11 Oct 1991, Friday
Harry spent the entire week either after classes or after dinner with Snape in his private lab brewing a very complicated potion. He still didn't know what it was, but he was fascinated by the ingredients, many of which were magical ones he'd never heard of, and it was an odd potion that not only required three different brewings, but also had to be distilled four times.
Harry's favourite part in the entire process had to be using the distiller. It was a delicate construct of shiny brass scaffolding that encompassed various phials, philtres, tubes, and coils of gold and silver. The first distillation took a rather sludgy looking potion (the first brewing) through the distiller where it went through a rainbow of colour changes before ending in the heated cauldron that waited for it, where it turned perfectly clear.
By Friday they were working on the third brewing process when Snape discovered to his disgust, that he was out of Christmas beetle carapaces. Using a very delicate modification of a Suspension Charm, Snape put a halt to the brewing.
"Can I go with you, sir?" asked Harry as he watched his teacher put on his outer cloak.
"Are you not forgetting that you have Quidditch practice today, Harry?" Snape reminded the boy.
"I... yes... but I'd like..." Harry's tongue tumbled over his words as he chickened out on telling his teacher that he'd much rather go to Diagon Alley than practice for the game on sunday."
"I won't be gone long, Harry. I ought to return in time to watch your practice." Harry sighed, sort of happy that his professor would be watching, but disappointed that Snape didn't insist upon him going. Snape frowned, wondering what the boy's drooping shoulders could mean.
Snape slipped on his gloves and then asked, "You are looking forward to your first game, are you not?"
"Yeah, I am," he said with a truthful grin. Maybe I'm hanging around him too much, Harry thought to himself as he wiped at some non-existent dust. Dark Man just needs a break from me. Harry stood. "I guess I'll see you later, sir."
Snape watched the small boy leave his lab. His expression was worrisome, but he needed those Christmas beetles. Pushing thoughts of Harry to the side, Snape made his way out of his lab, secured it with several wards, and then left the castle.
--The Little League Teams--
Some hours later, with the newly purchased Christmas beetle carapaces stored away, Snape made his way out to the Quidditch pitch to watch the practice.
Two teams had been created from those that tried out for the little league. The assistant coaches, with the aid of each team, devised names for each of their teams.
Fred and George Weasley were the assistant coaches and they split up to one of each of the teams.
Fred was the assistant coach of the Silver Dragons. Harry Potter was Seeker, Draco Malfoy, Megan Jones of Hufflepuff, and Kevin Entwhistle of Ravenclaw were the Chasers. Justin Finch-Fletchly of Hufflepuff and Millicent Bulstrode of Slytherin were the Beaters. The Keeper was Gryffindor Neville Longbottom.
George was the assistant coach of the Growling Pixies. Their team was made up of Blaise Zabini as Seeker, Teddy Nott of Slytherin, Mortimer Howe of Gryffindor and Morag McDonald were the Chasers. Wayne Hopkins of Hufflepuff and Terry Boot of Ravenclaw were the Beaters. The Keeper was Ravenclaw Mandy Brockelhurst.
The Silver Dragons and the Growling Pixies played a good practice game. Snape thought all of the players to be well matched, including Neville and Mandy who basically allowed the other team to score because both kept dodging the Quaffle instead of knocking it back into play.
Nearly the entire school had come to watch the practice and Snape, and other staff members, were gratified to see that cheers came from all four Houses for each team. The older students seemed to understand that although the Quidditch Little League was for the youngest in the school, it meant as much to the first years as the regular Hogwarts Quidditch meant to its players.
As the assistant coaches directed their players to the showers after the practice match, Snape joined Lucius on the pitch.
"What do you think, Severus? Do you see a clear winner?" asked Lucius.
"Growling Pixies," piped up Minerva McGonagall behind them.
Snape gave the older woman a good-natured sneer as he asked, "Is that because the Silver Dragons have the dubious Mr. Longbottom as their Keeper?"
"Mr. Longbottom is regrettably no worse than Miss Brockelhurst is," commented Minerva. Turning, the older witch watched as Hermione, still in the stands, gathered up her books. "I had hoped that Miss Granger might tryout. I think she would have done better than Miss Brockelhurst."
"Not everyone views Quidditch with the same zeal as you do, Minerva," Snape countered.
Minerva turned back and gave her colleague an imperious scowl. "Even had the girl not made one of the teams it would have shown loyalty towards her House. I am, frankly, disappointed that Miss Granger has not made more of an effort in Gryffindor."
"Miss Granger is being shunned by nearly her entire House, Minerva. The girls in her dorm constantly ridicule the child. Have you never questioned their excessive points losses and detentions?" snapped Snape.
Minerva narrowed her gaze at the younger wizard, "As you are always targeting my Lions, Severus, I rarely view your justifications for taking points and giving detentions. I merely balance that by doing the same to your Snakes."
Snape was so angry he could not speak. It was Lucius who intervened, "Considering that I expect the Board to approve Miss Granger's re-Sorting in a few days..."
Minerva crossed her arms over her bosom and glared at the patrician, "The Board does not have the petition, yet, Mr. Malfoy."
Lucius' eyes narrowed sharply, "And why is that, madame?"
"Miss Granger's Head of House must approve the petition before it goes before the Board of Governors. As I am her Head of House, that means I must approve the petition. I have not. Yet." Minerva did not back down from the elder Malfoy's scowl.
"She is unhappy..." began Lucius.
Minerva interrupted, "Many first years are not happy, at first, Mr. Malfoy. Like any other child, Miss Granger will adjust." With that the Deputy Headmistress spun aside to stride away from the two wizards.
Lucius grasped the older witch by the forearm to stop her. Snape's eyes widened at the risk his friend was taking. Minerva, even at her age, was a formidable duelist.
"Miss Granger has been hexed twice, madame. What if she gets hurt?" demanded Lucius.
Minerva yanked her arm from Lucius grip. Snape could see a portion of the witch's wand in her hand. "Does that truly matter to you, Mr. Malfoy?" she seethed. "Isn't this sham of a sponsorship just another political bid to ingratiate your family name into polite society?"
Lucius did not answer the older woman's question. He merely threatened, "Hermione's welfare is on your shoulders, then, Deputy Headmistress. If she is harmed, in any way, by her House, you will have more than just the Board of Governors to deal with!" It was Lucius who strode away, not hearing Minerva's indignant 'hmmph'.
"Was that wise, Minerva?" asked Snape a little too smoothly.
Her colleague's subtle, and unspoken rebuke, was lost upon the Gryffindor. "That man needs to learn that he can't bully everyone to his way of thinking!"
"And you, Minerva? Are you that adamant about keeping Miss Granger in your House that you would go against her peace of mind?" chided Snape.
Minerva, who had remained watching the disappearing figure of Lucius Malfoy spun sharply to face Snape. "This has nothing to do with the girl's peace of mind, Severus! Miss Granger is making her life difficult by not conforming to those around her. And, she has made it worse by thinking she can bring in adults to enforce her selfish desires!"
It was Snape's turn to aim his outrage upon the older woman. "Selfish? Do you have blinders on when it comes to what your Lions have been doing to that child? That youngest Weasley boy has yet to hide those looks of hatred and revulsion he aims, daily, at the girl. I have no doubt he'll try to hurt her if he thinks he can get away with it!"
Minerva scoffed, "The Weasley children are pranksters, Severus! Not a one of them would hurt another. They aren't bullies."
Snape was stung by the older woman's tone. He had, unfortunately, heard it before. Aimed at him when he had tried complaining to the Deputy Headmistress that four of her Lions were bullying him.
"You had better see to it that Miss Granger receives no injury, Minerva," Snape's low voice cut across sharply, full of warning, "or you will find my voice to be one of the complainants to the Board."
Snape turned angrily away, leaving Minerva to bluster her indignation to the cool breezes.
13 Oct 1991, Sunday
Sunday afternoon brought the very first Quidditch Little League match. It was a rather chilly but fun carnival atmosphere as parents arrived to watch the game. Hot chocolate, tea, and coffee were all being served by the house elves to the spectators in the stands and whatever other snacks or drinks that might be requested.
Hermione sat with Narcissa so she could cheer on both teams. Snape had wanted to sit with them but he'd been getting increasingly dark looks from the Headmaster, so he sat with the staff in the staff box.
Dumbledore stood when the teams assembled on the pitch, pointed his wand at his throat, and his voice rang out clear over all the spectators.
"Welcome students and welcome to the parents of our little leaguers. Today we are holding the very first match between Hogwarts very own Quidditch Little League, the Growling Pixies versus the Silver Dragons!" The Headmaster waited until the cheers and applause died down before continuing. "Mr. Malfoy?" Dumbledore called down to the aristocratic coach in his splendid uniform. "Are we ready?"
Lucius glanced quickly at his two teams, and then at two of his five coaches who would be referees during the game. They all nodded to him and so he tossed the Snitch into the air and then jogged off the pitch. Moments later he was on a broom at the fringes of the air-field so he could monitor all his players.
The small, gold Snitch darted teasingly between Blaise and Harry before shooting straight up as high as it was allowed to go. Blaise smirked at his opponent while Harry just grinned and went after the Snitch. With a laughing growl Blaise was behind him.
Draco was a very good Chaser and Lucius found himself, oddly, cheering twice, out loud, when his son shot the Quaffle past Mandy Brockelhurst. He chided himself for doing so. He was the coach of both teams, so he needed to encourage both sides. However, when Draco scored a third goal, he shouted in delight, again. And then tried, unsuccessfully, to cover it with a cough.
Snape had his eyes upon Harry and was unaware of the slight smile that resided at one corner of his mouth as Harry flew like an expert on his broom. The whorls and loops did make his heart stop a few times, but nearly halfway through the game, he felt so confident in the boy's flying skills that he wasn't worrying quite as much as he had been.
The score was a close one with 90 for the Silver Dragons and 110 for the Growling Pixies. Everyone was cheering for the Snitch to be caught before time ran out. Harry could have caught it a few times, but he wanted to allow the scores to increase. He and Blaise did rather well in keeping each other away from the Snitch.
With the crowd shouting and cheering on Harry and Blaise, Harry made his bid for the Snitch and the second he saw it, he raced after it.
Just as Harry was reaching for the Snitch and victory, his broom dipped down sharply out of his control and then to the left. Harry grabbed the front of his broom to prevent himself from falling as he re-balanced himself. There was no chance for him to do that as his broom shot up, then down again and began shaking him roughly side to side like a dog with a chew toy.
Harry tried to hold on but it was impossible. Unaware of the screams and shouts the broom viciously shook, jerked, and Harry was soon falling off.
Due to the little league regulations the players could only fly to eight feet in height. However, Harry had been shaken so hard that his senses could not keep up; he blacked out.
In the stands, Hermione's eyes darted to the spectators the moment Harry's broom began moving erratically. She was confused to see Snape, his eyes like a hawk upon Harry, as he chanted something. Fearing the worst, she slipped away from the Malfoys and towards the teachers box.
Hermione approached the teachers box from underneath and that's when she heard Professor Quirrell's voice; low, steady, and not a whisper of a stutter. Hermione couldn't hear Professor Snape, though.
Making her decision quickly (and hoping she was right), she took out her wand, pointed it at the grey drape of Professor Quirrell's robes, and quietly spoke, "Lacarnum Inflamarae!"
A small ball of blue flame shot from the end of Hermione's wand and lit the hem of Professor Quirrell's robes on fire. Within seconds there was a shout from the stuttering man as all the teachers in the teachers box scrambled to put out the fire.
"Miss Granger!" Hermione froze. Glancing through the steps she could see her teacher glaring daggers at her. "Down on the pitch! Now!"
Hermione noted that Snape was nowhere to be seen.
~Seconds before Hermione set Quirrell's robes to flame~
Snape wanted to investigate who was causing Harry's broom to buck and roll but he couldn't. He had to keep his eyes upon the boy and to keep chanting the counter-curse. Too soon he realised, that it wasn't enough. One more sharp jerk from the broom and Harry could no longer hang onto it. His teammates made a mad bid in trying to catch him. Fred and George dove into the melee, casting spells to keep the firsties from all colliding with each other.
Snape broke from the teacher's box just as a voice rang out, "Arresto Momentum!"
"Finally, you old goat!" hissed Snape under his breath as he continued nearly running down the rickety stairs to Harry.
The Headmaster managed to slow Harry's fall but he couldn't stop it completely. The boy drifted, gently now, down to the ground where he settled upon the grass. He was joined, moments later, by the assistant coaches and his teammates. He blinked as he began to awaken.
"Step aside!" Snape ordered gruffly as he pushed his way through to Harry. The second he knelt with one knee beside the slightly dazed boy, Harry threw his arms around the older man. Snape hoisted Harry into his arms and stalked off towards the castle.
Fred frowned at his twin. "Did you hear what I heard?"
George echoed back, his frown a mirror of his twins, "Did you hear what I heard?"
They both nodded to each other. They had both heard the little Seeker call Snape 'daddy'.
Before either twin could muse upon Harry's imprecation, there was something new to pay attention to. Behind them they could hear their Head of House, and she was angry. With both teams now on the pitch, assistant coaches and teams, watched as Professor McGonagall dragged a wailing Hermione Granger, by her ear, to the castle. Their eyes followed as teacher and student passed, apparently oblivious to their audience.
"...from my House! Miss Granger! I can't believe your audacity! Setting fire to the robes of a teacher! There is no excuse! No excuse whatso..."
Fred and George chuckled to each other as they took a moment to watch their Head of House disappear ahead of them. "Granger's a bit of a spitfire, isn't she, Gred?" observed George.
"Indeed, Forge. We may have underestimated the little firstie."
"Didn't you hear?" demanded their youngest brother, Ronald, as he ran across the pitch with Dean and Seamus behind him. "That bushy-haired, moron just lost our House 100 points!" Fred and George just laughed. They'd each lost three times that much during their years at Hogwarts.
Fred, however, gave his little brother a look of concern. The feud between the House of Gryffindor and the young Hermione, had been doing its best to die down. Ronald, though, and his two friends, Dean and Seamus, continued to stir the pot. Fred could see by the angry expression on Ron's face that retaliation against the little girl just might get worse.
--The Infirmary--
An hour later McGonagall was stepping through the doors of the Infirmary to see how Harry was. Snape quickly apprised her that except for two handfuls of splinters, which happened while he was trying to hold onto his broom, Harry had come away uninjured. Madame Pomfrey had treated the child for shock, and he was now asleep, tucked firmly beneath the white hospital sheets and blankets that smelled of lavender.
"I am glad to see that Mr. Potter came out of this relatively unscathed, Severus." Minerva said a bit too stiffly.
Snape glanced up at the older woman. "You have something to ask of me, Minerva?"
The witch actually shifted on her feet before speaking. "You had already gone down to the pitch before this happened, but... I caught Miss Granger beneath the teacher's box. She'd set fire to Professor Quirrell's robes."
Snape's shock only registered as a widening of his dark eyes. "Why ever did she do such a thing?" he asked.
Minerva shrugged, but mostly in frustration. "I wish I knew. Miss Granger refuses to tell me anything."
"And Quirrell?" asked Snape.
"Holed up in his quarters. You know how he gets if any student plays a prank on him," she mused. Snape merely nodded. It was an unfortunate fact that none of the students liked their DADA professor. To be more precise, they didn't care for how he smelled; like garlic gone bad. So far he had suffered through a series of taunts from all the Houses, and a few pranks, but none quite as injurious as setting fire to his robes. An obviously sensitive man, such teasing and pranks always sent him to his rooms where he, more than likely, wallowed in self-pity for several hours.
After several minutes of just watching Harry sleep, Minerva spoke up again. "Perhaps you can talk to her, Severus," suggested the Deputy Headmistress.
Snape turned in his chair and looked up at the severe woman. "Why me? She is one of your Lions, is she not?"
Minerva ignored the barb and replied, "Miss Granger seems to have more respect for you than for me. I'm sure it did me no good that I took 100 points from Gryffindor and gave her a week's worth of detention."
Snape smirked thinly as if in agreement with the punishment. Inwardly, he wondered why Hermione had done what she had done. She was not one to prank anyone, and certainly not a teacher! No, such a punishment wouldn't help his colleague's case at all. "Send her to my office before dinner, Minerva. I shall speak to her."
Minerva gave Snape a curt, acknowledging nod, and then left the Infirmary. Snape leaned over to brush the hair that was most assuredly growing too long from the child's forehead.
--Hermione Granger--
By the time dinner came round, Madame Pomfrey had released Harry from the Infirmary after his nap. He felt refreshed and ready to find Draco and Hermione. He ran off, out of the Infirmary, glad to leave the antiseptic place behind.
Hermione, on the other hand, was halfway to Professor Snape's office. She had spent most of the rest of the afternoon on her bed with the curtains drawn. Professor McGonagall had forbade any and all excursions to the library so she was unable to find any respite there. For a half hour after her confinement to the Tower, her roommates had come in to tease her unmercifully. Hermione had put her pillow over her head and cried as quietly as possible.
For awhile Hermione had slept from simple, emotional exhaustion. It was only for an hour, though, so she'd retrieved her bookbag and read through her textbooks and had begun work on a Charms essay. She had planned to skip dinner, when the little note from her Head of House had arrived ordering her down to the dungeons to speak with Professor Snape.
Hermione had put on her school robes and then made her way down the stairs and into the Gryffindor common room. It was there that she unfortunately encountered Ronald Weasley, Dean Thomas, and Seamus Finnegan.
Weasley sat by the fire, glaring at her. Dean stood up from a round ottoman he'd been sitting on and pointed a finger at her, "100 points, Granger!" he accused.
Seamus piped up, "Keep it up, Granger, and you'll have us in negatives before the official Quidditch games start!" He glared tautly and slumped down further on the other end of the sofa.
"Watch your back, you Slytherin slut," ground out Ronald.
Hermione would have hexed the boy, but her sharp eye caught sight of his wand, in his hand, merely hidden by the drape of his robes sleeve. She nearly ran from the common room with the sound of laughter fading behind her.
Several minutes later Hermione had reached Snape's office. The door was open, but she couldn't immediately see her teacher. She knocked firmly, peering in before stepping over the threshold. When half a minute had passed without an answer, Hermione stepped into the office.
Snape's office wasn't a pleasant place, but it was interesting. An arched, enchanted window shone with natural sunshine through amber and green coloured, diamond shaped panes. Halfway up the arched window were shelves crossing in front of the glass. Various glass bottles of coloured, hand blown glass were upon the shelves. Some had liquids in them, others were empty. Hermione had the suspicion that these shelves and their contents were merely decoration.
Bookshelves lined two walls and for a long moment her attention was held, spellbound, as she silently read dozens of the titles on the spines. In the middle of one of the bookshelf lined walls was a section of shelves that held a disturbing collection of preserved... things. Hermione's lips grimaced at the sight and she turned away from them.
The last wall was taken up by a large fireplace in which flames burned, warming the office. Hanging over the mantle was a regal looking portrait of a dark-haired gentleman from possibly the 15th century. Hermione had no idea who he was, but he gave her a congenial nod before returning his gaze to the book he was reading.
"Thank you for being so prompt, Miss Granger," said Snape as he swept in through a door she hadn't seen before that led to his classroom. He indicated she was to take one of the two wooden chairs in front of his large desk as he seated himself behind it.
Hermione took a seat, folding her hands primly in her lap. Her back was stiff and barely touched the back of the chair.
"You may relax, Miss Granger. You are not in trouble," he remarked. The girl only relaxed slightly.
Hermione cleared her throat before asking, "Is this about what I did at the game, sir?"
He nodded. "It is, Miss Granger. I am hoping that you have some explanation for having set Professor Quirrell's robes on fire." He frowned in puzzlement. "I would not have expected such a prank from you."
Hermione's gaze dropped to her hands as she clasped them tightly together. "It wasn't a prank," she murmured.
"Then what was it?" he asked firmly.
There wasn't an immediate reply from the girl. When she did speak, it wasn't what he expected. "Sir, why were you hexing Harry?"
He blinked, giving himself a few extra seconds to form his answer. "It was a counter-spell. Someone, I do not know who, was jinxing Mr. Potter's broom."
"Someone was trying to kill him, sir," she countered softly.
"Perhaps," he spoke softly.
Hermione lifted her head as she looked directly into her teacher's eyes. "No," she said firmly. "If Harry had fallen he could have broken his neck. Someone wanted him dead." She bit her lower lip and her gaze fluttered nervously down to her lap as her hands fidgeted uneasily.
Snape watched the child, concerned about the waves of fear that nearly rolled off her visibly. He had been somewhat surprised by her declaration that someone had tried to kill Harry, but supposed that maybe he shouldn't have been as Miss Granger was a very observant child. It had irritated him that most of the staff had written off the incident as a problem of the magical restrictions on the broom for the safety of its rider. It had further rankled him when he'd gone to speak to the Headmaster about the accident and it was waved off as something that Madame Hooch would investigate 'when she had time'.
How could that old goat be so cavalier about Harry's life? Wasn't Harry Potter supposed to be the Saviour of the Wizarding World in Dumbledore's eyes?
Hermione spoke up, "Professor Quirrell was chanting, too." Snape hissed, caught off guard by the statement. "I know hardly anyone likes the professor, sir, but I really think he doesn't like Harry."
"Why do you say that?" asked Snape shrewdly. "Have there been any more incidents in his classes?"
"Nothing like that one time, sir," she replied, almost reluctant to give away a confidence. "But Harry does get terrible headaches in class and Draco told me that he's still having nightmares. Draco can't hear them because Harry's casting a Silencing Spell, but he always gets up afterwards and paces. Or, sometimes he gets sick."
Hermione glanced worriedly at Snape as the fingers on both his hands drummed out an angry pattern on the arms of his chair. After several minutes of watching the man's expression deepen and become darker, he waved his hand at her in silent dismissal. The atmosphere was so oppressive that Hermione was happy to be on her way back to the Tower.
Snape grimaced to himself. He had hoped that Harry's nightmares were done with, but obviously not. He doubted there were any more nightmares with the unicorns for Hagrid had informed him several days ago that the unicorns had vanished from the Forbidden Forest. Other magical animals were also nowhere to be seen, and the Centaurs, usually very hidden creatures, were in force throughout the Forest.
The Potions Master knew what he needed to do about Harry's nightmares; it was a simple charm he often used with his first years that alerted him to when a child was having a nightmare. Many of his Snakes came from less than ideal homelives and they sometimes suffered from terrible nightmares that could only be soothed away by a calm voice and hot chocolate laced with Calming Potion.
Snape would use the same spell upon Harry. He would also continue to teach him Occlumency.
For the moment, though, Snape was concerned, no, alarmed by what Miss Granger had told him about Quirrell. Very little was known about the odd wizard. He was just one of many DADA instructors, and like those before him, more than likely wouldn't see another year in the position.
Quirinus Quirrell, from what Snape did know, had been a world traveler. He'd written one book, that Snape had borrowed from the library to read. It was called, Living With Vampires: A Practical Guide to the Undead.
There was no new information about vampires whatsoever to be found in the book. As a matter of fact, it appeared to be a collection of information that could be found anywhere wrapped in lurid prose that read like Bram Stoker's novel, Dracula.
Snape had been tempted to burn the missive, but, it unfortunately did not belong to him so he only returned it.
The Headmaster had told Snape and his staff that Quirrell was retiring from his travels and hoped to settle into the position of Defense Against the Dark Arts instructor. They had all seen the wizard's resume and had to agree that it was impressive looking. Quirrell had been a part of many archaeological projects, from the wizarding side, and had quite a bit of experience in antiquated magic, which included the Dark Arts.
Snape never admitted it to anyone, but he had secretly been hoping for a rich conversation with the wizard, despite his vapid book, over the many things he'd learned during his years of travel and work on archeological digs. He'd been sharply disappointed. First, the man had a terrible stutter that made just normal conversation all but impossible, and second, he smelled horrid!
More than once, during staff meetings, Snape wanted to rip that ugly, purple turban off the man's head, and give it to a house elf to burn. Just being around the man made Snape itch. The turban reeked of garlic, but the man's body odour was nearly as foul.
Is it enough to cause a child to suffer headaches?
Snape doubted that.
Could it have been Quirrell that cast the curse that affected Harry's broom?
The man would have to be watched, of that Snape knew there was no doubt of. The question, though, was should he say something to the Headmaster? Snape sighed in resignation. He had no choice but to do so.
Rising from his desk, Snape adjusted his teaching robes and then left his office. He might be just in time to reach Dumbledore in his office before the man headed to the Great Hall for dinner.
Hermione walked up from the dungeons, across the Entrance Hall, and into the corridor that eventually led up to the Gryffindor Tower. It was a long walk and one she had begun to allow her body to memorise. As her body flawlessly walked the route, Hermione's thoughts were able to focus on Professor Quirrell.
Hermione held respect for all of her teachers, including the infinitely droning and boring Professor Binns who taught History of Magic. Respect, though, didn't exactly mean she liked all of her professors.
In DADA class, Professor Quirrell routinely ignored her. He didn't bother with snarky epithets towards her hand raising (which had toned down quite a bit, thank you), nor did he give points, praise, or even comment when she did answer a question.
However, Professor Quirrell did that to everyone.
More often than not, he lectured, and with his stutter it was generally a painful thing to endure. Practical lessons had been few and far between, and Hermione thought that when there was a practical, it was done in such a way that it always caused harm to someone. Afterwards, Professor Quirrell was apologising so much she was surprised he didn't fall prostrate upon the floor offering up his first born for his foolish transgressions.
It really made everyone just about ill.
His lectures made little sense, too, when she thought hard about it. They seemed more stream-of-consciousness rather than thought out, and planned discourse.
Then, there were those odd times when the professor would say nothing at all and would simply stare. Oftentimes at Harry. Professor Quirrell's stare never seemed menacing; more like he was studying an odd growth of fungus. That was when Harry's headaches would turn into a migraine in class.
Harry was very good at ignoring his pain, but not that good at covering it. Both she and Draco knew Harry was experiencing headaches because he would either squeeze his eyes shut tight, or rub incessantly at the scar on his head.
Several times Hermione and Draco had suggested Harry go to the Infirmary, which he would refuse. Hermione's argument had suggested that he ask for a potion for the headaches, but even the hope for relief wasn't enough for Harry to do anything about them.
Hermione hoped that by finally saying something to his Head of House, who seemed concerned about her friend, that Harry would finally get sorted out. She smiled to herself as she turned the corner.
"Time to pay the piper, Slytherin slut!"
For your reminder - The Little League Teams
Head Coach Lucius Malfoy
S=Slytherin, H=Hufflepuff, R=Ravenclaw, G=Gryffindor
Silver Dragons: Asst. Coach Fred Weasley
Harry Potter (S) - Seeker
Draco Malfoy (S) - Chaser
Megan Jones (H) - Chaser
Kevin Entwhistle (R) - Chaser
Justin Finch-Fletchly (H) - Beater
Millicent Bulstrode (S) - Beater
Neville Longbottom (G) - Keeper
•••
Growling Pixies: Asst. Coach George Weasley
Blaise Zabini (S) - Seeker
Teddy Nott (S) - Chaser
Mortimer Howe (G) - Chaser
Morag McDonald (R)- Chaser
Wayne Hopkins (H) - Beater
Terry Boot (R) - Beater
Mandy Brockelhurst (R)- Keeper
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