Even after Ron reached the stands and unfurled the banner made from a bedsheet, he still couldn't get over that expensive bottle of Essence of Dittany—especially after he'd pestered Hermione into telling him exactly how much it cost.
"Why is Snape so nice?" he asked, staring at the glittering words "Gryffindor Will Win" on the banner. He sounded genuinely baffled.
Neville, who was holding up the banner beside him, jolted so hard that his pole struck Seamus on the head with a bang.
Seamus ducked like a whack-a-mole. Ignoring the pain, he and Neville turned to stare at Ron in horror.
"Mate, have you gone mad worrying about Gryffindor?" Seamus's voice rose an octave. "Snape... nice? How do those two words even go together?"
Beside him, Neville nodded frantically, his pale face trembling so much his cheeks almost blurred.
"Not to me," Ron said quickly, realizing what they meant. "I'm asking why Snape is so nice to Eliana."
"Oh. What teacher doesn't like Eliana?" Seamus looked a little calmer—at least he no longer looked ready to haul Ron off to the Hospital Wing. "Eliana's Snape's star pupil. It's only natural he'd give her a little special treatment, right?"
Was Snape that rich? A little special treatment meant giving her Essence of Dittany that expensive?
Ron could hardly believe it. He even seriously considered studying harder in Potions Class and becoming Snape's second favorite student.
"Foul!" A deafening chorus of boos rose from the crowd. Harry had just spotted the Golden Snitch, but Slytherin captain Marcus Flint had deliberately rammed into him, nearly knocking him off his broom.
"Give him a red card! Send him off! Where's the referee—referee!" Dean Thomas shouted.
"What's a red card?"
Ron's attention shifted at once. Or perhaps he simply couldn't imagine himself becoming Snape's favorite student, either in how it would happen or what it would be like.
"It's a card that tells Flint—the one who just fouled Harry and looks like a cross between a Troll and a baboon—to get off the pitch." Eliana glared up at Flint. "I don't understand why Fantastic Beasts are allowed to play friendly matches with people. Did an animal protection group pull some strings?"
Ron and Dean had been furious, but that nearly made them laugh.
Apparently, Quidditch had no tradition of sending off players for fouls. The match continued.
That only made Eliana angrier. "What, they can keep playing after that? Why bother hitting a Quaffle around at the start of a match, then? Just hit the other team's heads! It'd be more efficient, more intense, and better to watch!"
Hagrid agreed with her. "They ought to punish Flint. He nearly knocked Harry off just now."
The balls flew back and forth through the air, and the spectators swept their binoculars to and fro after them.
Slytherin had the ball—Gryffindor stole it—Slytherin came after it—and was blocked.
The match was close and fierce. Before arriving, Eliana had wondered whether she should stay a little restrained when Gryffindor scored—Snape was head of Slytherin, after all. Now she was bouncing in her seat, waving a little flag, hollering and hurling abuse at the other side.
When Fred hit a Slytherin player in the face with a Bludger, she leaped out of her seat.
"Nice one, Fred! With a face like Flint's, that counts as cosmetic surgery! He ought to thank you!"
Her voice rang out, shrill and piercing as a whistle, and laughter swept through the Gryffindor stands.
Flint, who happened to be flying nearby, shot her an angry look.
Eliana wasn't intimidated in the slightest. She blinked, gave him a cheeky whistle, and called, "You really do look a little better—"
Before she could turn it into an insult, Flint shot away. His face actually looked a little red.
"Wait, I wasn't finished—did he think I meant it?"
Eliana stamped her foot. "Oh, hell. If this gets around, will everyone think I have terrible taste?"
"Eliana, Eliana." Hermione tugged softly at her sleeve. "Something looks wrong with Harry."
"Hm?"
Eliana looked up and immediately saw what Hermione meant. Among the Quidditch players showing off their nimble flying skills, Harry stood out like someone riding a Re'em bull with its tail on fire.
His broom seemed to have come alive—and to have taken a fierce dislike to its rider. It lurched wildly across the sky, every movement trying to throw Harry off.
Hermione gripped her binoculars in horror. "It's Snape! He's staring at Harry, and his lips keep moving!"
Ron snatched the binoculars from her. "I told you he was no good! He's chanting a curse at Harry—and you kept insisting he wasn't!"
For a moment, Eliana had nothing to say. She had seen Snape's moving lips too, and his expression certainly wasn't friendly.
"Ah. Well... ah." She closed her eyes in anguish.
Suppose you had an idol you adored. You knew he had serious flaws: a cutting tongue and a harsh manner. But through sheer persistence, you'd gotten him to remember you, and he treated you fairly well compared with everyone else.
When he gave everyone the same cold shoulder, he occasionally gave you a pleasant look.
Why, just this morning, he'd handed you a million over something that wasn't even his fault.
And now you'd learned that your idol, shaky as his reputation already was, seemed about to land in another scandal. Did you choose:
1. He's awful. I'm taking back every bit of affection I had for him, cutting ties, and throwing that million back in his face with interest.
2. There must be a misunderstanding. His reputation may be a wreck, but he isn't that kind of person!
"I-it might not be him. This is Quidditch, with so many people watching. Even if he wanted to hurt Harry, why would he choose now? He's a Potions Master. He could just brew some poison and kill Harry without anyone noticing, couldn't he?"
Eliana opened her mouth and launched straight into a defense.
She sounded just like a diehard fan who refused to believe her idol had been exposed.
My brother would never do this! He's so successful and capable. If he'd wanted to, he would've done it ages ago. Why wait until today, only to get caught?
All the while, she kept her binoculars trained on the teachers' stands.
"Professor Snape may be a little strict, but he really isn't a bad person. He brews most of the potions for the Hospital Wing for free. He wouldn't hurt a student."
"Look, his face is a little grim, but there's no murderous intent or malice in his eyes. His mouth's moving because he might be casting a counter-curse to protect Harry. He's taking the blame for someone else."
My brother does charity work every day. He's a good person. He could never do something like this. Someone must be out to get him and smear his name!
Hermione and Ron stared at her, mouths open, brows furrowed, faces contorted as they leaned back in disbelief.
How could anyone lie through her teeth with her eyes wide open?
But Eliana didn't notice them. She was too absorbed in defending Snape to pay attention to anything else.
What if they still don't believe me? Find someone everyone already dislikes and pin it on him first.
Eliana's gaze passed over Professor McGonagall, swept past Professor Flitwick, skimmed over Professor Sprout, and finally landed on—
"It could be Quirrell!"
She immediately began rattling off accusations.
"Look, Quirrell's been staring at Harry too, and his eyes are fierce—not at all like the timid little coward he usually pretends to be. I knew there was something wrong with him! What decent person wears a turban that reeks of garlic all day? 'Keeping vampires away,' my foot. What vampire could get into Hogwarts? I think he's hiding something—maybe he practices Dark Magic and smells so foul he needs garlic to cover it up!"
She pressed on with her analysis.
"His mouth isn't moving, but I read that plenty of curses can be cast just by looking at someone. A little magic leaks out during the process, though, so if you watch carefully, you can spot the signs. See the fringe at the end of his scarf? Isn't it moving? And strangely, too—completely against the wind."
As she spoke, she shifted her binoculars toward Harry on the Quidditch pitch. "And the way it moves looks a bit like the path Harry's broom is taking."
Her voice grew hesitant.
"Why am I starting to think it really is Quirrell?"
Before you continue