

Flint let out a bark of laughter before flying off to continue the game.

The rest of the game went...comparatively smoothly, and Harry was thrilled when, 43 minutes in, he managed to catch sight of the snitch. It gave him quite a chase, but he was determined. He'd chased it around the pitch for a few laps, but finally, when he started gaining on it, it switched course, suddenly diving downward, with Harry hot on its tail. To a lesser Quidditch player, this would have been a smart move on the snitch's part - a good escape tactic; to Harry, however, this was the chance he had been waiting for. The snitch was trapped between him and the ground.

As it turned out, he didn't quite catch the snitch – he nearly swallowed it. It was...an interesting experience. Suffice it to say that the game ended in complete confusion.

As of that afternoon, Harry was the most popular boy in Slytherin (at least for a few hours), and was showered with thank yous and congratulations as he left the Quidditch pitch. However, just as he was heading back to the common room with his team, he saw Hermione and Ron waiting off at the side of the pitch for him.

Telling the Slytherin team that he'd meet them in the common room, he ran over to them.

"I don't suppose you're waiting for me to offer my condolences?"

Ron scowled at him. "Oh shut up. Slytherin wouldn't have won if Hermione hadn't saved your life."

Harry frowned. "Saved my life?"

Hermione grabbed his arm. "You broom, Harry, it was cursed."

"Well, yes, I gathered as much -"

"It was Professor Snape, Harry, I saw h-"

"What exactly did you see?" Harry interrupted.

"Snape..." Ron said, "He was cursing your broomstick, muttering, he wouldn't take his eyes off you."

"It was definitely him," Hermione said, "And it got me thinking about what you said about the third floor corridor and the Cerberus, and how Snape was limping after Halloween -"

"Stop," Harry said, taking a deep breath. "My Head of House wasn't cursing me. I really do appreciate the concern, but I'm certain there's been a misunderstanding."

"Harry, it's the only explanation..."

"No," Harry corrected, "It's one of many explanations. Listen...I'm guessing it was you who set the fire during the game, and I'm grateful that you'd...set a teacher on fire to save me, but I'm sure Professor Snape wasn't trying to kill me."

"But it stopped after -"

"So it could have been anyone sitting beside him, really. It could have been anyone, Hermione. There's probably no shortage of people who want to mess with me, but I'm 93% sure that Professor Snape isn't one of them."

Hermione sighed. "Well, 93 is a pretty big number."

"It is. Plus, if I died, he'd have one less person to hate."

"That's true. I'm sure he wouldn't want that."

Ron just looked at them in confusion. He'd lost them at 93 'percent'. What was a 'percent' anyway?

"I'm quite sure it wasn't Professor Snape..."

"And if it wasn't the traitor -" as Tom had taken to calling him "- it must have been Quirrell," Tom finished.

"Professor Quirrell?" Harry asked in surprise.

Tom scowled at him. "Yes, of course. Who else would want to kill you?"

"So my headaches...you really think he's carrying a horcrux?"

"I see no other reasonable explanation."

"And he's definitely working for you, or, um, the other you?"

"It would seem so."

"Well, then, can't I just go talk to him or something?"

Tom sighed. "It never ceases to amaze me how violently you underestimate the truth as a destructive force."

Harry frowned. "What am I supposed to do, then? I can't just let him kill me."

"No, that would be rather counterproductive. We do need to speak with him...but only once we have proof that he is loyal to Lord Voldemort."

"And how do we get that?"

"Consider it an extracurricular project."

Harry grimaced. "What if he kills me first?"

"I have faith in you."

"You only ever have faith in me when it's convenient for you...I thought you trust no one."

"I lied."

"And next time I ask you if you trust me, when you'd usually say that you trust no one, what will you say then?"

"That I trust no one."

"But that's a lie!"

"No, it's the truth."

Harry was so confused that he thought he might burst into tears. "Goodnight Tom!" he exclaimed, stuffing the mirror under his pillow, and ignoring the aching in his skull as he pulled the covers over himself and committed his mind to chasing after the darkness of slumber.

....

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