Saturday was the day of the Quidditch game. If anyone had forgotten, they were immediately reminded when the entire Gryffindor Quidditch team came down to the Great Hall bearing Harry's Firebolt, which they laid down on the middle of the breakfast table and surrounded in an incredibly classy display of modesty and subtlety.

Hermione snorted to herself, rolling her eyes. Gryffindors.

"Is that a Firebolt?" Draco demanded, standing up at his seat and craning to get a good look. "Did Potter really get a blasted Firebolt?"

"He did," Hermione said. She shrugged. "Slytherin's not even playing today, though, so why's it matter?"

Draco scowled at her. "If Gryffindor beats Ravenclaw, it matters for Slytherin's chances for the cup. And points throughout the season matter, too. Potter's Firebolt changes everything."

Hermione blinked. "Wait. You didn't already think Gryffindor was going to win?"

Draco paused, hesitating, before pulling out a folded piece of parchment from his robes.

"The odds were more even than you'd think," he said, spreading the paper out on the table. "A Firebolt was a variable we didn't account for."

A complex Arithmancy prediction tree was sprawled across the parchment. Branches and variables were scattered all around, with places for each player, each team's previous victories and point totals, and even a place for the weather. Equations littered the paper near the branches' junctions, determining the significance of each variable. All the branches came together to form one concrete branch at the end, which had two shimmering outcomes on it.

"Gryffindor favored 60/40?" Hermione said, astonished. "I'd have thought it was much higher."

"Doesn't matter now," Draco griped. "Not when he has a Firebolt. Speeds of the brooms weren't important when everyone was playing on comparable ones. A Firebolt will outstrip everyone else by a mile."

Hermione took the parchment, looking it over more deeply. There were equations on here they definitely hadn't covered in class, and though a lot of the data had been manually supplied, there were a fair few Arithmantic Queries included she was certain weren't even covered this year.

"This is incredible," she told him. "How long did this take?"

"It was nothing," Draco dismissed, though he flushed in pleasure.

"No, really," Hermione said. "This is incredibly complicated and advanced for our level. How did you manage this?"

Draco looked pleased with compliment, perking up a bit from his dark mood.

"I got Flint to help me with the historical statistics," he said. "Pucey helped me with the more complicated equations and queries – he's in O.W.L. level Arithmancy this year. It turned out pretty good, I thought."

"It did," Hermione admired. "You forgot a few circumstantial variables I'd have wanted to account for, but really – this is incredible work."

Draco shot her a quizzical look. "Circumstantial variables?"

"Yes. Things surrounding the match that aren't direct influences," Hermione explained. "Like… I'd try and incorporate the Ravenclaw's Seeker's attractiveness somehow."

"Cho Chang?" Blaise chimed in, arriving at breakfast somewhat late and with a yawn. "What about her?"

"Draco drew up an Arithmancy tree for the Quidditch game today," Hermione told him, spreading the parchment out on the table so Blaise could see. "Given Hufflepuff lost in part because their Chasers were too busy ogling the Seeker to pay attention, it seems relevant."

Blaise looked sideways at Hermione, smirking. "And you think the Gryffindor team will make the same folly? With all the drills their insane Captain's been making them do?"

Hermione bit her lip. "Maybe not. But… it might for Harry."

"Really?" Draco's face looked intrigued. "He'd sacrifice a game over a girl?"

"Oh, no, never," Hermione said hastily. "He'd never go so far. But… he has this inborn sense of chivalry, I think, that might make him hesitate to be brash or aggressive at key moments."

Draco smirked. "Ah, yes. The heroic Gryffindors. Of course."

"This is pretty impressive," Blaise remarked. "You're missing a few variables, though."

"That's what Hermione said," Draco groused. "What, do you think the Ravenclaw Seeker being a girl is that important too?"

"No," Blaise said, smirking as he handed Draco his parchment back. "But I've have included whether or not Dumbledore was coming to the match, which team the Hufflepuffs will be cheering for, and the odds of dementors showing up again."

"Dementors?" Draco said.

"Well, Potter passed out and fell off his broom the last time dementors showed up," Blaise pointed out reasonably. "That seems like the sort of thing that might affect the odds of the outcome, doesn't it?"

Hermione shoved Blaise. "Don't be rude."

"Sorry." Blaise grinned at her. "But he did, you know."

Hermione rolled her eyes and returned to her breakfast, ignoring the ruckus of people making a fuss over the Firebolt at the Gryffindor table behind her, and though Blaise smoothly turned the topic of conversation from Quidditch to the oddity of the breakfast before them (there was usually a lot more selection than this, wasn't there?), Hermione couldn't help but catch the speculative gleam in Draco Malfoy's eyes, nor the way he glanced meaningfully at Marcus Flint, the two of them leaving breakfast early ahead of the others.

Hermione's eyes narrowed. If she were to make her own Arithmantic chart on whether or not Draco was about to do something stupid to sabotage the Gryffindor team, she suspected the odds would be approaching 100%.

Blaise tagged along with her after breakfast without a word as Hermione went to catch Snape before the match.

"Are you sure this doesn't count as tattling?" Blaise asked her, following her. "It feels like tattling."

"It's not tattling if it saves us humiliation," Hermione snapped. "Their stupid idea won't even work."

"We could help them make it work," Blaise counter-offered. "They're not going to be able to get a dementor, but we still have the boggart farm we made. If any of those turned out, we could use those."

Hermione paused, blinking.

"I forgot about that," she admitted. "Boggarts aren't going to go out in a large, well-lit, outdoor space, though. And who knows who they'd choose to focus on, anyway?"

Blaise smirked, shrugging. "No idea. But wouldn't it be fun to see?"

Hermione rolled her eyes but laughed.

As it happened, Snape had already left with most of the school for the Quidditch stands, and Hermione and Blaise had to hurry, only just managing to delay him at the entrance to the Staff stands.

"Sir! Sir!"

Snape turned with a raised eyebrow, which immediately became a more exasperated look when he saw who had waylaid him.

"Miss Granger and Mister Zabini," he said dryly. "What manner of stress and exasperation are you here to inflict upon me this fine morning?"

Hermione's mouth fell open.

"I'm trying to protect Slytherin's reputation!" she said defensively. "I thought you'd want that to happen, sir!"

Snape's lips pulled up into a smirk.

"You would do well not to take sarcasm quite so personally, Miss Granger," he advised her. "What is it, then?"

Hermione bit her lip.

"I think Draco Malfoy is going to try and sabotage the match," she said.

Snape raised an eyebrow. "Is that so?"

Hesitantly, Hermione explained the conversation over breakfast – how Draco had made the Arithmancy prediction tree for the match, how Blaise had quipped about missing a variable for dementors showing up, and the speculative gleam in Draco's eye before he'd left breakfast early with Marcus Flint. Snape's expression didn't flicker as he listened, and when she was done explaining, he flicked his eyes to Blaise.

"Mister Zabini," he said. "What do you think?"

"I agree that Malfoy's definitely going to try something," Blaise said, shrugging. "I just don't think it will work. Even if he does manage to get a dementor to come, Potter will just cast a Patronus, and it won't matter."

"Draco could get seriously hurt trying, though!" Hermione objected. "All the staff is here at the match – there's no one to interfere if the dementors try and suck out his soul!"

"Miss Granger, I think you have a fundamental misunderstanding of how Mister Malfoy's mind works." Snape's smile was wry. "Draco Malfoy is not about to put himself in significant danger just to prank Potter."

Hermione didn't say anything. Draco had gone off with Marcus Flint, who was bigger – he could easily get Flint to do the dangerous part.

"I understand your concern on behalf of Slytherin's reputation," Snape said silkily. "As it stands, though, Slytherin already has a reputation for cheating and interfering at Quidditch games, whether or not it is true. Mister Malfoy's attempts at doing so will hardly change that one way or another."

"You—you don't think he might get hurt?" Hermione asked, worrying at her lip.

"Who cares if he does?" muttered Blaise.

"Boys can be stupid about Quidditch," Hermione went on. "You don't think he might take an unusual risk if it would help Slytherin win the Cup?"

Snape smirked.

"Not of this magnitude," he assured her. "If anything, Mister Malfoy is likely to make a fool of himself, not of Slytherin. And that," he said pointedly, "is a lesson he might need to learn."

With that, Snape turned with a dramatic flourish of his robes and ascended into the Quidditch stands, leaving Hermione standing alone with Blaise for a long moment. She sighed, exasperated, before she and Blaise turned to hurry over to the Slytherin section and climb up into the stands.

"Are we late?" Hermione said, out of breath as she squeezed in next to Tracey.

"Almost," Millie told her. She smirked. "Luckily for you, the match is starting a little late today. They're waiting for Dumbledore to get here."

"Oh?" Blaise said, raising an eyebrow. "And where is our esteemed Headmaster?"

"Last I heard, he was at the Kitchens," Tracey told them. "Adrian and I were – umm – talking about the upcoming game in an alcove near there, and Dumbledore went through the fruit painting."

"The Kitchens?" Hermione's eyebrows went up. "I didn't think he usually went there."

"He doesn't," Millie said bluntly.

Blaise smirked "Maybe he was upset about the lack of marmalade on the breakfast table."

"Dumbledore's not the only one missing," Tracey said slyly. "Anyone catch who else is inexplicably late in our midst?"

Hermione glanced around, heart sinking. Behind her, Theo was sitting with a book in his lap next to Daphne, who was next to Pansy, both of whom were chattering up a storm. Theo caught her gaze and raised an eyebrow, before glancing conspicuously around, and Hermione winced.

"Draco's missing, as are Crabbe and Goyle," Hermione said.

"Flint's not here either," Blaise said. He smirked. "Well. I guess we'll get to see what their grand plan is, then, if they manage to pull it off."

Hermione grimaced to herself, twisting her coven ring on her finger. Not that she thought Draco would manage to get a dementor, but just in case Harry needed it, she wanted to make sure her magic was ready.

The players finally made their way out onto the Quidditch Pitch, to the cheers of the crowd. It was a clear, cool day with a light breeze – ideal Quidditch weather, Hermione imagined. The two captains shook hands, and as soon as Madam Hooch blew her whistle, the players were off, chasing the balls around in whizzes of speed.

"They're off! And the big excitement this match is the Firebolt that Harry Potter is flying for Gryffindor. According to Which Broomstick, the Firebolt's going to be the broom of choice for the national teams at this year's World Championship—"

"Jordan, would you mind telling us what's going on in the match?" Professor McGonagall's voice cut in.

"Right you are, Professor – just giving a bit of background information—"

Hermione tuned out Lee Jordan's commentary in favor of watching the game more closely.

The Ravenclaw Seeker was tailing Harry closely, and Harry seemed frustrated by it. When he dived towards the bottom of one of the barriers, Cho Chang was barely a moment after him, both of them diving for it, only for a Bludger to come pelting out of nowhere, forcing Harry to veer off course, the Snitch vanishing in those scant seconds.

"Cho doesn't seem to want to do the work of spotting the Snitch herself," Blaise commented.

"She's probably doing whatever Roger Davies told her to do," Tracey said. "He's pretty devious for a Ravenclaw, apparently. And with the Firebolt, even if she spotted the Snitch, Harry could outstrip her and catch it before she could, anyway."

Millie shot Tracey a sideways look.

"Quidditch expert now, are you?" she said dryly. "Or picking tips up via mouth osmosis?"

Tracey flushed hotly.

"Adrian might have mentioned something about it," she said, holding her head up high in a dignified manner, and Millie smirked, eyes glittering in mirth.

The game seemed fairly standard to Hermione. The Gryffindor Chasers seemed fiercely determined, and Ravenclaw was forced into playing a more defensive strategy more often than not, the Beaters and Keeper doing their best to stop the Quaffle from going through the hoops. Even Cho was being more defensive than offensive, blocking Harry so he couldn't go the way he wanted to, to Harry's clearly-growing frustration.

Suddenly, Harry dived for the base of the Gryffindor goal posts, only for Cho to fly into his path and cut him off, blocking his way. Harry was forced to swerve to avoid collision, and Hermione guessed from the furious arm-waving and gesticulating by the Gryffindor Keeper that he was not particularly pleased with Harry for not just ploughing through and knocking Cho off her broom.

"Bet Potter fakes her out," Tracey said. "Adrian said with a Firebolt, it's a near given—ha! Yes, there, see—"

Harry had dived toward the ground, Cho following him into the dive, thinking he'd seen the snitch, but Harry pulled out of it very sharply while Cho went hurtling downward, and he took off for the Ravenclaw side of the field. It took Cho a moment to realize what was happening before she raced after him, and it seemed this time, the chase for the Snitch was legitimate.

Hermione was clenching her fists, nails digging into her palms as she watched Harry when Blaise gasped from next to her.

"There's no way," he said, his tone shocked. "How on earth—"

Hermione looked down.

Three dementors, tall and hooded, were on the Quidditch pitch, looking up at Harry.

For a moment, Hermione felt cold fear clutch her heart as well a vindictive rush of satisfaction – Draco had gotten them, just like she'd said – but these couldn't be real dementors, she realized a moment later. There was no swell of cold air, no depressing feeling lingering around them, no sense of despair and desperation.

Far above the field, Hermione saw Cho exclaim something and point downward, and Harry looked down. Immediately, he plunged his hand down the neck of his robes and whipped out his wand, shouting, and an enormous silvery-white Patronus erupted from his wand, charging directly at the dementors as he continued racing toward the Snitch.

Hermione laughed as she watched the Patronus crash into the dementors in a burst of energy, and the dementors toppled over, one of them looking like it had broken in half. As the stag vanished, a whistle sounded – Harry had caught the Snitch – and the Gryffindor part of the stands roared their approval, the rest of the Gryffindor team bearing down on Harry and hugging him in mid-air.

"Oh dear," Blaise said, amused. "Look."

Professor McGonagall had come onto the field, addressing the 'dementors' with fury. In their fall, the hoods had fallen off, and Hermione could see Draco, Crabbe, Goyle, and Marcus Flint in a crumpled heap on the ground. Draco looked to have been on Goyle's shoulders and had half-fallen off, and all four of them were struggling to escape from the long, black hooded robes.

Hermione watched with wry amusement as Professor Lupin led Harry over to crumpled heap, and Harry was unable to hide a grin at the Slytherins' fate. Hermione saw Ron and Neville join Harry, both of them erupting into laughter, and Hermione rolled her eyes, but she was smirking all the same.

"We should have thought of that," Blaise said, shaking his head with a smirk. "Of course Malfoy would go for a fake dementor, not a real one."

"How were we supposed to know that?" Hermione protested. "A fake dementor doesn't produce the same effect a real one does, so it's rather pointless in trying to distract Harry, isn't it?"

"You're presuming Malfoy realized Harry was affected by the dementor's aura," Blaise said, smirking, "and not just terrified of them on general premise by sight."

"Draco thought Harry was—are you serious? Like he was passing out at the sight of a scary thing in a cloak?!"

"All the intelligence to put together a complicated prediction plan," Blaise said, laughing, "but none of the wisdom to realize why dementors made Potter faint in the first place."

Though she was laughing, Hermione didn't know if she could possibly roll her eyes any harder.