A/N: Essentially, what you recognize belongs to the goddess that is J.K. Rowling, and what you don't belongs to lil' ol' me.
Sorry that the chapter is centered; I've tried everything and it won't budge.
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After returning from a Hogsmeade visit to a truly delectable feast, Genevieve headed back to her dormitory to study. However, she was soon swept up in a wave of students standing by the portrait entrance. Unable to see what was going on, she stood, confused.
Then she heard Peeves say, "He got very angry when she wouldn't let him in, you see. Nasty temper he's got, that Sirius Black."
That night, all the students slept in the Great Hall, whispering rumors about how Black could've gotten past the dementors and into Hogwarts. Genevieve could hardly sleep. She knew exactly how; he'd helped make the Marauder's Map, after all. There were several secret entrances he could've used, and he could've hurt someone, or worse, kill Harry.
She could tell someone, but it'd be breaking Lupin's trust. It could even incriminate him, if he knew about it and didn't say anything. She decided, for the time being, to remain quiet.
•~0~•
Worried about her O.W.L.s, Genevieve studied for nearly all of her free time, and often with Hermione, whom Ron was frequently upset with due to Crookshanks, Hermione's cat, trying to attack his rat, Scabbers. Genevieve knew better than to blame Hermione for her cat's behavior, as she had her own. Snowflake had been left with her father this year, as Genevieve needed to spend time working for her O.W.L. year.
But by night, she dreamed. She dreamed of seeing Charlie again, of his delight at seeing her, how much she'd grown up and changed since he last saw her, just like she'd seen with him. She dreamed of joining him in Romania, studying dragons. She knew, however, that that's all they'd ever be: dreams. These impulses were too silly to act on, and they were a distraction. Right now, she couldn't think about Charlie. Right now, she'd focus on school.
Meanwhile, Quidditch season was fast approaching, and Gryffindor was to play Hufflepuff, as Malfoy had claimed to be too injured to play.
The day of the match, Genevieve sat in the stands, as usual, with Hermione (Ron was doing detention for Snape). It was nearly impossible to see, however, in the stormy weather. Everyone was soaked to their core before the game even started.
Gryffindor somehow got in the lead, which was a bloody miracle, considering that the team couldn't see each other. Harry was having a particularly rough go of it, with his glasses.
"I reckon Impervius would help, Hermione," Genevieve muttered as Wood called a time out. "Go try it."
Hermione and Ron darted down, performed the spell, and rejoined her in the bleachers.
Harry seemed to be doing much better, though the weather was worsening. Genevieve hoped he caught the Snitch soon. At that moment, Harry sped off, racing Diggory, the Hufflepuff Seeker, to the golden speck.
However, a chill covered Genevieve once more, and she found herself reliving her worst memories again. More dementors, she thought vaguely. Lots of them.
Harry was having an extreme reaction, swaying dangerously on his broom, before falling off. Diggory, unaware of Harry's predicament, caught the Snitch, though he looked stricken once he realized how.
Dumbledore was outraged. He slowed Harry's descent, shot what Genevieve knew to be a non-corporeal patronus at the dementors, and left the field, taking Harry with him on a stretcher. It really didn't look good.