The moment the jinx was broken, everything changed.
Harry's broom steadied beneath him, the violent bucking stopping as abruptly as it had begun. He sucked in a sharp breath, gripping the handle as the Nimbus responded smoothly once more.
Up in the commentary tower, Lee Jordan practically shouted himself hoarse.
"Harry Potter's back in control! I don't know what that was, folks, but he's flying straight again—look at the speed on that Nimbus!"
In the stands, Hermione gasped in relief. Ron nearly fell backward off the bench.
"LOOK—HE'S SEEN IT!" Lee yelled. "THE SNITCH! POTTER'S SEEN THE SNITCH!"
Harry shot forward, red robes streaming behind him.
"He's diving—Slytherin's nowhere near him—this could be it—!"
Harry stretched out his hand—
"HE'S GOT IT!" Lee roared. "HARRY POTTER HAS CAUGHT THE GOLDEN SNITCH! GRYFFINDOR WINS!"
The whistle shrieked.
For half a second, the stadium was stunned into silence.
Then Gryffindor erupted.
Cheers thundered across the pitch as Harry pulled up, holding the Snitch high. Red and gold banners waved wildly, students screaming themselves hoarse.
Victor lowered his hand slowly, letting out a quiet breath.
Good thing no one saw that he was the one who had thrown the binoculars at a professor. Victor silently thanked the roaring cheers and shouted celebrations for covering that up.
Beside him, Hermione was still staring toward the teachers' section, utterly convinced she had figured it out.
"Didn't I say it was Snape who was jinxing Harry's broom?" she said.
Victor sighed inwardly.
Quirrell had slipped against Snape, broken his concentration, and stopped chanting—so from Hermione's point of view, Snape still looked like the culprit.
"Well," Victor said lightly, "suit yourself."
If he tried to explain that it had actually been Quirrell, even Ron would laugh at him. After all, the general image of Professor Quirrell around Hogwarts was that of a cowardly, stuttering teacher who looked like he might faint if someone raised their voice.
No one would ever associate that man with nearly trying to kill Harry Potter in mid-air.
Truly, Victor thought dryly, Quirrell deserves an Oscar.
Unfortunately for him, he doesn't have it.
***
After the Quidditch match, Ron and Hermione filled Harry in on everything they'd noticed—how his broom had started bucking on its own, how Hermione had spotted Snape muttering from the stands, and how Victor had acted quickly before things got any worse.
"Snape was trying to kill me?" Harry asked, stunned. He still couldn't understand why a professor would hate him that much.
"Yes," Ron said at once. "If it hadn't been for Victor and Hermione thinking fast, you'd have been seriously injured, Harry."
Harry looked between them, then at Victor. "Thanks."
Victor nodded once. "Don't mention it."
"We should tell the Headmaster," Ron said, already sounding certain.
Victor immediately shook his head. "Before you make that dumb decision, listen to me. First of all, we don't have any proof. None. You can't accuse a professor of jinxing a student during a match just because it looked suspicious."
He paused, choosing his words carefully. "It won't end well. And I don't want any part of it."
Harry frowned, thinking it over.
Snape already seemed to hate him for reasons Harry couldn't understand. If he went to Dumbledore with nothing but suspicion, it could easily make things worse—not better.
After a moment, Harry sighed. "Yeah… maybe you're right."
Ron didn't look convinced, but he didn't argue.
"I think I know who we can talk to," Harry said after a moment.
Victor had a bad feeling about that immediately.
And about an hour later, that feeling proved correct.
They made their way down from the castle, slipping past the edge of the grounds toward the small wooden hut at the edge of the Forbidden Forest. Smoke curled lazily from the chimney, and the warm glow of firelight spilled out through the window.
Rubeus Hagrid's hut.
Victor stopped a few steps short and sighed. "Of course," he muttered. "The one person who absolutely cannot keep a secret."
Harry knocked.
The door opened almost at once.
"HARRY!" Hagrid boomed happily.
The hut was as cluttered as ever—kettle whistling over the fire, a large crossbow leaning against the wall, Fang the boarhound thumping his tail hard enough to shake the furniture.
They squeezed inside, sitting wherever there was space.
Hagrid looked around at them, then chuckled. "So, Harry," he said, "aren't yeh goin' ter introduce yer friends?"
"Oh—right. This is Ron Weasley, and this is Hermione Granger."
Hagrid beamed at them. "Good ter meet yeh both."
His gaze then shifted to Victor and lingered there a moment longer than the others. The green-and-silver trim of Victor's robes was hard to miss.
"And this must be…?" Hagrid asked, brow furrowing a little.
"Victor Malfoy," Harry said quickly.
Hagrid blinked once. Then again.
"Well," he said slowly, "that's a first."
Victor gave a polite nod. "Nice to meet you."
Hagrid scratched his beard, eyes flicking between Victor and the rest of the group. An odd sight indeed—a Slytherin sitting comfortably among a bunch of Gryffindors, looking as if he belonged there.
"Huh," Hagrid muttered. "World's changin', I s'pose."
Fang thumped his tail approvingly anyway, as if he saw no problem at all.
"What brings yeh lot down here?" Hagrid asked, pouring out mugs of tea that looked strong enough to walk on their own.
Harry hesitated, then leaned forward. "We wanted to ask you something. About the… third floor corridor."
Hagrid froze.
Just for a second.
Hagrid cleared his throat loudly. "Now, why'd yeh want ter know about that?"
Ron exchanged a look with Hermione. "Because there's a three-headed dog guarding something up there," he said. "And Snape wants to steal it."
Victor resisted the strong urge to facepalm.
"Well now," Hagrid said a bit too quickly, "what'd give yeh that impression? One o' Hogwarts' professors tryin' ter steal somethin' right under the school's nose?"
Harry leaned forward. "We saw him limping after the troll got in. He looked hurt—like he'd been injured trying to sneak past that dog."
Hagrid stiffened. "His name's Fluffy," he said at once.
Ron blinked. "That thing has a name?"
"Course it does," Hagrid replied, sounding almost offended. "He's mine. I lent him ter Dumbledore ter guard somethin'."
There was a very small pause.
"…I shouldn' 'ave said that," Hagrid added hurriedly.
Victor kept his face carefully neutral.
'Yes, you really shouldn't have.'
Hagrid rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly very interested in the fire crackling in the hearth.
"Anyway—point is—it's nothin' fer students ter worry about," he said firmly. "Dumbledore's got it all handled. Best leave it alone, eh?"
"But Snape was trying to steal it," Harry insisted. "Even today, during the match—he was jinxing my broom."
"Yeah," Hermione added quickly. "I saw him. He was muttering and staring straight at Harry."
Hagrid's eyes widened. "Now, now—hold on a minute," he said, holding up a large hand. "I think yeh're havin' a misunderstanding, that's all. Professor Snape's… well… he's not what yeh think."
He hesitated, then sighed heavily, as if his own beard were weighing him down.
"But whatever Fluffy's guardin'—it's between Professor Dumbledore and Nicolas Flamel. That's all there is ter it."
The words hung in the air for a heartbeat.
Hagrid's eyes went wide.
"…I really shouldn' say anythin'," he muttered, realising far too late that he'd just spilled every bean in the tin.
He clapped a hand over his mouth, beard shifting as he shook his head. "That—forget I said that. Yeh didn' hear nothin'. Not a word."
Victor closed his eyes for a brief second.
'Incredible. Absolutely incredible.'
*****
A/N: 16 CHAPTERS AHEAD ON PATREON
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