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"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 saw it. In a great rush of excitement 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
goal posts for Gryffindor. But in all the confusion, of course, the
Golden Snitch had disappeared from sight 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 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. For a split second, he thought he was going to fall. He gripped
the broom tightly with both his hands and knees. He'd never felt
anything like that.
It happened again. It was as though the broom was trying to buck him
off. But Nimbus Two Thousands did not suddenly decide to buck their
riders off. Harry tried to turn back toward the Gryffindor goal- posts
-- he had half a mind to ask Wood to call time-out -- and then he
realized that his broom was completely out of his control. He couldn't
turn it. He couldn't direct it at all. It was zigzagging through the
air, and every now and then making violent swishing movements that
almost unseated him.
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' 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.
"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."
Ron grabbed the binoculars. Snape was in the middle of the stands
opposite them. He had his eyes fixed on Harry and was muttering nonstop
under his breath.
"He's doing something -- jinxing the broom," said Hermione.
"What should we do?"
"Leave it to me."
Before Ron could say another word, Hermione had disappeared. Ron turned
the binoculars back on Harry. His broom was vibrating so hard, it was
almost impossible for him to hang on much longer. 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.
"Come on, Hermione," Ron muttered desperately.
Hermione had fought her way across to the stand where Snape stood, and
was now racing along the row behind him; she didn't even stop to say
sorry as she knocked Professor Quirrell headfirst into the row in front.
Reaching Snape, she crouched down, pulled out her wand, and whispered 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, she scrambled back along the row --
Snape would never know what had happened.