The defeated Gryffindor players landed at once, rushing to check on Harry.
Professor Minerva McGonagall arrived soon after. After a thorough examination confirmed that Harry was unharmed, she finally addressed the team.
"Ladies and gentlemen, while we lost today, I witnessed admirable perseverance. Gryffindor must learn to acknowledge its shortcomings and confront them honestly—"
One of the Chasers, Alicia Spinnet, muttered under her breath,
"If Harry hadn't fallen, we might've won."
Professor McGonagall heard her.
Her expression hardened.
"Won with what, Miss Spinnet? Frankly speaking, your performance during the match was dreadful."
She looked sharply at the twins.
"Mr. Weasley, Mr. Weasley—your positioning was chaotic. And you, Miss Spinnet: all three of you are Chasers. Why were you competing in raw strength against Slytherin's heavier players instead of using speed and coordination? I saw none of your advantages being used."
Then she turned to Harry, her tone softening.
"Mr. Potter—your broom lost control near the end, did it not?"
"Yes, Professor."
Fred had retrieved the broom after Harry fell, when he failed to catch him in time.
"Leave it with me. I will have it examined."
She straightened.
"Now, return to the changing room and reflect on what I said. Do not blame others. Consider this: your opponent chose to save Harry even when victory was within reach."
On the way back, Angelina Johnson grinned at the twins.
"Oi—can you introduce me to your brother?"
"Which one?"
"Little Ronnie?"
"Don't play dumb. You know exactly who I mean!"
The twins shuddered dramatically.
"Merlin—she's going to avenge herself on Vaughan!"
"Highly likely, Fred. He annoyed her all match."
"Or—" they said in unison, waggling their eyebrows, "—love born from hatred!"
Angelina rolled her eyes.
Aside from Alicia, who was upset about her first starting match, the loss didn't crush team morale.
Only Oliver Wood couldn't accept it.
As Harry left the changing room, he saw Wood—already changed—walking back toward the pitch, staring up at the sky as though his spirit were still flying there.
Harry felt awful.
He didn't dare return to Gryffindor Tower.
They hadn't won in years—everyone truly believed this season would be different.
So Harry found Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger, and the three decided to visit Rubeus Hagrid.
"Do you think my broom lost control because someone cursed it?" Harry asked.
"Yes," Ron said grimly. "Hagrid told me flying brooms are heavily protected. Only powerful Dark Magic could override that."
Harry frowned. "Who would target me? The hooded figure?"
"Obviously Severus Snape—"
"No," Hermione said firmly, shaking her head.
She explained how she'd set fire to Snape's robes in the Slytherin stands—and how Harry's broom worsened immediately afterward.
"I think Professor Snape was countering the curse," she said seriously.
"The real caster was someone else."
Harry and Ron stared at the sky, half-expecting the sun to rise in the west.
"That's rubbish," Ron scoffed.
"If Snape ever had the chance, he'd pickle Harry in a potion jar. Him saving Harry? Don't make me laugh!"
"It's true!"
"I'll never trust a Slytherin—"
They reached Hagrid's hut.
Harry knocked.
The door opened.
Ron swallowed the rest of his sentence as Vaughan stood there, smiling mildly.
"Ronald," Vaughan said pleasantly. "What were you about to say?"
Ron mumbled, "W-what are you doing here? Aren't you supposed to be celebrating?"
Hagrid hurried over.
"Harry! Ron! Hermione! Come in—come in. Vaughan asked me to help collect some potion materials. Ran into him after the match, so I brought him along."
Tea was poured.
Hagrid returned with a large sack of ingredients.
"Take a look, Vaughan. Is this what you needed?"
"Perfect. Thank you, Hagrid."
As Vaughan checked the materials, Hermione joined him to help.
Harry repeated their question to Hagrid.
"Aye," Hagrid confirmed.
"Only strong Dark Magic could've done that to a broom."
"But it wasn't Snape," he insisted—and pulled Vaughan in.
"Right, Vaughan? Dumbledore trusts him."
Vaughan nodded calmly.
"Hermione's right, Harry. Your broom didn't throw you immediately—that suggests someone was actively countering the curse. Professor Snape wouldn't harm you."
Harry found that very hard to believe.
He wanted to ask why Vaughan was so certain.
But Vaughan only winked.
"I know the reason," he said lightly, "but it's not mine to tell. Maybe… you should ask Professor Snape yourself?"
Harry shook his head frantically.
He could already hear the verbal abuse.
"Snape… saved me?"
The thought lingered uneasily.
Hagrid clapped his hands.
"Enough about that! Stay for dinner, yeah?"
Naturally, they agreed.
Vaughan hesitated, then nodded.
"Hagrid—did you use the seasoning I gave you for Halloween?"
"Oh! I did—brushed it on the roast once and—well…"
His bearded face twisted in pain.
"You didn't read the instructions, did you?" Vaughan deadpanned.
"…Isn't it just a sauce?"
Ron burst out laughing.
Harry and Hermione looked lost.
Ron explained, "It's hotpot base. Vaughan recreated it from a Muggle magazine."
They stared.
So the world contained something called hotpot.
That night, stuffed and content, Harry and Ron trudged back to Gryffindor Tower.
No Occlumency practice.
Good food.
Almost a perfect day—if they hadn't lost.
Half-asleep, Harry remembered Vaughan's words.
Maybe… Snape really wouldn't hurt me?
Maybe he really is… a good person?
Harry drifted off.
That night, Vaughan arrived at the headmaster's office.
"The curse on Harry wasn't cast by Tom," he said.
"Professor Quirinus Quirrell?" Dumbledore asked.
"Yes."
Dumbledore removed his glasses, rubbing his brow tiredly.
"His condition has worsened. Tom's failure may have punished him harshly. Casting the curse may have been an attempt to regain favor."
He sighed.
"I saw his life-light today. Flickering… like a candle in the wind."
Dumbledore turned to a map, marked with countless notes.
"You're tracing his travels?" Vaughan asked.
"Yes. He left Britain via Portkey to France—then vanished."
Vaughan studied the map, memories surfacing.
Finally, he tapped the Balkan Peninsula.
"Check here."
"Why?"
"Dangerous magical creatures. If Quirrell sought experience—Romania, Bulgaria. Vampires, Veela, dragons."
And nearby—
Albania.
Dumbledore's eyes brightened.
"You've saved me considerable time, Vaughan."
Vaughan rolled his eyes.
The old man was clearly still watching him closely.
A few days later, an owl arrived.
Vaughan read the letter and passed it to Ron.
"Mum and Dad are taking Ginny to Romania to see Charlie. We're staying at Hogwarts."
Ron beamed.
Harry smiled too.
Only Hermione looked faintly disappointed—two weeks away from the library.
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