November approached and fell upon us all faster than anticipated. By now, the mountain peaks are thick with snow from the quick-cold, and the mornings and evenings both are rarely without a dense fog. Students of all ages have taken to wearing their warmer clothes, even within the castle, some even slipping thick jumpers on under their robes for classes.

I overheard one of the poor Hufflepuff boys fell into the Black Lake yesterday, and now he's chattering a few rows over. His friend said he was pushed, but it was deduced to simply be the strong gusts of wind.

The stone paths leading around the castle are like packed-ice with how cold they are to the touch, and each window's glass holds frost around its boarders. It was only a few days ago I was staring out the same windows and thinking back to mine and Hermione's day in the castle's gardens that lovely, Autumn afternoon. Now we'd be lucky not to catch our death staying out there for so long.

Since our incident with the troll this passed October, Hermione has been much happier with being within the boy's presence, and for that I've been grateful, because I've been able to hang around all of my friends at once rather than Hermione one moment and Harry and Ron another. They've been appreciating it as well, as I know Harry would be terribly behind with his homework if not for my best friend.

Today, Harry, Hermione, Ron, and myself are out in the courtyard, with Mione's help of course. She conjured us up a brilliant-blue fire that sits inside a jam jar that we can carry around with us to keep warm.

We're all stood and keeping warm around it when Snape suddenly begins his approach, and immediately I feel a sigh of discontent flow through my being. Snape still hates me with a fiery passion, especially seeing as I won't back down when he's bullying Harry or I, or sometimes he'll even have a go at Hermione, and he hates it. I've earned many detentions over it, and I'm sure if McGonagall would allow it he'd have gotten rid of me already, but luckily for me, she still seems to like me, regardless of the incident with the troll, and insists that Professor Snape is being ridiculous in his inquiries of expulsion.

Today, it seems, he has a limp. I kind of hope it's hurting him to be frank. I am not a mean person, nor have I ever been, but Snap brings out the exception in me that I never thought I'd have. Him and a few of the Slytherins, that is.

"What's that you've got there, Potter?" Harry's currently reading Quidditch Through the Ages, at mine and Hermione's recommendation. He shows Snape the book. "Library books are not to be taken outside the school," he sneers. "Give it to me. Five points from Gryffindor."

"You've just made that rule up!" I exclaim loudly drawing the attention of a few other students. "You can't be serious!"

"Deadly, Miss Amethyst. I advise you keep your mouth shut for once or I'll be forced to make you."

I scowl at him as he lumbers away, the limp in his step.

"Please stop making him hate you more," Hermione sighs from my side. "You know you'll only make this worse for yourself."

"I don't care much about that, Mione. I don't care much for him being a prat, either. When he's being one, I'm going to pull him up. It's how I was raised. To respect my elders unless they're undeserving. And he, Hermione Jean Granger, is undeserving."

"I wonder what's wrong with his leg?" says Harry after passing me an appreciative look.

"Dunno, but I hope it's really hurting him," Ron answers, to which I nod in agreement.

As the evening rolls around, the four of us are now sat by the Common Room windows within Gryffindor Tower. I'm looking over my Potions and Transfiguration work while Hermione checks over the boys' Charms homework for them. It's rather loud tonight, though I suppose that comes with the excitement and anticipation of tomorrow's coming Quidditch game.

Harry suddenly rises to his feet from where he's sat and tells the three of us that he's headed to find Snape to collect his book back.

"Better you than me," both Hermione and Ron seemingly answer together, causing them both to scowl halfheartedly at the other. I sigh and stand as well.

"I'll come with you, Harry. Leave them to do whatever it is they do when I'm not around."

"You know exactly what I do when you aren't around, Y/N," Hermione retorts without even glancing up from her marking. I smile and nod. She's right. I do.

Harry nods and the two of us leave the warmth of the Common Room to make our way to the staff room. Once we're here, Harry knocks on the door gently, but nothing happens. Perhaps no one's in. He tries again, a little harder this time, but still, there's nothing.

"I don't think anyone's in there, Harry," I tell him.

"Maybe he's left my book in there," he replies before opening the door to peer inside. We're met with a horrible sight. Both Snape and Filch are inside, alone, and Snape is holding his robes above his knee. One of his legs is bloodied and torn, as if he's been attacked by something, or maybe even someone.

"Blasted thing," Snape is saying to Filch. "How are you supposed to keep your eyes on all three heads at once?"

After coming from the shock of seeing both the worst people in Hogwarts and the blood, Harry tries to quietly shut the door once again, but to no avail of not being noticed, as Snape is quick to loudly shout his name.

"POTTER!"

Both Harry and I jump backwards after his exclamation, startled by his sudden roar. He looks angry, his voice layered with beseechingly and chilling urgency of sorts.

"I just wondered if I could have my book back," Harry says with a small voice.

"GET OUT! OUT!" Snape screams.

I yelp at his sudden scream and quickly grasp at Harry's hand, dragging him from the room and back towards Gryffindor Tower as quickly as possible. I've tested Snape's patients through quite a few classes it might seem, but I've never even seen him that viciously seething before. I finally release the just-as-shocked boy's hand once we've entered again, both of our eyes wide and breathing laboured.

"Did you get it?" Ron asks as we both move back over to them still slightly stunned. "What's the matter?"

"Snape – he..." I begin, still trying to put things together myself.

"Snape what?" asks Mione.

"He screamed at us to leave, so we left... he – well – do you think he's after it, Harry? Whatever's down there?"

"Wait, what's going on?" Ron interjects.

"When we got there, we saw Snape and Filch, and Snape's leg was bleeding. Said something about the three-headed dog we found," Harry informs. "You know what that means?"

This time I'm our informer. "It means he tried to get past the three-headed dog at Halloween!"

"That's where he was going when we saw him – he's after whatever it's guarding!" Harry continues. "And I'd bet my broomstick he let that troll in, to create a diversion!"

Hermione's eyes widen upon hearing the quite-serious allegation towards our Potions Professor. Ron, too, looks vaguely shocked, though a little as if he's pieced together the same answer.

"No – he wouldn't," she says suddenly. "I know he's not very nice, but he wouldn't try and steal something Dumbledore was keeping safe."

"Honestly, Hermione," Ron's the one to add on this time, "you think all teachers are saints or something. I'm with Harry and Y/N. I wouldn't put anything past Snape. But what's he after? What's that dog guarding?"

"Ron, don't be rude! She's right to question it, even I'm unsure... it's a very serious thing to accuse someone of, after all," I back up my best friend, her looking to me appreciatively. I nod and smile to her.

The rest of our night is spent thinking over the information we have so far. Snape was talking about that dog on the trapdoor, there's no other answer, but could he really be looking to steal whatever it's protecting? And what is it protecting, anyway? It's got to be something important, right? Important enough for Dumbledore to keep it a secret from everyone.

By the next morning I'm still a little tired after laying awake for too long and thinking about all the variables for our little conundrum we've found ourselves looking into. It's terribly cold this morning, though, so that's sure to keep my awake if nothing else.

I smile to Hermione when I meet the three of them within the Great Hall for breakfast. I sit beside her and across from both the boys, taking a fried egg and topping a piece of toast with it. I take a bite before looking across to Harry.

"Is he alright? He looks like he's going to be sick," I ask Hermione. "Has he been like this all morning, or has something happened?"

"He's just worried about today's game is all, I'm sure," she tells before turning to the aforementioned boy. "You've got to eat some breakfast."

"I don't want anything," he replies curtly, still looking to his empty plate with unease.

"Just a bit of toast," she tries again.

"I'm not hungry."

"Harry, please, I know you feel terrible right now, but not eating will only make it worse. Plus, it's your first game, I'm sure they'll all go easy on you," I try to comfort. "One piece of fruit and we'll leave you be."

Mum always used to make me eat when I was scared for something. It'd always be the same thing. 'Have one piece of fruit, and I'll leave you be,' she'd say, and I'd abide. After all, she was my mum, and she was always right. It'd help as well, as I wouldn't be feeling all run down and without energy through not eating anything that morning.

"No they won't," pipes an annoying twin.

"Nearly died my first game," replies the other, as always, joined-at-the-hip twin.

"Oh shove off! Don't make this worse!" I tell them, turning to them with a frown. They simply huff and laugh, wink knowingly that they're doing exactly that, and go back to what they're doing.

"Harry, you need your strength," Seamus Finnigan adds in, and I'm about to smile to him in thanks before he continues. "Seekers are always the ones who get nobbled by the other team."

I huff and growl at the Finnigan boy under my breath.

"Thanks, Seamus," Harry sighs.

To my pleasure, though, and bringing a smile to my face, Harry takes my word and picks up a green apple to nibble at.

By eleven, Hermione, Ron, and I are all seated within the Gryffindor section of the Quidditch Stadium stands waiting with bated breath and excitement for Harry – and the rest of our team – to come out and begin their game. There's no saying what's going on behind the scenes, but hopefully they're giving him a pep talk to lift his spirits.

"Do you think he's going to be alright?" I ask the girl at my side.

"You worry for him a lot, don't you. I'm sure everything will be fine," Mione tries to calm me.

"Yes, but that's only because – our families have history, Mione, I just-"

"You're worried that you'll let your mum down because of what she told you, I know, it's okay I understand," she soothes again.

It isn't very often you'll find the caring and cautious side of Hermione Granger. She's mostly known for her forwardness and logical thinking, but there are times in which she can get like this, a friend who isn't here to tell you what you should or shouldn't be feeling and why, but a friend who simply wants to comfort. This is one of my favourite sides of her.

I imagine, sometimes, that if I ever met my sister, I'd want her to be just like Mione.

Ron is stood closer to Neville, Seamus, and Dean, and Hermione's stood next to him, me at her opposing side. We're each wearing our Gryffindor attire in good and team spirit. I'm wearing Connie's, of course, she told me last night that I must owl her to tell her how Harry's first game goes.

The boys are currently holding up a large banner made of a sheet that reads 'Potter for President', with a lion painted beneath. Hermione even charmed the banner to flash the crimson and gold colours for them, which Ron was happy about.

"Look!" I call as I watch our team leave their changing rooms.

Harry is walking just behind both Fred and George, out team's Beaters, and just as he did at breakfast, he looks as though he might be sick. We all cheer for them loudly as they appear and make their way to Madam Hooch, who's acting as the referee for today's game.

"Now, I want a nice fair game, all of you," I hear her warn the gathered players, though she seems to be focused mostly on Slytherins Captain, Marcus Flint, a fifth-year boy with a horrid face to say the least. "Mount your brooms, please."

The players all clamber upon their brooms as instructed and await Madam Hooch's start. They're all raising up so terrifically high in the air, that I imagine some might feel themselves fall sick upon looking at the distance between them and the ground far, far below.

"And the Quaffle is taken immediately by Angeline Johnson of Gryffindor – what an excellent Chaser that girl is, and rather attractive, too-" Lee Jordan commentates from his place.

"JORDAN!" I laugh as he's reprimanded by Professor McGonagall for his last comment.

"Sorry, Professor," he apologises not sounding the least bit 'sorry' at all.

"And she's really belting along up there, a neat pass to Alicia Spinnet, a good find of Oliver Wood's, last year only a reserve – back to Johnson – no, Slytherin have taken the Quaffle, Slytherin captain Marcus Flint gains the Quaffle and off he goes – Flint flying like an eagle up there – he's going to sc– no, stopped by an extreme move by Gryffindor Keeper Wood and Gryffindor take the Quaffle – that's Chaser Katie Bell of Gryffindor there, nice dive around Flint, off up the field and – OUCH – that must have hurt, hit in the back of the head by a Bludger – Quaffle taken by Slytherin – that's Adrian Pucey speeding off towards the goalposts, but he's blocked by the second Bludger – sent his way by Fred or George Weasley, can't tell which – nice play by the Gryffindor Beater, anyway, and Johnson back in possession of the Quaffle, a clear field ahead and off she goes – she's really flying – dodges a speeding Bludger – the goalposts are ahead – come on, now Angelina – Keeper Bletchley dives – misses – GRYFFINDOR SCORE!"

"Budge up there, move along."

"Hagrid!" I hear a sudden exclamation breaking my attention from the game before me. I turn to see Hagrid lumbering towards us all through the other spectators, and the three of us, Ron, Hermione, and I, all bunch up slightly to give him some room.

"Bin watchin' from me hut," he says when he's finally settled in his spot. "But it isn't the same as bein' in the crowd. No sign of the Snitch yet, eh?"

I smile to the looming man of jovial hair and red cheeks before looking back to the match again, blocking them out. I hope they aren't trying to include me, as I'd most definitely seem rude, but I don't want to take my attention from the game.

Harry hasn't much moved yet, apart from to move out of the way every once in a while, but apart from such, he's just been sat and keenly watching over his team mates, his opponents, and looking for the Snitch. I suppose this is their game plan, to keep Harry above and out of the way until he finds what he's looking for, and I approve. It was rather funny watching him do his loop-the-loops after Angelina's score.

I see one of the twins fly up to him to beat a Bludger towards Marcus before Lee is speaking again.

"Slytherin in possession – Chaser Pucey ducks two Bludgers, two Weasleys, and Chaser Bell and speeds towards the – wait a moment – was that the Snitch?"

I immediately try to find where the Snitch has been spotted. It's quick to pass Slytherin's player Pucey, causing him to drop the Quaffle, and I laugh at his stupidity. Harry must have seen it, too, because now he's diving towards it and my heart is beating frantically in anticipation. The Slytherin Seeker Terence Higgs seems to have seen it as well because now he and Harry are racing for it, though Harry's faster than the Slytherin Seeker – he's reaching for it! He's going to get it!

WHAM!

I gasp as I watch Harry spin out of control as Flint purposely blocks him from the zipping, golden prize.

"Foul!" we scream from the stands.

Madam Hooch thought so, too, because now she's giving Flint some angry words and has given Gryffindor a free shot at the goal, but it seems, sadly, that the Snitch has effectively evaded Harry for now, as no one can seem to see it now. Dean suddenly yells out towards them.

"Send his off, ref! Red card!"

"This isn't football, Dean," Ron tells the boy. "You can't send people off in Quidditch."

"So," Lee Jordan continues, "after that obvious and disgusting bit of cheating-"

"Jordan!" McGonagall has to pipe again.

"I mean, after that open and revolting foul-"

"Jordan, I'm warning you-" I laugh aloud at the two's interaction, Hermione shaking her head at it beside me.

"All right, all right. Flint nearly kills the Gryffindor Seeker-" he goes on.

"I hate him putting it like that... makes me anxious," I whisper to Mione.

"Which could happen to anyone, I'm sure, so a penalty to Gryffindor, taken by Spinnet, who puts it away, no trouble, and we continue to play, Gryffindor still in possession," says Lee.

The game continues, and I watch as the Quaffle is passed from player to player before looking back to check on Harry, only to see that he seems to be having some trouble with his broom. He's jutting, bucking, and zigzagging here, there, and everywhere, and no one else seems to have noticed yet. This cannot just be Harry's doing, it simply can't.

"Mione," I gain the girl's attention. "Does Harry's broom look a little – funny – to you? You've read about jinxes, yes?"

Hermione looks to Harry and her eyes widen, and all the while, Lee continues to commentate.

"Slytherin in possession – Flint with the Quaffle – passes Spinnet – passes Bell – hit hard in the face by a Bludger, hope it broke his nose – only joking, Professor – Slytherin score – oh no..."

The entirety of the Slytherin stands is in an uproar for the acquired points, so much so, that they still haven't seemed to notice Harry's strange movements. I'm still stuck with my eyes glued to him, as is Hermione.

"Dunno what Harry thinks he's doing," mumbles Hagrid from our side. "If I didn' know better, I'd say he'd lost control of his broom... but he can't have..." Hagrid takes his binoculars down and furrows his brow.

"Did something happen to it when Flint blocked him?" asks Seamus.

"Can't have," comes Hagrid's reply. "Can't nothing interfere with a broomstick except powerful Dark Magic – no kid could do that to a Nimbus Two Thousand."

After hearing Hagrid's words, Hermione quickly takes his binoculars and begins surveying the crowds for anyone who might be causing Harry this grief. I place my hand on her shoulder and follow her line of sight as well, seeking out the culprit.

"What are you doing?" groans Ronald.

"I knew it," she replies, and I look to where she is wide eyed. "Snape – look."

And indeed it is Snape. For within the stands across from us, he's sat and muttering away to himself, not once taking his eyes from Harry, and staring on with such determination it makes my stomach squeeze. I cannot believe this horrible man is going to such great lengths to hurt Harry, but, again, I wouldn't put it past him.