Chapter 58: Disliking Sports
As the next Quidditch match drew near, an air of panic settled over Gryffindor Tower.
"Snape as the referee?"
Ron Weasley's eyes bulged as though he had just heard the end of the world was coming.
"He'll find some excuse to throw you off the pitch, Harry. Or worse, he might jinx you in the middle of the match, just like last time."
"Do not play," Hermione said at once. "Just tell them you're ill."
"Or break a leg," Ron added helpfully, offering what he clearly thought was the more practical solution.
Harry shook his head.
If he did not play, Gryffindor would almost certainly lose, and Wood would be heartbroken.
While the three of them sank deeper into misery, Tamara Riddle sat in the Slytherin common room, listening to Draco Malfoy ramble on with bright eyed excitement.
"This is brilliant. Professor Snape is the referee. Potter's finished this time."
Draco clenched a fist in delight.
"The moment Potter dares to make a move on that broom, Professor Snape can call a foul on him."
Tamara set down her black tea, a faintly amused smile curling at the corner of her mouth.
"It is a good opportunity."
Inwardly, she began calculating.
Snape volunteering to referee clearly meant he wanted to keep Potter within arm's reach and stop Quirrell from trying anything in full view of the entire school.
That only confirmed her earlier conclusion. No matter how much Snape loathed Potter, he was still more loyal to Hogwarts itself. He would never allow a student to be murdered in front of him.
At the same time, he would undoubtedly make the saviour's life rather unpleasant.
"Still..."
Tamara rose and smoothed the front of her robes.
"This is also a useful chance."
If she wanted Harry to trust her a little more, she did not mind making a show of advising Snape, if only so the foolish saviour could see it.
If Potter learned that she had gone out of her way to speak to Snape for his sake, he would probably be moved to tears.
Outside the changing rooms before the match, the air was thick with tension.
Snape was inspecting the brooms, his expression as dark as a storm cloud ready to burst.
"Professor."
Tamara's voice broke the silence in the corridor.
Snape turned sharply, his black eyes settling on her with open wariness.
"I thought I had already warned you not to appear where you should not be, Miss Riddle."
"I was only passing by."
Tamara stepped closer, her gaze flicking briefly to the whistle in his hand.
"And I thought I would stop to admire our beloved Head of House."
Her tone turned just slightly suggestive.
"I hear you are serving as referee yourself. How unexpectedly enthusiastic."
Snape said coldly, "I am only ensuring the fairness of the match."
"Fairness?"
Tamara gave a soft laugh. She took another step nearer and lowered her voice, shading it with the sort of implication only Snape was meant to catch.
"Naturally, I also hope the match remains fair."
She paused, then added meaningfully, "If the targeting is too obvious, it leaves a rather inconvenient handle for others, does it not, Professor?"
What she meant was simple enough. Even if Snape wanted to suppress Potter, he should not go so far that he gave Dumbledore or anyone else grounds to intervene. If Slytherin was to benefit, it should at least be done cleanly.
But Snape heard something else.
His heart gave a jolt.
Was she warning him not to be too obvious about protecting Potter?
He stared at her, his expression turning even more complicated.
If this had truly been the Dark Lord he once served, there would have been only contempt for Quidditch, or perhaps a casual order to kill Potter and be done with it.
Yet the girl before him was warning him to be discreet.
"You are observant, Riddle."
Snape spoke slowly, his voice rough.
"Observant in a way that hardly suits a first year."
Then, as if on impulse, he shifted the conversation with the smoothness of a blade turning in the light.
"Since you have such definite views on Quidditch, perhaps you ought to take part in it yourself."
His eyes bored into hers, watching for the slightest flicker.
"With your talent and your mind, the Slytherin team would certainly have room for you."
It was a trap.
Snape knew perfectly well that Voldemort despised Quidditch. He considered it little better than monkeys darting about on broomsticks, undignified and utterly beneath him.
If Tamara showed the same instinctive contempt, it would say more than any confession.
Tamara's pupils tightened.
She recognized the trap at once.
If she refused too bluntly, she would only expose how suspiciously aligned her tastes were with Voldemort's. That would prove nothing on its own, but it would be inconvenient.
If Snape ever fully equated her with the parasite clinging to the back of Quirrell's skull, he might even end up aiding the main soul against her.
Yet if she agreed, she would have to involve herself in that detestable barbaric sport.
Her mind turned quickly, and a look of regret settled over her face with perfect timing.
"If I were given the chance, I would certainly try, Professor."
She sighed, and her tone turned sincere.
"After all, bringing glory to Slytherin would be an honour. Unfortunately, as you know, the team is already full, and Captain Marcus does not seem especially fond of me."
It was an elegant excuse.
It expressed loyalty to the house while shifting all responsibility onto Marcus Flint.
Snape, however, was in no hurry to let her escape.
"If that is your only concern, there is no need to trouble yourself."
The corner of his mouth lifted into a rare, faintly malicious smile.
"As Head of House, I have every right to recommend exceptional talent. Marcus can certainly make room for you. Perhaps as seeker."
Tamara's smile froze.
Damn him.
A seeker?
Was this man seriously suggesting she spend her time chasing some tiny golden insect around the sky?
"Then... thank you very much, Professor."
She forced the words out with a smile that felt as though it might crack her face.
"However, I am already involved in Professor Flitwick's Charms Club, and the academic demands are quite heavy. I am afraid I would have very little time left for training."
"Is that so?"
Snape studied the smile she wore, pleasant on the surface and just stiff enough beneath it to amuse him.
"What a pity."
He said it almost lightly.
"Then we shall discuss it another time."
With that, he swept away toward the pitch in a swirl of black robes.
Tamara remained where she was, drawing several deep breaths of cold air to keep herself from hexing him in the back.
"It seems this loyal servant still has not realised who his true master is."
Harry heard that Tamara had gone to speak with Snape, and before the match she had even told him not to worry.
"She must have spoken up for me."
A quiet warmth spread through his chest.
To be honest, he still felt guilty about the careless things he had said in front of the Mirror of Erised.
Tamara was indeed charming. People were always gathering around her, always drawn to her, and perhaps she deserved it.
After all, she really was kind to everyone.
Harry closed his fingers around the amulet on his chest, took a deep breath, and steadied himself.
The match began.
Only five minutes later, Harry spotted the Golden Snitch.
He shot after it like a streak of scarlet lightning and snatched it out of the air before Snape had any chance to react.
The whole thing happened so quickly that Snape had not even been given time to show any favouritism toward Hufflepuff.
The match was over.
Gryffindor had won.
The stands exploded in thunderous cheers.
Harry landed on the grass with the Snitch still clutched in his hand, then at once turned his head toward the Slytherin stands.
He found Tamara almost immediately.
She was not cheering. If anything, she looked faintly cold, perhaps even displeased.
But none of that mattered to Harry.
"Thank you, Tamara."
Looking straight in her direction, he gave her a helplessly silly smile full of gratitude.
Tamara met that grin and only felt her head begin to ache.
The result she wanted had technically been achieved, yet she did not feel in the least bit satisfied.
"...Idiot."
.....
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