Quidditch was a big deal at Hogwarts. But for students like Ron and Hermione, who weren't particularly athletic, other things took priority. Still, during this period, Albert often spent his free time out on the pitch training with Harry. This delighted Madam Hooch, as most students wouldn't think of spending their leisure hours practicing Quidditch.
Madam Hooch even confided in Albert that if he kept up his form, he could one day win the Quidditch World Cup—a first and glorious accomplishment.
But Quidditch wasn't the only thing occupying Albert's time. Outside the pitch, he practiced spells and brewed potions with Hermione. To aid in their magical exercises, they even crafted a few magical tools. For instance, Hermione enchanted a bright blue flame that could be carried around, while Albert transformed an old jam jar into a copper hand-warmer, using it to keep his hands warm during the damp and bitter Highland winter—particularly unpleasant whenever he had to leave the comfort of the common room.
The day before Harry and Albert's match, Ron and Hermione decided to come support them. They met the two boys in the courtyard, and the four of them stood huddled in a small circle, warming their hands around Albert's improvised heater.
Just then, Snape limped across the courtyard. Harry noticed at once and quickly lowered his head, trying to pretend he wasn't there. Unfortunately, his guilty demeanor drew Snape's attention. The Potions Master limped over with a glare, clearly eager to reprimand someone.
"What's that in your hand, Potter?"
"It's Quidditch Through the Ages," Harry replied, holding up the book.
"You're not allowed to take library books out of school grounds," Snape snapped. "Give it here. Five points from Gryffindor."
Harry grumbled under his breath, "He just made that rule up."
"I wonder what happened to his leg," Ron whispered.
"I don't know," said Albert, "but I hope it hurts a lot."
That night, with the match approaching, Harry was desperate to relax. After finishing their homework, Hermione quietly slipped Harry the book she had borrowed for him.
He tried reading, but couldn't shake the image of Madam Pince angrily brandishing a feather duster at anyone who mistreated library books. A flicker of courage stirred inside him.
Why was he afraid of Snape?
Harry stood suddenly. "I'm going to ask Snape to give the book back."
"You're braver than I am," said Albert, patting his shoulder. "Good luck."
Harry disappeared down the corridor.
"I wouldn't have gone," Ron muttered.
Albert and Hermione nodded in agreement.
About ten minutes later, Harry returned, looking flustered.
"What happened?" Albert asked.
Harry lowered his voice. "Snape's leg—it was bloody. Filch gave him some kind of medicine. And then I heard him say, 'How are you supposed to guard against a three-headed dog?'"
He paused, letting the others absorb his words. "You get what that means, right? On Halloween—we tried sneaking past that giant dog. Snape was heading that way—he's after whatever that thing's guarding. I'll bet my broomstick he let that troll in as a distraction."
"No, he wouldn't," said Hermione quickly. "I know he isn't exactly nice, but he would never steal from Dumbledore."
"To be honest, Hermione," Ron cut in, "you always think the teachers are saints. I wouldn't put it past Snape."
"But we shouldn't jump to conclusions," Albert interrupted. "Snape is head of Slytherin. He knows everything happening in the school. And he's a Potions Master—he wouldn't lack for resources. We saw the dog attack anything that entered that room. Snape's injuries only prove he went in. They don't prove he meant to steal anything."
"Fair enough," said Harry. "Let's go to bed—we've got a big game tomorrow."
He trudged upstairs, leaving the others in thought.
Hermione looked at Albert. "Do you really think Snape isn't the thief?"
Albert shrugged. "I don't know. But we've got no solid evidence yet. Suspicion isn't proof."
After a brief pause, they all said goodnight and went off to sleep.
…
The next morning dawned clear and cold. The Great Hall was filled with the smell of sizzling sausages and excited chatter about the upcoming Quidditch match. Even Albert felt the buzz—today would be his very first official game.
As he entered the hall, he noticed Hermione trying to coax a very nervous-looking Harry to eat.
"You need to eat something. You'll need your strength for the match."
"I'm not hungry."
"Just some toast," Hermione insisted.
"I said I'm not hungry."
Albert walked over. "Flying takes energy. You'll regret it if you go out there on an empty stomach."
Seamus appeared beside them. "Harry, you've got to stay strong. The Seeker is always the target."
"Thanks," Harry mumbled, watching Seamus smother ketchup on his sausage.
Hermione turned to Albert. "Did you eat?"
"I had breakfast earlier," he said with a nod.
"Good," she smiled.
As eleven o'clock neared, students began heading out toward the pitch. The match was about to begin.
In his previous life, Albert used to read fantasy novels where Quidditch matches took place in winter, and he'd always found that strange. Who would willingly sit in freezing winds on towering stands in November or December? Not to mention the players, who soared through the skies without any protection.
But now that he was here, he understood. Wizards were obsessed with Quidditch. Nothing else mattered.
When Albert and the Gryffindor team arrived at the stadium, nearly every student and teacher was already in the stands, many armed with magical binoculars. The enchanted bleachers hovered in the air, but even then, the view was sometimes hard to catch.
A large group of first-years had climbed to the top row, holding a magical banner that read: "Black & Potter Must Win!" Next to it, an animated lion chased a slithering snake.
Madam Hooch stood in the center of the pitch, broomstick in hand, waiting for both teams.
As the players emerged from the locker rooms, she called out, "I expect a fair match from everyone!"
Seamus muttered, "Watch out for Slytherin. Their captain, Marcus Flint, plays dirty."
"It seems no matter where you are," Albert observed, "there are always people who ignore sportsmanship."
Hermione, Seamus, and several Muggle-born students nodded in agreement.
"Mount your brooms!" Madam Hooch commanded.
Fifteen broomsticks shot into the sky.
The match began.
"Angelina Johnson of Gryffindor takes the Quaffle immediately—what a superb Chaser! And quite a looker too—"
"Jordan!"
"Sorry, Professor."
Even while flying high above the pitch, Albert couldn't help but admire Lee Jordan's commentary. He didn't just describe the action accurately and quickly—his jokes and jabs made the whole thing feel alive.
Though, admittedly, Professor McGonagall now sat beside him to keep him in check.
"Johnson passes to Alicia Spinnet—an outstanding talent recruited by Oliver Wood last year—now she's back in action. She passes back to Johnson—and oh! Flint intercepts for Slytherin! He shoots toward the goal—wait! Wood blocks it! Brilliant save! Now Gryffindor's got the Quaffle again—here comes Albert Black, high above the field, weaving past Flint like a breeze—OUCH! Flint just took a Bludger to the back of the head from his own Beater!"
Lee Jordan roared, "Look at Albert Black go! Dodging Slytherin's Bludgers like a pro—not a scratch on him! What a promising young Chaser! One of the best I've seen in years!"
"Wait—here comes Katie Bell! She's blocking Albert's path to the goal. Looks like she's daring him to try and pass her!"
"What's Albert going to do now?" Lee asked dramatically.
Albert halted midair, facing Katie head-on. With a focused breath, he cast a lightening charm on his broomstick. It surged forward like a bolt of lightning, and he zipped past her before she could react.
"OH MY MERLIN! Did you see that speed? Is this really his first match? I highly doubt it!" Jordan cried.
Katie gaped as Albert shot past her.
"Damn it—someone stop him!" she yelled.
George Weasley whooped from below. "Haha! Go Albert! Teach them a lesson!"
Albert maneuvered past the remaining defenders, narrowly dodging a Bludger, and reached the goalposts. With perfect timing, he cast Wingardium Leviosa mid-pass, curving
the Quaffle's path so it soared neatly through the right hoop.
---