The Quidditch Match

November arrived, and Will learned from Hermione that Ron had been hospitalized with a bad cold. It gave the Halloween story a rather dramatic ending.

One night, Will came out of the Room of Requirement and headed to Hogwarts Kitchen for a late-night snack. When he opened the door, he found a pair of red-haired twins inside, each happily gnawing on a chicken leg.

The twins froze when they saw him, but quickly recovered and thanked him.

"Hey, Will, thank you."

"You saved our little brother."

"Harry told us all about it."

"He and Ron nearly got flattened by a Troll."

The twins spoke in turns. Will couldn't tell them apart, but he sat down beside them and had Anco bring over the bowl of food he'd specially ordered.

"What's that?"

"Looks like a Cornish pasty? A miniature boiled version, anyway."

"What a strange food."

Will pointed at Anco. "I had him learn to make it from Asia. They're called dumplings."

In 1991, few people in England knew about dumplings.

"Want to try some?" Will pushed the bowl toward them.

The Weasley Brothers exchanged a glance. "Why not?"

But after one bite, both frowned. "What a strange texture. It really is just a boiled Cornish pasty."

They clearly weren't used to it, so Will didn't press them. Tastes differed. He couldn't stand the malt vinegar England was so fond of either. Dipping dumplings in it would be weird.

The twins were nearly done eating. After chatting with Will for a bit, they left, apparently in a hurry to pull some prank.

That little encounter aside, Will settled back into a quiet routine. Every day, he worked on gaining experience, ate custom-made dishes in the kitchen, and occasionally watched Harry and Malfoy clash or found time to stroll with Sylvia beside the Black Lake as it began to freeze.

Then one night, Will came out of the Room of Requirement, rubbing his head, dizzy from cramming it full of knowledge, and nearly walked straight into someone.

"Professor Snape?" Will noticed that Snape was limping, as though he'd injured his leg.

"Behrens?" Snape frowned. "Instead of sleeping in your dormitory, you're wandering around the Castle in the middle of the night?"

For once, he didn't mock Will. Perhaps he simply wasn't in the mood.

"I studied too late and lost track of time. I was just heading back." Will sounded unconcerned. Snape couldn't do much to him anyway. Take away points? "Professor, what happened to your leg?"

At worst, Snape could give him Detention. Will didn't really mind. In fact, he almost hoped he'd be sent to prepare Potions ingredients again. It was a free chance to gain Potions experience.

"That is none of your concern, Behrens. You'd best get back and rest. If you fall asleep in Potions Class tomorrow, I'll have you take a nap with the Troll."

As Snape left, Will made no effort to hide the way his eyes swept over the professor's injured leg.

The next day, Snape made cutting remarks at Will for the entire class. Apart from that, nothing happened.

Time flew by, and soon it was the day of the Quidditch Match.

Sylvia had practically dragged Will into the Stands while he was thinking over the structure of a spell. He had no interest in the event. Strictly speaking, Will didn't like ball sports at all.

So he brought a copy of An Analysis of Hogwarts Potions for Lower Years (Second Year Edition). He would soon be doing after-class practice with Snape.

Will had shown little enthusiasm for Flying Class and no particular talent for flying, so Slytherin hadn't put him on its Quidditch team early as Gryffindor had done with Harry. He was perfectly happy with that.

Sylvia was much more interested. They sat high in the Slytherin section as the cold wind blew past. Will had to cast a spell to block it. He couldn't understand such fanaticism over a ball game, but then he thought of England's football hooligans. The British were a mad lot.

"Will, Will!" Sylvia tugged at his hand. "Look! Gryffindor's Seeker is Harry Potter!"

The Gryffindor Quidditch Team hadn't publicized it. Harry was their secret weapon, so the students were stunned when he appeared on the pitch.

Will closed his book. "There are two possibilities. Either the entire Gryffindor team has the brains of a Troll, or Harry Potter is a genius."

Sylvia nodded. "No wonder Slytherin won the House Cup seven years in a row. Gryffindor must be full of Troll-brains."

Will was stunned speechless and nearly dropped his book. How did you reach that conclusion?

Harry soon showed what he could do in the air, and even Sylvia had to admit that he had real skill.

But before long, something went wrong. Harry's Broomstick began bucking and rolling without stop, and he could barely hang on.

Sylvia frowned. "What's Potter doing?"

The Broomstick gave another violent twist and threw Harry off. He hung in midair, gripping the handle with just one hand. Everyone noticed something was wrong, and many stopped watching the match to stare at him.

Will glanced toward the middle Stands, where Quirrell was muttering under his breath. He wasn't too worried about Harry. For one thing, they were little more than acquaintances. These days, Will only paid Harry Potter any attention because of his connection to Voldemort's return.

Besides, Dumbledore was watching from over there. Would he really let anything happen to Harry? What a joke.

Will looked at Dumbledore. There wasn't a trace of worry on that white-bearded face, so Will knew he must have something up his sleeve.

What was Voldemort thinking, going after Harry in a situation like this? Had making Horcruxes turned him into a complete fool?

Will thought the whole Horcrux business was a trap.