A Lexicon of Serpents

Chapter 1: Air

Alastor Moody, October 16, 1943

There's a certain point before a House game, when I'm about halfway through lacing on my arm guards, when the bottom drops out of my stomach. Up until then I am utterly calm, wolfing down my breakfast as the rest of the team looks green around the edges, showering and towelling and pulling on my robes as if it were just another practice. It's when I have padded leather on my hands that my nerves kick in, and every tick of the clock over the sinks, counting down to eleven, makes me shake. One day Mundungus started taking bets on what part of the gauntlets I would be lacing when I suddenly went sheet white.

Five minutes to the game, and I'm tugging the laces home with my teeth and willing my knees to stop shaking. Four, and Minerva is coming into our room, as she always does, and giving me a glass of water, and worriedly tightening the ties on her hair. Three, and our captain is waving us out and over to the great wooden doors that open onto the pitch, and we shuffle up before them as he faces us, broom in hand and resolute frown on face.

"Okay, lads," says Mundungus Fletcher, looking a little pale himself, "this is it." An amplified voice outside shouts something, and the crowd roars back. "First match of the season. Some of the Slytherin players are new this year. Watch for the third Chaser and their Keeper--he's the new captain, too. We don't know what kind of strategy changes he might have implemented, although any captain would have trouble banging anything into that lot." Bright sunlight shines through the crack between the doors. Walden's club is poking my back. "And watch for their Seeker, of course, 'cause he's a bloody menace. I want you folks to focus on getting as many goals as possible before the Snitch shows up." A tightening of hands on broomsticks; somebody nods fiercely, somebody salutes. "'Cause their Chaser team is probably still weak--I doubt the new guy can hold together Kylee and Smithley. Got it?"

Six emphatic nods. He told us the same thing today at breakfast. And last night in the common room, and all three meals yesterday, and the day before, and the day before that. He even stood up and shouted it in History of Magic when Binns fell asleep again. There are days we love our Dung.

But it all means something different when the game is about to begin.

"Right!"

He throws open the doors to a wash of sunlight and grass and noise.

"And here we have the Gryffindor team!" bellows Anastasia Longbottom. Good god. Even without the megaphone she's louder than the rest of Ravenclaw put together. "No changes in the lineup from last year...we have McGonagall, Moody, and Stoffenson!"

We three Chasers mount up and speed out together, flying within feet of each other. We're the strength of the team, have been for three years running--probably the best Chaser team at Hogwarts. Minnie gives me an encouraging glance, and I pass it on to Mikey, and he returns it, and we circle high over the field and hang in position to watch the others fly out to join us. My nerves fade, replaced by a pounding, gleeful excitement. There's something about having nothing but a broom and adrenaline between you and fifty feet of thin air that makes anxieties disappear, because once you're up there, once you're flying, you're there, and you're going to do it, and your worries have to be back on the ground. The wind tries to tear my hair out of its tight tie at the nape of my neck, and I grin widely.

"Fletcher and Macnair!"

Wiry Mundungus and steely Walden sling their clubs over their shoulders and fly up in tandem, passing uncertain looks as they go. They're both excellent Beaters, but they have no sense of teamwork. We've never dared to try to replace Walden, though. He's like a flying brick wall. With stubble.

"Dobson!"

Keeper. Quiet. Reliable as hell. He falls into place, completing the semicircle, and the wind blows his baby-blond hair straight on end.

"Aaaaaaaaaand Ajax!"

Our Seeker. He's competent, unlike our last one. Unfortunately, there are a couple of Seekers around who are far more than competent. He streaks up to hover high above us, waving his feet in the air and looking down at us with a grin. I don't think his nerves kick in until the Snitch shows up.

"And now the Slytherin team is ready..." All our eyes go immediately to the barn doors on the other side, being thrown open by a sandy-haired boy I don't recognize--probably the new captain. "Kylee, Gringorson, and Smithley!"

Gringorson's the new one--on the large side even for a Chaser, but he takes his run with grace and speed and regards us with an only mildly apprehensive stare. Could be bad in direct contact with me or Minnie--we're both smaller than him. Minnie and I both shoot a look at Mikey which means 'You handle the ape,' and he nods, and I can feel my fingers gripping my broom a little tighter. Kylee I'm used to, a scrawny little fourth year with the temper of a weasel. She usually gets us at least three penalty shots a game, and her elbows feel like they could drill holes in concrete. Smithley, heavy-browed with a nasty left lob, exists mainly to not cooperate with Kylee.

"Manx and Manx!"

Beaters who are brothers are always terrors. The Manxes--black Manx and red Manx, we call them, for their hair--are fraternal twins, on the short side, and fast. Fletcher graces them with the expression he generally reserves for pubes in the sink, and I grin.

"Avery!"

Their new Keeper and captain. Unassuming looking fellow, unassuming as all hell, really, but confident. Goodness knows what he's up to. Dung looks at me, looks at him, shakes his head, and shrugs. Nothing we can guess now.

"Aaaaaaaaand... Riddle!"

Yeah, Tom Riddle. The Seeker from hell. On the large side for the position, but a terribly good flier, and with that 'get out of my way or die slowly' attitude that the worst Slytherins seem to ooze all over the place. He swoops out, his neatly combed black hair promptly blowing out of order, and hovers high above the semicircle of his teammates, sweeping the Gryffindor team with a death glare. Prefect or no, he does not behave in the air.

"And Acheron Fustusson, referee, is coming out with the balls..." The Head of Hufflepuff trots across the pitch in a billow of zebra-striped robes, crate under one arm, with his goggles perched atop his head and his broom slung over his back. Some of us watch as he kneels to open the crate; some of us are still staring, sizing each other up. The crowd is nearly silent, waiting. I wriggle my fingers, checking grip, checking friction, checking the security of the lacings, and feel my heart beating very fast.

"And the Snitch is out!" The little golden nightmare shoots between Riddle and Ajax, then up into the bright blue autumn sky. One last resettling on my broom, one last reassuring glance at Mikey and Minnie. "Bludgers!" They, too, pelt up into the blue yonder. "And the Quaffle is released!"

Fustusson's whistle sounds, and the game erupts.

"Gryffindor in possession--McGonagall already heading towards the Slytherin goal posts. We have no idea of Avery's blocking style, he's new this year, but we'll see--Bludger! Quaffle in freefall--Moody catches it--Kylee sideswipes--"

God, that girl's a terror. I pin the Quaffle under my elbow and streak up towards where Avery hovers in front of the Slytherin goal posts, his face blank and set. A Bludger streaks past my ear as I duck instinctively, and then I chuck the Quaffle--

"--and Riddle seems to be taking the lack of a visible Snitch as an opportunity to foul the Gryffindor Chasers!"

Bastard nearly hit his own Keeper, too, but we didn't score. Technically not a foul though--when the Quaffle is in midair, there's no rule against the opposing team's Seeker flying within a few inches of it to throw off the score. Mikey grabs the Quaffle as it falls out of Riddle's wake; Riddle wheels within an inch of the stands--girls scream--and tears off in the opposite direction.

Bloody Slytherin Seekers.

"And Gringorson comes out of nowhere, tackles Stoffenson--keep your knees out of that, boy, or that's a foul!--Slytherin in possession, Gringorson heading for the Gryffindor goals. Bludger, hit by Macnair--red Manx gets to it before it gets to the Chaser, nearly unseats Ajax..."

And so it goes. Mikey and Minnie and I never lose our paces--Avery is a fair Keeper, all things considered, but no match for the three of us in top form--Kylee and Riddle and the Manxes are a pain in the ass, and the new Chaser manages to get a ball or two past Dobson, but Gryffindor pulls ahead quickly--and twenty minutes into the game my eyes are stinging from the sunlight and sweat soaks the back of my robes--

"Has Riddle spotted the Snitch?!"

Ajax turns at that, as the crowd lets out a unanimous hoot of excitement, and speeds after Riddle. I look as closely as I can before I have to dodge two Slytherins and the Ravenclaw stands--no glint of gold--and now Riddle's pointed his broom straight towards the ground and is streaking a hundred feet down like a bloody maniac.

"I don't see the Snitch, nobody sees the Snitch--for the love of god, Ajax, pull up, WRONSKI FEINT!!" Anastasia shrieks--and promptly gets sharply reprimanded by Jacob Westingham, the professor lurking behind her, for leading on the players.

And a damn good one. Both of 'em pull up at the last moment, Ajax's tail twigs kicking up a substantial divot, and he's half unseated--shit! He dangles underbroom for a moment, rising a dozen feet a second even as he does, and only a fast beat by our Dung saves him from a Bludger. Fletcher aims the black menace at Riddle, but the bigger black menace flattens himself to his broom to dodge it, and tears within inches of Ajax and Fletcher to speed off into the current Chaser fight, laughing.

I join the Chaser fight too, come out with the Quaffle having gotten practically cobbed by half the Slytherin team--sons of bitches!--and tear off with Smithley in my wake to knock the thing past Avery's sandy head.

"GRYFFINDOR SCORES! Ninety points ahead now--twenty of that from Kylee, if that girl would just learn how to behave--"

Kylee grabs the Quaffle from behind the Gryffindor goalposts and screams something so obscene that it's a damn good thing all the first year Hufflepuffs and their virgin ears are safe at the other end of the field. Macnair sends a Bludger straight into her stomach. People cheer.

Where is that Snitch, anyway? Hell, Riddle might've missed it, being so busy with screwing us up and all, but Ajax wouldn't have. It's taking a bloody long time to show itself. Not that I'm going to complain, 'cause we can score--Mikey scores with a neat tail swipe, and we're a hundred points up, Minnie zig-zags before the goal posts and puts one past Avery with no help but her own diversions, a hundred ten, Mikey and I double-pass through the Manxes while Minnie flies circles around Gringorson, a hundred twenty... I swing up over the goalposts and breath, then see Minnie on the other side of the field being body-slammed by Kylee and Riddle and it's definitely time to rescue her--

"Keep your elbows off Moody, Riddle, or that's cobbing with intent to maim!" Anastasia snaps.

Intent to kill, more like it, with that look in his eyes--scorching and ruthless and utterly determined. I've got Kylee on my other side now, my left. Trapped between loony Slytherins, lucky me. Minnie slams into Kylee as fiercely as she dares without fouling; Kylee bares her teeth and lets go of her own broom to seize the handles of both mine and Minnie's--once we get out of this, we are so getting penalty shots, but in the meantime--

"Bloody reptiles!" I scream. Where the hell is Mikey? Oh, getting Bludgered to distraction by the Manxes. Shit. My broom's locked with Riddle's--he's close enough I can smell his sweat, and his arm is pressed painfully against mine, trying to force the Quaffle out of the shelter of my elbow. He can't touch it, at least, not legally--thank god for the Quidditch division of labor--and it's safe from Kylee because it's on Riddle's side, but then he gives me another powerful body slam and I feel my grip loosening even as I try to yank Kylee's hand off of my broom. His other arm jerks the handle of his broom, steering us straight towards the stands--Hufflepuffs scream and scatter--the four of us are locked together by Riddle's knees and Kylee's reckless grip--how the hell is she staying on her broom anyway?--and I'm going to drop the Quaffle any moment now or Riddle's going to dislocate my elbow--

"THE SNITCH!!"

Two things happen at once--Dung manages to knock a Bludger straight into Kylee's ear--she's turned her head to scream obscenities at Minnie--god bless you, Mundungus--and the Snitch streaks an inch from all our noses. Riddle nearly tears me off my broom, he turns so fast, and cuts off Ajax, who's already after the Snitch himself, and they tear off across the stadium at top speed, weaving fiercely and trying to cut each other off. Kylee tumbles shrieking from her broom, which drifts lazily into the Hufflepuff stands--red Manx manages to break her fall before she gets hurt, and Macnair takes the opportunity to wind black Manx with a Bludger to the stomach.

Minnie and I share a look. Gryffindor is a hundred and twenty points up. The Snitch has been spotted. We need to score. We are in total understanding. Then we both scream for Mikey, and he joins us in a Hawkshead with me at the point and we race towards our goalposts. Dung and Macnair follow us--in a rare moment of cooperation, they knock both Bludgers at Avery's stomach just as the Quaffle enters the scoring area--

"GRYFFINDOR SCORES! GRYFFINDOR IS A HUNDRED AND THIRTY POINTS UP!"

The crowd is on their feet. Minnie grabs the Quaffle before Smithley can get to it and passes it to Mikey to score again, now that Avery's out of commission--and red Manx can't hold his own against Macnair. Dung streaks off to try to protect Ajax--

"ONE HUNDRED AND FORTY--but Slytherin in possession, Smithley's got the Quaffle, pass to Gringorson--Riddle and Ajax neck-to-neck--body slam from Riddle, that's one near foul, Mr. Prefect!--and another--how the hell Riddle's getting that kind of speed from a Shooting Star, even if it is a Platinum, god only knows--"

Nothing for it--I dive at Gringorson, recklessly trying to force the Quaffle from his long-armed grip--

"Moody, don't you DARE foul! Avery seems to be recovering, the Slytherin Keeper is back on his broom--the Snitch is taking both Seekers lower and lower but they're staying on it--BLUDGER! Do they have any room to--MY GOD, RIDDLE IS ROLLING--he's gone underbroom to dodge, an inch from taking his own head off, but he's still got his eye on the Snitch--GRYFFINDOR IN POSSESSION!"

I have to score before Riddle gets the Snitch--have to--seems every Chaser and Bludger and Beater is in my way, and Avery's rising back to his post--but I'm running on pure adrenaline, careening through the air with the world drawn in too-bright colors--

"Bludger grazes Ajax's arm--he falters, but he's still on the Snitch, they're within ten feet of it and inches from the ground, Riddle overbroom again, Ajax obviously in pain but not falling back--"

I shoot--Avery rockets towards the Quaffle--Dung gives me a huge wink and knocks a Bludger into his gut, but then the one that nearly took out Avery catches me in the back and black bursts into my vision and I can't see the Quaffle anymore--Anastasia is screaming at the top of her lungs, the words coming almost too fast to comprehend--

"Riddle has left his broom--RIDDLE HAS LEFT HIS BROOM--dived after the Snitch, utterly reckless move, Ajax pulled up to avoid collision--"

A hoarse shout rings out from below, and the whistle sounds a moment before the cling of my score.

"RIDDLE HAS THE SNITCH! RIDDLE HAS THE SNITCH!!"

The stadium explodes into screams.

I drift to the ground, my back throbbing from that last Bludger, my Chasers and Mundungus at my side. Ajax is hovering a few feet from the ground, white and gasping. I'm only half aware of the defeat. My ears are ringing and I feel light-headed, disconnected, like the world is made of glass--don't know whether it's adrenaline or that Bludger hit, but I stumble when I hit the pitch and the world lurches. Dung punches my shoulder in consolation.

Riddle is picking himself up, spattered with mud and grass from head to toe, a rip in his robes, a bruise blossoming on his pale, handsome face from where he'd rolled after he'd flung himself off his broom, the struggling Snitch still clutched tightly in one hand. He holds it aloft, brandishing it to the stadium with the little wings still beating helplessly against his fingers, a fierce light of triumph in his strange blue eyes.

"Slytherin wins, a hundred-seventy to a hundred-sixty!"Anastasia bellows. "Would've been a tie if Riddle had gotten the Snitch even a second later, as Moody was about to score another ten points for Gryffindor. That's one of the closest games I've ever seen at Hogwarts!" She takes a breath, seemingly for the first time in the past five minutes. "All of you with Omnioculars, that was worth replays, both for the Seekers and the Chasers--magnificent flying from Riddle and Moody in particular during the last twenty seconds of the game..."

I touch ground, watch the screaming sea of green pouring out to raise its Seeker on its shoulders--the boy still panting from what must have been a terrifying bit of flying--and suddenly understand why half the school is desperately in love with Tom Riddle.