Harry Potter 01 - Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone

Snitch.
    ‘You know how I think they choose people for the Gryffindor team?’ said Malfoy loudly a few minutes later, as Snape awarded Hufflepuff another penalty for no reason at all. ‘It’s people they feel sorry for. See, there’s Potter, who’s got no parents, then there’s the Weasleys, who’ve got no money – you should be on the team, Longbottom, you’ve got no brains.’
    Neville went bright red but turned in his seat to face Malfoy.
    ‘I’m worth twelve of you, Malfoy,’ he stammered.
    Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle howled with laughter, but Ron, still not daring to take his eyes from the game, said, ‘You tell him, Neville.’
    ‘Longbottom, if brains were gold you’d be poorer than Weasley, and that’s saying something.’
    Ron’s nerves were already stretched to breaking point with anxiety about Harry.
    ‘I’m warning you, Malfoy – one more word –’
    ‘Ron!’ said Hermione suddenly. ‘Harry –!’
    ‘What? Where?’
    Harry had suddenly gone into a spectacular dive, which drew gasps and cheers from the crowd. Hermione stood up, her crossed fingers in her mouth, as Harry streaked towards the ground like a bullet.
    ‘You’re in luck, Weasley, Potter’s obviously spotted some money on the ground!’ said Malfoy.
    Ron snapped. Before Malfoy knew what was happening, Ron was on top of him, wrestling him to the ground. Neville hesitated, then clambered over the back of his seat to help.
    ‘Come on, Harry!’ Hermione screamed, leaping on to her seat to watch as Harry sped straight at Snape – she didn’t even notice Malfoy and Ron rolling around under her seat, or the scuffles and yelps coming from the whirl of fists that was Neville, Crabbe and Goyle.
    Up in the air, Snape turned on his broomstick just in time to see something scarlet shoot past him, missing him by inches – next second, Harry had pulled out of the dive, his arm raised in triumph, the Snitch clasped in his hand.
    The stands erupted; it had to be a record, no one could ever remember the Snitch being caught so quickly.
    ‘Ron! Ron! Where are you? The game’s over! Harry’s won! We’ve won! Gryffindor are in the lead!’ shrieked Hermione, dancing up and down on her seat and hugging Parvati Patil in the row in front.
    Harry jumped off his broom, a foot from the ground. He couldn’t believe it. He’d done it – the game was over; it had barely lasted five minutes. As Gryffindors came spilling on to the pitch, he saw Snape land nearby, white-faced and tight-lipped – then Harry felt a hand on his shoulder and looked up into Dumbledore’s smiling face.
    ‘Well done,’ said Dumbledore quietly, so that only Harry could hear. ‘Nice to see you haven’t been brooding about that mirror … been keeping busy … excellent …’
    Snape spat bitterly on the ground.
    *
    Harry left the changing room alone some time later, to take his Nimbus Two Thousand back to the broomshed. He couldn’t ever remember feeling happier. He’d really done something to be proud of now – no one could say he was just a famous name any more. The evening air had never smelled so sweet. He walked over the damp grass, reliving the last hour in his head, which was a happy blur: Gryffindors running to lift him on to their shoulders; Ron and Hermione in the distance, jumping up and down, Ron cheering through a heavy nosebleed.
    Harry had reached the shed. He leant against the wooden door and looked up at Hogwarts, with its windows glowing red in the setting sun. Gryffindor in the lead. He’d done it, he’d shown Snape …
    And speaking of Snape …
    A hooded figure came swiftly down the front steps of the castle. Clearly not wanting to be seen, it walked as fast as possible towards the Forbidden Forest. Harry’s victory faded from his mind as he watched. He recognised the figure’s prowling walk. Snape, sneaking into the Forest while everyone else was at dinner – what was going on?
    Harry jumped back on his Nimbus Two Thousand and took off. Gliding silently over the castle he saw Snape enter the Forest at a run. He followed.
    The trees were so thick he couldn’t see where Snape had gone. He flew in circles, lower and lower, brushing the top branches of trees until he heard voices. He glided towards them and landed noiselessly in a towering beech tree.
    He climbed carefully along one of the branches, holding tight to his broomstick, trying to see through the leaves.
    Below, in a shadowy clearing, stood Snape, but he wasn’t alone.