Chapter 193 – Quidditch Match (Part 3)
Quirrell hadn't known that Dumbledore would alter the plan. Originally, it had been about destroying the Dark Lord. But now, the Headmaster's goal had shifted—to cultivate a savior.
Phineas understood this clearly. What he didn't know was whether Quirrell had realized it too. If he had, perhaps he wouldn't have sacrificed his life as in the original plan. He might have survived, relying on potions and cunning to trap the Dark Lord instead.
Yes, in Dumbledore's new design, Quirrell wouldn't die after testing Harry. He would become a living cage, a vessel to contain the most dangerous fragment of the Dark Lord's soul. Eventually, he would prompt Harry to destroy it, wiping out the Dark Lord completely.
While Phineas was lost in thought, a sudden blaze broke out in the professor's section of the stands, causing a commotion. It gave Harry a brief moment of respite—just enough to climb back onto his broomstick.
The scene intrigued Phineas. Events in the original timeline had unfolded similarly, but back then it had been Hermione who started the fire. Now, Phineas knew Hermione was sitting in the Ravenclaw stands, and her friendship with Harry and Ron wasn't nearly as close.
So who had started the fire this time?
During the troll incident, it had been Neville who replaced Hermione as a key participant. So perhaps it was Ron or Neville now. But Ron was hardly a strategist, and his magical skill was still quite limited. After only two months at school, it was unlikely he could cast a proper fire-starting charm.
As for Neville, while he had inherited his parents' talent and the botanical gifts of the Longbottom family, he was still using his father's wand—never ideal. Even adult wizards struggled with borrowed wands.
Just as Phineas was contemplating this, Harry suddenly dived at a terrifying speed. The young Slytherins around Phineas gasped in alarm. A dive like that, if misjudged even slightly, could end in a broken neck—something even a skilled wizard might not prevent.
Harry pulled up just before hitting the ground. Though he managed to slow his momentum, he tumbled off the broom from sheer inertia. Landing on all fours, he coughed violently into his hand—then held something aloft.
"I caught the Snitch!"
Phineas heard Harry shout joyfully, holding the golden ball high in the air.
"He didn't catch it—he nearly swallowed it!" Flint grumbled loudly after the match.
But his protests meant nothing. Harry had broken no rules. Lee Jordan's booming announcement confirmed it: the match was over.
Final score: Gryffindor, 170 – Slytherin, 60.
This was exactly why Phineas disliked Quidditch. The Snitch was worth 150 points and instantly ended the match. Without it, Slytherin would have won. The efforts of the Chasers, Beaters, and Keeper could all be undone by one catch. In truth, all that mattered was the Seeker—and the rest of the team mainly served to support or sabotage them.
As usual, the victors celebrated while the losers nursed their grudges. Slytherin would no doubt look for ways to ensure Gryffindor's players didn't all make it to the next match.
But none of that concerned Phineas.
After the game, Harry found him and invited him to Hagrid's hut. It wasn't Phineas's first time there—he and Hagrid had some connection, though they rarely interacted.
Hermione also came. She was still kind-hearted, and even though her bond with Harry and Ron wasn't yet strong, she'd been worried during the match. Neville and Ron followed too—forming what some now saw as a new version of the Golden Trio.
Hagrid served them tea. Honestly, everything at Hagrid's place had an intensity to it—whether in flavor or danger. Phineas noticed a bunch of mushrooms hanging in the corner. He recognized them: mildly poisonous fungi that caused hallucinations. Harmless to Hagrid, who was half-giant, but risky for others.
The tea was no better—probably potent enough to knock someone out. Phineas didn't dare drink it.
"Snape did it!"
Ron blurted out, eager to share what he and Neville had seen.
"We both saw him muttering under his breath, eyes locked on your broomstick—casting a spell!"
Hagrid was quick to dismiss it.
"Nonsense. Why would Snape do that?"
Harry, Ron, and Neville exchanged awkward glances—clearly trying to communicate something silently. Only Hagrid missed it. Phineas and Hermione noticed immediately—it was clumsy, obvious.
Finally, Harry spoke.
"At the Halloween feast… he tried to get past the big three-headed dog. It bit him. We think he was after whatever it's guarding."
Hagrid's face darkened. He set his cup down and asked,
"How do you know about Fluffy?"
"Fluffy?"
Harry looked startled.
"Yeah—he's mine. Bought him off a Greek fellow in a pub last year. Lent him to Dumbledore to guard—"
"What?!"
Harry leaned in, clearly wanting to know more.
But Hagrid cut him off quickly.
"That's top secret, that is!"
Harry wasn't satisfied.
"But Snape wants to steal it!"