For a period after the start of term, things were fairly peaceful.
Ever since Voldemort's mental power had been fully analyzed—and with the inspiration gained from the dragon egg—the development of magical traps had suddenly accelerated. At this pace, everything would be completely finished in another month or two. As for the knowledge Avada had obtained, it was already more than sufficient; there was no longer any need for him to sneak into the Restricted Section every single day.
Baron knew that Avada had important matters to attend to as well, so he didn't come to disturb him too often. He even passed along the address where that luxury-grade Wit-Sharpening Potion was sold—the bottle Avada had received as a Christmas gift hadn't even lasted two weeks. The result was that Avada nearly jumped out of his skin when he saw the bill for the first time.
Fifteen Galleons per bottle.
Three to four times the price of an ordinary Wit-Sharpening Potion.
Thankfully, the compensation from the Department of Mysteries was so generous that he practically couldn't spend it all. Financially, he could still afford this kind of consumption.
Harry had likely told Ron and Hermione about the Philosopher's Stone—and about Avada's current situation—so recently, the three of them hadn't been rummaging through the library like they had last term. Instead, whenever they saw Avada, they would give him an encouraging smile…
Well, as long as those three aren't pestering me with questions, I'm already grateful. Probably has something to do with me dropping Dumbledore's name…
Thinking this, Avada took a sip of black tea, set down his pen, and looked up at Xavier.
"So what's so special about this Quidditch match?" he asked. "There are still two matches before the finals, aren't there? We've already seen Harry Potter's Nimbus 2000, and Cedric's counter-strategies are pretty solid…"
"Dumbledore is coming to watch the match in person!"
Xavier was so excited he was practically bouncing. "Our Headmaster is always busy, and he's never been that interested in Quidditch. In past years, he usually didn't even attend the school finals—but this time he's coming himself!"
"I don't know why, but if it's enough to interest Dumbledore, this match is definitely a big deal!"
Yeah, a big deal indeed—keeping an eye on Voldemort…
Avada took another sip of tea before replying blandly, "Could it be that he's here to supervise Professor Snape, since he suddenly decided to referee, and make sure he doesn't go overboard docking points from Gryffindor?"
"Impossible. Absolutely impossible!"
The Quidditch captain, who had been wandering nearby, immediately objected. "This is a Quidditch match, not a class. What right does he have to deduct points? And he doesn't even understand Quidditch—if he wanted to pick on Gryffindor, he wouldn't know where to start…"
"And if he just does it anyway?" Avada asked.
"Then Professor McGonagall would probably pelt him off the pitch with tomatoes."
The captain muttered, "Still, why would Professor Snape suddenly want to referee? He doesn't know Quidditch, and the team facing Gryffindor is us, not Slytherin…"
"But if that's the case, Snape would probably favor us just to spite Gryffindor, right? Wouldn't that be winning unfairly?"
"That's not too bad, actually," Avada said, lowering his head again and resuming his notes. "It just balances out the gap created by the Nimbus 2000."
"Well… fair enough. I'll go watch it too, then. Consider it a way to relax."
"That's more like it… so why is Snape refereeing, anyway?"
"..."
To be honest, even Avada couldn't quite figure it out.
If Dumbledore was personally present, was there really any need for Snape to step in to protect Harry? And his very presence would interfere with Harry's performance anyway…
Wait.
Wouldn't Snape actually enjoy that?
Protect your life and disgust you at the same time. Perfect.
As expected of you, Professor.
...
Two days later, the Quidditch pitch: Hufflepuff versus Gryffindor.
Both teams were visibly excited, Harry most of all. Merlin above—when he'd first heard that Snape would be refereeing, he'd nearly been scared to death. Dumbledore's arrival, on the other hand, felt like a sudden ray of hope.
Moreover, Avada had already told him that Dumbledore knew someone was after the Philosopher's Stone. That alone lifted a huge weight from his shoulders—at least he no longer had to worry about that constantly and could focus entirely on Quidditch.
"Mount your brooms."
Snape stood in the center, his face dark, reciting the words in a flat, emotionless tone before blowing his whistle.
"…The Nimbus 2000 outperforms the Cleansweep Seven in speed, maneuverability, and braking. And a prodigy like the Boy Who Lived has already just barely mastered that broom. So in order to help Cedric catch the Snitch, our team needs to expand our control range as much as possible, ensuring that no matter where the Snitch appears, someone can intercept it immediately…"
Xavier was currently on the pitch, so the task of explaining things to Avada and the other Quidditch novices fell to fifth-year Rolf. Between preparing for his O.W.L.s and serving as Professor Kettleburn's assistant, he was usually busy enough already. Quidditch matches were almost his only chance to relax.
"The downside is that our defensive line will be more scattered, making it harder to stop opponents from breaking through. You can see Gryffindor has already scored twice in a row—but that's fine, it's all within our expectations…"
"Look! Professor Snape gave us a penalty shot. That's exactly how the weakness of a scattered defense gets compensated!"
Avada: ...
Weren't we all supposed to be honest people?
The way this strategy exploited every possible on-field and off-field factor—was the person who devised it really not a Slytherin plant?
Oh, right. I'm not honest either. Then it's fine.
"With these two penalty shots, the point gap is closed. And Harry is still keeping away from the contested areas, searching for the Snitch at high altitude, completely unaware of our strategy! We've already won—"
"Don't!"
Before anyone could cover Rolf's mouth, Harry suddenly dove straight down toward Snape, nearly knocking him off his broom…
"Attacking the referee, Potter!"
Snape barked viciously, his face pale. "Penalty to Hufflepuff!"
"No, Professor."
Harry couldn't stop the grin spreading across his face as he raised the Golden Snitch high in front of Snape. "It's already over! I caught the Snitch!"
The stands instantly exploded with cheers. This was a new record—no one could remember a match where the Snitch had been caught this quickly.
Cedric and the rest of the Hufflepuffs: ...
Well, every tactic had been carefully planned—but that didn't help when the Snitch appeared right under the opposing Seeker's nose.
Harry jumped off his broom from a height of one foot above the ground. He could hardly believe it. He'd done it—the match was over, lasting less than five minutes. And he'd embarrassed Snape right to his face…
As the Gryffindors surged onto the pitch, Snape landed beside him, his face ashen, lips pressed tightly together.
"What did I say? Never talk about the outcome before the dust has settled!"
Facing the resentful stares of his fellow Hufflepuffs, Rolf forced out an awkward laugh. "I just think—"
"Still arguing! Strip him of his meals!"
—This was a curse that, once hit, produced a continuous feeling of fullness for half a day, making everything taste bland and unappetizing. For Hufflepuffs, it was exceptionally vicious and was commonly used in internal Hufflepuff conflicts.
An hour later, Harry left the changing room alone, happier than he'd ever been. At last, he'd done something truly worth being proud of—no one would ever say again that he was famous in name only. The night air had never felt so sweet. The scenes from the past hour replayed in his mind: Gryffindors hoisting him onto their shoulders; Ron and Hermione jumping up and down in the distance…
He reached the broom shed and leaned against the wooden door, lifting his head to look at Hogwarts, its windows glowing red in the light of the setting sun. Gryffindor was in the lead. He'd succeeded. He'd finally shown Snape—
Snape?
A hooded figure hurried down the castle's front steps, clearly trying not to be seen, and made straight for the Forbidden Forest. Harry watched as the joy of victory gradually faded from his heart. He recognized that furtive gait—it was Snape. While everyone else was at dinner, he was sneaking into the forest.
What was he planning to do?
(End of Chapter)