Quidditch Match

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

One night, Will left the Room of Requirement and made his familiar way to the Hogwarts Kitchen for a late-night snack. When he pushed open the door, he found a pair of redheaded twins inside, each happily gnawing on a chicken leg.

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

"Hey, Will, thanks."

"You saved our little brother."

"Harry told us everything."

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

The twins took turns speaking. Will could not tell them apart, but he sat down beside them and had Anco bring over a bowl of the late-night snack he had specially ordered.

"What's that?"

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

"What a strange thing to eat."

Will pointed at Anco. "I had him learn to make it in Asia. It's called dumplings."

In 1991, few people in England knew about the food called dumplings.

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

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

After one bite, though, both frowned. "What a strange texture. It's just a boiled Cornish pasty, isn't it?"

They clearly were not used to it, so Will did not press them. Tastes differed. He could not stand England's malt vinegar himself; dipping dumplings in it seemed bizarre.

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

That small encounter aside, Will settled back into a quiet routine. Every day, he worked on gaining experience, went to the kitchen for custom-made meals, occasionally watched Harry and Malfoy clash, or found time to walk 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 in so much knowledge, and nearly collided with someone.

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

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

For once, he did not mock Will. Perhaps he simply was not in the mood.

"I studied too late and lost track of time. I was just heading back." Will sounded casual. What could Snape do to him, deduct points? "Professor, what happened to your leg?"

At worst, Snape could give him Detention. Will did not much mind that; he almost hoped he would be sent to process Potions ingredients again. It was a free chance to gain Potions experience.

"That is none of your concern, Berens. You had better get back and rest. If you fall asleep in Potions Class tomorrow, I'll have you doze off with the Troll."

As Will left, he made no effort to hide his glance at Snape's injured leg.

The next day, Snape made barbed remarks at him throughout the entire lesson. Apart from that, nothing happened.

Time flew, and before long, the day of the Quidditch Match arrived.

Sylvia had dragged Will into the stands while he was pondering the structure of a spell. He had no interest in this sort of thing. Strictly speaking, he did not like ball sports at all.

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

Will had shown little enthusiasm for Flying Class and no exceptional talent for flying, so Slytherin had not put him on its Quidditch team early as Gryffindor had done with Harry. He was happy to have the free time.

Sylvia was more enthusiastic. They sat high in the Slytherin stands, where the cold wind blew without pause. Will had to cast a spell to keep it off. He could not understand this obsession with ball sports, but then he thought of England's football hooligans. These British people seemed even more unhinged.

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

The Gryffindor Quidditch Team had kept quiet about it. Harry was their secret weapon, so his appearance on the pitch surprised the students.

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

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

Will was so stunned he nearly dropped his book. How did you arrive at that conclusion?

Harry soon showed off his flying skills, and even Sylvia had to admit he knew what he was doing.

Before long, though, something went wrong. Harry's Broomstick began bucking and rolling wildly, and he could barely hold on.

Sylvia frowned. "What's Potter doing?"

Suddenly, the Broomstick gave another violent twist and threw Harry off. He hung in the air, gripping the handle with one hand. Everyone noticed something was wrong. Many stopped watching the match altogether and stared at Harry.

Will glanced toward the central stands. Quirrell was muttering under his breath. Will was not too worried about Harry. For one thing, they were little more than acquaintances; he only paid Harry Potter any special attention because of his connection to Voldemort's return.

For another, Dumbledore was watching from over there. Would he really let anything happen to Harry? Of course not.

Will looked at Dumbledore. There was not a trace of worry on his bearded face. Will knew he must have a plan.

What was Voldemort thinking, going after Harry under these circumstances? Had that Horcrux turned him into a complete fool?

Will thought the whole business of Horcruxes was a trap.