Hello! I know, I know, it's been a while. You see, I've lost a whole lot of motivation for this story, much to my disappointment because I was so proud of the chapters I've done so far. And also, I wrote and re-wrote this chapter so many times. Partially from dissatisfaction, and the fact that apparently, the file for chapter 7 was corrupted so all my work was deleted. Twice. So, I've learned my lesson, and re-wrote the chapter on a whole new writing application. Hopefully, a more reliable one. I'm sorry for the long wait since I know how annoying it is for authors to go off the face of the Earth. Thank you for reading my story, and I promise to update as much as I can.

Disclaimer: Nope. Harry Potter's still not mine. Disappointing, I know.

Warning: Still not happy with this, but I wanted to give you guys something. Sorry for the short length.

Enjoy.


The squelching sound of Theodora's old boots smashing against the smooth steps of the grand staircase echoed loudly with every single stomp. Her breathing was ragged from the nimble wind nipping at her skin earlier and the cloth of her beige trousers were soaked, causing her knees to shake around uncontrollably. Luckily, she reached the Gryffindor common room before she was frozen solid. She hissed out the password, rubbing her mitten-clad hands up and down her arms. When the portrait allowed her to proceed, she practically flew inside.

Unfortunately, she couldn't savor the sudden warmth as Harry dashed across the room to her and snatched the sleeve of her winter coat.

"Dora!" he whisper-yelled. "I've got something to tell you!"

He practically hauled her by a thread of fabric all the way to the windows, where Hermione and Ron were waiting.

"Oof!" she shrieked in surprise. "Harry! What's going on?"

He opened his mouth to respond only to have Ron's voice cut him off.

"What were you doing?" he eyed her apparel consisting of a navy coat, yellow beanie, red mittens, and black boots.

Theodora didn't care enough to color coordinate her wardrobe.

"Giant squid watching!" she beamed, pulling her hat off.

"In this weather?" Hermione huffed. "It's freezing! And you've just got out of the hospital wing!"

"That was ages ago, Hermione! My head doesn't even hurt anymore! Anyways, the Black Lake was solid. Even kneeling in the snow I couldn't see a thing." Theodora sighed, disappointed.

"Can I say something?" Harry chimed in, bouncing on the balls of his feet.

She let out a laugh, placing her behind on an arm chair, and tilted her head. "Alright, alright. What's happened? I'm all ears."

"Right. Well earlier, Snape stole my Quidditch Through the Ages book for some horrible reason he'd made up, like the foul old git he is — "

"Harry?" Theodora raised an eyebrow, giving him a stern look.

He smiled sheepishly, noticing he got off track. "Sorry, erm, anyway, I went to get it back, and when I entered the staff-room, I saw a huge cut on Snape's leg! You know what this means? He tried to get past the three-headed dog at Halloween!"

"It's called a Cerberus, Harry." Theodora commented.

"Brilliant," he brushed the fact off. "That's where he was going when we saw him — he's after whatever it's guarding! And I'd bet my broomstick he let that troll in, to make a diversion!"

Hermione's eyes were wide. "No — he wouldn't," she said. "I know he's not very nice, but he wouldn't try and steal something Dumbledore was keeping safe."

"Honestly, Hermione, you think all teachers are saints or something," snapped Ron. "I'm with Harry. I wouldn't put anything past Snape. But what's he after? What's that dog guarding?"

"Something important, obviously," Theodora pulled her legs to her chest. "Honestly, I'm not even sure if I want to know anymore."


The next morning dawned very bright and cold. The Great Hall was full of the delicious smell of fried sausages and the cheerful chatter of everyone looking forward to a good Quidditch match.

"You've got to eat some breakfast." Ron urged.

"I don't want anything." Harry grumbled.

"Just a bit of toast," wheedled Hermione.

"I'm not hungry."

Theodora tutted, taking out a package stored in her bag that was only meant to be used for emergencies.

"Treacle tart." she held out the box to Harry.

He let out a weak chuckle in response as he opened the container, taking a slice. Each bite he took gradually shrinked smaller and smaller until he was practically nibbling the pastry. He knew Theodora was only trying to help him eat, offering him his favorite dessert, but Harry felt terrible. The only thing on his mind is that in an hour's time, he'd be walking onto the field.

"Go on and eat Harry, you need your strength," Seamus said. "Seekers are usually the ones to get clobbered by the other team."

"Seamus!" Theodora sent a glare at him.

Harry's frown broke into a microscopic smile, pleased at his friend's protectiveness over him. His barely noticeable smile quickly turned upside down as he fully took in his classmate's sentence.

"Thanks, Seamus," said Harry, watching the boy pile ketchup on his sausages.

Theodora, Ron, and Hermione joined Neville, Seamus, and Dean the West Ham fan up in the top row. As a surprise for Harry, they had painted a large banner on one of the sheets Ron's pet rat, Scabbers, had ruined. It said Potter for President, and Dean, who was good at drawing, had done a large Gryffindor lion underneath. Then Hermione had performed a tricky little charm so that the paint flashed different colors. And, as a finishing touch, Theodora casted a spell to make the poster glow, making it exceedingly bright. ("He can definitely pick us out of the crowd now!" she said.)

In the middle of the field, Harry was mounted on his broom, feeling the palms of his hands getting damp, and silently praying that he wouldn't slip off the broom from his own sweat. He shook his head at the thought, wide-eyed. That would be absolutely mortifying.

Madam Hooch was refereeing. She stood on the ground waiting for the two teams, her broom in her hand.

"Now, I want a nice fair game, all of you," she said, once they were all gathered around her. Harry noticed that she seemed to be speaking particularly to the Slytherin Captain, Marcus Flint, a sixth year. Harry thought Flint looked as if he had some troll blood in him. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the fluttering banner high above, flashing Potter for President over the crowd. Most importantly, he saw a patch of the fairest hair peeking out behind the sign, and a pair of the most warmest brown eyes he'd ever saw in his life. His heart skipped. He felt braver.

Back on the stands, Theodora grunted, standing on her toes. She knew Harry saw her, and she tried to give him an encouraging smile, only to fail since the blasted poster was covering half of her face. Cursing her shortness, she jumped on the row of seats above her, getting a better view of the game.

"Midget!" Ron teased.

His fiery locks were sticking in different directions with his cheeks a bold scarlet from the November breeze. A massive grin was plastered onto his face, the spirit of Quidditch getting the better of him. Theodora gazed at her friend fondly, happy to have someone to share this memory with. Then, she stared at Hermione, who didn't care much for sports, but was there to support Harry anyways. She suddenly gave the girl a side-hug, much to Hermione's surprise.

"Isn't this exciting?" she asked.

"I suppose." the bushy-haired girl rolled her eyes playfully.

Ron watched the scene in disgust.

"Ugh. Girls." he gagged.

"Jealous, Ron?" she giggled, letting go of Hermione and draping an arm around him instead.

He made a retching sound but didn't move from her embrace, letting it slide just for today. Because Quidditch is special. It was like the mysteries of the Cerberus, the squabbles of the Slytherins, were all gone. It was just Theodora and her mates, being regular kids and having the time of their lives, shouting nonsense and allowing themselves to just let go.

"Be quiet Ron!" she shoved him, before yelling out, "HARRY POTTER RULES!"

Roars of agreement spread throughout the stadium as Harry looked towards their direction, a sweet smile playing on his lips. And the shouts only grew louder as Madam Hooch gave a piercing blast on her silver whistle.

Fifteen brooms rose up, high, high into the air. They were off.

"And the Quaffle is taken immediately by Angelina Johnson of Gryffindor — what an excellent Chaser that girl is, and rather attractive, too —"

"JORDAN!"

"Sorry, Professor."

The Weasley twins' friend, Lee Jordan, was doing the commentary for the match, closely watched by Professor McGonagall.

"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 and — no, the Slytherins 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 score— no, stopped by an excellent move by Gryffindor Keeper Wood and the Gryffindors 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 the Slytherins — that's Adrian Pucey speeding off toward the goal posts, but he's blocked by a 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 goal posts are ahead — come on, now, Angelina — Keeper Bletchley dives — misses — GRYFFINDORS SCORE!"

Gryffindor cheers filled the cold air, with howls and moans from the Slytherins.

"Budge up there, move along."

"Hagrid!"

Theodora, Ron, and Hermione squeezed together to give Hagrid enough space to join them.

"Bin watchin' from me hut," said Hagrid, patting a large pair of binoculars around his neck, "But it isn't the same as bein' in the crowd. No sign of the Snitch yet, eh?"

"Nope," said Ron. "Harry hasn't had much to do yet."

"Oh I really hope he does soon!" Theodora was eager for some action, watching her friend who was floating lazily in the air, contradicting is head that was snapping around in every angle, trying to spot the Snitch.

"Kept outta trouble though, that's somethin'," said Hagrid, raising his binoculars and peering skyward at the speck that was Harry.

"Slytherin in possession," Lee Jordan was saying, "Chaser Pucey ducks two Bludgers, two Weasleys, and Chaser Bell, and speeds toward the — wait a moment — was that the Snitch?"

A murmur ran through the crowd as Adrian Pucey dropped the Quaffle, too busy looking over his shoulder at the flash of gold that had passed his left ear.

"GO ON HARRY!" Theodora screeched at the boy who was now sailing across the sky, following the fickle streak of yellow.

Slytherin Seeker Terence Higgs had seen it, too. Neck and neck they hurtled toward the Snitch — all the Chasers seemed to have forgotten what they were supposed to be doing as they hung in midair to watch.

Harry was faster than Higgs — he getting closer to the little round ball, wings fluttering, darting up ahead — he put on an extra spurt of speed — WHAM! A roar of rage echoed from the Gryffindors below — Marcus Flint had blocked Harry on purpose, and Harry's broom spun off course, Harry holding on for dear life.

"Foul!" screamed the Gryffindors.

Madam Hooch spoke angrily to Flint and then ordered a free shot at the goal posts for Gryffindor. But in all the confusion, of course, the Golden Snitch had disappeared from sight again.

Down in the stands, Theodora was outraged.

"HOW DARE YOU? YOU GOOD-FOR-NOTHING, SLIMY PIECE OF — !"

"Dora!" Hermione squealed in horror. "Calm down! It's only a game!"

Her words were swallowed by Dean Thomas' yelling, "Send him off, ref! Red card!"

"What are you talking about, Dean?" said Ron.

"Red card!" said Dean furiously. "In football you get shown the red card and you're out of the game!"

"But this isn't football, Dean," Ron reminded him.

Hagrid, however, was on Theodora and Dean's side.

"They oughta change the rules. Flint coulda knocked Harry outta the air."

Lee Jordan was finding it difficult not to take sides.

"So — after that obvious and disgusting bit of cheating —"

"Jordan!" growled Professor McGonagall.

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

"Jordan, I'm warning you—"

"All right, all right. Flint nearly kills the Gryffindor Seeker, which could happen to anyone, I'm sure, so a penalty to Gryffindor, taken by Spinner, who puts it away, no trouble, and we continue play, Gryffindor still in possession."

Im the air, Harry had dodged another Bludger, which went spinning dangerously past his head, that it happened. His broom gave a sudden, frightening lurch. For a split second, he thought he was going to fall. He gripped the broom tightly with both his hands and knees. He'd never felt anything like that.

It happened again. It was as though the broom was trying to buck him off. But Nimbus Two Thousands did not suddenly decide to buck their riders off. Harry tried to turn back toward the Gryffindor goal-posts — he had half a mind to ask Wood to call time-out — and then he realized that his broom was completely out of his control. He couldn't turn it. He couldn't direct it at all. It was zigzagging through the air, and every now and then making violent swishing movements that almost unseated him.

Lee was still commenting.

"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 — Slytherins score — Anoth. . . . . . "

The Slytherins were cheering. No one seemed to have noticed that Harry's broom was behaving strangely. It was carrying him slowly higher, away from the game, jerking and twitching as it went.

"Dunno what Harry thinks he's doing," Hagrid mumbled. He stared through his binoculars. "If I didn' know better, I'd say he'd lost control of his broom . . . . . . but he can't have . . . . . . "

Suddenly, people were pointing up at Harry all over the stands. His broom had started to roll over and over, with him only just managing to hold on. Then the whole crowd gasped. Harry's broom had given a wild jerk and Harry swung off it. He was now dangling from it, holding on with only one hand.

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

"Can't have," Hagrid said, his voice shaking. "Can't nothing interfere with a broomstick except powerful Dark magic — no kid could do that to a Nimbus Two Thousand."

"Why aren't they calling off the game?" Theodora exclaimed in a frenzy. "He's going to be killed!"

At these words, Hermione seized Hagrid's binoculars, but instead of looking up at Harry, she started looking frantically at the crowd.

"What are you doing?" moaned Ron, gray-faced.

"I knew it," Hermione gasped, "Snape — look."

Ron grabbed the binoculars. Snape was in the middle of the stands opposite them. He had his eyes fixed on Harry and was muttering nonstop under his breath.

"He's doing something — jinxing the broom," said Hermione, with Theodora adding a ("What on earth!").

"What should we do?" he panicked.

"Leave it to us. Let's go, Theodora!"

Before Ron could say another word, Hermione and Theodora had disappeared. Ron turned the binoculars back on Harry. His broom was vibrating so hard, it was almost impossible for him to hang on much longer. The whole crowd was on its feet, watching, terrified, as the Weasleys flew up to try and pull Harry safely onto one of their brooms, but it was no good – every time they got near him, the broom would jump higher still. They dropped lower and circled beneath him, obviously hoping to catch him if he fell. Marcus Flint seized the Quaffle and scored five times without anyone noticing.

"Come on, you two." Ron muttered desperately.

The girls fought their way across to the stand where Snape stood, and was now racing along the row behind him; they didn't even stop to say sorry as Theodora accidentally knocked Professor Quirrell headfirst into the row in front. Reaching Snape, Hermione crouched down, pulled out her wand.

"Do Incendio!" Theodora suggested.

"I'm not going to burn him alive!" Hermione hissed.

"Fine. Do Lacarnum Inflamare. It's a much weaker fire, my dad uses it for candles you know — "

Hermione sent her a glare before whispering the words. Bright blue flames shot from her wand onto the hem of Snape's robes.

It took perhaps thirty seconds for Snape to realize that he was on fire. A sudden yelp told her Hermione succeeded. Scooping the fire off him into a little jar in Theodora's pocket, the girls scrambled back along the row — Snape would never know what had happened.

It was enough. Harry was suddenly able to clamber back on to his broom.

"Neville, you can look!" Ron said. Neville had been sobbing into Hagrid's jacket for the last five minutes.

Harry was speeding toward the ground when the crowd saw him clap his hand to his mouth as though he was about to be sick — he hit the field on all fours — coughed — and something gold fell into his hand.

"I've got the Snitch!" he shouted, waving it above his head, and the game ended in complete confusion.

"He didn't catch it, he nearly swallowed it," Flint was still howling twenty minutes later, but it made no difference — Harry hadn't broken any rules and Lee Jordan was still happily shouting the results — Gryffindor had won by one hundred and seventy points to sixty.

"WOOHOO!" Hermione screamed, much to Theodora's surprise.

Laughing, she grabbed Hermione's arm and pulled her to the field, where Harry was in a crowd of fellow Gryffindors.

"We won!" Ron spat, looking hysterical with his flashing eyes.

"We won!" Theodora repeated, feeling just as ecstatic.

The three friends worked their way through the mob, trying to get to Harry, whose beam was larger than anyone else's in the entire castle. Immensely proud, Theodora practically tackled him, burying her head into the crook of his neck. Hermione and Ron joined in on the hug, and Harry's heart was thumping so hard out of adrenaline that even Theodora felt it.

"Good job, Harry Potter." she said.

Like always.