It was an early November evening, and as though someone had snapped their fingers and cast a spell, Hogwarts had been transformed into a castle of ice and snow. While it made for a stunning view, accompanied by the white-topped mountains in the distance, neither Flora nor Hestia found the freezing cold particularly agreeable.

As such, they remained indoors; eyes glued to the boy currently clutching the latest issue of the Prophet. For some reason, the headline had him grinning from ear to ear, while they along with the rest of the castle could only stare anxiously.

Sirius Black innocent? Ministry of Magic arranges trial in light of new evidence!

Flora shared a glance with her sister, who nodded subtly. Against their better judgment, they refrained from walking over and inquiring. However, while they would not poke their noses into Harry's business, that did not mean they would not watch his back.

Skeeter's article even brought up the possibility that Lestrange may be innocent as well, if the trial ended up in Black's favor. That was something she knew for certain to be false.

In any case, Harry had come through for them in ways they had not dared to imagine, and the twins were already plotting exactly how and when they would smuggle their parents' dark artifacts into the school.

Christmas seemed a good opportunity, as their family had always insisted on maintaining the old Yuletime tradition. They did not expect that to change any time soon, even with the death of their father.

As unpleasant as those two weeks would be, it was well worth the prospect of never having to endure the company of their mother again.

Eventually the novelty wore off; most students finishing the last scraps of their breakfast and leaving the Great Hall. Flora and her sister stayed behind, seated by their usual spot at the far end of the Slytherin table, silently observing the source of their fascination.

Her lips quirked as she took in Harry's circle of friends. As far as Flora was concerned, the fact that Malfoy and Granger could now sit within ten feet of each other was an achievement worthy of an Order of Merlin - even if they rarely traded words.

The sight was bittersweet.

Part of her yearned to make friends, and she knew Hestia felt the same way. Perhaps they would give it a try, in time.

For now, however, the sisters Carrow had more important matters to consider.

"Oh, right- You've never seen a Quidditch match before. I'm beginning to forget you're muggle-raised, you know."

Coming from Draco, Harry figured that was quite the compliment. He was not wrong however, and while he had read a lot about the sport in 'Quidditch Through the Ages', Harry was still very much looking forward to the upcoming game.

Ever since the incident with the troll, the notorious derby between Slytherin and Gryffindor had quickly become Hogwarts' hottest topic. He had even purchased a small Slytherin-themed scarf and flag from one of his older housemates.

"It'll be an easy win, of course. The Gryffindors have been struggling to find a decent seeker and McLaggen is of average talent at best. The only real threat is Wood, and though I am loath to admit it, the Weasel twins aren't half bad."

Harry hummed along - as much as his clattering teeth allowed - having recently learned how passionate Draco was about the sport. While it certainly sounded interesting, it was the actual flying which intrigued Harry the most. He knew he would eventually need to get his hands on a broomstick - if not to play then at least to figure out how it worked.

If the flying charms could be applied to his person somehow, he just might be able to have one of his deepest wishes granted.

As for Blaise, he held no particular fondness for the sport. He muttered about it being violent and dangerous, and something about an incident involving his mother, stepfather and a toy broomstick.

The boy refused to share any more details.

"There you are! We've been looking all over for you three."

Daphne forced her way through the thickening crowd, who were already growing frenzied from the building tension and suspense. She slowly made her way to them, climbing the wooden stairs leading up the stands while dragging Hermione behind her.

Harry snorted at how out of place the Gryffindor looked, clad in red and gold amidst a literal sea of green. The girl must have realised it at some point as well, because she looked distinctly uncomfortable.

Unfortunately for her, Daphne had taken to mothering her over the last couple of days.

"Draco insisted on coming here early." said Harry. "It wouldn't do to miss the Gryffindors' humiliation because of poor seating arrangements."

"No offense, 'Mione." he added belatedly. "His words, not mine."

"Um… None taken, Harry."

"I do agree, though. Speaking of which, we saved you a pair. Come sit!"

Just as the girls sat down, the announcer's voice boomed across the arena.

"Ladies and gentlemen! Welcome to the first Quidditch game of the season, Slytherin versus Gryffindor!"

Many tens of feet below them, Madam Hooch and the two houses' respective teams had gathered on the pitch. While she was undoubtedly grilling them about the importance of honor and fairness, everyone knew the match would eventually devolve into little more than a muggle cagefight.

Harry only knew the term because Dudley had once roped him into watching a pair of mildly overweight men slap each other senseless on the telly.

"Of course, there's no way the slimy snakes will stand a chance against Hogwarts' best team, but let's give them a round of applause all the same!"

"Deep breaths, Draco. Take it easy."

Harry placed a hand on the blond's shoulder, attempting to soothe his building rage. Lee Jordan, the announcer for the match, was very much a Gryffindor and managed to slip past more than a few insults toward the Slytherins.

Not even McGonagall was able to keep him leashed, and while Harry was quite amused, the same could not be said for Draco and his shattered pride.

He was surprised to see Daphne in a similar state of indignation.

"How are the professors letting him get away with this?! Why was he even made announcer in the first place? This is nothing but blatant favoritism!"

Harry snickered. For all of her dismissive remarks, it appeared Daphne was in fact quite the patriot.

It seemed he would be in for a rather entertaining evening.

Hermione was feeling utterly out of place.

Then again, it was not as though she had much of a choice. Ever since Halloween, Greengrass had refused to let her out of sight. While it was oddly touching, Hermione wondered just how long the raven-haired girl planned to keep up her strange behavior.

She considered herself fortunate to be able to return to her dorm at night.

Watching with rapt attention, Hermione felt her heart thumping in her chest as Angelina Johnson raced toward the Slytherin goalposts. While she felt the sport was far too dangerous to even think of giving it a try - fear of heights notwithstanding - she could appreciate the skill involved.

It was almost like a dance, with each of the players soaring through the sky, pirouetting around each other and performing incredible throws and passes. How they never fumbled remained a mystery to her.

The game had thus far been evenly matched. Neither team seemed able to hold their lead for long, and even then only by ten or twenty points at best.

"And she scores! What an incredible play by Johnson! Now there's a girl to keep your eyes on - not only is she talented, but rather attractive, too!"

Hermione's eyes widened at the commentary, and she could have sworn she heard McGonagall screeching in the background.

She glanced in Harry's direction when he laughed, and found his eyes darting all over the place.

"Harry, are you alright?" she asked, wondering if the boy was having a seizure of some sort. The quaffle was currently in Flint's possession, far away from where her friend was looking.

"Oh, I'm fine. Can't believe no one has spotted the snitch yet, though."

"What?!"

All Slytherins within earshot turned to the boy, who merely pointed toward a shimmer of gold fluttering amidst the audience, only a couple of feet away.

"The little thing's been hovering over there for a while now."

As if in response to his words, the tiny, winged ball took off, zipping back toward the players while excited gasps rippled through the stands. So loud were the ensuing cries that even the players turned their way.

"And it seems the snitch has been spotted!" exclaimed Jordan.

Hermione winced when everyone around her stood up abruptly, spurring on their seeker. Her muffled cheer of support for McLaggen was entirely drowned.

The two seekers flew at breakneck speeds, pushing against each other in a bid for dominance. Much to her dismay, it was obvious that Higgs was the more experienced of the two.

She had overheard Weasley and his brothers in the common room discussing how McLaggen's recruitment had come down to a lack of supply, rather than actual merit. To his credit, however, the second-year did not let up despite Higgs' repeated tackles.

Had it been her on that broom, Hermione believed she would long since have been reduced to a splatter on the ground.

"Come on, Higgs!" she heard Harry yelling. He had stood up, along with Greengrass and Malfoy who were clutching the railing desperately. Only Zabini appeared unfazed - in fact, she believed the boy had even managed to fall asleep.

Hermione realized the other players had frozen, too preoccupied with ensuing race to even remember their own roles.

"Shite, they're coming straight at us!"

Higgs had managed to gain an inch on McLaggen, and was currently on a collision course with the stands. His arm was outstretched; the tips of his fingers grazing against the snitch.

The crowd was chanting Higgs' name, mostly uncaring of the rapidly approaching danger.

Hermione jumped to her feet and gripped hold of the object nearest to her, which just so happened to be Greengrass' arm. Much to her dismay, Higgs showed no sign of slowing, and she buried her face in the other girl's sleeve.

"Oh no!" exclaimed Jordan in horror. "Could this be it? Will Higgs catch the snitch and secure the victory for Slytherin?"

The crowd suddenly went silent, and Hermione wondered if something bad had happened.

"YES!" she heard Harry shout, and the crowd erupted in cheers.

That night, Harry found himself lying down on the bed in his room. He stared into the ceiling, twirling his wand idly between his fingers.

Quidditch was just as exciting as flying, he decided. The acrobatics one could perform on a broomstick was nothing short of amazing, and just the thought of being in the sky and chasing the golden snitch had his heart racing all over again.

He had recently excused himself from the common room, seeing as as the prefects were shooing out all but fifth-years and beyond anyway - no doubt to do whatever it was older teens did late at night after partying wildly and drinking themselves into oblivion.

Harry huffed to himself, recalling how Gemma tried and failed to put forward an innocent explanation.

He was not entirely sure what they were up to, but he had a few ideas - many of which involved a whole lot of kissing and bodies wrapped around each other in various states of undress.

Harry shuddered, remembering an instance when he had the misfortune of walking in on his aunt and uncle mid-smooch. He immediately forced the image out of his mind.

A swish and flick of his wand, and the chair behind his desk slowly levitated off the floor and into the air above him.

It was a silly thing to do, but Harry could not help himself. Each night, he would play with the furniture in his room, guiding it around aimlessly, taking pointless pleasure in the floating objects.

There even came a time when realized there was no need for an incantation. A simple swish and flick sufficed, and the world was his to remodel. Unfortunately, attempting to do it the Jedi way yielded no results.

One day, thought Harry.

One day.

Eventually his eyelids grew heavy and he lowered his wand, bringing the chair down with it. Sleep was nearly upon him, and Harry's last thought for the night was if Daphne might be doing something similar in her room.

She may have tried to keep it hidden from him, but he had seen the wisps of frost around her fingers when she thought no one was looking.

And just in time for Christmas, too.

On the seventh floor of the castle, almost as far from the dungeons as possible, a man could be seen stalking its halls.

"B-But- Master!" he whispered.

"Silence!" hissed Voldemort, unamused that his servant would dare question him. The fact that Quirrell may have had a point did not matter.

He would not attack Potter yet.

Quirrell, in his ignorance, could be forgiven for assuming that the game of Quidditch could have been used to his advantage. However, Voldemort was no longer in a position to take risks - let alone rid himself of potential servants.

Therefore, while it would have been a trivial thing to collapse the stands and watch as Potter and his friends tumbled to their demise, he had chosen not to.

With the massacre at Azkaban, his supply of Death Eaters had been reduced to a mere handful. To make matters worse, those who remained could be counted among the weak, cowardly and disloyal, and he would make sure they suffered greatly for denouncing him.

Voldemort watched silently through Quirrell's eyes, taking in the familiar surroundings he had not witnessed for over fifty years. He was not the sentimental sort, but Hogwarts was and would forever be the only place he called home.

"We must act with far more subtlety, Quirinus. Your failure has already drawn Severus' attention."

"I w-will do b-b-better, Master!"

They passed a group of students; blissfully unaware of how fortunate they were that Voldemort's cruel visage was hidden beneath the professor's turban.

"I should hope so, my friend. Soon, I shall take a new host - one far younger and more powerful."

"M-Master?"

"Yes…" he hissed. "But do not worry, you are of use to me yet."

Quirrell's shudder of fear and uncertainty was positively delicious.

"The stone can wait a while longer. First, there is something you must procure for me."