Chapter 6: Quidditch and Concerns

After Halloween, the weather turned bitingly cold. Students everywhere took to wearing scarves, hats and gloves whenever they could, bundled up in as many extra layers as they could manage. Some older students could be persuaded to cast a Warming Charm, as could some of the staff, but the halls were still chilly, and the dungeons were downright frigid. Large fireplaces kept the Common Rooms and the dorms warm enough to inhabit, but beyond it, students were more or less on their own.

Harry found the cold as irritating as his classmates did. However, he had several things to distract him.

The first thing was Hermione. He'd half expected her to retreat after the fiasco at Halloween. Instead, she'd stayed friends with him and Ron. She was a stickler for homework and getting things done, and she could be a bit irritating when she fell into lecture mode, but she was also good about helping them with their essays and other homework. She had also, after the incident, become somewhat more relaxed about breaking rules. Harry could only guess that she'd come to see the point, given that they'd broken a few rescuing her. Regardless, it was occasionally handy to have her on their side. Especially when she did things like conjuring small blue flames in jars for them to carry about. The flames tended to fade after a bit, and couldn't be maintained in classes like Charms or Transfiguration, but they were wonderful for trips out-of-doors or in the halls. They only had to be careful about not letting Percy or the teachers see them, as they weren't supposed to be using magic in the halls and weren't sure the flames would be allowed.

The other thing was Snape. The Potions Master hadn't gone back on their deal yet. He graded Harry's homework with passable fairness, and refrained from too many biting comments. He took points only when it was really warranted. But he'd been in a mood since Halloween, snappish and snarling, and possessed of a sharper tongue. He was more sarcastic, more vicious.

Harry put that down to the injury that had caused Snape's persistent limp. Draco had told him, in their first meeting after Halloween, how Snape had been bitten by the dog. That had sparked a bit of controversy among the four of them, causing a bit of a rift in the already tense group. Ron and Hermione were of the opinion that, as the dog was guarding something, obviously Snape had been out to steal whatever it was. Draco had adamantly denied the theory, insisting that his Head of House wouldn't be stealing anything. This had caused Ron's temper to flare up, and resulted in a snide remark about how of course Draco would defend a fellow Slytherin, especially a Professor who favored him. Draco had been understandably miffed at that, and things had been tense between them since. And really, it didn't help that Draco was a prat in public.

Harry himself was divided in his views. On one hand, Snape had clearly encountered the dog on Halloween, and there weren't that many reasons to wander into that corridor. On the other...well, Dumbledore trusted Snape, and so far, Snape hadn't given Harry any great reason to mistrust him. And he rather thought Ron's vehement dislike of Slytherins was a bit much, though that might have been because the Sorting Hat had considered him for the house. But on another hand, Snape wasn't the most pleasant of individuals, and he did project a menacing air about him, and it wasn't hard to see him as a villain. But again, it was obvious that Draco was fond of the man, and while Draco had his own bad qualities, he couldn't imagine that Snape was all bad, not if inspired that sort of reaction.

In any case, Harry had very little time to speculate on the matter. He had something else to think about.

Quidditch. His first match was the second Saturday of November. For all Wood's insistence that he was a 'secret' weapon, everyone seemed to know. Half the school seemed to believe he'd be brilliant. Half the school was speculating about the need to put mattresses on the field to cushion his falls. The Weasley twins were no help, with their jokes and lurid stories. And given their madcap and rough antics in practice, it made him wonder just how safe he'd be. Especially given the rumors he'd heard about the Slytherin team, who would be their first opponents. According to Ron and, more worrying, Draco, the Slytherin team had a reputation for playing hard and rough.

Wood was even less helpful. He had increased their practice schedule to virtually every evening, in every weather. He was constantly uptight, urging them all to greater and greater efforts, expounding on his desire to win the Quidditch Cup. He kept popping up at random times to give Harry advice, or go over a random play (most of which Harry, as Seeker, wasn't involved in) and check his team's health. It was a wide-spread and unfortunately accurate joke that no Gryffindor team player could so much as sneeze within a yard of Wood unless they wanted to get hauled to the Infirmary and dosed with Pepper-Up or other concoctions.

Fred and George claimed it was a result of one too many Bludgers to the head. Harry was somewhat inclined to believe it. However, he was still rather excited as the match approached.

The morning of the match, however, Harry woke to discover that his excitement seemed to have transformed, overnight, into nerves. He felt as though butterflies had taken up residence in his stomach, and he couldn't seem to manage any thought that didn't involve being fouled or injured. He kept remembering random things that could happen, like another player sideswiping him with their broom, or falling off, or being pushed into the edge of the stadium. Or being hit by a Bludger. Wood had confessed to him once that he'd been hit with a Bludger to the head his first game, ending up in the Infirmary for several days.

He couldn't eat a thing for breakfast, not even with Hermione urging him to take some toast. Seamus's cheerful comment of, "You'll need to keep your strength up, Harry; everyone knows Seekers are always the most targeted players on the team!" did nothing to help him. And any appetite he might have mustered was destroyed by Ron piling ketchup on his sausages. He kept seeing it as his head, for some reason.

All too soon, it was time to head down to the pitch, time to change into his scarlet Quidditch robes, and the battered pads that he'd been supplied. Gryffindor would be playing in red, Slytherin would be in green.

Oliver took him aside just before for a last minute pep talk. "Just focus on getting the Snitch, Potter. That's all you need to worry about. None of the other balls or players matter to you..."

"Unless a Bludger takes my head off."

Wood shrugged. "Yes, well, always a risk. But we've the Weasley twins, and they're practically a pair of human Bludgers themselves..." This sparked an indignant shout from one of the twins. "So...as I said Potter. You've only got to focus on the Snitch. Get it before their Seeker does."

Harry nodded.

Wood turned to address the rest of the team. "All right folks..."

"This is it..." piped up one of the twins.

"The year we've been waiting for..." chimed in the other.

Wood glared at them both while the rest of the team, Harry included, tried to hide their laughter.

"As I was saying...this is our year lads...and ladies..." He amended after a fierce look from Angelina Johnson. "We've got a smashing good team. We've got the talent. We've been practicing in all weathers, and we're ready for anything. That Quidditch cup is ours. So let's go win it!"

Nods all around. Then a whistle blew, and it was time to fly out onto the field.

Harry came last, following George (or Fred, he wasn't sure). Cold wind and bright sunlight surrounded him. He flew up to his position, above the rest of the team, and looked around.

He'd practiced on the Pitch loads of times, but this was different. The stands were packed full of students and staff, wearing house colors. In the red quarter of the stadium, people were whistling and cheering, waving banners with 'Gryffindor' or the house mascot on them. Ron and Hermione were right in front, Ron waving a banner that declared 'Potter for President!' in bright red letters. And Hagrid was right behind them, waving and bellowing cheerfully in his loud gruff voice.

Harry's nerves seemed to melt away. He felt like he could do anything; fly around the world, catch the Snitch, beat the Slytherin team all by himself…

That lasted until another whistle sounded, and the Slytherin team came flashing out onto the pitch in their emerald colored robes. Harry watched as they lined up, facing the Gryffindors.

The first thing that struck him was the size. All of the Slytherin players were much larger than he was. Marcus Flint, whom Wood had pointed out to him as the Team Captain earlier in the year, looked heavy and, to Harry's mind, somewhat trollish. All of them looked big, and rough, and mean.

Harry suddenly understood why he'd had so many warnings that Slytherins played a rough game.

The last player, the Slytherin Seeker Terrance Higgs, flew up to stop across from him. He was smaller than his team-mates, being the Seeker, but he was still bigger than Harry, and he looked a bit mean, though not as much so as Flint did.

"Welcome, Ladies and Gentlemen, to the first match of the Hogwarts Quidditch Season!" The voice boomed out over the stadium. Harry recognized it as Lee Jordan, a friend of the twins. "Our teams today are Gryffindor versus Slytherin! On the Gryffindor side, Keeper Wood, Chasers Bell, Spinnet, and Johnson, lovely ladies they are...sorry Professor...Beaters Weasley and Weasley, can't tell which is which, and their Seeker…Harry Potter!"

There was a roar of sound.

"And on the Slytherin Team: Keeper Bletchly, Chasers Flint, Warrington and Montague, Beaters Pucey and Bole, and Seeker Higgs."

Another roar of sound, though it didn't seem quite as loud this time.

Madam Hooch stepped out onto the field, wearing a referee's white and black striped uniform. Harry saw her cast a spell, and her magically amplified voice echoed out over them a second later. "All right, I want a nice clean game!"

She opened the box at her feet. First the Bludgers were released, zooming out and around the pitch. Then the Snitch, darting fast and bright in front of Harry before disappearing into the air. Then Madam Hooch blew a long shrill blast on her whistle, flung the Quaffle into the air, and they were off.

Harry flew his broom higher, scanning the pitch as Wood had instructed him to. For his first game, Wood had insisted he focus only on the Snitch. Still, he listened with half an ear to Lee Jordan's commentary, while his eyes scanned for a glint of gold.

"Johnson has the Quaffle, headed for the goal, passes to Spinnet, passes to Bell...ouch, nearly knocked out of the air by a Bludger. Flint takes the Quaffle, passes to Montague, who passes back to Flint, who just barely dodges a well-aimed Bludger from a Weasley twin, can't tell which...Flint shoots, Wood blocks, excellent save by the Gryffindor Keeper, who passes the Quaffle back to Spinnet. Spinnet shoots off back down the field, passes to Johnson, passes to Bell, back to Johnson...she shoots...excellent shot! 10 points for Gryffindor!"

Harry took a moment to let out a whoop and do a brief somersault on his broom, grinning. Angelina Johnson grinned and gave him a wave.

"Slytherin takes possession, Montague in the lead...passes to Warrington who flips it back, right over Bell's head, nearly kicks the Gryffindor Chaser in the process…oh, nearly hit by a Bludger, well they say turnabout's fair play...pity he retained possession of the Quaffle...passes to Flint...yes! Interception by Gryffindor Chaser Bell, well done! Wait a moment...oh, that was a foul! Flint rams Bell, causing a collision in midair! That was a dirty trick!"

Harry scowled.

"Gryffindor takes a penalty, Bell puts it away no trouble, another ten points. Slytherin in possession...Warrington in the lead this time...Oi! Beater Pucey deliberately targets the Keeper with both Bludgers! That's not on! Wood dodges, and Slytherin…Slytherin scores! Points 20-10, Gryffindor, and the game is heating up!"

Indeed it was. Harry watched as the play turned rougher. Two Slytherin Chasers pinned Alicia Spinnet and nearly rammed her into one of the towers. Bole actually threw a Beater's bat at Wood after another blocked shot. Still the points mounted. 30-10...40-10...40-20…Harry spotted a glint of gold, but it turned out to be a watch worn by one of the Weasleys. And then…

There it was, glinting down near the lower edge of the Slytherin goal post. The Snitch. Harry took off after it, only vaguely aware that Higgs was doing the same. They raced for the Snitch together, they were almost neck and neck with the Snitch a yard in front of them, dancing erratically on the wind...almost there…

WHAM! Harry reared back and just managed to avoid being unseated as Flint swerved upwards in front of him. As it was, he clipped Terrence Higgs off course as well, both of them struggling to correct the angle of their brooms. The Snitch disappeared.

"Foul! Foul! Flint nearly kills Gryffindor Seeker...sorry professor...so, Fling executes a disgusting and underhanded bit of cheating…fine, sorry professor...Flint nearly collides with Gryffindor's Seeker, could happen to anyone, Gryffindor takes a penalty shot. Johnson takes it, puts it through the hoops with no trouble, and we're off again, score 60-20 in favor of Gryffindor."

Harry turned to look for the Snitch again when his broom gave a sudden, sharp jerk. He frowned. He hadn't pushed it that hard in the acceleration or the turn. He leaned forward experimentally, only to have the broom shiver, then buck, causing him to latch on with both hands in a tight grip. He didn't think Flint had hit him that hard either, but he had no idea what was wrong.

He wanted to call to Wood for a timeout, but no sooner had he turned his attention away from the broomstick, than it gave another bucking shiver, jerking upward and tossing from side to side like the wild horse he'd seen featured in one of Dudley's programs.

The broom began to spiral higher and away from the other players, shivering and twitching erratically. Harry locked his hands and ankles both around it as the jerking became more violent. He was starting to wonder which would happen first, losing his grip or losing his breakfast. A particularly hard twist nearly unseated him, and Harry gave up thinking about anything but hanging on for dear life.

He heard his name mentioned, knew Lee Jordan had noticed his predicament. Fred and George flew toward him, obviously intending to help, but as soon as they got close, the broom jumped 20 feet higher and kicked like an angry mule, nearly throwing Harry off right then. The twins took the hint and began circling below him, obviously hoping to catch him.

The shaking was getting worse, whipping side to side, forward and back, up and down, making Harry dizzy. And then it happened. He slipped. One ankle came free, and then he was overbalanced and tilting sideways, right off his broom. He managed to keep both hands locked on the handle, but the broom was vibrating hard, and his fingers were going numb. He fought to get a leg back over his broom, but the shaking made it impossible. There was nothing to do but hang on for dear life.

***FWBtD***

Down in the stands, Ron and Hermione were watching the game with Hagrid and Neville and the rest of their year-mates. They'd all cheered when Gryffindor scored, booed when Slytherin scored, and shouted with outrage when Gryffindor players were fouled. All of them were incensed when Flint fouled Harry. Dean was even bouncing up and down in the stands, shouting "Red card! Red card!"

"What?" Ron stared at him

"Red card. In football, when a player does something like that, the ref gives him a red card and sends him from the game."

Hermione pointed out that Quidditch wasn't football. Hagrid, on the other hand, agreed with Dean. "Good policy that. Flint coulda hurt Harry bad, knocking into him like that."

"Bloody...look at that." Ron brought all their attention back to the field, just in time to see Harry's broom start jerking, clearly out of his control. "What did Flint do?"

"Can't have been Flint...Seventh Year couldn't do that to a professional broom...he can't have...he didn't hit him that hard, surely." Hagrid had a huge pair of binoculars that he put to his eyes. "I didn't know better, I'd say someone's cursed Harry's broom...he can't have lost control of it..."

Hermione had sat upright at the mention of a curse, and tugged on Hagrid's jacket sleeve. "Hagrid, may I borrow those?"

"Err...yeah, here." Hermione took the binoculars and began scanning the stands with feverish intensity.

"There! In the teacher's box." Hermione handed the binoculars to Ron. "I'll be right back." She darted away, into the crowds.

Ron looked. It didn't take long for him to spot what Hermione had. Snape, sitting stiff and still in the box, eyes fixed on Harry with unblinking intensity, lips moving in a constant murmur. "Bloody hell...come on Hermione…"

Below the stands, Hermione darted around the stadium to the teacher's box. She dashed up the back stairs, until she was right behind and below Snape's seat. Drawing her wand, she whispered a swift incantation, and bright blue flames shot from her wand, onto Snape's cloak. Seconds later there was a curse and Snape bolted to his feet, causing cries of consternation. Hermione backed away fast, not even stopping to apologize as she jostled into someone and fled down the stairs, back toward the Gryffindor stands.

***FWBtD***

Harry was about ready to try his luck with letting go and hoping the Weasley twins could catch him when the broom abruptly...stopped. One minute it was doing it's best to throw him loose, the next, it was still, hanging in the air as if it had never had a problem at all. Then, of course, it began to descend, because he wasn't properly directing it.

Harry didn't waste time bothering to try and sort it out. He ignored his aching shoulders and hands and flung himself upward, and this time he managed to get his leg over the broom handle. Another kick and a twist, and he was seated, more or less on the broom. Two things happened then.

The first was that Harry turned for the ground, intent on landing and asking for a time-out to see what had happened to his broom, and whether it was safe for him to continue to ride it. The second was that he spotted a familiar glint of gold, hovering just below him.

Harry dove. The ground rushed up to meet him. The Snitch hovered closer. He stretched out his hand, took a deep breath...and the Snitch chose that particular moment to dart up and sideways, right into his mouth.

Harry choked, just managed to pull his broom back straight, then fell off of it with a cough, landing on the grass. He hacked wetly, gagging, then heaved out a sharp cough and spat the Snitch into his outstretched hands.

"Harry Potter...I don't believe it, folks! Harry Potter has the Snitch! Gryffindor wins!"

The stadium descended into chaos.

It took almost an hour before he got free of the crowd after that. Wood was clapping him on the back hard enough to knock him over. The Weasley twins were grinning and punching him on the shoulder, and the three Chasers all seemed to want to hug him. Students all over the stadium were cheering madly, and the noise was deafening. The only thing louder than the crowd was Marcus Flint, who was howling out protests.

As far as Harry was concerned, swallowing the Snitch was quite difficult enough to count as a catch. And it hadn't been his idea anyway.

In addition to all that, Madam Hooch had stormed over to examine his broom. She pronounced it provisionally clear, then ordered him to bring it in for a full, comprehensive inspection the next day.

Finally, though, Harry was able to get free and make his way out of the stadium, to join Hermione, Ron and Hagrid for a cup of tea.

Hermione barely waited until he was seated before she spoke. "It was Snape Harry."

Harry blinked. "What?"

"Snape. He was cursing your broomstick. I saw him."

"Here now." Hagrid spoke up, his voice sharp. "Snape's a teacher. He'd never do somethin' like that."

"But I saw him!" Hermione scowled. "Everyone knows that you have to maintain eye contact when you're jinxing something. I saw Snape. He was staring right at you, and he wasn't blinking, and he was speaking the whole time."

"I'm tellin' you, Snape wouldn't." Hagrid's voice was fierce. "Don' know what you saw, Hermione, but yer mistaken. And there ain't no call to go accusin' a professor of that sort o' thing. Madam Hooch and the others'll sort it out. You'll see."

Harry bit his lip, but kept his thoughts to himself.

On one hand, if Hermione said she'd seen something, then she had. He didn't doubt that Snape had done something. But cursing his broom? Why would he?

On the other hand, Snape was the head of Slytherin House, and they weren't known for being exactly fair. Could Snape have been trying to give his team an advantage? But why do something so risky? Not to mention...Snape had said at the beginning of the year that he had a grudge against Harry's father. Sure, he'd said he'd try to get over it, try to be fair, but...he'd also said he might not succeed all the time. Who could say he hadn't let his temper get the better of him? After all, he'd been in a foul mood ever since Halloween.

He wasn't sure what to think. Hagrid was right though, they couldn't just go around accusing a professor of trying to hurt or kill him. They had no proof, and the word of three eleven year old kids wasn't going to mean anything to anyone. They'd just have to wait and see if they couldn't gather more information.

He wasn't quite sure what he was going to tell Draco though. He didn't want to involve the blond in any potential investigations over Snape, and he was pretty sure Ron and Hermione would be against it too. But he didn't want to break his word either.

He'd have to think about it.

***FWBtD***

The week between Halloween and the first Quidditch match was a trying one for Severus. Tension were high within the school, given that the Gryffindor-Slytherin match had the greatest in-school rivalry.

Worse, Draco had mentioned his injury to Potter and his Gryffindor friends, and now there was tension within that group. Draco was defending him, of course, while Granger and Weasley insisted he'd been trying to steal the Stone. Not that they knew what it was, but they knew the dog was guarding something, and since he'd encountered the dog, he must have been after it. Irritating, but he couldn't really fault the logic, even if it was a bit limited.

Then, of course, there was the injury itself. Cerebus bites were nothing to sniff at. Their saliva was toxic in it's own way, but there was also the fact that their mouths were foul, a breeding ground for myriad infections. The combination was a particularly nasty one, which is why Cerebi were known for being excellent guards. That, their size, and their temperaments.

He had all the necessary potions to cleanse and flush a wound like that, of course. He was a Potions Master after all. He'd laid in a full stock the year he took the position, knowing that Hagrid wouldn't know the meaning of 'dangerous animal' if it bit him. Literally. He'd tripled the stock after the Headmaster's announcement at the beginning of the year, knowing that nothing invited youthful stupidity more than announcing that something was dangerous and forbidden. He also had a fair amount of Healing knowledge, courtesy of his own curiosity, and necessity over the years.

Treating the wound wasn't the problem. But….

After he'd been bitten, he'd gone to intercept Quirrell. Then they'd been intercepted by Draco, and had to follow him to rescue Potter and his fellow Gryffindors. Then, he'd had to inform the Headmaster that all was safe. After that, he'd escorted his Slytherins back to the Common Room to finish the feast, and he'd had his little talk with Draco. Only after that (and after another message to Dumbledore, and one to Lucius) had he been free to tend to his injury. By then, the exertion of traipsing, and in some cases running, around the castle, up and down multiple flights of stairs, had worked the filthy, toxic concoction into the muscles of his leg. The continuous blood flow had prevented it from getting much further than that, but there was no question that it had circulated far beyond the reach of mere flushing and cleansing potions.

That meant it required a moderate antidote, to stave off illness and infection. And a poultice, to draw the toxins and potential infections from the wound. Which meant he couldn't simply heal the wound, or he'd lock the toxins inside his body and give himself blood poisoning. Which meant he had to let it heal naturally, while the poultices and potions did their work.

He didn't like showing weakness. But he couldn't put too much strain on the leg either, not unless he wanted to risk further complications, which meant he was stuck limping around, and feeling like a fool doing it. He didn't dare risk a strong pain potion either, as it might interfere with the other potions, and would certainly interfere with his thinking. Given that Quirrell had finally made a move, he didn't want to risk it.

The whole situation made him short-tempered and snappish, and he knew it. The escalation leading up to the Quidditch match didn't help. By the time the Saturday of the match came along, he was more than ready for it to be over with. Given a choice, he would have skipped the game, but…

It was a Slytherin game, and he was head of Slytherin House. It was important to support his team. For their morale if nothing else.

Also, Potter was playing. And if being 50 feet up in the air, surrounded by competitive people older and larger than himself, wasn't a recipe for a disaster waiting to happen, he didn't know what was. To say nothing of the Bludgers. Potter was reported to be an excellent flier, and he was mounted on the best possible broomstick, but that didn't mean anything. All it took was one moment, one slip.

Which was why he found himself in the teacher's box, cursing the stairs and his throbbing calf, watching fourteen children in emerald and scarlet robes shooting around the pitch. In particular, one small figure in red, with black hair and green eyes.

His Slytherins played rough, and he was glad that Potter was mostly out of the way. He'd have to give Wood credit for that. Then the boy went into a dive, obviously after the Snitch. Severus cursed internally when Flint rammed the younger boy. Strategically, it was a good move, preventing the Gryffindors from winning, but he could have gotten Potter killed. Damn it.

Then he felt it. A surge of magic, malicious and dangerous. Not strong, he'd never have felt it if it hadn't been close, but focused, and more than enough.

Out on the pitch, Potter's broom began to buck and shake, then carry him higher, away from his team. Away from the ground.

Severus cursed and projected his own magic, locking himself into combat with whoever was cursing Potter's broom. His own counter-curse was a general one, a stabilizing one. He'd no time to figure out the specific curse being used, not with Potter nearly a hundred feet above the ground and barely hanging on while his broom bucked.

The magic felt familiar. Quirrell, but someone else as well. The combined power was greater than his own, especially when their effort was focused into one spell, while his was more generalized. At this distance, it was a battle he was losing. He maintained his focus anyway, determined to give Potter as much chance as possible. Though if the boy lost his grip, he was going to have to cast an Arresto fast. He hoped someone, Flitwick at least, was prepared as well, otherwise he might be in trouble. There was no chance his efforts to counter the curse hadn't been noticed, and he might be blocked in any other spell-casting he tried.

At least the Weasley twins were in position. They might be able to catch the boy if he fell.

Fire bloomed in his calf. It took a moment, focused as he was on the counter-curse, for him to realize it wasn't just pain. His robes were alight, and his trousers were scorching. He cursed, lurching upward, trying to douse the flames and keep his focus on Potter at the same time. There was a brief moment of confusion and jostling, half the other professors in the box trying to help him, half still focused on the boy. Someone bumped into him, and Quirrell behind him, and darted away. His attention was too divided for him to get a good look, but it didn't escape his notice that the fire went with them.

Blue flames too. He knew that spell, and he had a good suspicion who had just attempted to give him third degree burns. But he had other concerns.

The dark energy of the curse had been disrupted only moments after his own casting, but that was time enough. He whipped around to look at the pitch.

Potter was back on his broomstick. He was also speeding towards the ground. Halfway down, the boy gagged and slapped a hand over his mouth. He toppled onto the grass a moment later with more control than Severus would have expected, all things considered. Then he coughed...and spat the Snitch into his hands, holding it up.

The game ended, and a roar of confusion descended on the stadium.

Sorting things out after that took time.

He confirmed that Potter was all right, surrounded by his friends, though Draco was absent. Marcus Flint was howling that it wasn't fair, that Potter had swallowed the Snitch instead of catching it, but Madam Hooch was adamant that it was a catch just the same, and the victory went to Gryffindor. Severus protested for form's sake, but as far as he was concerned, he was just glad the game was over.

Unfortunately, there were still two games where Potter would be in the air, and thus vulnerable. And that was a problem. He'd have to figure out a way to protect Potter more effectively. If it hadn't been for the disruption caused, he might have failed.

He finally managed to escape to his quarters, only to find Draco waiting nervously for him. He considered whether or not to allow the boy entry, then sighed and motioned Draco to follow him. He had to report to Lucius anyway, and he might as well tell Draco at the same time. It would save the boy from asking inconvenient questions later.

He entered his quarters and lit the fire, then dropped down into a chair. "Since you're here, you may as well call your father. Tell him we need to speak." He gestured for Draco to go to the grate.

Lucius came through a few minutes later. "Severus?"

Severus tilted his head at Draco. The young Malfoy heir blinked, then turned to his father. "The first Quidditch match was today, Gryffindor vs. Slytherin. Potter was playing, and...something happened. His broom started acting very odd. It was shaking and not obeying his commands at all. I thought it might be because Marcus Flint rammed him earlier, but..." Draco scowled. "I know Potter's got a Nimbus 2000. Those are professional models. It doesn't make sense that one head-on collision could damage it like that. Besides, if that were the case, then it wouldn't have stopped a few minutes later. It was like..."

"Someone was hexing the broom." Severus interjected the words. Father and son turned to look at him.

"Do tell." Lucius moved to settle into the chair opposite, while Draco perched nearby.

"Quirrell." In front of Draco, he wouldn't mention the other signature he'd felt. "I felt the spell being cast, and moved to counter it. I was only partially successful. However, a disturbance was caused which disrupted both our casting, enabling Potter to regain control and reach the ground."

"He caught the Snitch. In his mouth, of all things." Draco made a face.

"Indeed." Lucius offered his son a faint smile, then returned his attention to Severus. "I find it hard to believe a mere disturbance could disrupt your efforts."

"It is not that unbelievable, considering that the disturbance consisted of someone setting me on fire." Severus scowled. His glare deepened when Lucius smirked.

"I suppose that would be sufficient distraction." Lucius caught his eyes, and Severus made a subtle signal. The Malfoy patriarch turned to his son. "Draco. I think perhaps it is best for you to go. Seek out your housemates and commiserate. Tomorrow you should make an effort to find Potter and congratulate him on his victory."

Draco's expression indicated that he knew his father was making excuses, however, the boy only nodded. "Yes Father." He embraced his parent, gave Severus a respectful nod, and then left.

Lucius sighed and turned back. "There. Now tell me what you would not say in front of my son."

"Quirrell's magical signature was entangled with another. Entangled so tightly they were almost melded together. It was a signature that both you and I would recognize far too well. I fear our suspicions, and our fears, have been confirmed."

"Quirrell has had contact with the Dark Lord." Lucius sighed again. "That is ill news."

"It is more than contact. They are working together, though how I cannot say." Severus shifted his leg into a more comfortable position. "There is another complication."

"Oh?" Lucius raised one eyebrow.

"The spell that was used against me. I recognized it, and the glimpse I caught of the caster. Potter's young friend, Ms. Granger."

"A student set you on fire?"

"Yes. I did not wish Draco to know of it, given the tension between himself and Potter's other friends. It is no secret that they suspect me of attempting to steal that which the Headmaster has here. Draco defends me as much as he can, but...I fear evidence is against me." He gestured to his leg.

"Potter knows how you were injured?" Lucius blinked.

"I informed Draco, in an effort to impress upon him the folly of meddling in things beyond his current skill level and knowledge. Draco's attempt to pass on my warning was...misinterpreted, though I suspect it is through no fault of his own."

"Children will be children. But if Potter's friends suspect you both of attempted theft and of attempting to harm their friend..."

"Then things will be far more difficult. I can see no way at present to mend their misconceptions. At least, no way which I am willing to engage in. The only method I can conceive of would be to provide them with further information, which they might look upon with suspicion. And I am not inclined to encourage them to go rushing into a situation they cannot handle."

"No." Lucius shook his head. "You should not. Not even with Draco as an intermediary." He paused, tapping his fingers together as he was wont to do when thinking. "Perhaps it is best to let things play out, for now. Let the children do as they will. They are young, and there will be other methods and times to intervene. For now, keep watch as you have done, and take some time to heal, and to plan. If the Dark Lord is involved directly, then we will need to take more precautions, and sooner than we hoped."

"I will not encourage Potter's reckless streak."

"No. But do not discourage his trust for you, tenuous as it is. Nor what he and Draco are building. I counsel only moderation of action, my friend. Do not let your frustration and concern make your actions or words too sharp."

Severus frowned, then sighed and offered a reluctant nod. "I shall keep that in mind."

Lucius smiled, then stood. "I should return home. Shall I tell Narcissa we will see you over winter break?"

"Yes. I will not stay the entire time, as I am scheduled to watch over the castle. But I will come. For part of Christmas Day, at the least."

"Well enough. I will leave you to rest." Lucius turned and activated the floo, then disappeared into the flames.

Severus rose and limped over to his liquor cabinet. He poured himself a small drink, drained it, then gathered the potions he needed to tend his leg. He needed to change the bandages over the bite again, and check for any burns. He didn't think he'd been burned, but with the way his leg ached, it was hard to be sure.

After that, he'd get himself another drink, then perhaps he'd settle down to relax.

Tomorrow, he'd put some serious thought into what to do about the situation with Potter, Quirrell, and the Dark Lord.

Author's Note: Children will be children. But poor Harry. And poor Snape. Next time, Christmas holidays and further developments.