I watched helplessly as Ron and Hermione's faces paled to white, Ron's freckles like little red lights on his cheeks. Their smiles dimmed to frowns, their eyes dulling in shine. This was bad.

Dean breathed wordlessly – even he wasn't taking the news too well.

"Are you sure?" I asked, desperate to spark some hope, "Maybe he's just milling around the Herbology labs, with Sprout, or maybe he has a bad case of diarrhoea and he's stuck in the toilets-"

"Percy," Dean cut through, "He's been missing since this morning. When I woke up, Seamus pointed it out – we both just figured he had gone early to prepare for the Hogsmeade trip, but we didn't see him around anywhere. I've looked everywhere for him, including every bathroom."

"But," Ron paused, to choose his words carefully, "But where would he have gone?"

"I don't know," Dean replied, "I just thought I should let you guys know – especially considering Harry decided to disappear to that wizard's school abroad without telling anyone. Seamus thought that Neville might have done the same."

There was no need to even look to my right – I could tell Hermione's gaze was lasering into my shoulders. Her voice was cold.

"Okay, thanks for letting us know Dean-" An earthquake erupted in Ron's stomach. He clutched it while staring wordlessly to the ground, "Um, I think we'll go and eat for now. Then we can really think about it."

"Sure, sure. I'll see you guys at the Great Hall," he tipped his head in regards, before striding his way back to the mess hall. No words were exchanged once he had left earshot – we stood in utter silence, comprehending the news given to us. Where on earth would Neville have gone to?

"Dumbledore," Ron eventually muttered, so quietly I almost mistook what he said for 'tumble drawer', "It's got to be Dumbledore that's up to this," he turned to me, scratching his clean-shaven chin, "He knows about you, but he won't tell us. I guarantee he knows about Neville's whereabouts."

Hermione's frown ran deeper than a valley, "But if we're going by that logic, it means Dumbledore isn't going to tell us where Neville has gone."

"You're right," Ron said, "That's the annoying part."

The silence descended like a blanket of rain again. I crossed my arms – I didn't know Neville very well, but from what I had seen when I did talk to him, and from what I had heard from the general Gryffindor chitchat that I had missed out on, he was a very nice guy. Not the type of person I would think that Dumbledore would steal away from his bed and send him which-ways to complete some task. I knew I deserved it – somehow, I felt used to being shoehorned around the world – but Neville? He didn't. He was innocent.

"Do you think Dumbledore knows about the goddess?" I piped – Ron and Hermione's eyes turned to me, "Do you think he knows that a goddess was visiting me in my dreams?"

Ron scoffed, "He could, for all we know."

"Wait," Hermione said, "What do you mean, 'was'?"

I gulped – I'd completely forgotten to tell them, "Oh, uh – my dreams. The last time the goddess visited me was the day before Hogsmeade – so, Sunday morning. She told me she wasn't going to visit me anymore."

"What?" Hermione gasped. Ron looked equally horrified as I slowly nodded my head.

"Yeah, that's what she said. She looked really, really weak – like she hadn't had any sleep for the last thousand years."

"That's so strange-" Ron's stomach growled again. He looked hopefully in the direction of the Great Hall, following the call of his desires, "Why isn't she giving us anymore hints? She seemed to be doing a good job so far."

Ron's arms swung by him like a marching soldier as we dodged several milling students in favour for a meal, "Yeah," his voice dropped to whispers, "She gave you magic, after all. Otherwise you'd be stuck being the dud wizard for all of eternity, never able to conjure even the easiest of spells-"

"Yes, thank you, Ron," I said quickly, rolling my eyes, "She also said something else in the dream… I can't quite remember how she phrased it, but-"

The memory dawned on me. My legs stopped working, my mouth dropped open. Every fibre of my being curdled to the unfamiliar feeling of realisation. The duo halted in their tracks and backspaced, ogling my expression with awe.

"What? What did she say?" Hermione prompted.

I gulped, "She told me that she was going to 'take something from my friends'."

At first, they didn't seem to click. After a few moments, though, Ron inhaled, his eyes becoming round pools the size of football fields.

"Oh my Merlin… You mean… Neville?" he mumbled.

The bombshell dropped when Hermione gasped too.

"N-Neville!" she hissed, "You don't think the goddess took N-Neville, do you?"

"I think it's entirely possible," I said, resuming our walk. They followed on, "She said she would take something from my friends. You two are practically the only friends I have, and you guys are closer to Neville than I am. If she wanted to take something from you guys, a person like him would be a good place to start."

"But why Neville though, of all people?" Ron said, for once, ignoring the crackle of thunder that his stomach emitted, "Why not take that slimy git, Malfoy? No-one would miss him… Except maybe his girlfriends, Crabbe and Goyle," he paused, "But they don't count."

"And we'll never know where he's gone until we confront this goddess – which we can't do because she isn't contacting you anymore," Hermione let out a sigh, "How does one normally contact a god anyway?"

I shrugged my shoulders, "Gods only know."

"Mmm," she agreed, "Why didn't you tell us all this before, Percy?"

I threw up my hands, "Hey, I didn't think any of this was relevant. Plus, I was a bit more concerned with making sure I sounded convincing while waving you two off to Hogsmeade."

"Yeah. Very convincing," Ron muttered. Hermione spoke up again.

"Well, we know now, I suppose. In light of this, I think – and I know you're going to complain, Ron, but it's a start – I think we should visit Dumbledore again." We veered a corner at an alarming speed. You'd think after encountering Malfoy twice by doing the exact same thing would deter us from doing so – well, nothing seemed to deter Ron on an empty stomach.

"Can we get food first? I'm starving-"

"We know, Ron. We can hear your stomach," I said.

He snapped, "Shut up, Percy," before continuing, "I just don't see the point. Dumbledore's gonna' go all 'mystical old man' on us. He won't tell us anything."

"Not true," Hermione said – Ron's head twirled to face her so quickly his ginger hair slapped me in the face, "That's not true. I don't know if either of you recall, but Dumbledore pointed us in the direction of the library, before, right?"

"So?" Ron said, "You could be on fire, wailing and screaming and everything, and he'd still point us in the direction of the library to look for the solution."

Hermione cocked an eyebrow, but didn't address his issue, "He specifically said – and I remember his exact words – 'dark secrets always lurk in the shadows'."

It was my turn to fail to see the point of this, "… Where is this going?"

She let out a long sigh, "Nico!" she hissed, "He was referring to Nico! Can't you see? Percy, you recognised Nico. He was the 'dark secret' Dumbledore referred to. He may not have done much, but he did trigger a reaction of familiarity, and that's something that we have gone by since."

"So you admit that Nico is a dark lurking creep?"

Hermione ignored Ron, again, "So even a small, little hint are better than nothing."

I had to hand it to Hermione, her deduction skills were pretty awesome. I would never have thought about it that way – well, to be fair, I was still annoyed that Dumbledore hadn't been sharing the full picture to notice minute details such as that.

"I'm going to have to agree with Sherlock, here," I spoke – Ron's face soured, "Maybe if we visit Dumbledore he can nudge us in the right direction again."

Hermione beamed, "Thank you, Watson."

Ron's eyes didn't even light up as we approached the giant double doors of the Great Hall, "What in Merlin's name is a 'Sherlock'?"

"One thing: we can't tell Dean and Seamus about this," I said, "Don't tell them our plan to visit Dumbledore after lunch. We don't want them growing suspicious."

"Easy enough," said Ron, as the view of the bustling Great Hall came into view. It wasn't as busy as it was a dinner time, the Gryffindor table dotted with gaps where the student cliques did not merge. Dean and Seamus lacked their usual bubbliness, yet still managed to scoff down several cuts of beef.

Hermione grabbed Ron before he could whizz off, "Agreed. We'll talk after lunch, alright?"

We nodded out heads, before the plates of steaming food could no longer resist calling Ron's name.

=#=#=#=

=#=#=#=

Belly stuffed, hunger filled, satisfaction gained, I leant against the table with a heavy hand. It wasn't normal for me to eat my problems away, but this morning had just been so stressful and long, with a thousand surprises being thrown at my face, and I hadn't eaten a decent cooked meal since two days ago before the Mormo attack. So naturally I ate myself silly.

We had supplied our fellow Gryffindors with the lousy excuse that we were just hoping that Neville would turn up – perhaps he was caught in detention with Snape for one reason or another. Dean and Seamus didn't question our reasoning – I mean, Neville in detention with Snape didn't appear to be an unlikely option – before they left on their way to finish the last scraps of their essay for Transfiguration this afternoon.

"Oh, Merlin," Ron muttered, "I haven't finished it either."

Hermione sighed, holding her chalice with a delicate hold, "Have you got it with you? I don't mind helping you a little."

He whipped his essay out more keenly than I had ever seen him whip any piece of work out.

This allowed me time to gather my thoughts; what had occurred so far? I made a mental list: Nico di Taco was skulking around, apparently familiar to me; I had hardcore water powers that could test Malfoy's swimming skills and give me a boost in stamina; some creepy Mormo tried to eat my face off before we destroyed it, and uncovered the book On the Origins of Witchcraft and Wizardry by some non-existent author called Regia O. F. Mannes; I owned a sword named Riptide that was nowhere to be seen; and a goddess of some unidentified name had brought me here, given me magic, and taken Neville away. It had already felt like weeks, but only a few days had elapsed. How long would I and Hermione and Ron have to suffer through this?

"There, now just write a conclusion," Hermione's sharp words brought me back to reality.

"Er," Ron said, "What am I concluding?"

Was Dumbledore even going to know anything? Maybe he would freak out at the idea of gods and goddesses contacting me in my sleep?

I sipped at my pumpkin juice, wishing it was Tropicana, but not doing anything about it. Part of me had lost motivation to continue – I had magic now, so maybe I should have just settled here and been done with it? Was it really worth the hassle? But the rest of me yelled in protest. This isn't where I wanted to be forever. This isn't where I belonged.

"Do you want to get going now? We don't have much time before afternoon lessons start," Hermione asked – it didn't register at first, as I was still wrapped up in my own head. Eventually I blinked, realising she was in fact addressing me and shooting upwards.

"Uh, yeah, sure. Let's go."

The walk to his office was tense, tackled in the quiet of students mulling around. Maybe not as tense as last time, since on my first morning I hadn't known Ron or Hermione very well, I didn't know where I was and I thought Dumbledore was going to chop my head off. Still, it wasn't reassuring to understand that he was going to do the same thing as before – give us vague advice and send us on our not-so-merry way.

As we approached the staircase to our doom, Ron spoke up, "What are we going to say to him?"

"We should tell him about the whole goddess thing, first," I said, before Hermione could speak, "And then the Neville thing. He ought to know about her."

Hermione didn't seem as willing, "I don't know. I don't think we should tell him. I mean – gods and goddesses and Greek stuff? Is he really going to believe us?"

"It's worth a try, don't you think?" I said.

"Yeah. And besides, he accepted that fact that Percy was here and Harry was gone. I don't think this will faze him one bit," Ron took a breath, "Sherbet lemon. Besides, he's old and wise and stuff – he's probably seen Blast-Ended Skrewts do weirder things."

I didn't even question what a Blast-Ended Skrewt was.

The staircase twirled to a halt as we reached the top of the corridor. We could hear a voice then – most definitely Dumbledore's, cooing to his phoenix bird and hearing the bird squawk in appreciation. Hesitantly, we approached the door, and-

"Come in," said Dumbledore, before any of us had a chance to touch the wood.

Ron shrugged, pushing his way through – he held the door open for me and Hermione to pass in behind him. Dumbledore looked the same: long, curling grey beard, a sparkling emerald wizard's hat and cloak, his wrinkled and bony fingers stroking the red bird on its perch.

"Ah, hello, Hermione, Ron, Percy," he said, turning to face us with an old smile, "How are you?"

Both Hermione and Ron turned edgily towards me, looking for some sort of start, "Um, fine, Professor," I said.

He nodded in acknowledgement, "That's good. I hear you have been improving slowly in your studies."

I didn't know where Dumbledore gleaned any of that information, but he certainly wasn't talking to the right teachers.

"Yeah, it's going… uh, great, sir… we've actually come to you for help again."

"Mmm, you're wondering about Neville, aren't you?"

I could see Hermione flinch just next to me, "H-how did you know, sir?"

The man chuckled, "Like I have already said, I know each and every one of my students," he stroked Fawkes again, who purred with satisfaction, "I do not see why you have come to me, though. I can only tell you as much as you already know, Perseus."

"Including the goddess stuff?" Ron blurted – we looked straight to Dumbledore to see his reaction. It was calm, a smile, not a wrinkle misplaced from the alarming information.

"Yes, including the goddess stuff. I know as much as you know, Perseus, about her deeds."

It shocked me more that he knew about it but didn't seem freaked at all.

"So… you know where Neville is, sir?" Hermione asked hopefully. To our dismay, he shook his head.

"I do not… whatever she is planning, I do not know. I am not privy to such information."

I stepped forward, an odd bravery overcoming my initial tension, "Doesn't it bug you, sir? Doesn't it bug you that you don't know what she's doing with Neville? Where he is, what he's doing?" At first, he froze, his fingers hovering above the feathers on Fawkes' back.

"Of course," he said, shocking me with his bluntness, "Of course it bothers me. Yet, there is nothing I can do. A goddess like her rules a domain we cannot control, that we cannot meddle in. You of all people should understand that."

Blinking stupidly, the only reply that my brain could conjure was "I-I should?"

"Yes, it is difficult – power out of our control. But, as you should understand, it is done for a reason. Done for the good of humanity and all living things that reside on the earth… much like how the existence of our world is kept a secret from Muggles. If they were to know about magic and the Wizarding community, chaos would reign. Wars would tear people apart. Famine and devastation would throw away what we already know. So, while it bothers me, Percy," he paused again, "I know that what she is doing is for a greater good."

Stumped, we didn't say anything. We didn't do anything. Nothing could really come back to what he said – nothing on this planet could fight against his words (none, at least, that I could argue with).

"Okay," Ron said, eventually, while Dumbledore moved to his desk and began to fiddle with papers, "So… now what?"

Dumbledore smiled, "Well, lessons begin again in fifteen minutes, if that would help you on the right path."

"Sir," Hermione suddenly said, "Actually, I wondered something… I wondered if you knew this author; her name is Regia O. F. Mannes..? Have you heard of her before?"

Trust Hermione to bring forth something useful like that to the table – it didn't even occur to me that we could ask him about the writer of the burnt book. If he was anything like Madam Pince, though, no answers would be uncovered today. He didn't look at all puzzled by her question.

"Regia O. F. Mannes? Ah, clever woman," he said, "A mix of living and dead, a mix of misplaced letters… very clever indeed," he suddenly smiled, "Well, you will be late if you don't start heading back down to your lessons. Now, off you go, Mr Weasley, Miss Granger… Mr Jackson."

We took that as our cue to leave. Leaving a curt 'thank you' and exiting the room, we sped down the corridor and were on the spinning staircase before anyone spoke.

"What in Merlin's name was he on about?" Ron started out conversation with an intelligent and intriguing question. It really was the only question that was on anyone's mind, to be fair.

"So he has no idea where Neville is… good start," I input, tugging on the ends of my cloak, "But… but what was he talking about? A mix of living and dead? A mix of misplaced letters? Did she forget to mail her love notes to her deceased boyfriend, or something?"

Even Hermione was at a loss for words, "I'm still surprised he doesn't know anything about Neville. I guess… I guess we can't really worry about that now, can we?"

"Er, yeah, we should!" Ron defended, his arms flapping about as the staircase shuddered to a stop, "This is Neville we're talking about! He's probably lost and helpless!"

"But what can we do about it, then?" Hermione fired back, shooting a glare that I was glad I wasn't at the receiving end of. Ron was stuck for a reply, "If we don't know where he is, and Dumbledore doesn't either, how could we even begin? Where would we start? He could be across the world by now and we wouldn't know!"

The trio of us fell to silence for the millionth time today, wordlessly stepping down the hallway to our next classroom.

Hermione sighed, "What did he say about Regia O. F. Mannes, again?"

"A mix of living and dead, a mix of misplaced letters," I repeated. She pursed her lips, her eyes narrowing – that face again. It was torturous, almost, to watch her pull that face when it reminded me so badly of a past I could not remember. Of a person that did not come to mind…

"You know, there is something I noticed earlier about the name, 'Regia O. F. Mannes'," she piped, waggling her fingers around like she was trying to swat a fly, "First of all, it's very bizarre."

I inwardly sniggered. Didn't she pick up on the fact that everyone here had a bizarre name? Like, what the Hades is a 'Ron Weasley'? Or a 'Hermione Granger'? Or – here comes the worst – a 'Nico di Angelo'? Regia O. F. Mannes seemed pretty tame in comparison.

But, maybe, voicing this wasn't a good idea.

"Right, bizarre," I just said, "What about it?"

She seemed somewhat puzzled, her hair bouncing beside her face with more gusto than usual, "I don't know. It just seems too similar to the Latin word for 'queen' – Regina."

I was horrified, "Regina George?!"

"What? No," she said, giving me a funny look, "Regina. Queen. It's in Latin, as well… I'm just thinking… maybe her name means something?"

Ron snorted, pulling a face. It reminded me of when pigs root for food on the ground, "What, so, this what's-her-face authoress is the queen of something?"

"That's exactly what I'm saying," Hermione said, "But I'd have to look it up."

"… Queen of made-up-stuff?" Ron pondered.

"Mmm," I agreed, "Queen of making-no-sense?"

"Queen of riddles?"

"Queen of she-actually-sent-the-Mormo-to-burn-her-book, epic-plot-twist?"

"Queen of using-an-unused-language-when-she-could-have-just-used-English?"

"That's kinda' ironic, considering all of the spells and stuff are in Latin…"

I glanced sparingly at Hermione's face. She looked like she'd just slammed her head into a brick wall.

"Holy cricket, what did you just say?"

Ron an I exchanged dubious glances before I mumbled, "Uh, I said it was ironic – you know, all of your spells are in an unused language-"

"No, no," Hermione waved at me, waving her hands like she was trying to fan me (as flattered as I was), "Not that – what you said, Ron."

He looked just as dumbstruck as I did, "Um, she could be the queen of using unused languages instead of English..?"

Quick as a whip, Hermione snapped her fingers. Not gonna' lie, I flinched – in seconds she had gone from having that deathly pale, 'idea' face to completely focused with no distractions. Her eyes burnt with a fuelled determination.

"She did use English. Regia O. F. Mannes. Of," she rolled her hands like a steamroller, trying to help visual cues pull our brains into motion, "She is the queen of something – the 'queen of- whatever Mannes means'. But, if I remember correctly, Mannes was spelt with two 'n's, right?"

The girl sucked in the air, "And Regia is lacking an 'n', you see? Misplaced letters. She literally took one letter from her 'first name' and stuck it in her last."

"So…" Ron began slowly, "What we're really looking for is someone called 'Regina of Manes'-"

"Which is a combination of English and Latin – a mix of living and dead… a living and dead language."

"Oh my gods, Herms," I said, "You're a genius," there was a short pause, "So what does 'manes' mean?"

I was really hoping she would just roll out a finished and tidy explanation to everything, but alas, she shrugged, and curdled as nonplussed as the rest of us, "I don't know. We'll have to see when we go to the library. My knowledge on Latin isn't that up-to-date."

"Good enough for me," Ron beamed, knocking her in the shoulder with a fist. She seemed totally bewildered at this gesture – I would be too, "Thanks, Hermione – you always come through."

"Er, you're welcome…" she knocked him back in the arm – the boy yelped, "Buddy."

I stifled a laugh, "Buddy?"

Ron's face drained of all colour, disappointed, but she looked at me crossly and said, "What? Isn't that common American slang?"

"I mean..." She wasn't wrong. It just sounded so weird coming from Hermione's mouth. In her British accent. "Couldn't you just say governor or chap? It sounds way cooler."

Hermione frowned. "That has to be the most stereotypical usage of the British vernacular I've ever heard of..." Then, a smirk. "Chap."

Ron and I laughed so loudly it attracted someone who liked to eat laughing and fun for breakfast.

"Maybe you should go back to your uncultured Muggle neighbourhood, Mudblood."

The three of us stopped dead. Malfoy. He leant against the very corner we were about to curve past, sneering – he wasn't dressed in his usual garb, but rather, in a full-length green-silver cloak, a sweater and several shin and arm pads. His lackeys, Crabbe and Goyle were wearing the same rags, although Goyle's chunky arms were bulging from the seams.

Our collective joy was replaced with a virus, coiling around our throats and making us lose breath (and possibly tempers) as the milliseconds ticked by. I wished that I could hide Hermione from the verbal beatings, stuff Malfoy's mouth with a cloth before he even had the thought to slip out an insult, but he just slimed over when no-one was expecting it. Even just being in that boy's presence was enough to make the tension so thick in the air I could swallow it whole.

"What do you want?" Ron snarled, "Come to beg for forgiveness since your pitiful defeat?"

"I didn't come to talk to you either, blood traitor," he snapped, pushing back the loose greasy hairs from his white forehead. He regarded me, his grey eyes piercing right into my mind and poisoning every positive thought I had today.

"Oh, a personal visit just for me? How sweet. Will your father be treating us to tea and biscuits while we exchange gossip?"

"Shut it, Jackson," he snapped again, "Our duel was unfair. I don't consider it a fair fight-"

I smiled as innocently as I could, "Well, something we agree on! That Parkinson girl really was not on the ball when it came to the rules-"

"You know what I meant," he seethed, his face becoming a giant beetroot attached to his neck, "Your little stunt."

But I shrugged, looking to my left at Hermione, who carried a serious expression, and to my right at Ron, who looked about ready to murder a kitten, "I don't know what you're talking about."

"You're a terrible liar, Jackson. Imagine if I spread the word that you're some sort of freak wizard around the school? Wouldn't that shatter your precious pride into pieces?"

"Like anyone would believe you," I tested.

He smirked, "I'm more influential than you think. How do you think the rest of the school, curious about Potty's disappearance and about your appearance, learnt that you were a Dud Wizard?"

His scathing remark sent shivers down my spine. I hadn't really been much concerned about the rest of Hogwarts' opinion on me, too busy with my own problems to sort than changing the views of people I would never see much of anyway. But now that I thought about it… there was a reason why teachers had come to expect less of me every lesson I treaded into. There was a reason why no-one came to expect great things, why everyone was extremely surprised when I managed to conjure a spell. Did he really cause so much damage by spreading rumours like Greek fire?

I stared him down with as much malice as I could muster, "You wouldn't."

"Oh, I would," Malfoy glared right back, unintimidated by my height. He was a feisty midget, I'd give him that.

"Look, man," I shrilled, "I'm not looking for a rematch, so if you're looking to lose again and dig yourself further down the food chain, you're gonna' have to go somewhere else-"

He sniggered – I didn't like that snigger, "I wasn't going to ask to duel you again. We all know you'd cheat and then Dumbledore would pop over to save your sorry backside. No, you've had your fun in your freaky water-magic domain-" he stepped back, holding out his arms wide, but gesturing to nothing, "So how about you face me in mine?"

I blinked, unable to catch his drift, "…You want me to punch you in the face?"

He feigned sickness, "Ugh, no – I wouldn't resort to the uncultured Muggle way of settling a score even if they paid me a million Galleons to do it," he shot a mocking glare Hermione's way, who only took a deep breath, "No. I challenge you to an unofficial Quidditch match."

Nothing in that last sentence, except that I was being challenged, made sense to me.

"Wait, is Quidditch another word for a coin-wasting ceremony, or something?"

But Malfoy only laughed, "Wow, you really are as stupid as you look. Tomorrow night, down at the pitch – I hope you have a team assembled. Not even the best could save you from your embarrassment. Now, if you'll excuse me, Mudblood, Weasel, Freak, I have practice to attend to."

And with that, the blonde kid twirled his fingers – Crabbe and Goyle turned on their heels like ballerinas, facing the other direction and taking off in a hurried lumber back towards whatever hole they crawled out from. Malfoy regarded me with a smug grin, before doing the same and walking off. Only a trail of his stink and the message he left us lingered behind.

"Guys," I said, swirling around to see the worried faces of my friends, "What's Quidditch?"

"That snake," Ron snapped, "Boy, we're going to crush him," he suddenly took on a face that resembled Hermione's, "Quidditch is the most popular wizard sport over here. Basically, all of the players are flying on brooms, but they all have a different purpose. Chasers use a ball called the Quaffle and send it through the hoops to score. Beaters have clubs and they have to whack away these charmed balls called Bludgers that try to kill you-"

"Wonderful."

"-and the Keeper hovers in front of their team's hoops to try to stop the opponents scoring. Then there's the Seeker, who has to go after a tiny, golden ball called the Snitch to earn points and win the game."

"… Well, that doesn't sound confusing. At all."

Ron nodded understandingly, "Yeah, well, it's confusing at first but once you get in the game, you pick it up pretty quickly."

Hermione shrugged, the worry lines creasing her face, "I wish I could say the same. It took me years to understand the sport and even longer to understand the obsession with it-"

"In my defence," Ron said haughtily, "I grew up playing it."

I jumped in, "So, it's like an elaborate game of soccer with crazy sadistic flying balls?"

"You mean that weird Muggle sport, football? Yeah. I tried that once… it was weird."

Sometimes, Ron's way of life absolutely fascinated me.

"It's enjoyable when played recreationally, but this… Merlin, it's going to be hard… You hadn't even heard of it until now!" Hermione shrieked, "Not to mention now you have to learn it, and gather a team, and create a strategy all before tomorrow night!"

"Woah, wait, you want me to go through with this?" I said, raising an eyebrow at my female friend, "A couple of days ago you were digging your heels into the ground to stop me from going toe-to-toe with Malfoy at the duel."

"Well, your – ahem, secret wasn't at stake then. Not to mention I'm so fed up of him calling me that word," she crossed her arms and huffed, "And what other choice do we have?"

"We always have a choice. They could put a gun to my head and I'd still have a hundred and forty-six other options to choose," I said, unsure from what cranny of my brain that wisdom leaked from, "Anyway, do either of you have any idea what we could do to pull this off?"

"Unless you have another cat to let out the bag, I've got nutin'," Ron remarked, "The only thing we could do right now would to be to assemble a Quidditch team."

I clapped my hands, seeing a bright side to all of this, "Oh! We can call ourselves The Avengers! Then I can yell 'assemble The Avengers'!"

"The what-now?" Ron quipped, "Also, what's a 'gun'?"

"We need to get you a broom – Harry's will do, you can use that-" Hermione turned pale, "Oh, what are we going to do about this whole escapade too? We can't abandon it just to prove to Draco that you mean business?"

"We can do both at the same time, easy-peasy," I said, wiping my robes, "We're about to breakthrough with Regia O. F. Mannes' identity – that won't take long to find out, right? And hey, maybe this will jog more memories?"

"Maybe, or maybe it will send you to your premature death," Ron said – always the best at brightening the mood, "Listen, mate, I will help you with whatever you need. I'm gonna' crush that insolent little slimeball into next week."

"Next month," I said.

He nodded, "Next month. I like that better."

"Oh, there's so much to worry about- Holy cricket!" Suddenly, Hermione burst into a run, "We've been so distracted we forgot about lessons!"

The horror was plain on Ron and I's faces – as if we wanted to annoy McGonagall for being late. Before we could argue, we sprinted after Hermione – with me less concerned about my unfinished essay than I was with wondering how I was going to pull off a Quidditch stunt this big by the end of tomorrow.

A/N: Hope you enjoyed it! If anyone can catch the load of references here, cookie for you. ;)

As always, I'd greatly appreciate a favourite/ follow/ review.

Thanks for reading!

~ GWA

EDIT 7th AUGUST 2017: Cut a chunk of filler that has haunted me for years.