The two teams faced each other in the center of the pitch as Madam Hooch came flying toward them low to the ground, holding out the quaffle.
In the tense moments before she tossed upward the enlivened ball, Dumbledore leaned closer to Snape in the faculty box and said, "I had a revealing chat with the Sorting Hat this morning. I would've liked you to be there, but you were nowhere to be found."
Snape was prepared for the implied question. "A leisurely walk to Hogsmeade for a supply of bezeors," he said in a casual tone, "and to check on the placement of the dementors. They are unexpectedly docile for their kind."
This part of the answer was true enough. Dumbledore seemed pleased. "A convenient little enchantment of mine keeps the dementors unnaturally sociable, until such time that their darker nature may be needed. Cornelius knows nothing of this, and we'll want to keep it that way, Severus. An effective spell on dementors is not supposed to be possible, barring the patronus."
Snape nodded. "And what, pray tell, did the Sorting Hat have to say? I assume this is in reference to the placement of Miss Minsky into Hufflepuff house?"
"Exactly. And the Hat's confession was a revelation, to be sure. It explained that the dormitory to which Alice Minsky was assigned at Durmstrang is symbolized by a beaver gnawing on a tree. The Sorting Hat saw this as very close to a badger, the Hufflepuff symbol. But even so, it would have sorted her into Slytherin but for a curious concept that Alice was expressing at the back of her mind during her stay on the sorting stool."
A roar from the crowd as the quaffle rose up and the teams took flight. Snape waited for the volume of noise to diminish before saying, "And--?"
"What it saw was Alice performing curtsies for Professor Sprout, who, as you know, is the Hufflepuff head of house. But that wasn't all."
They were distracted by the loud "oohs" and "ahhs" from bleachers above them as the keeper, Deidre, zipped sideways on her Nimbus-- a quite difficult manuever-- and blocked the thrown quaffle with a knee. Bea caught it on the rebound and off went the Hufflepuff chasers; Cassandra and Roscoe circling Bea with a synchronized swiftness that had the Slytherin chasers darting about them like a disturbed hornets nest.
"And--?" said Snape impatiently.
Dumbledore assumed a thoughtful expression. "Alice was exuding a feeling of studious contentment, a desire for a peaceful orderliness, a trait we associate with the Hufflepuff student. Now, either she is honestly wanting to be this pleasant sort of hardworking scholar, or she was deliberately misrepresenting herself to the Sorting Hat."
Snape caught the action at the far end of the pitch and gave a snide smile as Slytherin took possession of the quaffle after a bad handoff by Roscoe. He then looked questioningly at Dumbledore. "Assuming the latter is true," he began, "that she intentionally misled the Sorting Hat, one must wonder why she chose a house so unlike her authentic personality. One thinks of your spellbound dementors acting like a welcoming society."
"Oh I wouldn't go so far as to-- good throw, that! Right through the center hoop. No, I wouldn't compare Alice's deceit to that of an enchanted dementor. I'm inclined to believe that she chose Hufflepuff so as to stand out within a rather unglamorous crowd."
Snape frowned. "You believe it's as innocent as that?"
"Then give me a reason to believe otherwise, Severus."
Snape pretended to watch a furious chase for the free-falling quaffle so as to ponder his answer. He feared that Dumbledore had set a trap for him.
Did the Headmaster have a clue about the death of Alice Minsky's father? Did he suspect that Miss Minsky had arranged the transfer with, perhaps, her well-known grandfather, Igor Spassky, for the purpose of exacting a form of revenge against her father's killer? Or could it be that the clue hung in Alice's mind, not Dumbledore's, and that she was here to learn the whole truth about Gunther Minsky's demise? Did she know her father was a Death Eater, and a very ambitious one at that?
There was a midair collision that sent Alice, Felix, Cassandra, and two Slytherin players tumbling to the sand pit near the goals. "Penalty Slytherin!" shouted Hooch. The flick of her wand took five points off the green side of the scoreboard.
Snape looked disgruntled, but it wasn't the foul that made him so. "I have only speculations stemming from a growing conviction," he said, "that Alice Minsky is to some degree a menace to me."
Dumbledore raised his brows. "A fifteen-year-old taking third-form courses is a menace to you? What makes you assign such a motive, and such a dangerous skill-level, to this young girl?"
"This young witch," Snape corrected him, "from a dark arts academy known to have engendered more Voldemort enthusiasts than all the other magic schools put together."
"Are you circuitously indicating the mysterious death of her father?"
Snape stiffened. He was oblivious to a second Slytherin score and the eruption of cheers amid waving green scarves.
"I knew Gunther Spassky," he said with a forced calmness, "before the death of James and... Lily... Potter on that terrible Halloween night. It was my despair over Lily's death and the knowledge that Gunther was involved in planning the murders that turned me against him... and against the Dark Lord."
He looked away, seeing nothing of the streak of gold arching up into the clearing sky. His stern features told Dumbledore that the potion master wished to say nothing more about the subject.
On the advice of her second cousin, Joey O'Shannon, back-up seeker for the Chudley Cannons, Giselle flew in broad figure-8's about two hundred meters above the pitch. She rode "like a feather," as it was called, so as to be ready at a moment's notice to accelerate in any direction.
As she had expected, Draco followed her a short ways behind. She could hear him snickering and making cat-calls at her. It was therefore doubly pleasing when one of Alice's bludgers sent a Slytherin chaser careening in a steep descent that had him knocking his own beater so hard that the bat was dropped. Even better, the bat fell toward the Slytherin stands, causing a panic among the green-scarvers. Too bad Hooch was there with her wand to arrest the bat's fall just in time to prevent a sore head or a broken nose.
Giselle was surprised at herself. How could she think such a thing? Had she been hoping for an injury among the Slytherin fans?
The flash of gold ended her self-recrimination in a heartbeat. She was off like a bullet; Draco's shout fading away in the rush of her flight and the rumble of the crowd.
Giselle swept under a high-flying bludger that angled down after her, until one of Alice's slammed into it. There was that moment of blurred figures swerving out of Giselle's way, then the panorama of bleacher towers with snow-capped mountains beyond. The Snitch ceased being a streak and became a winged orb that seemed to be taunting her, as if saying, 'Catch me if you can!'
Giselle tried a subterfuge. She looped away from the Snitch.
Out of the corner of her eye she glimpsed Draco looking momentarily confused. Likewise the Snitch seemed to wonder at the odd behavior, hesitating before flitting off toward the Gryffindor stands. That was all the time Giselle needed.
With a burst of speed she brushed past Draco, and, stretching out a hand to grasp the blur of tiny wings, flinched in pain as a bludger struck her extended arm.
She went spinning like a maple leaf.
From below she heard the shrill voice of Bea saying, "Alice! What the --!" And that emotionless reply: "Sorry."
Giselle leveled out just inches above the canvas roof of the Gryffindor bleachers, her feet dragging along a wooden beam as she flew out toward the open air where she had the biggest fright of her life. The snarling face of a wolf passed by her, the uniform cape flapping behind the misshapen body that dove downward on its Shooting Star Deluxe 7.
Impulsively she followed, despite her scare and astonishment.
The glitter of the Snitch was out ahead of the monstrous stranger on the swift broom, and in a flash of terrible insight Giselle knew what this nightmare was leading to.
It happened in a chaos of screams, shouted spells, the blurring of spectators and a splintering of wood.
Only one thing about the disaster stood out in her mind when Giselle regained consciousness on the grassy sideline of the pitch. She had caught the Snitch, and it was covered in blood.
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