Chapter 106: The Opening Act
After seeing the Headmaster and his companions off, the vast majority of the students finished their breakfast and streamed out toward the Quidditch pitch. It was the most anticipated match of the season: Slytherin versus Gryffindor. The two houses were ancient rivals, and the atmosphere was always electric. With Dumbledore and Flitwick both away from the castle, the Heads of Slytherin and Gryffindor sat stony-faced in the center of the main viewing box, their expressions darker than a midsummer storm. Any student who didn't know better might have thought they were about to witness a duel between the two professors before the match even began.
The players on the pitch and the students in the stands all noticed the grim mood. The two Heads of House looked as if they hadn't been paid in eight hundred years. To everyone's surprise, even the usually cheerful Professor Sprout of Hufflepuff looked grim. Wild theories began to circulate among the students, who could sense that something major was about to happen.
With their respective bosses in a foul mood, the players on the pitch were even more aggressive than usual. Harry Potter, still new to the role of Seeker, had never experienced anything like it. His first and only other match had ended with him swallowing the Golden Snitch. This time, he was determined to win without resorting to such unorthodox methods. He knew the Slytherin team was not particularly skilled; they relied on brute force and physical intimidation to win. As he dodged a Bludger sent hurtling toward his head by a Slytherin Beater, the stands erupted in a chorus of boos. Snape's face grew even darker with shame, while McGonagall's flushed with anger.
The match continued. George and Fred managed a daring rescue, pulling Harry out from under a diving Quaffle just in the nick of time. It seemed the name "Harry Potter" was a magnet for trouble. The Slytherin players were relentless, giving him no room to breathe, forcing him to weave and dodge in a desperate dance of survival.
From the stands, gasps of alarm rang out. In a brief moment of calm, Harry glanced up and saw the thunderous, almost demonic expression on Snape's face. The sheer, unadulterated fury in the professor's eyes sent a jolt of fear through him, and for a split second, he lost control of his broom. It pitched forward, sending him into a steep, 45-degree dive.
Not again, he thought, but it was too late to pull up. From the stands, he heard Percy's frantic shout: "Harry, look out!"
As he fought to regain control, a powerful force suddenly enveloped him, slowing his descent. Professor McGonagall must have saved me, he thought, and was about to look up when her voice, magically amplified, boomed across the entire stadium. "Remain calm! Prefects, have the older students maintain order!"
A sense of unease washed over Harry. Surely his little mishap wasn't enough to warrant such a serious announcement. He looked up and saw the cause of the commotion. Several trolls had stormed onto the Quidditch pitch. In the distance, black smoke was billowing from the windows of Hogwarts Castle. In an instant, the idyllic sanctuary of his dreams had been transformed into a fiery, smoke-filled hell.
What's happening? he thought, his mind reeling. A whooshing sound from behind snapped him out of his daze. Still suspended in mid-air by the magical force, he just managed to twist his head out of the way of a swinging bat. A Slytherin Beater flew past, his eyes vacant and lifeless, yet his movements were unnervingly precise and fluid. His skill with the bat was far superior to that of the trolls, who were lumbering about, swinging their clubs wildly.
But the trolls, clumsy as they were, were heading straight for him. "Faster, faster," he prayed, desperate to reach the ground and be free of the magical restraint. The trolls, however, were surprisingly quick. In a few lumbering strides, one of them was upon him, raising a club thicker than Harry's own body to deliver a crushing blow to his head.
Many of the students in the stands covered their eyes, unable to watch. This is it, Harry thought, a strange sense of calm washing over him as his short life flashed before his eyes. The sneering faces of his aunt, uncle, and cousin Dudley filled his mind. Maybe it's for the best. But the memories of his miserable life were quickly replaced by the warmth and joy he had found at Hogwarts. I have to live, he thought, a surge of adrenaline giving him the strength to twist his body and roll, landing hard on the ground a few feet away from where he had been.
"Insolence!" a voice roared, a voice that was vaguely familiar but he couldn't quite place. In the next instant, an invisible force seemed to slice through the air. The troll that had been looming over him was cleaved in two from head to toe, its foul blood and entrails splattering all over him. Covered in the gore, Harry began to vomit.
"Thank you," he gasped, forcing the words out. But there was no reply. He heard footsteps pass by him, and through his blurred, tear-filled eyes, he recognized the corner of a black, billowing robe. It belonged to the Head of Slytherin, the Potions Master of Hogwarts: Severus Snape.
Harry was so stunned, he forgot to be sick. His mind could only form one, single, unbelievable thought: Snape... saved me?
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