“He’s just made that rule up,” Harry muttered angrily as Snape limped away. “Wonder what’s
wrong with his leg?”
“Dunno, but I hope it’s really hurting him,” said Ron bitterly.
The Gryffindor common room was very noisy that evening. Harry, Ron, and Hermione sat
together next to a window. Hermione was checking Harry and Ron’s
Charms homework for
them. She would never let them copy (“How will you learn?”), but by asking her to read it
through, they got the right answers anyway.
Harry felt restless. He wanted
Quidditch Through the Ages
back, to take his mind off his nerves
about tomorrow. Why should he be afraid of Snape? Getting up, he told Ron and Hermione he
was going to ask Snape if he could have it.
“Better you than me,” they said together, but Harry had an idea that Snape wouldn’t refuse if
there were other teachers listening.
He made his way down to the staffroom and knocked. There was no answer. He knocked again.
Nothing.
Perhaps Snape had left the book in there? It was worth a try. He pushed
the door ajar and peered
inside – and a horrible scene met his eyes.
Snape and Filch were inside, alone. Snape was holding his robes above his knees. One of his legs
was bloody and mangled. Filch was handing Snape bandages.
“Blasted thing,” Snape was saying. “How are you supposed to keep your eyes on all three heads
at once?”
Harry tried to shut the door quietly, but —
“POTTER!”
Snape’s face was twisted with fury as he dropped his robes quickly to hide his leg. Harry gulped.
“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 Halloween! 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 make 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 onto the field.
“Harry, you need your strength,” said Seamus Finnigan. “Seekers are always the ones who get
clobbered 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
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