Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone (20 page)

‘I just wondered if I could have my book back.’

‘GET OUT!
OUT!
’

Harry left, before Snape could take any more points from Gryffindor. He sprinted back upstairs.

‘Did you get it?’ Ron asked as Harry joined them. ‘What’s the matter?’

In a low whisper, Harry told them what he’d seen.

‘You know what this means?’ he finished breathlessly. ‘He tried to get past that three-headed dog at Hallowe’en! That’s where he was going when we saw him – he’s after whatever it’s guarding! And I’d bet my broomstick
he
let that troll in, to create a diversion!’

Hermione’s eyes were wide.

‘No – he wouldn’t,’ she said. ‘I know he’s not very nice, but he wouldn’t try and steal something Dumbledore was keeping safe.’

‘Honestly, Hermione, you think all teachers are saints or something,’ snapped Ron. ‘I’m with Harry. I wouldn’t put anything past Snape. But what’s he after? What’s that dog guarding?’

Harry went to bed with his head buzzing with the same question. Neville was snoring loudly, but Harry couldn’t sleep. He tried to empty his mind – he needed to sleep, he had to, he had his first Quidditch match in a few hours – but the expression on Snape’s face when Harry had seen his leg wasn’t easy to forget.

*

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 Hermione.

‘I’m not hungry.’

Harry felt terrible. In an hour’s time he’d be walking on to the pitch.

‘Harry, you need your strength,’ said Seamus Finnigan. ‘Seekers are always the ones who get nobbled by the other team.’

‘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.

Ron and Hermione joined Neville, Seamus and Dean the West Ham fan up in the top row. As a surprise for Harry, they had painted a large banner on one of the sheets Scabbers had ruined. It said
Potter for President
and Dean, who was good at drawing, had done a large Gryffindor lion underneath. Then Hermione had performed a tricky little charm so that the paint flashed different colours.

Meanwhile, in the changing rooms, Harry and the rest of the team were changing into their scarlet Quidditch robes (Slytherin would be playing in green).

Wood cleared his throat for silence.

‘OK, men,’ he said.

‘And women,’ said Chaser Angelina Johnson.

‘And women,’ Wood agreed. ‘This is it.’

‘The big one,’ said Fred Weasley.

‘The one we’ve all been waiting for,’ said George.

‘We know Oliver’s speech by heart,’ Fred told Harry. ‘We were in the team last year.’

‘Shut up, you two,’ said Wood. ‘This is the best team Gryffindor’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.’

Harry followed Fred and George out of the changing room and, hoping his knees weren’t going to give way, walked on to the pitch to loud cheers.

Madam Hooch was refereeing. She stood in the middle of the pitch, waiting for the two teams, her broom in her hand.

‘Now, I want a nice fair game, all of you,’ she said, once they were all gathered around her. Harry noticed that she seemed to be speaking particularly to the Slytherin captain, Marcus Flint, a fifth-year. Harry 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. He felt braver.

‘Mount your brooms, please.’

Harry clambered on to 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, 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, with howls and moans from the Slytherins.

‘Budge up there, move along.’

‘Hagrid!’

Ron and Hermione squeezed together to give Hagrid enough space to join them.

‘Bin watchin’ from me hut,’ said Hagrid, patting a large pair of binoculars round his neck, ‘But it isn’t the same as bein’ in the crowd. No sign of the Snitch yet, eh?’

‘Nope,’ said Ron. ‘Harry hasn’t had much to do yet.’

‘Kept outta trouble, though, that’s somethin’,’ said Hagrid, raising his binoculars and peering skywards at the speck that was Harry.

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

‘All right there, Harry?’ he had time to yell, as he beat the Bludger furiously towards Marcus Flint.

‘Slytherin in possession,’ Lee Jordan was saying. ‘Chaser Pucey ducks two Bludgers, two Weasleys and Chaser Bell and speeds towards 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.

Harry saw it. In a great rush of excitement he dived downwards after the streak of gold. Slytherin Seeker Terence Higgs had seen it, too. Neck and neck they hurtled towards the Snitch – all the Chasers seemed to have forgotten what they were supposed to be doing as they hung in mid-air 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 span 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 goalposts for Gryffindor. But in all the confusion, of course, the Golden Snitch had disappeared from sight again.

Down in the stands, Dean Thomas was yelling, ‘Send him off, ref! Red card!’

‘This isn’t football, Dean,’ Ron reminded him. ‘You can’t send people off in Quidditch – and what’s a red card?’

But Hagrid was on Dean’s side.

‘They oughta change the rules, Flint coulda knocked Harry outta the air.’

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 Spinnet, who puts it away, no trouble, and we continue play, Gryffindor still in possession.’

It was as Harry dodged another Bludger which went spinning dangerously past his head that it happened. His broom gave a sudden, frightening lurch. For a split second, he thought he was going to fall. He gripped the broom tightly with both his hands and knees. He’d never felt anything like that.

It happened again. It was as though the broom was trying to buck him off. But Nimbus Two Thousands did not suddenly decide to buck their riders off. Harry tried to turn back towards the Gryffindor goalposts; he had half a mind to ask Wood to call time out – and then he realised that his broom was completely out of his control. He couldn’t turn it. He couldn’t direct it at all. It was zig-zagging through the air and every now and then making violent swishing movements which almost unseated him.

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 – Slytherin score – oh no …’

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

‘Dunno what Harry thinks he’s doing,’ Hagrid mumbled. He stared through his binoculars. ‘If I didn’ know better, I’d say he’d lost control of his broom … but he can’t have …’

Suddenly, people were pointing up at Harry all over the stands. His broom had started to roll over and over, with him only just managing to hold 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.

‘Did something happen to it when Flint blocked him?’ Seamus 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, Hermione seized Hagrid’s binoculars, but instead of looking up at Harry, she started looking frantically at the crowd.

‘What are you doing?’ moaned Ron, grey-faced.

‘I knew it,’ Hermione gasped. ‘Snape – look.’

Ron grabbed the binoculars. Snape was in the middle of the stands opposite them. He had his eyes fixed on Harry and was muttering non-stop under his breath.

‘He’s doing something – jinxing the broom,’ said Hermione.

‘What should we do?’

‘Leave it to me.’

Before Ron could say another word, Hermione had disappeared. Ron turned the binoculars back on Harry. His broom was vibrating so hard, it was almost impossible for him to hang on much longer. The whole crowd were on their feet, watching, terrified, as the Weasleys flew up to try and pull Harry safely on to 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. Marcus Flint seized the Quaffle and scored five times without anyone noticing.

‘Come on, Hermione,’ Ron muttered desperately.

Hermione 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. Reaching Snape, she crouched down, pulled out her wand and whispered a few, well chosen words. Bright blue flames shot from her wand on to the hem of Snape’s robes.

It took perhaps thirty seconds for Snape to realise that he was on fire. A sudden yelp told her she had done her job. Scooping the fire off him into a little jar in her pocket she scrambled back along the row – Snape would never know what had happened.

It was enough. Up in the air, Harry was suddenly able to clamber back on to his broom.

‘Neville, you can look!’ Ron said. Neville had been sobbing into Hagrid’s jacket for the last five minutes.

Harry was speeding towards the ground when the crowd saw him clap his hand to his mouth as though he was about 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.

‘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 result – Gryffindor had won by one hundred and seventy points to sixty. Harry heard none of this, though. He was being made a cup of strong tea back in Hagrid’s hut, with Ron and Hermione.

‘It was Snape,’ Ron was explaining. ‘Hermione 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?’

Harry, Ron and Hermione looked at each other, wondering what to tell him. Harry decided on the truth.

‘I found out something about him,’ he told Hagrid. ‘He tried to get past that three-headed dog at Hallowe’en. 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 –’