The Weasley of Slytherin: The Philosopher's Stone

Chapter 15: Flamel

The whole crowd was on its feet, watching, terrified, as the twins 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 had seized the Quaffle during this time and scored five times without anyone noticing.

I fought my way towards Hermione, and together we had to fight our way across to the stand to where Snape stood, and were 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, we crouched down. "Should I pull a Harry here? Stick my wand up his nose?" I asked Hermione twirling my wand in my hand.

She glared at me at this, before pulling out her wand, and whispering a few, well-chosen words. Bright blue flames shot from her wand onto the hem of Snape's robes.

It took perhaps thirty seconds for Snape to realize 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, we 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, as we arrived back at our seats out of breath. Neville had been sobbing into Hagrid's jacket for the last five minutes.

Harry was speeding toward the ground when we 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, his voice carrying over the watching crowd, 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. We could barely here any of this, though. We were being made cups of strong tea back in Hagrid's hut.

"It was Snape," Ron was explaining, "Hermione (N/n) 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?"

"Dunno maybe he's jealous of Harry's perfect hair." I suggested, as Harry, Ron, and Hermione looked at one another, wondering what to tell him.

"I found out something about him," Harry told Hagrid. "He tried to get past that three-headed dog on Halloween. 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?"

"You know surprisingly fitting name." I said thinking back about his fur.

"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 —"

"Yes?" said Harry eagerly.

"Now, don't ask me anymore," said Hagrid gruffly. "That's top secret, that is."

"Alright we understand, but what if we were to ask you really nicely?" I asked Hagrid who just scowled at me.

"But Snape's trying to steal it."

"Rubbish," said Hagrid again. "Snape's a Hogwarts teacher, he'd do nothin' of the sort."