The Road Not Taken: Chapter Sixteen
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Chapter Fifteen
The Road Not Taken: Chapter Sixteen
Harry knew the twins had caught on that something was…off with Harry by the way they started herding him around during the day. Older brothers will always be older brothers, Harry put up with their antics, challenging them to games of chess. He even got Ron to drift over a few times while they were playing - Ron never could resist a chess game. The youngest male Weasley would help Harry, if grudgingly, to the few victories Harry claimed over the twins.
They really are smart, Harry studied the pair over one late night in the common room. After Fred died, George’s light just went…out. This time I’ll try to keep you alive, he wanted to tell them. Somehow, I’ll find a way.
It was also strange how the twins had taken to Harry. He remembered them being around, the first time, but Harry had been so concentrated on Ron and Hermione that the twins had never made more of a distant impact in his thoughts. This time around, however, Harry was hip deep with the twins as they dragged Harry around the castle, argued about Quidditch with him and generally stuck close to Harry’s side.
The twins’ presence helped beat away the loneliness during the day, but Harry’s nightmares had come roaring back with a vengeance. He’d fallen out of bed, the night before everyone returned, startling both Ron and Seamus awake. Harry caught sight of Scabbers sniffing around his trunk a few times, but Harry had charmed it locked. He still didn’t know what to do about the damn man. Harry knew he had time to think it over - still. He hated living in the same room as Wormtail.
“Harry!” He heard Hermione call. It was the day before term started and students were flocking back to the dorm. Harry slipped past a few older students to find Hermione and Neville in the common room.
“Hello,” he got out before Hermione hugged him, hard. Then she was pulling back, quick as a snake, her cheeks red.
“How was your Christmas? We had a normal Christmas and I never thought it would be so weird to go back to a Muggle house that had no magic or charms or anything. I half expected the stairs to move on me every time I set foot on them and -”
“It was really good. Thanks for your presents, both of you,” Harry rescued her from her babbling. He grinned at Neville. “Fred and George taught me how to play chess, but not backgammon. Do you play?”
“I like it more than chess,” Neville ducked his head with a smile.
“What’s wizarding chess like?” Hermione asked.
“Here, we’ll show you,” Harry said, pulling them to one of the tables in the common room.
~*~
Term started with a pile of homework, exams to prepare for and the last leg of the Quidditch season to battle through.
Wood was working the team harder than ever. Even the endless rain that had replaced the snow couldn’t dampen his spirits. Harry enjoyed all the extra training, even if the twins complained. The exercise let him fall asleep at night, and have fewer nightmares as a result.
Then, during the particularly wet and muddy practice session, Wood gave the team some bad news. “Snape’s refereeing the next match,” he told them during their post-practice huddle. “That means no messing around, Fred, George.”
The twins let out a loud groan. “Snape’s refereeing?” George made a face. “When’s he ever refereed a Quidditch match? He’s not going to be fair if we might overtake Slytherin.”
“It’s not my fault,” said Wood. “We’ve just got to make sure we play a clean game, so Snape doesn’t have an excuse to pick on us.”
Harry kept quiet, even as the rest of the team complained. He thought he knew why Snape had chosen to referee the game - odd how things come to you the second time around. Out on the pitch, Snape would have a better chance at counter-jinxing Harry’s broom if someone tried the same stunt again. It’s a good thing the man had made that promise to Mum’s memory, Harry wanted to grumble. Otherwise, I might have died during my real first year several times over.
George and Fred hung back to talk to the girls on the team as Harry trudged back to Gryffindor Tower. He found Hermione and Neville in the common room, with Neville teaching Hermione how to play backgammon.
“Don’t talk to me for a moment, I almost have this,” Hermione said, a fierce scowl of concentration on her face.
It was Neville who looked up, frowned at Harry and said, “What’s the matter with the Quidditch team, Harry? They’re all stomping about.”
“They’re upset because Snape’s been named as the next match’s referee.”
“What?” Hermione yelped, dropping the dice. “You can’t - don’t play!”
“Say you’re ill,” added Neville.
“Pretend to break your leg,” Hermione suggested.
“Really break your leg,” said Neville.
“I can’t,” said Harry. “There isn’t a reserve Seeker. If I back out now, Gryffindor can’t play at all. Anyhow, it will be fine. Snape’s just a stickler for the rules is all.”
Hermione opened her mouth to retort, but at that moment Ron toppled into the common room. The redhead lay face down on the carpet, legs stuck together with what they recognized at once as the Leg-Locker curse.
Most everyone started to laugh, but Hermione beat Harry to Ron’s side. She performed the counter-curse, wand flicking over Ron’s legs.
“Oh, are you all right? What happened? Should we get a prefect?”
“Leave off!” Ron shoved at her hands. His face was bright red. “I don’t need any help, I was fine, I - ”
“You were not!”
“Shut up!”
“You shut up! Who did this? You should report them!”
“Some stupid Slytherin third year and no, I won’t. I’m not some pathetic tattle-tale, like you.”
“Why you-”
“Hermione,” Harry caught her arm. Neville bent down, trying to help Ron to his feet, but Ron pushed him away so hard Neville fell on his rear.
“Just leave me alone!” Ron thundered and stomped up the tower stairs.
“All right, Neville?” Harry extended a hand to help Neville to his feet.
“Yeah,” Neville rubbed at his rear. “I was just trying to help.”
“Here,” Harry felt in his pockets and pulled out a chocolate frog.
“Thanks,” Neville quirked him a grin and caught the frog before it could hop away. “D’you want the card? You collect them, yeah?”
“Not really,” but Harry took the Famous Wizard card anyway. “Dumbledore,” he murmured. Hermione crowded up next to him as he flipped it over. Her gasp made both boys jump.
“There, there, look. Flamel. I knew I’d read the name before, it was on the train. Listen to this; Dumbledore is particularly famous for his defeat of the Dark Wizard Grindelwald in 1945, for the discovery of the twelve uses of dragon’s blood, and his work on alchemy with his partner, Nicolas Flamel!”
“Eh?” Neville blinked down at the card.
“I knew it. I knew it.”
“Knew what?”
“Wait a minute!” She dashed off to the girl’s dormitory. Harry just shrugged at Neville’s perplexed expression, and stuffed down the need to cheer. Not quite like last time, no. But exactly what I needed. He bit back a fierce smile.
Hermione came back with an enormous book. She set it down on top of their game, despite Neville’s exclamation. “See, here,” she flicked it open to a page. “Nicolas Flamel is the only known maker of the Sorcerer’s Stone!”
“The what?” asked Neville.
“Oh, for,” Hermione pushed the book at him. Harry skimmed the passage and nodded.
“You think that’s what the dog is guarding?”
“It’s the only thing I can think of. With a stone like that you could do almost anything.”
“No wonder we couldn’t find Flamel in that study of Recent Developments in Wizardry,” Neville said. “He’s not exactly recent if he’s six hundred and sixty-five, now is he?”
~*~
The problem, Harry mused, is that once Hermione has the answer, she sometimes doesn’t know what to do with it.
As logic puzzles went, Harry had to admit that Hermione was the best out of all of them in figuring them out. However, once Hermione had riddled out the secret behind Fluffy and the dog’s trap door, Harry could tell that the witch had no idea as what to do next.
Not that Harry had much of an answer. He could, he supposed, walk up to Quirrell and put his hands on the man - but would he need to be in danger for his mother’s protection to work? And - if he did succeed in randomly slaying the man - who would believe Harry that a professor in Hogwarts, the Defense Against Dark Arts professor to boot, had had Voldemort sticking out the back of his head for most of the year and no one had noticed but Harry? He’d be lucky if they didn’t lock him up in Azkaban.
The thoughts also triggered a familiar question - Dumbledore is a powerful wizard and Occlumens, Harry mulled over in Defense, staring at the back of Quirrell’s turban and picturing ways to destroy the monster underneath. If Dumbledore is so strong, why did he never suspect Quirrell and do something about it? Or…did he? Did Dumbledore know the entire time what he had in his school and chose to do nothing about it, all to see how I would react?
Harry forced his glare to his notes before Quirrell could turn and notice the hate in Harry’s expression. Why couldn’t the adults have dealt with this? Dumbledore is more than a match for Quirrell and Voldemort’s ghost combined. Was this to serve as my training?
Harry tried to shake the dark thoughts off. Even Draco and Nott had taken notice of his sour mood - although Draco tended to tease Harry about the upcoming Quidditch match instead. Harry put up with it as best he could, teasing back when Draco’s enthusiasm went over the top. Nott chose to stay out of it, rolling his eyes at Hermione whenever Harry got tangled up with Draco in an argument about Quidditch.
As the match drew nearer, the entire Gryffindor team began to show their nerves in practice. It was driving Wood mad, and they were treated with his rants at the end of every practice.
Another thing that had unsettled Harry’s nerves was that he kept running into Snape everywhere he went. The Potions Master was as mean and nasty in class as ever - well, mostly. The man had opted to pick on Ron and Seamus instead of Harry and Dean for the new semester. Even Neville was getting a break at times - with Hermione’s help, the boy was earning a passing grade in the class - to everyone’s surprise, including Neville’s.
The day of the match dawned clear and cold. Harry got his uniform on before Wood could give his pep talk and slipped out to the balcony.
He spotted Hermione and Neville in the crowd of Gryffindors - with a dash of green and silver behind them. Draco and Nott, Harry wanted to smile. Harry let out a slow breath, counting out the beat of his heart, trying to calm his nerves. Snape was refereeing. Dumbledore was in the stands. Quirrell wouldn’t be able to get another shot at him.
He hoped.
“Blimey,” he heard Fred say. “The whole school’s out here.”
“Come on, kid,” George tugged at Harry’s shoulder. “Wood wants a word with us all.”
Harry ducked inside, standing between the Beaters as Wood gave his speech. After, Wood pulled him aside.
“Don’t want to pressure you, Potter,” he said, “but if we ever needed an early capture of the Snitch, it’s now. Finish the game before Snape can favor Hufflepuff too much.”
“I’ll try,” Harry promised the Captain.
Snape certainly seemed to be in a foul mood, Harry noted as the game kicked off. Harry climbed for height. He thought he saw Snape trying to angle his broom to keep Harry in sight, but he couldn’t pay attention to the man for long.
Below him the game was a blur of moving bodies, crashing broomsticks and the roar of the crowd. In Harry’s mind, quiet started to spread. His world narrowed down to the feel of warm wood under his palms, the chill of the wind and the bright glint of gold in the sun.
There! Harry flattened his body and dove, feeling blood rush to his head as he tore through the run of play, a dark shape missing him by inches - there - almost - almost - and -
Harry rolled out of the dive, feeling the grass brush his arm as he pulled up. He held up the Snitch. That didn’t take too long, Wood. Hope that’s what you wanted.
The crowd went wild. Gryffindors spilled onto the pitch to celebrate. Harry slid off his broom, using it as a shield against his more ardent well-wishers. He ran into a solid body behind him.
“Do you have any idea how badly you could have been injured pulling a stunt like that?” Snape growled.
Harry flinched away from the hand that had landed on his shoulder. “Um,” he said. He tried to slide the man’s grip away. “Here?” He held out the Snitch. Snape looked furious.
“Well done, Harry,” Dumbledore said, coming up to them. Snape yanked his hand away from Harry’s shoulder. The Headmaster plucked the Snitch from Harry’s hand.
Harry did his best to bow out of the celebrations. Crowds made him uncomfortable - they always had. He was putting his Nimbus 2000 in the broom shed when he saw Snape leave the castle. That’s right, he thought, one hand resting against the rough wooden doors. Snape’s off to meet Quirrell in the woods. I know what he’s going to say, so I should - Hermione?
Sure enough, the Gryffindor girl was sneaking out of the door, trailing after Snape.
What the hell? Harry leapt onto his broom and sped after her. He caught her before she could slip into the Forest.
“What are you doing?” He landed in front of her. “Are you mad? You’re the one who never wants to break the rules, Hermione - what…”
“Hush, Harry, please,” the girl bit her lip. “Snape is the only one I can figure who would want to steal the Stone, don’t you see? And he tried to kill you that once - Harry, we have to make sure he’s not planning anything else!”
“Filch,” Harry blurted out.
“What?”
“Get on, get on, before he sees us!”
Hermione scrambled onto his broom. He took them into the Forest before Filch caught sight of them.
“There he is!” Hermione hissed, elbowing Harry in the ribs. “Go down! Right there!”
Harry spat out a mouthful of her hair, but landed on a large branch. Hermione scrambled off, peering through the thick foliage.
“…d-didn’t know why you wanted t-to meet here of all p-places, Severus…”
“Oh, I thought we’d keep this private,” said Snape, his voice icy. “Students aren’t supposed to know about the Sorcerer’s Stone, after all.”
Hermione clutched at Harry’s arm. They heard Quirrell mumble something and Snape interrupt him.
“Have you found out how to get past that beast of Hagrid’s yet?”
“B-b-b-but Severus, I…”
“You don’t want me as your enemy, Quirrell,” said Snape, taking a step toward him.
“I - I don’t know what you…”
“You know perfectly well what I mean.”
An owl hooted, the loud call startling Hermione so bad she almost fell from the tree. Harry steadied her in time to hear Snape say, “-your little bit of hocus-pocus. I’m waiting.”
“B-but I d-d-didn’t…”
“Very well,” Snape cut in. “We’ll have another chat soon, when you’ve had time to think things over and decided where your loyalties lie.”
Snape stalked off, leaving Quirrell to stand there, petrified for a long moment before dashing off.
“There, do you see?” Hermione turned to Harry. “Fluffy is guarding something, it is the Stone and we know someone is after it and that someone is Snape!”
“I don’t know, Hermione,” Harry hedged. “It kind of sounded like Snape was the one trying to warn Quirrell off.”
“Are you mad? Quirrell is nearly useless. I’ve heard the older year girls say that Snape’s been after the Dark Arts job for years, so he obviously knows a lot about the subject. And why would Quirrell want the Stone? He’s harmless. Everyone knows he can’t say boo to a bat.”
Harry huffed out a laugh. “But why would Snape want the Stone, Hermione?”
“He’s a Potions Master,” she stressed. “He could rival Flamel for fame and glory if he had the Stone.”
“Maybe,” he couldn’t, quite, fault her logic. “But doubtful. They’re all professors here, they probably all had a hand in guarding the Stone. Which means Snape’s had access to it before. Why didn’t he steal it then?”
“But the Stone wasn’t here until last summer. Surely it was Dumbledore who had it removed from the bank and brought it to the school. The Headmaster would have made the final line of defense. There would be no way for Snape to steal it from him, then.”
“I don’t know, Hermione.”
“Just - we have to watch him, all right?”
“Only if you promise to watch Quirrell, too.”
“But he’s harmless!”
“A lot of things look harmless and end up being the most dangerous,” he said. “Come on, it’s late. We don’t want to be caught out after curfew.”
Hermione grumbled, but he got them back to the castle in time for the party in Gryffindor Tower. Neville had a black eye and a huge grin from fighting with Ron in the stands. Draco and Nott, Harry learned, had also taken part in the brawl. They were fine, though Nott had gotten a bloody nose by Seamus.
The Quidditch team was the star of Gryffindor that night. Harry let the excitement wash over him, taking the plate of cake that was pressed into his hands. His thoughts were a million miles away, a tangled nest of what had been and what was. Things are so different, and yet so familiar, he sighed, catching sight of Dean sneaking away several slices of cake for Ron and Seamus, who had refused to be part of the party. Is this what Ollivander meant when he said I had to do things differently this time around?
His mind could not supply him with the answers he needed.
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Fifteen
The Road Not Taken: Chapter Sixteen
Harry knew the twins had caught on that something was…off with Harry by the way they started herding him around during the day. Older brothers will always be older brothers, Harry put up with their antics, challenging them to games of chess. He even got Ron to drift over a few times while they were playing - Ron never could resist a chess game. The youngest male Weasley would help Harry, if grudgingly, to the few victories Harry claimed over the twins.
They really are smart, Harry studied the pair over one late night in the common room. After Fred died, George’s light just went…out. This time I’ll try to keep you alive, he wanted to tell them. Somehow, I’ll find a way.
It was also strange how the twins had taken to Harry. He remembered them being around, the first time, but Harry had been so concentrated on Ron and Hermione that the twins had never made more of a distant impact in his thoughts. This time around, however, Harry was hip deep with the twins as they dragged Harry around the castle, argued about Quidditch with him and generally stuck close to Harry’s side.
The twins’ presence helped beat away the loneliness during the day, but Harry’s nightmares had come roaring back with a vengeance. He’d fallen out of bed, the night before everyone returned, startling both Ron and Seamus awake. Harry caught sight of Scabbers sniffing around his trunk a few times, but Harry had charmed it locked. He still didn’t know what to do about the damn man. Harry knew he had time to think it over - still. He hated living in the same room as Wormtail.
“Harry!” He heard Hermione call. It was the day before term started and students were flocking back to the dorm. Harry slipped past a few older students to find Hermione and Neville in the common room.
“Hello,” he got out before Hermione hugged him, hard. Then she was pulling back, quick as a snake, her cheeks red.
“How was your Christmas? We had a normal Christmas and I never thought it would be so weird to go back to a Muggle house that had no magic or charms or anything. I half expected the stairs to move on me every time I set foot on them and -”
“It was really good. Thanks for your presents, both of you,” Harry rescued her from her babbling. He grinned at Neville. “Fred and George taught me how to play chess, but not backgammon. Do you play?”
“I like it more than chess,” Neville ducked his head with a smile.
“What’s wizarding chess like?” Hermione asked.
“Here, we’ll show you,” Harry said, pulling them to one of the tables in the common room.
~*~
Term started with a pile of homework, exams to prepare for and the last leg of the Quidditch season to battle through.
Wood was working the team harder than ever. Even the endless rain that had replaced the snow couldn’t dampen his spirits. Harry enjoyed all the extra training, even if the twins complained. The exercise let him fall asleep at night, and have fewer nightmares as a result.
Then, during the particularly wet and muddy practice session, Wood gave the team some bad news. “Snape’s refereeing the next match,” he told them during their post-practice huddle. “That means no messing around, Fred, George.”
The twins let out a loud groan. “Snape’s refereeing?” George made a face. “When’s he ever refereed a Quidditch match? He’s not going to be fair if we might overtake Slytherin.”
“It’s not my fault,” said Wood. “We’ve just got to make sure we play a clean game, so Snape doesn’t have an excuse to pick on us.”
Harry kept quiet, even as the rest of the team complained. He thought he knew why Snape had chosen to referee the game - odd how things come to you the second time around. Out on the pitch, Snape would have a better chance at counter-jinxing Harry’s broom if someone tried the same stunt again. It’s a good thing the man had made that promise to Mum’s memory, Harry wanted to grumble. Otherwise, I might have died during my real first year several times over.
George and Fred hung back to talk to the girls on the team as Harry trudged back to Gryffindor Tower. He found Hermione and Neville in the common room, with Neville teaching Hermione how to play backgammon.
“Don’t talk to me for a moment, I almost have this,” Hermione said, a fierce scowl of concentration on her face.
It was Neville who looked up, frowned at Harry and said, “What’s the matter with the Quidditch team, Harry? They’re all stomping about.”
“They’re upset because Snape’s been named as the next match’s referee.”
“What?” Hermione yelped, dropping the dice. “You can’t - don’t play!”
“Say you’re ill,” added Neville.
“Pretend to break your leg,” Hermione suggested.
“Really break your leg,” said Neville.
“I can’t,” said Harry. “There isn’t a reserve Seeker. If I back out now, Gryffindor can’t play at all. Anyhow, it will be fine. Snape’s just a stickler for the rules is all.”
Hermione opened her mouth to retort, but at that moment Ron toppled into the common room. The redhead lay face down on the carpet, legs stuck together with what they recognized at once as the Leg-Locker curse.
Most everyone started to laugh, but Hermione beat Harry to Ron’s side. She performed the counter-curse, wand flicking over Ron’s legs.
“Oh, are you all right? What happened? Should we get a prefect?”
“Leave off!” Ron shoved at her hands. His face was bright red. “I don’t need any help, I was fine, I - ”
“You were not!”
“Shut up!”
“You shut up! Who did this? You should report them!”
“Some stupid Slytherin third year and no, I won’t. I’m not some pathetic tattle-tale, like you.”
“Why you-”
“Hermione,” Harry caught her arm. Neville bent down, trying to help Ron to his feet, but Ron pushed him away so hard Neville fell on his rear.
“Just leave me alone!” Ron thundered and stomped up the tower stairs.
“All right, Neville?” Harry extended a hand to help Neville to his feet.
“Yeah,” Neville rubbed at his rear. “I was just trying to help.”
“Here,” Harry felt in his pockets and pulled out a chocolate frog.
“Thanks,” Neville quirked him a grin and caught the frog before it could hop away. “D’you want the card? You collect them, yeah?”
“Not really,” but Harry took the Famous Wizard card anyway. “Dumbledore,” he murmured. Hermione crowded up next to him as he flipped it over. Her gasp made both boys jump.
“There, there, look. Flamel. I knew I’d read the name before, it was on the train. Listen to this; Dumbledore is particularly famous for his defeat of the Dark Wizard Grindelwald in 1945, for the discovery of the twelve uses of dragon’s blood, and his work on alchemy with his partner, Nicolas Flamel!”
“Eh?” Neville blinked down at the card.
“I knew it. I knew it.”
“Knew what?”
“Wait a minute!” She dashed off to the girl’s dormitory. Harry just shrugged at Neville’s perplexed expression, and stuffed down the need to cheer. Not quite like last time, no. But exactly what I needed. He bit back a fierce smile.
Hermione came back with an enormous book. She set it down on top of their game, despite Neville’s exclamation. “See, here,” she flicked it open to a page. “Nicolas Flamel is the only known maker of the Sorcerer’s Stone!”
“The what?” asked Neville.
“Oh, for,” Hermione pushed the book at him. Harry skimmed the passage and nodded.
“You think that’s what the dog is guarding?”
“It’s the only thing I can think of. With a stone like that you could do almost anything.”
“No wonder we couldn’t find Flamel in that study of Recent Developments in Wizardry,” Neville said. “He’s not exactly recent if he’s six hundred and sixty-five, now is he?”
~*~
The problem, Harry mused, is that once Hermione has the answer, she sometimes doesn’t know what to do with it.
As logic puzzles went, Harry had to admit that Hermione was the best out of all of them in figuring them out. However, once Hermione had riddled out the secret behind Fluffy and the dog’s trap door, Harry could tell that the witch had no idea as what to do next.
Not that Harry had much of an answer. He could, he supposed, walk up to Quirrell and put his hands on the man - but would he need to be in danger for his mother’s protection to work? And - if he did succeed in randomly slaying the man - who would believe Harry that a professor in Hogwarts, the Defense Against Dark Arts professor to boot, had had Voldemort sticking out the back of his head for most of the year and no one had noticed but Harry? He’d be lucky if they didn’t lock him up in Azkaban.
The thoughts also triggered a familiar question - Dumbledore is a powerful wizard and Occlumens, Harry mulled over in Defense, staring at the back of Quirrell’s turban and picturing ways to destroy the monster underneath. If Dumbledore is so strong, why did he never suspect Quirrell and do something about it? Or…did he? Did Dumbledore know the entire time what he had in his school and chose to do nothing about it, all to see how I would react?
Harry forced his glare to his notes before Quirrell could turn and notice the hate in Harry’s expression. Why couldn’t the adults have dealt with this? Dumbledore is more than a match for Quirrell and Voldemort’s ghost combined. Was this to serve as my training?
Harry tried to shake the dark thoughts off. Even Draco and Nott had taken notice of his sour mood - although Draco tended to tease Harry about the upcoming Quidditch match instead. Harry put up with it as best he could, teasing back when Draco’s enthusiasm went over the top. Nott chose to stay out of it, rolling his eyes at Hermione whenever Harry got tangled up with Draco in an argument about Quidditch.
As the match drew nearer, the entire Gryffindor team began to show their nerves in practice. It was driving Wood mad, and they were treated with his rants at the end of every practice.
Another thing that had unsettled Harry’s nerves was that he kept running into Snape everywhere he went. The Potions Master was as mean and nasty in class as ever - well, mostly. The man had opted to pick on Ron and Seamus instead of Harry and Dean for the new semester. Even Neville was getting a break at times - with Hermione’s help, the boy was earning a passing grade in the class - to everyone’s surprise, including Neville’s.
The day of the match dawned clear and cold. Harry got his uniform on before Wood could give his pep talk and slipped out to the balcony.
He spotted Hermione and Neville in the crowd of Gryffindors - with a dash of green and silver behind them. Draco and Nott, Harry wanted to smile. Harry let out a slow breath, counting out the beat of his heart, trying to calm his nerves. Snape was refereeing. Dumbledore was in the stands. Quirrell wouldn’t be able to get another shot at him.
He hoped.
“Blimey,” he heard Fred say. “The whole school’s out here.”
“Come on, kid,” George tugged at Harry’s shoulder. “Wood wants a word with us all.”
Harry ducked inside, standing between the Beaters as Wood gave his speech. After, Wood pulled him aside.
“Don’t want to pressure you, Potter,” he said, “but if we ever needed an early capture of the Snitch, it’s now. Finish the game before Snape can favor Hufflepuff too much.”
“I’ll try,” Harry promised the Captain.
Snape certainly seemed to be in a foul mood, Harry noted as the game kicked off. Harry climbed for height. He thought he saw Snape trying to angle his broom to keep Harry in sight, but he couldn’t pay attention to the man for long.
Below him the game was a blur of moving bodies, crashing broomsticks and the roar of the crowd. In Harry’s mind, quiet started to spread. His world narrowed down to the feel of warm wood under his palms, the chill of the wind and the bright glint of gold in the sun.
There! Harry flattened his body and dove, feeling blood rush to his head as he tore through the run of play, a dark shape missing him by inches - there - almost - almost - and -
Harry rolled out of the dive, feeling the grass brush his arm as he pulled up. He held up the Snitch. That didn’t take too long, Wood. Hope that’s what you wanted.
The crowd went wild. Gryffindors spilled onto the pitch to celebrate. Harry slid off his broom, using it as a shield against his more ardent well-wishers. He ran into a solid body behind him.
“Do you have any idea how badly you could have been injured pulling a stunt like that?” Snape growled.
Harry flinched away from the hand that had landed on his shoulder. “Um,” he said. He tried to slide the man’s grip away. “Here?” He held out the Snitch. Snape looked furious.
“Well done, Harry,” Dumbledore said, coming up to them. Snape yanked his hand away from Harry’s shoulder. The Headmaster plucked the Snitch from Harry’s hand.
Harry did his best to bow out of the celebrations. Crowds made him uncomfortable - they always had. He was putting his Nimbus 2000 in the broom shed when he saw Snape leave the castle. That’s right, he thought, one hand resting against the rough wooden doors. Snape’s off to meet Quirrell in the woods. I know what he’s going to say, so I should - Hermione?
Sure enough, the Gryffindor girl was sneaking out of the door, trailing after Snape.
What the hell? Harry leapt onto his broom and sped after her. He caught her before she could slip into the Forest.
“What are you doing?” He landed in front of her. “Are you mad? You’re the one who never wants to break the rules, Hermione - what…”
“Hush, Harry, please,” the girl bit her lip. “Snape is the only one I can figure who would want to steal the Stone, don’t you see? And he tried to kill you that once - Harry, we have to make sure he’s not planning anything else!”
“Filch,” Harry blurted out.
“What?”
“Get on, get on, before he sees us!”
Hermione scrambled onto his broom. He took them into the Forest before Filch caught sight of them.
“There he is!” Hermione hissed, elbowing Harry in the ribs. “Go down! Right there!”
Harry spat out a mouthful of her hair, but landed on a large branch. Hermione scrambled off, peering through the thick foliage.
“…d-didn’t know why you wanted t-to meet here of all p-places, Severus…”
“Oh, I thought we’d keep this private,” said Snape, his voice icy. “Students aren’t supposed to know about the Sorcerer’s Stone, after all.”
Hermione clutched at Harry’s arm. They heard Quirrell mumble something and Snape interrupt him.
“Have you found out how to get past that beast of Hagrid’s yet?”
“B-b-b-but Severus, I…”
“You don’t want me as your enemy, Quirrell,” said Snape, taking a step toward him.
“I - I don’t know what you…”
“You know perfectly well what I mean.”
An owl hooted, the loud call startling Hermione so bad she almost fell from the tree. Harry steadied her in time to hear Snape say, “-your little bit of hocus-pocus. I’m waiting.”
“B-but I d-d-didn’t…”
“Very well,” Snape cut in. “We’ll have another chat soon, when you’ve had time to think things over and decided where your loyalties lie.”
Snape stalked off, leaving Quirrell to stand there, petrified for a long moment before dashing off.
“There, do you see?” Hermione turned to Harry. “Fluffy is guarding something, it is the Stone and we know someone is after it and that someone is Snape!”
“I don’t know, Hermione,” Harry hedged. “It kind of sounded like Snape was the one trying to warn Quirrell off.”
“Are you mad? Quirrell is nearly useless. I’ve heard the older year girls say that Snape’s been after the Dark Arts job for years, so he obviously knows a lot about the subject. And why would Quirrell want the Stone? He’s harmless. Everyone knows he can’t say boo to a bat.”
Harry huffed out a laugh. “But why would Snape want the Stone, Hermione?”
“He’s a Potions Master,” she stressed. “He could rival Flamel for fame and glory if he had the Stone.”
“Maybe,” he couldn’t, quite, fault her logic. “But doubtful. They’re all professors here, they probably all had a hand in guarding the Stone. Which means Snape’s had access to it before. Why didn’t he steal it then?”
“But the Stone wasn’t here until last summer. Surely it was Dumbledore who had it removed from the bank and brought it to the school. The Headmaster would have made the final line of defense. There would be no way for Snape to steal it from him, then.”
“I don’t know, Hermione.”
“Just - we have to watch him, all right?”
“Only if you promise to watch Quirrell, too.”
“But he’s harmless!”
“A lot of things look harmless and end up being the most dangerous,” he said. “Come on, it’s late. We don’t want to be caught out after curfew.”
Hermione grumbled, but he got them back to the castle in time for the party in Gryffindor Tower. Neville had a black eye and a huge grin from fighting with Ron in the stands. Draco and Nott, Harry learned, had also taken part in the brawl. They were fine, though Nott had gotten a bloody nose by Seamus.
The Quidditch team was the star of Gryffindor that night. Harry let the excitement wash over him, taking the plate of cake that was pressed into his hands. His thoughts were a million miles away, a tangled nest of what had been and what was. Things are so different, and yet so familiar, he sighed, catching sight of Dean sneaking away several slices of cake for Ron and Seamus, who had refused to be part of the party. Is this what Ollivander meant when he said I had to do things differently this time around?
His mind could not supply him with the answers he needed.
Chapter Seventeen