❝ Sportsmanship Is Bearing Broken Bones ❞

      As we entered November, the weather turned very cold. The mountains around the school became icy gray and the lake was like chilled steel. Every morning the ground was covered in frost. Hagrid could be seen from the upstairs windows defrosting broomsticks on the Quidditch field, bundled up in a long moleskin overcoat, rabbit fur gloves, and enormous beaverskin boots.

The Quidditch season began. On Saturday, Harry would be playing in his first match after weeks of training: Gryffindor versus Slytherin. If Gryffindor won, Gryffindor would move up into second place in the house championship. Hardly anyone had seen Harry play because Wood had decided that, as their secret weapon, Harry should be kept, well, secret. But the news that he was playing Seeker had leaked out somehow, and I didn't know which was worse — people telling him he'd be brilliant or people telling him they'd be running around underneath him holding a mattress.

It was really lucky that Harry now had Hermione and me as a friend. I didn't know how he'd have gotten through all his homework without both of us, what with all the last-minute Quidditch practice Wood was making them do. I had also lent him Quidditch Through the Ages, which turned out to be a very interesting read for him.

There were seven hundred ways of committing a Quidditch foul and all of them had happened during a World Cup match in 1473; Seekers were usually the smallest and fastest players, and most serious Quidditch accidents seemed to happen to them; although people rarely died playing Quidditch, referees had been known to vanish and turn up months later in the Sahara Desert.

Hermione had become a bit more relaxed about breaking rules since Harry, Ron, and I had saved her from the mountain troll, and she was much nicer for it. The day before Harry's first Quidditch match the four of them were out in the freezing courtyard during the break, and I had conjured up a bright blue fire that could be carried around in a jam jar, I told them it was a spell.

We were standing with our backs to it, getting warm, when Snape crossed the yard. I noticed at once that Snape was limping. We moved closer together to block the fire from view; I was sure it wouldn't be allowed. Unfortunately, something about our guilty faces caught Snape's eye. He limped over. He hadn't seen the fire, but he seemed to be looking for a reason to tell us off anyway.

"What's that you've got there, Potter?"

It was Quidditch Through the Ages. Harry showed him.

"Library books are not to be taken outside the school," said Snape. "Give it to me. Five points from Gryffindor."

"That's mine," I said, but Snape paid no attention to me.

"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 hurting him," said Ron bitterly.

"For once, I agree with you," I muttered.

After lunch, I went to the library to complete my assignments. I found Alan in one corner, scratching on his parchment.

"Busy much?" I asked as he looked up at me.

He sighed. "I hate potions, and it's not just because of Snape."

"Need any help?" I offered.

"Nah. Anyway I'm excited for the winter break. You're going home?"

I thought about it, Dad wouldn't celebrate Christmas, obviously, but Vega and I loved celebrating any festival because of nice food, chocolates, and cakes. And Dad would join the fun.

"I guess," I said.

"Oh, you could come with me if you're not going,"

"Go where?"

"My home,"

"What?" I frowned. "Why should I come to your home?"

"I'm pretty sure my Dad would be happy to see you. Besides no one could celebrate Christmas better than us!" He boasted.

"I don't know, I don't like-".

"Hey Aquila, I was wondering if we can get your book back from Snape I need it because of tomorrow's match can you come with me? Ron and Hermione didn't want to get in trouble." Harry said.

I hesitated, I didn't need the book right now. But Harry did, should I risk it?

"Of course, Harry, I would love to have my book back from that greasy head."

Alan snorted. "Need another pair of hands?"

Harry stared at him. "Not really, but I guess I could use the moral support,"

We made our way down to the staffroom and Harry knocked. There was no answer. He knocked again. Nothing.

Perhaps Snape had left the book in there? It was worth a try. We pushed the door ajar and peered inside – and a horrible scene met my 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."

"WHY DID YOU COME IN HERE?! TOLD YOU I WILL GIVE THE BOOK BACK TO THE LIBRARY!"

"It's my book professor, I lent my book to Harry because of tomorrow's match," I said.

"GET OUT! OUT!"

We left before Snape could take any more points from Gryffindor or Ravenclaw.

"What the—?" Harry cut Aquila off.

"Did you see his leg?" he asked.

"Yes, I saw that on Halloween too, after the troll attack," I mentioned.

"There's something I want to tell you, but we'll talk later, Thank you for coming with me"

"No problem Harry, good night." I glanced at Alan, he looked like he'd seen a ghost.

"What do you think happened to his leg?" he asked me, as Harry left.

"I have no idea, but he's up to something suspicious I'm sure,"

We went back to the library to continue our work. Alan had lost interest in doing his potions assignment after seeing Snape. He left soon for dinner. I stayed back to finish my work.

~~~

The next morning dawned very brightly 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.

"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.

"Good morning Harry, hope you are ready to play?" I asked.

"Not really," he said miserably. I felt bad for him. Harry was the youngest player at Hogwarts right now, he must be intimidated by others.

"It's alright Harry, not all people get injured while playing quidditch" I comforted him. He only nodded.

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 have been raised high in the air, but it was still difficult to see what was going on sometimes.

I supported Gryffindor. 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 performed a tricky little charm so that the paint flashed different colors.

Madam Hooch was refereeing. She stood in the middle of the field 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. I noticed that she seemed to be speaking particularly to the Slytherin Captain, Marcus Flint, a sixth year. Flint looked as if he had some troll blood in him.

"Mount your brooms, please."

Harry clambered onto his Nimbus Two Thousand.

Madam Hooch gave a loud blast on her silver whistle.

Fifteen brooms rose, 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, the Slytherins 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 the Gryffindors 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 the Slytherins — that's Adrian Pucey speeding off toward the goal posts, 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 goal posts are ahead — come on, now, Angelina — Keeper Bletchley dives — misses — GRYFFINDORS SCORE!"

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

"Budge up there, move along."

"Hagrid!"

Ron, Hermione and I squeezed together to give Hagrid enough space to join us.

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

"Nope," I said. "Harry hasn't had much to do yet."

"Kept outta trouble, though, that's somethin'," said Hagrid, raising his binoculars and peering skyward at the speck that was Harry.

Way up above us, 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."

"Slytherin in possession," Lee Jordan was saying, "Chaser Pucey ducks two Bludgers, two Weasleys, and Chaser Bell, and speeds toward 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 must have seen it. He dived downward after the streak of gold. Slytherin Seeker Terence Higgs had seen it, too. Neck and neck they hurtled toward the Snitch — all the Chasers seemed to have forgotten what they were supposed to be doing as they hung in midair 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 spun 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 again.

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

"What are you talking about, Dean?" said Ron.

"Red card!" said Dean furiously. "In soccer, you get shown the red card and you're out of the game!"

"But this isn't soccer, Dean," Ron reminded him.

Hagrid, however, 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 Spinner, who puts it away, no trouble, and we continue to 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. He gripped the broom tightly with both his hands and knees.

It happened again. It was as though the broom was trying to buck him off. But Nimbus Two Thousand did not suddenly decide to buck their riders off.

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 — Slytherins score — A 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't 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.

"What's happening?" I asked.

"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, gray-faced.

"I knew it," Hermione gasped, "Snape — look."

I grabbed the binoculars. Snape was in the middle of the stands opposite us. He had his eyes fixed on Harry and was muttering nonstop under his breath.

"He's doing something — jinxing the broom," I said.

"What should we do?" asked Ron

"Leave it to me," Hermione said.

"Let me take care of that," I insisted.

Before either of them could say another word, I had disappeared.

The whole crowd was on its feet, watching, terrified, as the Weasleys flew up to try and pull Harry safely onto 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.

I had fought my way across to the stand where Snape stood and was now racing along the row behind him; I didn't even stop to say sorry as I knocked Professor Quirrell headfirst into the row in front, reaching Snape.

I crouched down and conjured a little bit of sunlight more like Sunfire, and set it to Snape's robes. I wanted to burn him down but sadly couldn't.

It took perhaps thirty seconds for Snape to realize that he was on fire. A sudden yelp told me that I had done my job perfectly. I 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 onto his broom.

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

Harry was speeding toward the ground when the crowd saw him clap his hand to his mouth as though he was about to be sick — he hit the field 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 results — Gryffindor had won by one hundred and seventy points to sixty. I congratulated Harry.