Disclaimer: Is a broom that flies a hundred and fifty miles per hour really practical for Quidditch? No? Then I am not JK Rowling and do no own Harry Potter.

A/N: For those of you who were hoping for more of A Little Child Shall Lead Them, Chapter 2 is now up with more to come.

Chapter 49

"It's called the Patronus Charm," Harry said halfheartedly. His first anti-dementor lesson with Professor Lupin had evidently not gone well. He'd learnt the bare mechanics of the spell, which Hermione quickly determined was optional material even at N.E.W.T.-level, but had not produced any useful results. "I guess it conjures…something with hope and happiness that gets in the dementor's way so it can't 'feed' on you."

"Hmm, I can see how that would be useful," Hermione said thoughtfully. "Is that the only way to fight them, though?"

"I dunno. Lupin kinda sounded like there were other methods, but he must think I'd have the most luck with this one."

"That seems logical."

"Yeah. It's bloody hard, though. It's not like regular spells. You have to focus on a really happy memory to cast it, and that's really hard with a dementor around."

That did sound strange to Hermione. Most spells were at least partially intent-based. You had to understand what the spell did and focus on it to cast it. But it sounded like the Patronus Charm carried an added requirement of a particular emotional state. She grimaced a little when she realised that Harry probably didn't have that many happy memories to choose from. His so-called relatives had a lot to answer for.

"He's not making you practice with a real dementor, is he?" she added.

"Oh, no, he found another boggart," Harry said. "My fear is a dementor."

"He has another boggart?" she said excitedly.

Hermione made a point of staying behind after Defence class the next day.

"Excuse me, Professor," she said quietly.

Professor Lupin looked up from where he was packing up for the week. "Yes, Hermione? May I help you?"

"Harry told me you found another boggart, sir?"

"Yes, I did. I'm using it for his Patronus Charm lessons. Why do you ask?"

"It's just that I didn't get a chance to face the one in the first lesson, and I was wondering if I could face this one."

"Oh, well you're certainly welcome to, as long as you don't banish it completely, although I'm sure you know the theory well enough to do it on the spot if need be."

"I'm not so sure, Professor," Hermione said. "The thing is, I'm not exactly sure what form the boggart will take for me. I don't want to be caught off guard."

"Oh? You don't know what your greatest fear is?" Lupin said in surprise.

"Not really. I mean, I don't think it's something so mundane as flunking Arithmancy. I think it's most likely it's the basilisk, but that doesn't quite feel right, and neither does anything else I can think of."

"Hmm, interesting. Typically, that means you're not thinking in broad enough terms—but no matter. Whatever it is, the boggart will bring it out. Come into my office, if you please."

Hermione followed him into his sparsely-furnished office and heard a rattling noise coming from a cupboard underneath his desk.

"I found him in Mr. Filch's filing cabinet, although honestly, it's hard to tell in his office," Lupin grinned, standing beside the cupboard. "Whenever you're ready, Hermione." She took her position and nodded. "One…two…three!"

Professor Lupin opened the door. Hermione braced herself for the basilisk or whatever other horrible monster was about to come out, whilst still trying to wrack her brain for what her worst fear truly was. She knew it had to be something else—something she couldn't quite see—something just out of her reach…And then it was there, but it wasn't a monster at all.

It was her parents. And then she knew.

"Oh no," she breathed in horror.

Her parents stood before her, holding hands (they would need to be in physical contact for the boggart to mimic both of them) and looking very grave.

"Hermione," her mother said. No! It's not her! It's not her! "We're very sorry, but we're going to pull you out of Hogwarts. It's far too dangerous here, and they obviously have no idea how to keep children safe in this country.

"No, please," she begged. "You can't!" No! It's not real!

"Really, you should want this," her father continued. "Honestly, a mass-murderer got into your sleeping area here. Beauxbatons has a perfectly respectable program. Why could you possibly want to stay?"

"Mum, Dad, I have to. All my friends are here."

"Hermione?" Professor Lupin said, but he seemed far away.

They're not real! They're not real! My parents couldn't possibly be at Hogwarts, especially in a cupboard! Oh, why do they seem so real?

"And that's another thing," her mother said. "You're going to have to cut ties with your friends."

"No, you can't do that! You can't make me do that!" She started crying. Come on, I have to do something! The spell! I need to use the spell!

"Hermione, it's not real!" Lupin called.

"They attract far too much trouble. Harry always seems to have some evil wizard after him, and it's too dangerous if he knows where you are," her father said.

"No, please, anything but that! You don't know what Harry's life has been like! I can't abandon him! It'd be too horrible to him to lose a friend like that!" It's not real! It's not real! God, please don't let it be real!

"The discussion is closed, Hermione," he said sternly. "Now, come with us." He reached out a hand as if to grab her.

"Hermione!" Lupin yelled. "Use the spell! Make it funny!"

Hermione was shaking in her shoes. She wanted nothing more than to run away and never come back. In fact, if it weren't for Professor Lupin, she might have. But she had to face this. She had to beat it. Come on, Hermione, think! she thought. How do I make them funny? What's the most absurd, insane, impossible thing that could possibly happen to my parents?

She had it.

"RIDDIKULUS!" she screamed.

Bang! Suddenly, her parents were each sporting a horrible set of snaggle-teeth worse than Marcus Flint's, plus a pair of tusks, which made it impossible to speak clearly. Seeing a pair of dentists looking like that was even more hysterical than she thought, and she laughed until she cried. Meanwhile, Professor Lupin cast a spell that forced her boggart-parents back into the cupboard and shut the door. Then he looked at her very awkwardly.

"So…" he said nervously. "Your worst fear is…"

"That my parents will decide it's too dangerous here, pull me out, and ship me off to France, and I'll never see my friends again…you were right, sir. I was thinking too narrowly," she said sadly. "I didn't think…"

"That's a very mature fear in many ways, Hermione," he assured her, "and it speaks of great loyalty to your friends. I do hope it proves to be unfounded."

"Thank you, Professor. Er…I think I'm glad I didn't face it in class now."

"No, I can see why you wouldn't want that aired out in front of the class."

She nodded. It was embarrassing enough having Professor Lupin see it. It really wasn't the objectively scariest thing she could imagine, but it was certainly the one that had been weighing on her the most. Maybe that's how boggarts really worked. If they were mind-readers, it would make sense. "I knew they couldn't possibly be real, sir," she said. "Why did they seem so real?"

"That's the magic of boggarts. There may be a simple charm to repel them, but they're nastier than most wizards think. If come upon one and can't control it, it can suck you in and paralyse you with fear. That's one of the most important reasons to learn that charm early."

She nodded again. "I should go," she said. "Thank you again, Professor."

"You're quite welcome," he said. She turned and started to leave, but just as she reached the door, he called out, "Hermione?"

She turned back. "Yes, sir?"

Lupin seemed to wrestle with himself for a minute, but he finally said, "What did you mean when you mentioned what Harry's life was like?"

Hermione paled. She hadn't particularly meant to let that bit out, but still, he was a professor. It should be fine. "I don't know the full story myself," she explained, "but Harry lives with his aunt and uncle during the summers, and they're really awful people." Lupin nodded as if he'd known that much. "I mean…he hasn't told us everything, but I'm pretty sure he was at least neglected before he came here. You should've seen how small and skinny he was back then. He told us his relatives can't stand magic. They called him a freak. They called his parents freaks. They made him do all the chores while they spoilt his cousin. They let his cousin beat up on him. And they tried to keep his Hogwarts letter from him. Professor Dumbledore kept sending him more and more letters until finally he sent Hagrid."

Lupin blinked a few times in surprise. "Merlin's beard," he muttered. "I knew…I had heard that Harry was living with some unsavoury characters, but I didn't think they'd go that far."

"They're still awful to him, Professor," she said suddenly. "The summer after first year, they locked him in his room, and Professor McGonagall had to save him. It's only because she and Professor Vector keep visiting that they stay in line. I really wish Professor Dumbledore wouldn't push so hard for him to stay with them. It's not healthy. I just know it's not."

"Professor Dumbledore's behind it?" Lupin said.

"Yes, sir. He just says something about the importance of family and gives Harry a nudge to put up with them for another summer."

"Hmm…well…well, I think you should run along, Hermione. You've given me a lot to think about."

"Yes, Professor. And thanks again," she said. She left the room wondering just what Lupin would do.

Over the next few weeks, Harry made gradual progress in learning the Patronus Charm. ("I dunno. It's supposed to have some kind of form, but it just looked like a white mist," he would say.) If Lupin said anything to him about his relatives, he didn't mention it to Hermione. Unfortunately, he was forced to admit that he probably wouldn't be ready in time for the makeup Quidditch game, but that was really moot anyway, since he didn't have a broom.

Then an odd occurrence happened on the twenty-fifth of November.

"Hermione! Hermione! You gotta come up and see this!" Ron yelled to her from across the Common Room before breakfast. That was so unusual that she picked up Crookshanks and hurried up after him, climbing to his and Harry's dorm on the fourteenth floor.

"Don't bring him in here!" Ron yelled, pointing to Crookshanks, but Hermione wasn't paying attention. She was preoccupied by Harry, Dean, Seamus, and even Neville crowded around Harry's bed, staring at something lying in a mass of coloured paper, which Harry had apparently received this morning. Coming closer her jaw dropped, and Crookshanks slipped out of her arms and onto the floor.

"Harry…" she said in shock. "Is that a…"

"A Firebolt!" he exclaimed. "It's the fastest broom in the world—top speed of a hundred and fifty miles an hour."

"A hundred and fifty!" Hermione quickly did the mental maths. "That's got to be near the limit of what can be practically done on the Pitch, what with g-forces and all—And more importantly, how on Earth did you get a Firebolt, Harry?"

"No idea," Harry said. "There wasn't a note or anything, but it was all wrapped up in red and green paper like a Christmas present."

"But Christmas isn't for another month," Hermione observed.

"Yeah, but I also need a new broom before then."

"But where did it come from? A broom like this must cost…"

"Price on request," Harry said. "It must be hundreds of galleons."

"Exactly. You could buy a new car for that. Who would have sent it to you?" Actually, Hermione was getting a suspicion, but she didn't want to believe it.

"Oi! Crookshanks, get away from Scabbers!" Ron interrupted. "GET OUT!"

"Sorry," Hermione said in a huff. She made to put her cat out of the room, but he was faster. He ripped Ron's pyjamas with his claws, trying to get at the rat in his hands. Ron kicked at him, but missed and kicked open Harry's trunk.

"Ron! Don't hurt him!" Hermione cried. She made a dive and grabbed hold of the cat. He struggled for a moment, but finally held still in her arms. She pushed him out the door, saying, "Crookshanks, you really need to stop going after Scabbers. He's far too old for this excitement, and there are plenty of other rats around here. Now I need to talk to Harry for a minute, okay?" Crookshanks meowed in protest, but she reluctantly shut him out.

"You need to control that beast," Ron said as he tried to calm Scabbers down.

"He's not a beast, Ronald, and I'd like to see you do any better," she said as Ron put Scabbers back in his pocket. She thought the rat was starting to look old, too. He'd lost a lot of weight, and his fur was starting to fall out. She was starting to worry that his condition was terminal, but she didn't say it. "Anyway, Harry, who do you think would have sent you a top-model broom with no note?"

"Probably Dumbledore," Ron said dismissively. "He sent Harry the—" He glanced at the other boys and said, "you know, your dad's cloak, and he didn't sign that."

"Yeah, but that was my dad's," Harry said. "Dumbledore was just passing it on. He wouldn't spend that kind of money on a student."

"Okay, then…what about Lupin," Ron suggested.

Hermione couldn't help but laugh, even though she knew she really shouldn't. No werewolf could afford something like that.

"What?" Ron snapped.

"Do you really think Professor Lupin could afford something like this?" she said.

"I dunno. He likes Harry, and some blokes are weird about money."

"Well, I can…I can pretty much guarantee he can't," Hermione said.

"What, did your arithmancy tell you that?" Ron said.

"…Yes," she lied. She wasn't about to betray Professor Lupin's confidence.

"But who else could've sent it?" Harry asked.

Hermione crouched down and picked up Harry's pocket Sneakoscope, which was quietly whistling on the floor, and examined it. The thing had never worked right, always going off at the oddest times, despite having it inspected. But now, she had to wonder…She considered whether to take her concerns straight to Professor McGonagall without telling them, but no, that was no good. They'd find out sooner or later. "I have a theory…" she said, "but you won't like it."

Harry already looked like he didn't like it. "What is it?"

"I think," Hermione replied, "that that broom was probably sent by Sirius Black."

Silence reigned for a moment, and then, Ron, Seamus, and Dean all broke out laughing. "Ha! Good one, Hermione," Ron said.

"That wasn't a joke."

"But…but…come on, why would an evil murderer send Harry a super-expensive broom?" Ron started laughing again.

"Because he knew Harry would ride it!" Hermione yelled, silencing the room. "Who knows what kinds of curses someone like Black could have put on it. It probably would've been easy for him to steal it, curse it, and send it to you, Harry, knowing you'd want to hop on it right away, and then it could throw you into the ravine or something."

"Hermione, that's crazy!" Harry said. She was surprised by his bluntness. "There's gotta be loads of cheaper and easier ways for Black to curse me. I'm sure the broom's fine."

Her eyes narrowed. "Do you really believe that, Harry? Or do you just want to believe it?"

"There's nothing wrong with the broom, Hermione," Harry insisted.

She stood her ground: "Then we'll just see if Professor McGonagall agrees with you."

"What? McGonagall? No! She'll just take it away!" Harry said frantically.

"And why's that? Only because she'll know that there's a good chance I'm right. That broom needs to be checked over before anyone rides it."

"Come on, Hermione," Ron said, "you can't do this to Harry. He needs a new broom to win the Quidditch Cup." Seamus nodded his head in agreement.

"He won't be winning anything if the broom throws him off at the start." She moved towards the door. "We need to do the responsible thing and have it checked."

She looked at Harry and saw fear in his eyes. "Hermione, please don't," he said. It hurt her a little, especially knowing that he had so few nice things in his life, but she had to do it for him if he wouldn't.

"I'm sorry, Harry. If I'm wrong, I'll apologise, but this is for your own good." She threw open the door and hurried down the stairs.

"STOP HER!" Ron roared.

Hermione raced down the stairs as fast as she could, with the boys thundering down behind her. Crookshanks got between them and slowed them down a little, but he was no match for them in this state. Hermione nearly tripped when he darted forward between her legs.

Eight flights later, and they were outside Professor McGonagall's apartment, when their Head of House was just heading out to start her day. Unfortunately, everyone started shouting at once, which quickly angered the professor.

CRACK! went McGongall's wand, with a loud bang to silence the group. "Honestly!" she said. "Ten points from Gryffindor for lack of decorum. Now, what seems to be the trouble—one at a time, please."

With that, Harry, Ron, and Hermione each told their version of the events of the morning as McGonagall listened with a suspicious expression. When they had finished, she looked at Harry and said, "I am sorry, Mr. Potter, but I'm afraid I have to agree with Miss Granger."

"What?" Harry and Ron both gasped. "Professor, it's fine, really," Harry said.

"You can't know that, Potter. I know that no member of the staff bought that broom for you, nor did any member of the Quidditch team or their families. I would have been informed. If you don't know where it came from either, then Sirius Black becomes a very worrisome possibility."

"But it can't be," Harry said in horror. "Why would he…how could he…?"

"Because Sirius Black is a mad genius," McGonagall said. "He has already circumvented our security once. It is quite possible that he could do so again with a ploy just like this one. Now, I realise it is possible that some other anonymous donor sent you that broom, Potter, but it will have to be checked for curses and sabotage just the same. I daresay that Madam Hooch and Professor Flitwick will strip it down—"

"Strip it down?!" said a horrified Ron. "You can't strip down a racing broom! What if they mess up the spells?"

"I assure you that Madam Hooch and Professor Flitwick are highly trained professionals, Mr. Weasley," McGonagall said with an edge.

"But how long will it take?" Harry asked. "I need that broom for the match in two weeks."

"I'm afraid that's almost certainly too soon," she said reluctantly. "You will have to make do with a school broom for that match. However, if it proves to be jinx-free, you should have it back in time for the following match."

"But it's the Slytherin game!" Harry said. He'd never live it down if Malfoy beat him just because he didn't have a decent broom.

McGonagall didn't relish the thought of Slytherin beating Gryffindor either, but she stood her ground just as Hermione had: "It is a small price to pay to be sure it won't kill you, Potter, and I don't want to hear any more about it."

The next two days were painful ones for Hermione. Ron flat-out refused to speak to her over the Firebolt. Harry spoke to her a little, but he was short with her and sounded resentful. She suspected he at least understood, but didn't want to admit she was right. Worse, Ron blabbed the story to most of Gryffindor, which made a lot of them turn against her, especially the Quidditch team. Even Ginny seemed distant, and she had to start watching her back around Fred and George because she could tell that while they might not be outright malicious, they were itching to prank her for this.

She didn't sleep well the next two nights.

Saturday morning dawned cloudy, dreary, and cold. It was an important day. Today was the Ravenclaw versus Hufflepuff game—a game that didn't directly affect Gryffindor's standings in the Quidditch Cup, but would determine which would be the team to beat next spring. Cedric would be playing his first game as starting Seeker and Team Captain for Hufflepuff. Roger was also playing as the Ravenclaw Captain, but oddly, Hermione found herself drawn to supporting Hufflepuff.

But most of all, she wanted her friends back.

It was startling for Hermione to realise how much she had come to enjoy Quidditch this year, and it just wasn't the same without Ron and Harry speculating about the match with her over breakfast or Fred and George asking her to lay odds. And it just wouldn't be the same without her friends there to watch with her. Just like when the dementors were near, her life felt colder and emptier when she was being alienated by her house. She remembered how Luna was practically cut off completely, and she couldn't understand how the girl could handle it.

She had got a copy of the latest Which Broomstick? from Cedric, to see if it could give her any insight into Harry's problem (as if she could do anything). She learnt that the Firebolt's twigs were individually selected for balance and precision, and it had loads and loads of brand new proprietary charms, such that it would be risky to even try to "strip one down". The ironwork was goblin-made, which was supposed to be far better than anyone else's with all of their secret magic; the handle was ebony and polished with diamond dust; the registration number was embossed in twenty-four karat gold—the works.

And none of it was helpful. They didn't even know if the one Harry received was stolen or legally purchased.

No, scratch that. They had the registration number. They could just check with the company.

"With the company…" Hermione whispered out loud. "Oh, Merlin's beard, why didn't I think of that before?" She could barely wait for breakfast to finish, and then she immediately said, "Come with me, Harry," grabbing him by the wrist and dragging him off towards Professor McGonagall's office.

"Why?" he grumbled.

"Because I think I can solve your broomstick problem."

Harry willingly followed her for the first time in two days. Needless to say, Professor McGonagall was surprised when they showed up at her door.

"May I help you?" she said suspiciously.

"Professor, we need to talk to you about the Firebolt," Hermione said.

McGonagall gave them both a rather angry look. "Miss Granger, Mr. Potter, I have told you that it must be thoroughly checked over," she said stiffly.

"I'm not asking you to stop, ma'am, but I thought I had a better solution," Hermione said.

Their teacher still looked suspicious. "Oh? And what may that be?"

"Well, first of all, do you know if the broom was legally purchased, ma'am."

"Yes, we enquired with the manufacturer, and it was legally purchased—under an assumed name, which raises our suspicions still further, but I fail to see how that's relevant."

"Okay. Harry has two problems right now. One is that he needs a good broom to ride in two weeks, and the other is that, with all due respect, ma'am, having Professor Flitwick and Madam Hooch try to strip the spells down will at the very least void the warranty. So I was thinking, wouldn't it be easier to trade Harry's broom for a loaner from the company and have them check it over? That way, someone who knows all the spells on it will be able to check it—maybe even fix it, and Harry will still have something to ride."

Professor McGonagall opened her mouth, closed it, then opened it again and said, "That's a very interesting idea, Miss Granger. I admit I had not seriously considered it. Mr. Potter, I assume I don't need to ask your thoughts on the matter."

Harry was gobsmacked by Hermione's idea: "Oh, Merlin's beard, why didn't I think of that before?"

"Quite," McGonagall replied with a slight roll of her eyes. "I should warn you, Potter, that in the event that your Firebolt proves to be cursed, the company may not be able to repair the spellwork, and you would not be able to keep the loaner."

Harry sighed. "I understand, Professor, but at least I'd have it for the Slytherin game."

"Yes, I can see how that would be desirable," McGonagall said with a gleam in her eye. She was still a die-hard Quidditch fan at heart. "I will inform Professor Flitwick and Madam Hooch and contact the company today. We should be able to acquire a loaner broom within the week. And Miss Granger, five points to Gryffindor for that excellent suggestion."

"Thanks a lot, Hermione," Harry said with a smile. He looked like he was about to hug her, but he stopped and awkwardly patted her on the back. "Um, sorry about the last couple days."

"It's okay," she said. "I know it means a lot to you. Just go and tell Ron now so he can quit being a prat." If that's possible, she thought.

To his credit, Ron's response was not to rub her face in his supposed moral victory, even if he wasn't too keen to apologise, either. "Okay, I get that Sirius Black might've sent Harry the broom, and that's bad," he admitted, "but still, you don't just go stripping down a Firebolt. It's sacrilege!"

He needs to sort out his priorities, Hermione thought.

Fred and George were more positive when the story reached their ears. They caught up with Hermione, Ron, and Harry on their way down to the Quidditch Pitch to watch the match.

"Hermione, our bushy-haired friend," Fred exclaimed, clapping a hand on her shoulder.

"It seems we've misjudged you," George continued.

"We thought you were causing some real trouble for us, turning in that Firebolt," said Fred.

"Even if it was possibly sent by a mass murderer. Quite an understandable reaction," George admitted.

"But it seems that as usual, you've found Harry a better solution. We just needed to have a bit more faith."

"We have been rather unpleasant to our little arithmancer for the past couple of days, haven't we, Fred?"

"That we have, George. Custard cream, Hermione?" Fred offered. "Just to show no hard feelings."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Oh, very well," she said, taking the proffered sweet and popping it in her mouth. Moments later, she felt a strange prickling sensation in her ears. Then, Harry and Ron stopped and stared at her, trying not to laugh.

"What?" she said.

"E-e-ears…" Ron sniggered, pointing at her head.

Hermione quickly felt for her ears. They weren't where they were supposed to be. They had morphed into large triangles poking out of her hair on top of her head. She whirled on the Twins, cursing her lack of vigilance. Never trust those two, especially when they say "no hard feelings".

"Hmm, still needs some work," Fred said clinically. "It was supposed to make you grow fur, too."

"I told you we should've gone with feathers," George said.

Hermione embraced the part and hissed at them. Then, she drew her wand: "Boys, do you remember which spell I recently mastered?"

Fred and George looked at each other in horror and ran for it. She pursued them and soon nailed Fred with the Bat-Bogey Hex. (She wasn't worried about those two turning her in.) But about a minute later, she felt her ears snap back into place, so his accomplice was spared…for now.

"Heh, good one, Hermione," Ginny told her when they reached the stands. She high-fived her. "So who do you think is gonna win today?"

"Ravenclaw is going in as the favourite. They have the better Chaser squad. But it really comes down to the Seekers. Would you say Cedric Diggory or Cho Chang is a better Seeker, Harry?"

"Dunno. Neither of them has played starting before," he said.

The two teams walked out onto the pitch, to cheers from the crowds. As Cedric and Roger shook hands, Hermione couldn't help but notice the difference between this and the Gryffindor-Slytherin game. Cedric and Roger embodied the epitome of a friendly rivalry, whereas with Oliver Wood and Marcus Flint, the nicest thing you could call it would be an unfriendly rivalry.

She also couldn't help but notice the difference between the two Seekers. Cedric was tall and musclar, and she felt a small lurch in her stomach when she saw how good he looked in his Quidditch robes. Cho Chang, on the other hand, was tiny—a head shorter even than Harry, who was none too tall. If she followed his gaze carefully, Harry seemed to be staring at her.

"Well, it looks like Cho has the weight advantage," Hermione suggested as they took to the air.

"Yeah, definitely," Harry said absently.

"But then again, Cedric's really talented," Hermione said a bit dreamily. "He never would've made starting Seeker if he couldn't compete with someone like her."

"Huh? Oh, yeah, I guess."

It was an exciting game. As she predicted, Roger and his two fellow Chasers were dominating the pitch for Ravenclaw, but Hermione and Harry were both primarily interested in the Seeker duel. Cho seemed to have a habit of marking Cedric, which Hermione thought didn't reflect well on her. Since she was lighter and faster, she should have the advantage out in front. Cedric was playing a good, if straightforward game, scanning for the Snitch carefully and systematically, pulling a couple of feints, and blocking the Ravenclaw players when he got the chance. Both she and Harry were watching them fly so intently that they barely noticed Fred and George slipping their heads between them.

"Enjoying the view?" they said.

"Eep!" Hermione jumped and spun around. She felt herself turning bright red. She started to deny it: "I was just…" But she couldn't think of how to finish it.

"Sure you were," George said knowingly.

"Cedric's a very good player," she managed.

"Of course he is," Fred grinned. "And so's Cho, eh, Harry?"

"Um…" he said.

It was then that she noticed Harry had also turned bright red. Cho, of course. Hermione could tell she was very pretty. It was a little odd, though. She had never really seen Harry as someone who thought about girls, mostly because of his difficult upbringing, but the past two years had fixed a lot of that.

"Diggory's spotted it!" Lee Jordan's voice boomed over the pitch.

Everyone looked up to see Cedric racing after the tiny golden ball with Cho hot on his heels. Then, she made her move, and Hermione finally understood her strategy. She had just flanked Cedric until he spotted the Snitch and then darted around in front of him. It was sneaky. A charitable description would be ruthless. And risky—Cedric nearly knocked her off her broom trying to outflank her manoeuvre. But she proved just how good a flier she was when she rolled over to avoid him and pushed forward to snatch the Snitch almost from under his nose.

"And Chang catches the Snitch for a total score of Ravenclaw three hundred, Hufflepuff eighty!" Lee announced. "A massive win for Ravenclaw!"

Harry started cheering, heedless of the attention he was getting. Hermione applauded politely, but she was mostly disappointed to see Cedric lose—oh, God, Fred and George were right, weren't they?

In fact, Hermione found herself blushing again the next time she met Cedric in class as she offered her sympathy for losing the game. If anything, that was even more embarrassing. She'd never blushed in front of Cedric before. New year, new problems.

But she had other things to worry about. One was whether or not to go home for Christmas. Even not telling her parents the full extent of what was happening at Hogwarts, she still felt like she'd rather not give them the opportunity to change their minds about the place. On a more academic level, she was becoming aware that she really wasn't sure what maths to study next after linear algebra, and she'd need to ask her parents to send whatever new textbook she picked over the holidays. She'd have to contact her correspondence professor about that. Yet another worry reared its head a few days later when Harry's loaner Firebolt came in—the worry that he wouldn't crash it.

Dear Mum and Dad,

After careful consideration, I have decided that I want to stay at Hogwarts for Christmas. My reasons are similar to why I was initially planning to stay last year. Harry gets lonely over the breaks, and I want to keep him company. He especially needs cheering up this year with all the dementors about. I also wanted to use the time to catch up on my reading in the library, and I have a little project I want to work on with Fred and George, too. (Don't worry, it's not a destructive or illegal one.)

The other reason I want to stay is that I really feel like I should experience an authentic Hogwarts Christmas at least once. It sounds like a wonderful time, to hear Harry talk about it. I don't intend to make this a habit, but I do want to see one, and this year seems as good as any. I hope you can understand that, and I do look forward to seeing you next summer.

Love from Hermione

Harry was probably the most excited he had been all year when he went out for Quidditch practice with his new Firebolt. Oliver Wood was downright giddy, and even Madam Hooch was impressed by the craftsmanship. The one disappointment was that he knew he still wouldn't be ready to fly in the match. No dementors had shown up to last week's game, but it wasn't a chance he could take again. He would just have to work around it.

For now, though, he would enjoy flying the Firebolt, the fastest broom in the world. But it wasn't the raw speed that was the important thing—Hermione had calculated that at top speed, he could only just barely stay inside the pitch unless he'd been moonlighting as a fighter pilot. But the acceleration was phenomenal. As soon as he lifted off the ground, he felt it. The g-forces were huge, and once or twice, he threatened to slip off, but he kept his grip and ran the broom through its paces with an ease that he had never felt with his Nimbus. He could turn so tight at normal flying speeds that his teammates screamed and thought he would go flying literally off the handle. He could stay inside the pitch comfortably at a hundred miles an hour, something his Nimbus never could have managed—not without ominous creaking, anyway. And even when he went into a dive (Hermione had warned him strenuously about diving that with one tiny slip, he wouldn't be able to pull up in time), the control was so much better that he could get closer to the ground than before.

He didn't think he'd ever felt so alive. The Firebolt's balance and precision were so great that it seemed to obey his thoughts. When Wood let out the Snitch, he caught it three times in a row so easily that he thought he understood how Eunice Murray felt when she petitioned for "a faster Snitch because this is just too easy." And the whole team ran their drills so well with Harry leading the charge that Wood didn't have a single criticism. ("It's a sign of the apocalypse! Run!" Fred and George said.) Finally, Harry swooped down beside his friends and hopped off the broom easily, letting it hover in midair.

"Harry that was incredible!" Ginny exclaimed.

"I thought you'd gone mad, flying like that," Hermione admonished.

"Can I have a go, Harry?" Ron said.

"Sorry, not yet, Ron. We've got more practice, still," Harry told him. "Ginny, it's your turn, now."

"What?!" all four Weasleys on the pitch said at once.

"H-Harry, I can't—" she started.

"Yeah, you can't let Ginny fly that," Ron insisted. "She'll kill herself on that thing!"

"Oh, and you wouldn't, Ron?" Ginny said in a huff. "I'm at least good enough to make the team."

"Hey!"

"Harry, are you sure about this?" George said. "We know you're good, Gin, but you've never even flown a Nimbus." Ginny actually looked a bit uncomfortable at that.

"Look," Harry said. "I don't think I'm gonna be able to fly in the match, so Ginny's gonna have to fly. She'll need a good broom to beat Malfoy's, and this is the best one there is—I think you can do it, Ginny," Harry said.

"You d-do?" she said, blushing. "But I could never fly it like you did."

"Maybe not yet, but I told you before, you only have to fly it better than Malfoy…But George is right though, the Firebolt's harder than it looks…say, Wood, can I borrow your Cleansweep Seven? I want to be able to stay close to her." Ginny blushed again at that.

"Sure thing, Potter," Wood replied. "If you can get her in the air on that, be my guest."

"Great. Come on, Ginny." Harry led her down onto the grass, where he directed her to climb on the Firebolt while he mounted Wood's Cleansweep. He hovered close enough to her to hold the handle of the Firebolt with one hand. "Okay, the first thing is that the Firebolt has a much lighter touch than anything you've flown before. Just a slight nudge will take you where you want to go, and you don't want to push too hard, at least until you get used to it. So let's take it off the ground nice and slow."

Harry let go of the handle, and Ginny took off. He was right. She felt like she could move the broom with her little finger. The effortless power at her fingertips was intoxicating, and it was all she could do to follow Harry's instructions correctly. She couldn't believe she was riding an actual Firebolt—not only the fastest broom in the world, but also the most expensive, surely. She'd never dreamed that she'd ever be able to so much as touch one, and here she was, actually flying one at age twelve. A nudge here, a nudge there, and she was all over the pitch, soon outstripping Harry on Wood's Cleansweep Seven.

"Looking good, Ginny," Harry told her. "Now, the hard part will be doing all the drills with the new control—that and diving. It dives great, but you have to learn to estimate the speeds and distances all over again. You want to err on the side of pulling up too soon."

"Got it," she said, and Harry soon had her diving and running drills with the rest of the team, and he eventually backed off and let her do some free flying, which was probably the biggest compliment of all. She was nowhere near Harry's level; she doubted she could even match him on the Cleansweep, but with another week's practice, she was sure she could beat Malfoy.

The big day arrived, and Harry let Ginny carry the Firebolt into the Great Hall at breakfast so that Malfoy could see exactly what he was up against. The Slytherin ponce grinned at her evilly at first, still expecting an easy win, but his glee turned to horror when he realised exactly what kind of broomstick she was carrying. His own Nimbus Two Thousand and One had been the fastest broom on the market—until now.

Ginny had more than once beat Harry to Snitch over the past week with him on the Cleansweep, and he declared that she would definitely beat Malfoy today. Hermione also gave her good odds, and the excitement down at the pitch was palpable.

"And it's a big shake-up on the Gryffindor Team today," Lee Jordan announced. "They're feeling so confident that they're trying out their new reserve Seeker, Ginny Weasley—and it's obvious why because Ginny is riding a brand new Firebolt, the product of a completely new manufacturing process, which is quickly becoming the broom of choice in the Quidditch World Cup."

"Jordan," McGonagall interrupted, "kindly keep your commentary on the game."

Ginny laughed as Lee continued to advertise the Firebolt more than he announced the match, but she quickly found that a real Quidditch game was dangerous business. With her on a clearly superior broom, Malfoy and the rest of the Slytherin Team decided that the best way to deal with her would be to knock her out of the game early.

That proved to be a mistake. Fred and George were very protective of their little sister. With the Twin Beaters flanking Ginny, anyone trying to mess with her had better be willing to get twice as good as they gave. The only downside was that it stretched them thin and gave the Slytherin offence more openings, so she was under some time pressure to get the Snitch before they got too far ahead.

Finally, Ginny saw the Snitch, away at the far end of the field. Malfoy was closer, but she had better acceleration. She leaned forward and took off like an arrow. Malfoy's reaction time was surprisingly good, but he just couldn't match the Firebolt. By the time she was close enough to the Snitch to give chase, she was more than a broom length ahead of him. With the Firebolt's speed, she gained on it quickly. She nearly fumbled it, but she soon wrapped her fingers around the winged ball.

"Ginny Weasley has caught the Snitch!" Lee roared. "Just goes to show how the Firebolt can beat anything else in the air. A win for Gryffindor at two hundred twenty to one hundred ten."

She zipped down to the pitch, where Fred and George lifted her up on their shoulders as soon as they dismounted and paraded her by the stands. It seemed like all of Gryffindor wanted to congratulate her after that performance, Harry included.

"Brilliant! Really brilliant! You were great out there, Ginny," he said when she came face to face with him.

"Well, I had a really good teacher," she replied.

Suddenly, without warning, Harry leaned forward and hugged her.

She froze up again, speechless, like she would have done a year ago. Her brain didn't want to work at the moment. She noticed Hermione smiling at her.

"If I couldn't beat Malfoy, I'm glad you could," Harry continued.

"Th-thanks," she squeaked back.

That quite possibly counted as the best day of Ginny Weasley's life.