Any questions that the Slytherin boys had about whether Glyn and Jai's friendship would now be more permanent were answered the following morning in the Charms classroom. One week before, there had been a string of empty places on the long desk beside the four Slytherins, but as Glyn entered the classroom, he headed straight for the bench beside Theo.

'Hey, guys,' the Welsh boy smiled.

'Not ignoring us today, then?' Theo tried, unsuccessfully, to keep a straight face.

'Shut up,' Glyn stuck his tongue out.

'Hey, Glyn, Jai.' Greg leaned forward, looking around his housemate to the Hufflepuff boys. 'Seriously, though,' he lowered his voice. 'What happened when you got back to your common room yesterday? Didn't anyone say anything?'

'Yeah,' Glyn shrugged, 'but I told them that I was gonna be friends with who I wanted, and they could be friends with who they wanted.'

'Cool,' Theo grinned.

'I don't think that many people mind that much, really,' Jai added. 'A couple of prefects said well done to us for getting the points.'

'Which ones?' Glyn quickly questioned his friend. 'Jenny?'

'Jenny O'Callaghan?' Greg echoed. 'Head Girl?'

'Yeah,' Jai nodded, with the trace of a smile. 'She said she'd make sure the other prefects knew, and that no one would give us a hard time for it. Then there was Dan Buckley.'

'He's one of the Quidditch commentators,' Glyn explained. 'Him and Dan Beretta.'

'They're both called Dan?' Theo repeated, incredulously. 'Doesn't that get confusing?'

Glyn laughed. 'Wait till you hear them. They did one of the preseason games on WWN 5.'

'WWN?' Theo blinked. 'What the hell is that?'

'Wizarding Wireless Network.' Jai clarified.

'Like the muggle radio,' Isaac, who had been listening with interest, called down the table, but his chances of taking part in more of the conversation ended as Professor Flitwick hustled through the classroom door.

The rest of the lesson – reviewing levitation charms – passed without incident, and in fact the next few weeks of term settled down into a relatively trouble-free cycle as September became October.

Professor Slughorn seemed a different man in his own classroom, pottering around the desks and peering into students' potions. The teacher took a particular interest in one sleeping draught that Isaac had brewed, demonstrating it to the class in memorable fashion. Theo, who had volunteered on the grounds that one mouthful would do little more than make him feel drowsy, fell asleep standing up.

There was a chance for the muggle-born boy to have his revenge in Muggle Studies, however, as he convinced his friend to pronounce that Beef Wellington was so called because it was prepared in a wellington boot, rather than being named after a famous general.

'You git,' Isaac hissed as he slunk back to his desk, glaring at his friends as the other boys dissolved into helpless laughter.

'Sorry,' Theo spluttered, 'but you've got to admit, the look on Professor Smith's face was brilliant.'

'Just you wait for the next potion,' Isaac muttered. 'You never know what's going to be in it.'

'That was the last time I volunteer to test one of yours, anyway,' Theo answered back. 'Slughorn can get someone else to turn into a rabbit, or whatever, next time.'

'That's Transfiguration, not Potions,' Lucas corrected his friend, gaining a knock on the side of his head for his trouble.

Transfiguration itself was fast proving to be Greg's favourite class: as well as being able to sit with his friends from Hufflepuff, he had noticed that he was invariably the first to master a new spell. His Vanishing had progressed so well that he finished his first mid-term test by making Professor McGonagall's desk itself disappear.

These skills soon began to prove themselves useful, as the boys took turns to write notes on Binns' latest dronings in their History of Magic lessons, leaving Greg to transfigure copies later that evening. Spencer Dawlish had just about given up trying to rile a response from the Slytherins during History lessons, restricting himself to snide grins when the ghost professor mentioned the history of their Houses.

Defence Against the Dark Arts was a similar tale, as Tregeagle kept the group far too busy with gory tales of Dark magic in action for the Gryffindors to aim too much towards the other children in the room. Indeed, much of their dislike seemed to be concentrated upon Ciaran Abercrombie, whom it seemed the professor had not forgiven for his first piece of homework. Most practical demonstrations, regardless of the other pupil involved, seemed to end with Ciaran on the receiving end of one spell or another.

Flying lessons, however, provided Dawlish with more of a chance to get at the Slytherins, particularly once Professor Wood split the group into two groups, depending on their skills. Thanks to Lucas' ceaseless work – in lessons, in Quidditch practices on Tuesday nights and on the borrowed school brooms in the Slytherin dungeons – all four boys made the advanced group. With Ciaran still very much a beginner flier, all of the Gryffindor boy's ire was trained on the Slytherins, and in particular Lucas.

'What are you wearing that for, Brand?' He smirked one morning as the red-haired boy fastened a helmet over his forehead. 'Don't you have to be going quickly first to crash?'

'Shut up, Dawlish,' Isaac answered for his friend. 'He's in the same group as you.'

'Leave it, Zac,' Lucas nudged his friend in the back. 'He's a jerk, just ignore him.'

'He's on your Quidditch team as well, isn't he?' Dawlish continued as Isaac's sister Holly joined him, followed – as ever – by the freckled boy, whose name the Slytherins now knew to be Joshua.

'Yes, Spence,' Holly smirked, 'but my little brother's on their team too, and he was scared of getting three feet above the ground until he was ten.'

'Get lost,' Isaac reddened. 'Just because I'm on the Quidditch team, and you're not.'

'I'm not on the Quidditch team because our House isn't so full of losers that anyone who wants to be on the team gets picked,' she pouted, 'and I think they were just a teensy-weensy bit better than you little snakes last year, weren't they?'

'Shove it,' Theo backed up his friend. 'We don't give a crap what you think, so just piss off, alright?'

'Oh, naughty words,' Joshua taunted, 'what would the professor say if he heard that?'

'It doesn't matter, does it?' Greg challenged the Gryffindors. 'He didn't. Now why don't you show us how good you are and go and do the obstacle course, rather than just mouthing off about it?' He glared at them. 'No? Didn't think so.'

He turned away, setting his broom towards the series of rings that Wood had placed at strategic intervals around the Quidditch pitch. Some were as high as the hoops, some as low as the turf itself. Others encouraged the fliers to take a wide line around corners, before narrowing dramatically into a thin tunnel. Whilst Greg hesitated a couple of times, once after taking a wrong turning, he completed the course unscathed, silencing the Gryffindors for the rest of the lesson in spite of a late tumble from Lucas.

'Good thing you put the helmet on, mate,' Greg helped his friend up as the bell rung across the grounds. 'Are you gonna wear it in the matches?'

'Yeah,' Lucas nodded, 'I think you'd be bloody mad if you didn't, with the bludgers flying around as well.'

'Lots of the pros are starting to wear them now,' Isaac added. 'Puddlemere's seeker Wes Marston always does.'

'That's cause the doctors said that any more bludgers on the head could make him forget who he was, didn't they?' Lucas grinned at the memory. 'He's definitely mental.'

'Seekers,' Isaac shrugged. 'They've got to be.'

Theo laughed. 'I'll tell Ossie you said that!'

'He'll agree with you,' Isaac grinned. 'Have you ever read the Beater's Bible? The first rule is "Take out the Seeker!"' He shook his head. 'Anyway, come on, we've got to go. We'll be late for History.'

'Neal won't mind that much,' Theo pointed out, but the blond boy didn't hesitate in following his friend back to the castle.

'I'm glad we're not out there tonight,' Greg looked up, past Hagrid's giant pumpkins, through the enchanted ceiling of the Great Hall to a furious rainstorm as the Slytherin boys filed in to take their places at the Halloween dinner.

'Could be worse,' Matthew leaned forward over his younger friend's shoulder. 'Could be hailing sideways,' he grinned, mischievously. 'Whatever, they won't cancel it.'

'Ugh...' Greg shuddered.

'What's wrong with playing in the rain?' Theo interrupted. 'My rugby coach always said it was just one more thing you could use, like if you were sliding for the try line.'

'Shame there's no try lines in Quidditch, then?' Isaac nudged Theo's shoulder.

'I'm sure there's something it would help you with!' Theo shot back. 'There must be something.'

'We'll worry about that on Saturday, shall we?' Oscar smiled. 'If it's still raining then.'

The short, shrill ring of a bell cut short the boys' conversation, as Professor McGonagall got to her feet at the front of the staff table. 'Good evening, students,' she pronounced, 'and welcome to the Halloween feast.' A polite cheer sounded across the Great Hall, before suddenly growing more raucous on the opposite side of the room to the Slytherin boys.

'Did you see what happened?' Greg craned his neck around.

'I saw one of the pumpkins fall down over the Gryffindor table,' Isaac whispered.

'Who did it fall on?' Matthew asked.

'Who d'you think?' Isaac answered as one of the Gryffindor boys strode angrily towards the doors. 'Ciaran, of course.'

'Thank you,' the Headmistress glared over the tops of her spectacles. 'Mr Abercrombie, you will return to your House Table.' The whole hall turned to stare as the sandy-haired eleven-year-old slumped back into a seat.

'It must suck to be him...' Theo whispered.

'Tough,' Lucas shrugged. 'He's as biased as the rest of them.'

'As I was saying,' Professor McGonagall continued, 'Halloween is a night for good humour, yes, and the occasional practical joke, but we must remember that it should not be more than that. Dark things have happened on this date, not least the execution of our own Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington, now more than 500 years ago.' On cue, the Gryffindor House ghost appeared through the Hall's furthest wall.

'513 years, Professor,' he intoned, morosely, 'and even now those 45 hacks haven't been enough to finish the job. Still, the Headless Hunt are not satisfied...'

'Greetings, Sir Nicholas,' the Headmistress continued, 'and commiserations on the day. I see Sir Patrick remains trenchant as always,' she commented.

'Indeed, Professor,' the ghost droned, 'but I do not wish to interrupt,' he floated back into the corner of the room.

'Thank you, Sir Nicholas,' McGonagall smiled, primly. 'You may be heartened, at least, by the current standings in the House Cup, as Gryffindor lead the way on 232 points. Ravenclaw sit second on 219, Hufflepuff 195, and Slytherin 170. Nonetheless,' she paused as a cheer echoed from the left hand side of the room, 'this is the closest contest we have had in many years, and a great deal may yet happen between now and the summer. On that note, Professor Wood.' She sat down, allowing the Quidditch coach to take her place in the centre of the stage.

'As I'm sure you'll be aware,' Wood began, 'the 2006 Quidditch Cup begins this weekend, with the traditional opening game between Gryffindor and Slytherin.' He paused, allowing a swell of muttering to sweep across the hall. 'I know I'm not the only one to be expecting a much closer contest than we saw last year. As per usual, each House will play every other House once, and we will be using the same scoring system as the British and Irish League. Namely, two points for a win, one for a tie, and none for a defeat. Any teams tied on points will be separated by their total score over the course of the season. I am looking forwards to a competitive season.' He returned to his seat, leaving the stage clear for the Headmistress to stand once again.

'Let the feast begin!'

'That was awesome,' Greg grinned as he pushed his now-empty plate towards the middle of the table. 'Even better than the welcome feast.' He licked a handful of chocolate crumbs from his fingertips.

'Do you think so?' Theo narrowed his eyes, thoughtfully. 'I thought that one was better,' he concluded. 'More meat.'

Greg laughed as his friend scoured the table for any leftovers from their main course. 'I don't think there's anything left, mate.'

Theo sighed. 'Give me chicken legs over pumpkins, every time,' he grumbled.

'Oh, stop moaning,' Isaac chided, getting to his feet. 'You'd better finish now, anyway, the match starts in ten minutes. Glyn and Jai are waiting for us.'

'Alright,' Greg nodded. 'We're coming,' he scooped a generous handful of Every Flavour Beans into the pocket of his robes, before following the other first-years to the doorway.

'Who's playing, again?' Theo asked.

'Puddlemere against Wimbourne, the Dorset derby,' Isaac rolled his eyes. 'They always play on Halloween.'

'How was I meant to know that?' Theo shook his head, turning around to wait for Greg.

'He has told you already,' Greg grinned. 'Like three or four times, as well.' The blond-haired boy nodded a quick greeting to the two Hufflepuffs. 'Hey, guys. Have you been to any of the other common rooms before?'

'No,' the Welsh boy shook his head. 'First time.'

'Me neither,' Greg shrugged.

'Well, you can come back to ours some time,' Glyn offered.

'Thanks, mate,' Greg smiled, leading the Hufflepuff boys along the corridors towards the Slytherin dungeon, 'but I get the feeling I wouldn't be that popular there.' He touched his wand to the marble at the dead end of the passageway. 'Trinovantes,' he announced, as the marble bricks melted into a doorway.

'Cool...' Glyn whispered, following the Slytherin first-years into the dungeon.

'We're gonna sit over by the fire,' Greg explained, heading over to join the other Quidditch players.

'When Kevin moves,' Matthew groaned as the first-years approached. 'Come on,' the captain complained. 'You've got the whole common room to choose from. At least let us sit over here by the radio.'

'Why should I?' The other fourth-year, red-haired like his brother, snarled back from the sofa opposite the fireplace. 'So you can sit here with your mudblood friends?'

'Shut up!' Lucas snapped, grabbing for his wand and starting towards his older brother. 'Just because you haven't got any friends!'

'Lucas!' Oscar grabbed the first-year round the waist, pulling him back and away from Kevin. 'Don't let him wind you up,' the prefect whispered.

'I suppose you'll be taking points off him now,' the older brother sneered.

'If I took anything off of him, I'd be taking ten times as many off you,' Oscar pulled Lucas in close, gently taking the wand from the younger boy.

Kevin rolled his eyes. 'You just wait till you get home,' he stared at his brother, pushing himself up from the black leather of the sofa and swaggering, chin held high, towards the stairs that led to the boys' dormitories. He paused, glancing back over his shoulder and fixing his stare on his brother again. 'There's no prefects to look after you there.'

'Merlin...' Greg slipped into the empty seat that Kevin had just vacated as Matthew knelt before the old wireless, searching for the right station amidst a background of hiss and crackle. 'Are you gonna be alright, Luc?'

The redhead had slumped, silently, onto a stool beside the fourth-year prefect. 'I guess,' he stuttered. 'I don't have to go home at Christmas.'

'Got it!' Matthew's shout, echoing over a blast of sound as he twisted the radio's volume dial upwards, distracted the boys from Kevin's threats. 'They're just about to start.'

'So, thirty seconds to go,' the practised voice of the WWN commentator, Dean Thomas, filled the common room. 'Puddlemere, all in blue, are unchanged from last week's win at Montrose. They line up with Williams in goal, Dannatt and Tyler beating, Webster, Zakis and Kyle chasing and Marston as seeker. The Wasps, black and yellow as always, start with Owens guarding the hoops, Lawson and Mason are their beaters, Tarenko and Stankovic are joined by new signing Antonio di Vincenzo as chasers, whilst Ivan Lopez replaces Lee Dillon in the seeker's jersey.'

'Typical Wasps,' Isaac muttered, 'full of foreign players.'

'Zakis is so English, isn't he?' Oscar retorted. 'Or did I imagine seeing him play for Latvia?'

'One player,' Isaac shrugged. 'That's not the same as half the team. None of your chasers are English.'

'Hey,' Glyn interrupted, his accent grabbing at his words. 'It's not the English League, you know.'

'Oh, yeah,' Oscar smiled. 'I think I'd rather have a Latvian on my team than a Welshman, though.'

The Hufflepuff boy stared, unsmiling, back at the prefect as Lee Jordan began to call the opening plays of the match.

'Ah, come on,' Oscar grinned. 'I don't really mean it, mate. Just trying out your sense of humour.'

'Don't,' Jai smirked. 'He's not got one.'

'Shut up,' Glyn elbowed his housemate in the ribs. 'Let's start on the Indian jokes, see how you like it.'

Matthew laughed. 'You never told me your friend couldn't take a joke.'

Greg turned to look across at the Welsh boy's hurt expression. 'He can, Matt,' Greg offered. 'I just bet he gets tired of it, with his Mum and everything.'

Glyn nodded, quickly. 'Sorry,' he stared at his feet. 'People say it so much I sometimes wonder if they're really joking,' he muttered.

'That's okay, mate,' Oscar apologised. 'I was only winding you up. We're not gonna have a go at you... Merlin, there's enough people who'll do that.' He sighed. 'Who're you supporting?'

'Um,' Glyn hesitated, 'Wasps, I guess. We need Puddlemere to drop points if we're going to catch them up.'

'So that's 2-1, Zac,' the prefect turned to the first-year sitting beside him. 'Who else is supporting the mighty Wasps?'

Jai lifted a hand.

'3-1,' Oscar grinned. 'So, Puddlemere? Anyone?'

'Mate, you know I'm just going to sit here and laugh at you and Zac getting wound up about it,' Matthew fiddled with the dial again as the commentator's voice stuttered.

'Just because the Cannons haven't won a game yet this season...' Oscar rolled his eyes.

'That's just cause we haven't played the Wasps yet.' Matthew shot back, grinning. 'What happened last season?'

'PENALTY TO PUDDLEMERE!' Lee Jordan's voice interrupted the fourth-years' squabble. 'Referee Norwell is having strong words with Stankovic, and the Serbian International doesn't look at all happy. I'm not sure what he's complaining about, a clear case of blatching as far as I can see...'

'Blatching?' Theo echoed.

'When you fly into someone on purpose,' Matthew explained.

'So, it's Zakis with the penalty, one-on-one with Ricky Owens... 10-0 Puddlemere! He's sent Owens the wrong way completely, great body feint from the Latvian, and an easy finish into the empty hoop. Five minutes in... 175 to go.'

'Well, what do you think of this time limit, Lee?' the co-commentator, whom Jordan had introduced as 1994 World Cup winner Keith Moran, asked his colleague a question that had dominated many conversations in the Quidditch world for the last year.

'Well, of course it means we'll lose the classic matches that run for days on end,' Lee answered, 'but with all the matches that the top players have to play today, how can we ask them to play for 48 hours on Dartmoor at the weekend, and then fly out to Vratsa and take on the Vultures?'

'Fair point, Lee, fair point,' the boys noticed the other man's pronounced Irish accent. 'Vratsa's not the nicest place to go, even when you're feeling your best,' he continued. 'I have to say, I wasn't convinced at first, but I'm coming round. It's nice to know you'll be home that evening.'

'It's certainly adding an extra bit of life to today's big game,' Lee agreed, 'by 11 o'clock tonight we'll know if Puddlemere can keep up their early season form and keep in touch with the Falcons at the top of the table, or whether the Wasps can sting their greatest rivals...'

'...and I don't know about you, Keith, but I'm certainly ready for that break. There's an hour to go here on the Isle of Purbeck and it's Puddlemere United 240, Wimbourne Wasps 200. We'll be back in a few minutes.'

Matthew turned the volume dial down as an advert for Mrs Skower's Magical Mess Remover followed the commentator's segue. 'Worth staying up for,' he remarked.

'Yeah,' Theo nodded enthusiastically. 'I still think wizards need to sort out some TV, though. I wish I could see what was going on... I still haven't seen a proper Quidditch match and we've got to play it on Saturday!'

'It'll be nothing like this, that's for sure,' Oscar shook his head, slumped back on the sofa. 'I bet we can defend better than this...'

'We'd better,' Matthew coughed, 'after everything we've been doing in practice about marking and keeping our positions.'

Greg swallowed, glancing towards the captain. 'Do... do you remember your first game?'

The captain nodded. 'I was a first-year... but it was the last game of the season, after someone had dropped out because of NEWTs or something.'

'Were you nervous?' Greg muttered.

'A bit, I guess,' Matthew shrugged, 'but more excited than anything else.'

Greg sunk back into his seat beside Theo. It didn't feel like the right time to admit to the other boys that even thinking about Saturday's game caused a vice of nerves to grab at his stomach. Slowly, he looked between each of his team mates – all of whom, with the possible exception of Lucas, were staring at the wireless as the third period crackled into life, with Puddlemere on the attack once again.

'Webster with the quaffle,' Lee Jordan began, 'he finds Kyle, who feeds Zakis, back to Kyle, Zakis again, Webster beneath him, left to Zakis, Kyle, Zakis, Webster, Zakis, GOAL!' The commentator gasped for breath. 'How do they do it, Keith?'

'Well, Lee, if you play with each other for long enough you start to know where your team mates are going to be. You don't need to look any more – you just pass.'

'Wow,' the first man responded. 'That must be part of what made the great Irish team of the nineties such a success.'

'One of many things, Lee, one of many things,' the Irishman chuckled, 'and I hope Barry Kyle will be doing the same in the all-green robes before too long. It's 250-200.'

The exchange of scores continued as the final hour ticked onwards, and with neither seeker tracking down the snitch, Puddlemere were able to hold onto their lead and close out a victory, by 330 points to 280.

'A fantastic performance from United here tonight,' Lee began to summarise, 'with all of their chasers on top form. In fact, the Wasps weren't far off their best tonight, but Puddlemere were just too good for them, with Sandis Zakis scoring 15. Keith.'

'Yes, Lee,' the Irishman continued, 'a particularly impressive display from the Latvian tonight, showing just why there's talk of Heidelberg and Bigonville trying to lure him away from United. We mustn't forget the other players on the park, though, and whilst no one will talk about Wes Marston tomorrow morning, he kept Ivan Lopez quieter than a church mouse. No way was that Spaniard getting near the snitch in those last few minutes.'

'Well said, Keith,' Lee agreed, 'whilst everyone focuses on the seeker if he makes a match-winning catch, their defensive game is even more important under the new timing rules, and that was a master class from Marston. We'll be back after the break with the two managers, and man-of-the-match, Sandis Zakis.'

'If he keeps playing like that, I don't care where he comes from,' Isaac grinned. 'Puddlemere!' He clapped his hands three times in rhythm. 'Puddlemere! Puddlemere!'

'Alright, alright,' Oscar grabbed the first-year playfully around the shoulders, 'but,' he added, a mischievous glint in his eye, 'it's past your bedtime. Downstairs,' he grinned, 'prefect's orders.'

'Aww...' Isaac begun to complain, but Oscar would not be dissuaded.

'Zac, it's past eleven o'clock,' he pointed out. 'You've got lessons tomorrow. Come on.'

'Fine,' the eleven-year-old pushed himself up, sticking his tongue out at the prefect, before making his way to the staircase.

'I guess we should be going back to Hufflepuff now?' Glyn spoke, but only quietly.

'At eleven o'clock?' Greg had only paid loose attention to the game on the radio, his thoughts drifting ahead to the weekend's match, but his friend's suggestion jerked him back into the present.

'Well,' Glyn winced, 'what else are we going to do?'

'Stay here,' Matthew offered, switching the radio's dial to its off position. 'The fifth-year boys dorm is empty.'

'Good idea,' Oscar agreed with his best friend. 'We've slept there a few times when Kevin's been being a tosser,' he added. 'In fact, I reckon we probably should join you there tonight. I bet he's gone and cursed our door again,' the prefect rolled his eyes, heading towards the stairs. 'Come on then,' he paused at its top, 'what are you waiting for?'