The next morning, Kevin woke up in the hospital wing feeling completely recovered.
Madam Pomfrey, though reluctant to let him go, finally allowed him to leave after a stern reminder to "stay out of trouble."
Back in the Gryffindor dormitory, he promptly woke Harry and Ron.
After washing up, the three headed down to the Great Hall for breakfast.
"Good morning, Hermione," Kevin greeted cheerfully.
"You too, Kevin," she replied warmly, clearly glad to see him healthy again.
They sat together, but Harry seemed unusually quiet, pushing his food around his plate.
"Still nervous about the match?" Ron asked, leaning in.
Harry nodded.
Kevin eyed Harry's untouched toast. "If you're not eating that, I will."
Before his hand could reach the plate, Hermione swatted it away and gave him a pointed look. "Don't cause trouble, Kevin."
Then, turning to Harry, she said in her best prefect-like voice, "You need to eat. You won't have the energy for Quidditch otherwise."
Kevin raised an eyebrow. "It's just sitting on a broom. How tiring can it be?"
Hermione rolled her eyes. "Flying is harder than it looks."
With a sigh, she slid her own sandwich over to Kevin. He accepted without hesitation, eating it in a few bites, which—much to her own surprise—made Hermione feel oddly content.
While eating, Kevin spotted Professor Snape limping toward them.
"Good morning, Professor Snape," he called out brightly.
Snape's eyes narrowed. He stepped behind Harry, looming over him.
"Good luck today, Mr. Potter. I'm sure a little Quidditch will be no trouble for you… even against Slytherin." The last word dripped with meaning.
Harry froze under the weight of the stare. Kevin, however, continued chewing like a hamster.
"Is Slytherin supposed to be impressive?" he asked with mock innocence.
Kevin burst into giggles.
Snape's scowl deepened. "Close your mouth before you choke, Mr. Kevin," he said icily, before turning away.
Kevin grinned to himself. The old bat's worried about me… how sweet.
Harry leaned closer. "Did you see his limp? I think he got bitten last night—probably while trying to sneak past the three-headed dog. That's why he let the troll loose, to distract everyone."
Hermione frowned. "Why would he want to get past the dog?"
Harry lowered his voice. "Hagrid took something from Gringotts the day we met him—something dangerous. It's got to be what the dog's guarding. Snape wants it."
Kevin nodded sagely. "Makes perfect sense! We should have him sacked immediately."
Hermione recognised the act at once—Kevin trusted Snape but clearly enjoyed stirring Harry and Ron up for mischief. She didn't bother calling him out.
A large school owl swooped down, dropping a long parcel into Harry's lap. Inside was a gleaming Nimbus 2000. Professor McGonagall stood across the Hall, pretending not to watch, though the faint smile gave her away.
Soon, the match began. Harry joined the team on the pitch while Kevin and the others found seats in the stands.
Kevin didn't care much for Quidditch, but he told himself it was important to be there for a friend. And definitely not because I might get to prank Snape in front of Hermione.
The game started with both teams showing off sharp manoeuvres. Gryffindor's Keeper, Oliver Wood, blocked several attempts with spectacular saves.
But Slytherin soon revealed their trademark tactics—brutal and questionably legal flying.
Wood took a Bludger to the head, and Gryffindor's lead began to slip.
Then Harry spotted the Golden Snitch. He gave chase—but suddenly his broom jerked violently, bucking beneath him.
Kevin smirked. Here we go… time for the old bat to take the blame.
Hermione, peering through her binoculars, stiffened. "Kevin—Snape's muttering a spell!"
Kevin looked downright delighted. "Well then, let's stop him!"
They slipped away from the stands, circling to the wooden structure beneath Snape's seat. Kevin drew his wand, aimed…
"Incendio!"
A burst of flame caught the underside of Snape's seat.
A moment later, Snape leapt to his feet with a sharp hiss—the seat and his robes were alight. The startled shouts in his section disrupted Quirrell's concentration, and Harry's broom steadied.
High above, Harry dove after the Snitch.
Kevin grabbed Hermione's hand, and they bolted, laughing as they ran.
"Hah! Did you see his face? The Bat-butt is officially roasted!"
Hermione tried to shush him but ended up laughing too, picturing Snape's furious glare.
By the time they returned, Harry had caught the Snitch—quite literally in his mouth—and Gryffindor had won.
The stands erupted in cheers, except for the scowling Slytherins. Snape, still smelling faintly of smoke, looked like he wanted to hex someone on the spot.
That evening, Gryffindor House was alive with celebration. For Harry, the victory was sweet. For Kevin, the real prize was the memory of Snape's smouldering seat.