[ Foreword: The following fan fiction contains slash, or a male/male relationship. If you're not comfortable with this sort of situation, please move on without comment. On a further note, anything surrounded by asterisks was written by J.K. Rowling herself. Not mine, so I'm not taking credit for it. ]



*"Perfect Quidditch conditions!" said Wood enthusiastically at the Gryffindor table, loading the team's plates with scrambled eggs. "Harry, buck up there, you need a decent breakfast."

Harry had been staring down the packed Gryffindor table, wondering if the new owner of Riddle's diary was right in front of his eyes. Hermione had been urging him to report the robbery, but Harry didn't like the idea. He'd have to tell a teacher about the diary, and how many people knew why Hagrid had been expelled fifty years ago? He didn't want to be the one who brought it all up again.

As he left the Great Hall with Ron and Hermione to go to collect his Quidditch things, another very serious worry was added to Harry's growing list. He had just set foot on the marble staircase when he heard it yet again ---

"Kill this time . . . let me rip . . . tear . . ."

He shouted aloud and Ron and Hermione both jumped away from him in alarm.

"The voice!" said Harry, looking over his shoulder. "I just heard it again --- didn't you?"

Ron shook his head, wide-eyed. Hermione, however, clapped a hand to her forehead.

"Harry --- I think I've just understood something! I've got to go to the library!"

And she sprinted away up the stairs.

"What does she understand?" said Harry distractedly, still looking around, trying to tell where the voice had come from.

"Loads more than I do," said Ron, shaking his head.

"But why's she got to go to the library?"

"Because that's what Hermione does," said Ron, shrugging. "When in doubt, go to the library."

Harry stood, iressolute, trying to catch the voice again, but people were now emerging from the Great Hall behind him, talking loudly, exiting through the front doors on their way to the Quidditch pitch.

"You'd better get moving," said Ron. "It's nearly eleven --- the match ---"

Harry raced up to Gryffindor Tower, collected his Nimbus Two Thousand, and joined the large crowd swarming across the grounds, but his mind was still in the castle along with the bodiless voice, and as he pulled on his scarlet robes in the locker room, his only comfort was that everyone was now outside to watch the game.

The teams walked onto the field to tumultuous applause. Oliver Wood took off for a warm-up flight around the goal posts; Madam Hooch released the balls. The Hufflepuffs, who played in canary yellow, were standing in a huddle, having a last-minute discussion of tactics.

Harry was just mounting his broom when Professor McGonagall came half marching, half running across the pitch, carrying an enormous purple megaphone.

Harry's heart dropped like a stone.

"This match has been cancelled," Professor McGonagall called through the megaphone, addressing the packed stadium. There were boos and shouts. Oliver Wood, looking devastated, landed and ran toward Professor McGonagall, without getting off his broomstick.

"But, Professor!" He shouted. "We've got to play --- the cup --- Gryffindor ---"

Professor McGonagall ignored him and continued to shout through her megaphone: "All students are to make their way back to the House common rooms, where their Heads of Houses will give them further information. As quickly as you can, please!"

Then she lowered the megaphone and beckoned Harry over to her.

"Potter, I think you'd better come with me. . . ."

Wondering how she could possibly suspect him this time, Harry saw Ron detach himself from the complaining crowd; he came running up to them as they set off toward the castle. To Harry's surprise, Professor McGonagall didn't object.

"Yes, perhaps you better come, too, Weasley. . . ."*


The captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team grudgingly stomped off the pitch, following his fellow teammates towards the front doors of Hogwarts. Oliver held his broom tightly by his side, and the pressure upon the handle was so great that he could have nearly snapped it in two.

"How could she do this? How could she possibly do this?" He said aloud, shaking his head skeptically. "Doesn't she understand? This was for the House Cup!" Sulking, he pulled in line behind Katie Bell as they approached the steps. Dark gray clouds had now gathered in the once-blue sky above. Light raindrops fell at first before the looming clouds opened to release a downpour. Oliver felt a hand place itself on his right shoulder consolingly. Looking behind him in curiosity, he was surprised to see the Hufflepuff House captain.

"She doesn't understand," he said. "None of them really do. It's all just a sport to them." Cedric Diggory removed his hand from Oliver's shoulder. He was a strikingly handsome young man, and it was apparent why most girls swooned over him. He had a charming smile and the most brilliant, blue eyes Wood had ever seen.

"It's a shame," Cedric continued, "Would have been a good match, wouldn't it?" His free hand, as the other was occupied with holding his broomstick, rose to wipe away the strands of sopping-wet chestnut that had been matted to his forehead from the rain.

Oliver nodded, half smirking, half smiling. "Yeah, I suppose so." Pausing a moment to free his right hand, he extended it towards the other captain. "Oliver Wood," he said, introducing himself.

"I know," Cedric replied with a smile, "And I'm Cedric Diggory." Taking Oliver's hand into his own, the Hufflepuff captain gave it a light squeeze, but a firm shake.

"You know?" Wood said questioningly. To himself he wasn't popular, but that was for the rest of Hogwarts to decide. He had only played Quidditch for the love of the game. The title of captain was something that came as an added bonus his fourth year.

"Of course I do. I don't think there's really anyone in school who doesn't," Cedric retorted. "Really, now, you couldn't have possibly thought I didn't. No one's as good at Quidditch as you." Looking up from the ground, he gave a charming smile.

"W-Watch --- Your step . . ." but Oliver was too late. As Cedric had taken his eyes away from the ground, he stepped into a shallow hole. Losing his footing, the Hufflepuff Seeker went tumbling to the ground. Falling into a puddle of mud, the aftereffect had also gotten Wood. Both their faces were covered in droplets of mud, Cedric's more so than Oliver's.

Cedric pushed himself back to his feet, reaching down for his broom. Once he was able to look the Gryffindor Keeper in the eye, he began to chuckle.

"What?" Oliver asked, noticing he was being laughed lightly at. "What is it?"

"Your face," Cedric chortled. "You've gotten mud all over it." However, he, himself, neglected to remember that his own face was much worse. Instead of speckles, he had blotches of brown here and there. His canary yellow robes, on the other hand, were much worse off. They were no longer that bright canary yellow. In fact, they were an ugly shade of yellowish-brown from the wet mud.

"Mine? Look at your own," Oliver quipped with a grin. "Your robes are filthy," he commented as they finally managed to enter the castle. The stone floor was covered in tracks of mud from the many students, which caused Argus Filch, the Hogwarts caretaker, to growl dismally nearby.

"Come with me," said the Keeper, gesturing Cedric to follow him. "I'll get you something to change into." Diggory simply shrugged and pursued. Granted, he did have some spare robes in the Hufflepuff dormitory, but decided to stay with Oliver anyway. Besides, it wasn't as if anything extremely dangerous was going on. He could leave Gryffindor Tower anytime he wanted to head back to his own common room.

As they ascended the shifting staircase behind the crowd of students, the calls of prefects were heard. "To the common rooms! Come on, now! Hurry!" However many warnings were given, the two Quidditch players paid no heed. Instead, they were occupied with getting to the Gryffindor boys dormitory.

"Password?" Asked the portrait of the Fat Lady. Oliver muttered something to her and she swung open to reveal the entrance to Gryffindor Tower. Leading Cedric in, they headed straight past the other Gryffindors that buzzed with suspicion, chattering about the cancelled game.

"Here you are," Oliver said, offering Cedric a pile of neatly folded clothing. They were the traditional Hogwarts garbs: charcoal gray pants, a white button-down shirt, and a black sweater which was embroidered with the Hogwarts coat of arms on the left side of the chest. "Want a tie?" He asked with a grin.

"No, that's quite all right," Cedric replied with a smile. "Hufflepruff pride, you know. Wouldn't want to be caught dead wearing a Gryffindor's tie. No offense." He set the pile of clothes down upon Percy Weasley's four-poster, now tugging off the Quidditch robes that clung to his lithe body.

Oliver did the same, changing out of his wet uniform as well. "So what do you reckon all this is about? You know, McGonagall cancelling the match and all." A slight bitterness still lingered in his tone.

"I haven't any idea," the Seeker replied, now buttoning up the white shirt. It was slightly too big, but nothing ridiculous. There was a years difference in age between the two boys, and Oliver was a few inches taller.

"May I have your attention," Professor McGonagall's voice traveled through the tower. Oliver and Cedric, once dressed, headed down to the common room. McGonagall's expression was nothing short of worried, and her tone was tinged with uneasiness.

*"All students will return to their House common rooms by six o'clock in the evening. No student is to leave the dormitories after that time. You will be escorted to each lesson by a teacher. No student is to use the bathroom unaccompanied by a teacher. All further Quidditch training and matches are to be postponed. There will be no more evening activities."

The Gryffindors packed inside the common room listened to Professor McGonagall in silence. She rolled up the parchment from which she had been reading and said in a somewhat choked voice, "I need hardly add that I have rarely been so distressed. It is likely that the school will be closed unless the culprit behind these attacks is caught. I would urge anyone who thinks they might know anything about them to come forward."*