November breezed into Hogwarts like a cold blast from the Arctic. Every morning the ground was covered in a thick layer of frost, and the Prefects were commandeered to walk around casting melting charms on the walkways, just so that more students didn't slip on the icy surface and follow Neville, who had already slipped over three times, for spells in the Hospital Wing.

Even more icy than the air and frost was Hermione's attitude to Ron Weasley. She now point blank refused to speak to him, or even acknowledge his existence. She rebuffed his stumbling, half-hearted attempt at apology, on the one time he was brave enough to try, and actually got so upset in her angry rant that Professor Sprout - who was trying to teach them at the time - had to send Hermione to a time-out amongst some flowering Columbian Opioid plants until she calmed down.

"It's not even because Ron put her in danger," Papageno explained to Harry. "She might have been able to overlook that, because he was trying to do the right thing. It's the fact that you were so hurt that she cant forgive him."

"Oh ... really?" Harry queried, as a happy glow stole across his cheeks.

Harry stared fondly at Hermione as they watched her perform a sort of faerie rain-dance along the shores of the Great Lake. For it had turned out the Opioid plants were of a particularly potent variety, and Hermione had spent Transfiguration trying to catch an errant, hallucinated unicorn who was prancing between the rows of seats, until Professor McGonagall excused her from the lesson and told Harry to take her for some fresh air.

It was still very odd to be talking to Papageno, and Harry wasn't entirely sure how comfortable he was with it yet. The more he thought about what Pap was, the more he felt like he was intruding on the most private and intimate parts of his best friend. The mere act of looking at the dæmon felt thrillingly forbidden, but Harry was addicted to the sensation. It was like talking to another person, too, and Harry was often careless in his speech, saying things to the cat that he might not have said to Hermione's face.

Then he would remember that Hermione and Pap were of one mind, and she'd know everything he'd said, and Harry would be far too embarrassed to speak to her when they met up. Like when he told Pap that he played Quidditch much better when Hermione came to watch, and that he often flew by her seat just to hear her clapping for him. It made him fly that little bit faster and catch the Snitch a little bit quicker.

Quite why that embarrassed her so much Harry couldn't fathom. But when they had both stopped flushing enough to speak, after Hermione joined Harry following a training session, she repaid his compliment by giving him the best motivational speech ever invented in the history of Harry Potter's world.

"Are you ready for the match against Slytherin on Saturday?" Hermione asked, as they walked slowly back to the castle from the Quidditch pitch with Pap circling their feet.

"Well ... I've been practising a lot," Harry mumbled, wringing his hands. "And I think I've been okay."

"You've been better than okay," Hermione told him supportively. "You've been brilliant. I bet that little golden ball is sick of being in your fingers at this point!"

"Thanks," Harry grinned shyly. He was still fumbling with those same digits, though. "But it'll be different in a match, won't it? There will be a whole seven other players, and they are all Slytherins. I'm pretty sure Fred and George Weasley went easy on me with their Beater work in training. The Green Snakes wont be as courteous. They'll more likely try to hammer me off my broom!"

"You're nervous," Hermione stated gently, sounding surprised.

"Bit nervous, yeah," Harry muttered. He couldn't quite meet Hermione's eye just then

Hermione stopped and turned to look at him. "Harry ... there's something I want you to do for me on Saturday."

"What is it?"

"Come here," Hermione beckoned him closer. Then she leaned in as if to tell him a secret. Harry felt his heart miss several beats as Hermione breathed into his ear. "Come here ... win, Harry. I want you to win for me."

Harry beamed widely as Hermione stepped back and smiled prettily at him. Now, quite suddenly, he couldn't wait for Saturday to come.

But three days was a long time at Hogwarts, long enough for just about anything to happen. And so it proved, as Harry and Papageno were keeping an eye on Hermione in her drug-induced trance. Harry happened to turn away from Pap, to hide the tint to his cheeks, following his declaration that Hermione was more angry that Ron had put Harry in danger than herself.

That's when he saw Severus Snape limping towards Hagrid's cabin.

Harry wasn't sure what he was more curious about - Snape's limp, or the fact that he was heading to see Hagrid at all. For such a sneering, cretin of a man, it didn't make sense that he would visit Hagrid for a social call.

"Pap, I'm just going to see what Snape is up to at Hagrid's," Harry announced. "Keep an eye on Hermione."

"Dont do anything reckless," Papageno warned, sounding remarkably like his human.

Harry nodded, but it was with these words of caution echoing in his head that he hurried up the slope towards the gamekeeper's cabin. Harry edged around the side of the hut, questing for the open window near Hagrid's cooking range. Hushed, pained voices reached his ears, as well as the most pungent, acrid stench Harry could ever remember coming across.

It smelled like decaying flesh.

"Care to explain this!" Snape hissed. "What sort of poison does that infernal creature of yours carry? None of my antidotes are touching this."

"Fluffy is a fierce magical creature," Hagrid returned bluntly. "Wha' do you expect? Sunshine and daisies? Still, better let me take a look."

Harry was dying to know just what Hagrid was taking a look at. So he eased his head up to peer inside the window. He saw Snape, his robe pulled up above his thigh, and Hagrid unwrapping bloody bandages from around a pus-filled, oozing and mangled wound. The smell was atrocious, even from Harry's position outside.

"Ooh, tha's a nasty one, alright," Hagrid assessed critically. "Claw was it?"

"Took me by surprise, while I was trying to avoid the heads," Snape spat. "You try checking a locked trapdoor with monstrous beast like that trying to slash you up for a snack."

"I told you, just play Fluffy a bit o' music ... or sing to him," Hagrid reminded Snape. "He's partial to a bit of Elvis Presley. Sends him right to sleep."

"You keep flapping your jaw like that and anyone could find out how to subdue that animal upstairs," Snape warned. "You do know what it's guarding, don't you? How dangerous it could be if the Dark Lord ever recovered it?"

"O' course I do," Hagrid boomed. "And I wouldn't let Dumbledore down. I'd rather drink acid."

"You just keep remembering that, and keep your voice down," Snape hissed. "Now ... do something about this wound."

Harry slipped away and trotted back down to the shores of the Lake. He dearly wished Hermione was cogent enough to discuss this with him, but even Pap was now being affected by the power of the Opioid plants. He was walking on his hind legs and playing an imaginary fiddle, as Hermione hitched up her cloak and did an impromptu tap routine.

Harry just sat and kept half an eye on them as he thought. So, Fluffy was at Hogwarts, guarding this Ruby for Dumbledore's friend. The teachers must have decided to cover the hole on the third floor with a trapdoor for now, but Fluffy still needed to stand guard over it. Which meant that someone else was still at Hogwarts trying to get through it. But if Snape was checking that it was still locked when he got injured, it couldn't be him.

Then ... who was it?

Harry didn't have a long list of suspects. Of all the people at the school who might want to steal a powerful artefact, Snape seemed the cartoon villain. In his sweeping robes, his bat-like presence and his permanent scowl, he fitted the profile nicely. And Harry was longing for it to be him, on account of the fact that Harry couldn't stand the snake. It was a nice daydream, to envisage catching Snape in the act of theft and turning him over to Dumbledore for summary execution.

But that would have to wait for another day.

Then Harry had a stark thought. He didn't even know what this Ruby was that the thief was after. Or what it did. The Flamellian Ruby ... it sounded like a thing - something famous. Something people would know about. Flamellian? Harry didn't know what that meant, had never hear of it before. Could it be from a place, like Neapolitan Ice Cream? Or maybe a person, like Jungian theory?

He would have to do some investigation into this. Harry decided not to ask his parents, or Sirius, or Minerva, as all of them had an innate sense when it came to sniffing out Harry being up to something. This was something he wanted to explore under the cover of secrecy, so adult counsel was out of the question.

Friday evening found Harry and Hermione sat on opposite ends of the couch in the Common Room. Hermione had finally come down from the Moon and Harry was telling her about what he'd seen with Snape and Hagrid, as he proofread her Transfiguration homework.

"It does seem that the traitor is still here," Hermione agreed. "And that Snape was trying to stop him. You did say that Dumbledore gave him a funny look when he heard about the troll. But who would be good with trolls, if they used it as a diversion? Oh, and if you grip the underside - as well as the upperside - of your broom, evasive rolls from Bludgers are twenty-seven percent more effective."

Their conversation was a bit disjointed like this, as Hermione punctuated their musings by reading facts and tips from Quidditch Through The Ages, which was spread open between her knees.

"I'll try to remember that one," Harry grinned at her.

"Personally, if I knew that there was a giant dog on the third floor, I wouldn't go anywhere near it. Actually, now I do know ... so I definitely wont!"

Neville, who was sat near the fire, huddled into himself as the image of a giant, three-headed dog clouded his vision. He busied himself moving his wrist, recently healed from a sprain, after his latest run in with Scottish morning frost. He moved the joint until it felt looser.

"That's probably for the best," Harry teased. "But have you ever heard of a Flamellian Ruby, or a Flamellian anything?"

Neville scrunched up his round face. "There's something that sounds familiar about it, but I cant think what. I'm sure I've read the name somewhere."

"It isn't important tonight," Hermione stated bossily. "All our attention has to be on Harry tomorrow."

"On the match, you mean?" Neville smirked at her.

"Yes, that's what I said," Hermione replied, confused. "Right. There are seven hundred ways to commit a foul in Quidditch -"

"- and the Slytherins will probably try to do all of them on me," Harry mused grimly.

"Probably," Hermione agreed gravely. "And the Seeker is usually the one who gets injured most and worst. Oh dear ... is there any chance I might convince you not to play?"

"Not if you want me to keep my promise," Harry reminded her shyly.

"Oh ... right," Hermione replied, blushing furiously. "Of course. Yes, you have to play, then."

"What promise?" asked Neville, lightly.

"Never you mind!" Harry and Hermione snapped in unison.

Neville just laughed at them as they averted their eyes from each other. "Yeah ... definitely not going out, are you? Merlin above!"

Either way, it ended the conversation at a stroke. Harry went to bed with his head ringing with Quidditch moves, and pictures of glowing rubies, and Hermione's glowing eyes, where she sneaked little glances at him over the top of her book. He decided to forget researching Flamellian artefacts and instead turn his attention to decoding eye expressions. For if he did that, perhaps he could finally work out what Hermione's loaded looks were subtly trying to tell him.

The morning dawned fresh and cool. It meant that the pitch would be nice and firm, which - according to Oliver Wood - was a good thing. Harry couldn't see how, given that Quidditch was played in the air, but Wood seemed to know what he was talking about and Harry knew that Hermione could probably recite the reason, if he was really that desperate to know about it.

Harry tried to eat, but his insides felt a little bit like the oozy substance that Harry had seen seeping from Snape's mangled leg.

"You need your strength," Hermione insisted, poking a muffin towards him.

"I'm not hungry."

"Just a bit of toast," Hermione wheedled. "Or a crumpet maybe."

"No, thanks."

"How about my last Chocolate Frog?"

Actually, that sounded quite nice. So Harry accepted it when Hermione offered it to him.

"Better?" Hermione asked.

"Yeah, a bit better," Harry allowed, swallowing the chocolate leg.

"What card did you get?" Hermione quipped.

"Dumbledore - again," Harry replied, looking at the facsimile of the Headmaster as he moved out of frame. "I've got about seven of him."

Harry pocketed the card in his robes for now.

"Well, at least you've eaten something," Hermione huffed. It was quite clear that she didn't approve of chocolate for breakfast, or as a pre-Quidditch meal.

Then Harry spotted a little placard next to the bench at Hermione's feet.

"What's that?"

"Oh ... well," Hermione began cautiously, her skin colouring. "Lavender and Fay thought it would be a good idea for us first-years to support you personally today. As you're the youngest Seeker in a century. So six of us have each got letter, that together will spell out your surname. Dean has done the drawing, as he's very good at art, and Parvati thought I should have the big letter 'P'. Can't imagine why ..."

Harry flushed as he imagined the scene in less than an hour, when his silly surname was flashing above the stands. As much as he appreciated the gesture, he could just imagine how people like Malfoy, and even Ron, would react to that. But there was little he could do about it.

"Just make sure you're all in the right order," Harry warned. "If it turns out I'm rubbish at Quidditch, I don't want the Slytherins making fun of you all for getting my name wrong, too."

"You wont be rubbish," Hermione stated confidently. "I've yet to come across anything that you're less than amazing at."

"Me?" Harry replied, fitfully embarrassed. "I'm not as good as you."

"Me? I'm all books and cleverness," Hermione insisted. "There are much more important things."

"Even to you?" Harry teased.

"Yes," Hermione confirmed. "Things like friendship, and bravery, and - oh, Harry ... just go and be brilliant again. And bring that Snitch back for me."

Then she got up. She stopped and bent down to pick up her placard. For a pregnant moment, Harry half thought she was going to do something else, and he held his breath until Hermione stood upright again. She looked disappointed with herself, but before Harry had a chance to query why, she had hurried away from him to join the other Gryffindor girls.

In a whirl of cat-calls and good luck messages Harry found himself dressed and on the Quidditch Pitch. Wood was giving a speech, but Harry heard very little of it. The first-years were eagerly waving the sparkly letters that spelled out Potter - the giant 'P' fluttering more rabidly than all the others combined. Then, with a word of advice to avoid contact until he had to, the match began.

Early on, Harry's broom was hit by a Bludger and started to vibrate wildly. As he tried to get it under control, Harry happened to glance down at the stands. There he saw Professor Snape place a firm hand on Professor Quirrell's turbaned shoulder and guide him away from the teachers pulpit. Harry wondered vaguely where they were going, but a glint of gold caught his eye.

"The Gryffindor Seeker has seen the Snitch!" Lee Jordan boomed out from the commentary position, as Harry shot like a dart after the fluttering golden ball.

Five seconds later and he was closing his fist around the flapping wings.

Raucous cheering erupted from the stands as the Gryffindor team landed around Harry and celebrated a stunning victory. Harry took the Snitch in his hands and kissed the cool gold like a trophy.

"I think that belongs to me!"

Harry looked up at a beaming Hermione, who suddenly launched herself at Harry and enveloped him in the best congratulatory hug yet. The other Gryffindors whooped and whistled until Harry and Hermione finally broke apart, blushing crazily.

"You were brilliant! Amazing! Didn't I say you'd be amazing?" Hermione cried, doing a sort of manic jig.

"You did," Harry grinned back at her. Then he handed the Snitch to Hermione ... and her expression suddenly changed.

"Harry ... what does this mean?" Hermione asked, looking at the Snitch critically.

"What does what mean?"

"This writing on the casing ... I Open at the Close?"