Quidditch season was approaching, and the Gryffindor first years (plus Fred and George) were busier than ever. We planned to surprise Harry with a banner for his first match. We could all tell he was nervous despite how nonchalant he tried to be around us. We figured he needed the confidence boost.

Ron offered up his own sheet (though it was one Scabbers had ruined). Dean was enlisted with the drawing of the lion — I'd caught him doodling in class and he was rather good. The rest of us were there to decorate and provide moral support. It took quite a bit of effort for the Gryffindor boys to sneak out as to not wake him up. Neville stepped on Ron's toe, which almost made him cry out. He had complained to me about this, but Hermione, who was heading the project with Ron and I, didn't want to leave him out.

Fred and George weren't originally supposed to help, but Ron had let it slip and they threatened to tell Harry if we didn't let them. They didn't really contribute much — all they did was bother Ron and try to guess how I could tell them apart. However, they brought scarlet and gold glitter and Lavender and Parvati were working giddily on the borders with it. They both fancied Harry (most of the first year girls did), but I only knew because they were whispering about him very indiscreetly. 

"I hope Harry likes this poster," Lavender was saying.

"I think it looks great, why shouldn't he?" Parvati giggled.

"We can tell him we did the borders," Lavender grinned, blushing.

"Merlin, stop with that," Ron groaned. The two looked up, not noticing he'd been listening.

"With what?" The two of them looked at him affrontedly.

"If he were interested in either of you I would have to make sure he wasn't confunded," Ron scoffed and turned on his heel.

They went silently back to work. I noticed Hermione and Ron share a look before going back to their respective works.

They knew something I didn't, but I didn't care so much about that. I was transfixed watching Dean working on the main part of the poster. The intensity in his eyes was admirable as he carefully sketched each hair on the lions mane.

"It looks excellent," I told him. He looked up, startled. I realized he probably hadn't noticed I was there, watching him draw every little sketch mark. "You have an aptitude for details."

"That's what brings it all together," he shrugged. "The small things."

He smiled, his eyes seeming almost brighter at the compliment. The small things. I supposed that was one thing artists and detectives have in common — attention to detail.

"If you both are done making eyes at each other," Ron said, taking the both of us by surprise. It was equally as funny on the other end of the stick, though. Dean and I laughed.

"You definitely misunderstood," Dean chuckled.

Seamus muttered something unintelligible. Dean elbowed him in the arm, causing him to wince, but he was laughing anyway.

"Dean's leagues ahead of Malfoy, at least," Ron said to me. I wasn't sure if I agreed — they both had their strengths. However, Malfoy hadn't visited me much recently, and we rarely spoke in Potions. I figured he was annoyed I was friends with Harry and Ron again. I supposed I couldn't make everyone happy.

"For your information, Ron, we haven't been speaking very often," I frowned at him.

"That's too bad," Dean patted me on the shoulder.

"For him, yes," I winked. Dean seemed to find this very funny, which made me smile. Ron rolled his eyes, but went off to berate Lavender and Parvati for giggling about Harry again.

"What do you do besides draw?" I asked Dean. He was sketching the teeth of the lion mid-roar.

"I play soccer," he said, "though over here it's called football."

"You're American?" I asked, surprised. His accent said otherwise.

"I moved here when I was seven," he answered. "But I've been calling it soccer my entire life, and I just never really bothered to break the habit."

"Ah, I see," I nodded. "Are you any good?"

He smirked, still focusing on his sketching. "I'd like to think so, yes."

I laughed.

"He's a horrible flirt, though," Seamus teased. Dean elbowed him in the ribs this time.

The next day, Dean and I made our way to the art room for some enchanted graphite. Ron and Hermione were keeping Harry busy outside. We were almost finished — we just needed the enchanted graphite to go over the sketch marks so Hermione can enchant the lion to roar.

"Do you come down here often?" I asked him. The art room was in a corridor between the stairs to the dungeons and the door to Gryffindor tower. It was empty, and the long, wooden tables were surprisingly clean. I figured that they must have had some sort of spell on them that made them impervious. Hanging on the walls were several paintings and drawings. There were a few portraits, but their frames were devoid of a human presence.

"I suppose so," he shrugged. "Sometimes I need a break from the noise and it's always quiet here."

"You have a good point," I had been appreciating the silence myself. "Do we need somebody's permission to get into the supply cabinet?"

"Technically, yes," he grinned. "But I won't tell if you won't."

I grinned back. "Deal."

"Alohomora," he waved his wand, and I heard the door unlatch.

"Your charm work has certainly improved," I commended him, and he snorted in reply.

"I swear it was just the one spell. Making things float aren't exactly my forte." Squatting down to open the door, he took a small tub without a lid out of the cabinet and handed it to me. It was full of miniature cauldrons containing melted graphite. "You take this one, and I'll take these quills."

He grabbed a tub of quills, shutting the cabinet with his hip.

"Let's go," he made a motion with his head for me to follow him. We walked together towards the stairs to the dungeons. I heard voices coming from them. Attached to them came four pairs of feet. I grimaced. Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle weren't my issue, but Pansy Parkinson was walking next to Malfoy looking incredibly smug. Malfoy himself looked rather irritated upon seeing us. Our eyes met for a split second before I looked to Dean, who seemed set on ignoring them.

"What're those for?" Pansy asked simperingly. I frowned at her.

"It's really none of your business, Pansy," I said. "Now if you'll excuse us—"

"Looks like the Mudbloods are doing an art project," Pansy smirked. Locking eyes with me, she kicked me in the shin as she walked by. I winced, stumbling over. The cauldrons shook in the tub, but none of them fell out. Dean reached out quickly, grabbing my elbow to steady me.

Pansy cackled. "Have fun!" She called over her shoulder as she walked away. The three boys followed her, Crabbe and Goyle glaring at us as they passed.

Malfoy's expression was unreadable. He avoided my eyes, and I avoided his. Instead I looked to Dean, who patted me between the shoulders comfortingly.

"You alright?" He asked.

"I'm fine. Let's go," I nodded. Being unable to help myself, I turned over my shoulder to see that Malfoy was doing the same. We locked eyes for a moment, and I frowned at him before turning back around. Dean and I began to walk.

"Thanks for helping me there," I told him.

"I didn't want you to fall on your face," he told me, smiling. "And we'd be in huge trouble if we spilled that graphite. Is your shin okay?"

"It'll be a good bruise," I said. "But I'll be fine."

"That's good," he nodded. "I'm surprised Malfoy didn't say anything."

"Well he's got a reputation to keep," I shrugged. "He can't go around standing up for people like me."

Dean stared at me, blinking.

"I meant that he would have said something rude," he laughed. Oh, right. For a second I'd forgotten what a bigot he was to everyone else.

"You're right about that, I suppose," I looked down. "For a while I thought that maybe he'd taken a liking to me."

"I really hate to break it to you, but he's probably just trying to get dirt on Harry, since, you know, they hate each other so much." Dean kept his time light, but shifted uncomfortably. I sighed.

"You're probably right about that too," I said. I didn't want to believe it, but Dean's logic did make a lot of sense. Why else would Malfoy talk to someone like me? As much as I enjoyed his company, did he really enjoy mine? Maybe that's why he stopped talking to me.

Dean must have noticed my face shift, because he gave me a light squeeze with his arm.

"Don't worry about that," he said. "That's why you've got people like us. We Gryffindors have your back. For real."

I faked a smile, hopefully convincingly. "Thank you."

"It's no problem," Dean and I made our way up the stairs to the common room. We chatted together about other things while working on the poster. Talking to Dean was nice. He was a very good listener. He gave great advice. His jokes were hilarious.

It almost felt too easy.

The next day, the poster was ready for display. Ron had woken Harry up and brought him down into the common room. Dean, Lavender, Parvati, and Seamus held the poster reading "POTTER FOR PRESIDENT" proudly. Hermione waved her wand and the lion let out a massive roar. I had a fleeting thought that those asleep were in for a rude awakening.

"How do you like it?" Parvati and Lavender asked in unison.

"I— It's amazing!" Harry was at a loss for words. His hair was ruffled as ever, eyes wide. To think that ten seconds ago he had seemed barely awake. "Thank you all so much."

"It's no problem," Dean flashed a pearly white smile. "Best of luck at the match today, mate."

We all chimed in with a "good luck!" Or a "You're going to be great!"

"Thanks," Harry was smiling. He probably wasn't used to this much attention. I could tell he was still nervous, but the confidence boost was working.

He refused to eat at breakfast, until Seamus mentioned that Seekers were always the first to get clobbered.

"From what I know, a Bludger could easily knock you off of your broom, considering how light you are." I said as I munched on my toast thoughtfully. This caused Harry to start nibbling at his eggs and sausage.

We all made our way out to the Quidditch Pitch. Harry left with Fred and George and the rest of us made our way high up on the stands. Neville was scared of heights, so I told him that if he just kept looking at the sky where the players were, then he would forget how far away he was from the ground. He looked down and started to sway, so I physically pushed his chin to the sky.

"I said look up, Neville. Up!"

Soon enough, Madam Hooch blew the whistle, and the game began. Harry was easily distinguishable— he was the smallest one in scarlet. He zipped around at the top, eyes peeled for the Snitch. Lee Jordan was doing the commentary for the match, being closely watched by Professor McGonagall

"And the Quaffle is taken immediately by Angelina Johnson of Gryffindor -- what an excellent Chaser that girl is, and rather attractive, too--"

"JORDAN!"

"Sorry, Professor."

I knew nothing about Quidditch except for what Ron had told me, but I did know that the Gryffindor team seemed to function much better than the Slytherins. The Slytherin team was much less of a team and more like several individuals working towards the same goal. After a few minutes, I watched what I remembered to be the Quaffle soar into one of the hoops, thrown by "Angelina Johnson." Our side of the stands cheered, including me, as Lee Jordan announced a Gryffindor score.

"Hagrid!" Ron and Hermione called suddenly, drawing my attention to the big bearded man coming toward us.

"Bin watchin' from me hut, but it isn't the same as bein in the stands," he waved his pair of enormous binoculars.

"Harry hasn't had much to do yet, but he seems to be having a good time," I watched as he did a few loops in the air.

"Kept outta trouble though, that's somethin'," Hagrid nodded, looking up at him with his binoculars.

"Harry should invest in some contact lenses," I observed. At Ron's befuddled expression, I explained. "They're what Muggles use to help them see better, but they go directly in your eye. My father wears them. If Harry's glasses were to fall or break he wouldn't be able to see the Snitch."

"Slytherin in possession again," I had tuned back into Lee Jordan's commentary.

"Directly in your eye?" Ron winced.

"Yes. They're these little plastic discs—"

"Chaser Pucey ducks two Bludgers, two Weasleys, and Chaser Bell, and speeds toward the -- wait a moment -- was that the Snitch?"

Even I couldn't see that far up, but Hagrid seemed to be able to tell, as he grinned while staring up into his binoculars. I watched Harry and the Slytherin Seeker dive suddenly. I gasped as another form crossed directly into Harry, nearly knocking him off of his broom. There was a chorus of angry yells.

"What the hell was that?!" I exclaimed. Ron was letting out some ridiculous profanities until Hagrid told him to watch his language, though he also seemed rather angry.

"Send him off, ref! Red card!" Dean was saying, Ron gave him a look.

"What are you talking about, Dean?" said Ron.

"Red card!" said Dean, appearing rather frustrated. "In soccer you get shown the red card and you're out of the game!"

"This isn't soccer, Dean," Ron reminded him.

"They oughta change the rules." Hagrid scowled. I couldn't help but agree. "Flint coulda knocked Harry outta the air."

"So — after that obvious and disgusting bit of cheating—" Lee Jordan was saying.

"Jordan!" Professor McGonagall stopped him.

"I mean, after that open and revolting foul..."

"Jordan, I'm warning you—"

"All right, all right. Flint nearly kills the Gryffindor Seeker, which could happen to anyone, I'm sure, so a penalty to Gryffindor, taken by Spinnet, who puts it away, no trouble, and we continue play, Gryffindor still in possession."

I was watching Harry again, and I noticed a few minutes later his broom moving erratically. I frowned. That was unusual. Maybe his broom had taken damage from the hit.

"Do you reckon he's alright?" I said to Ron, unable to take my eyes off of the broom, which was moving faster and faster.

"Can that happen to a broom if it's hit hard enough?" Dean seemed equally concerned. Harry seemed to have completely lost control. I gave Hagrid a nudge and pointed up to him.

Lee Jordan was still commentating, unaware.

"Dunno what Harry thinks he's doing," Hagrid muttered. Looking up through his binoculars. "If I didn' know better, I'd say he'd lost control of his broom... but he can't have..."

Suddenly, people seemed to notice, and were pointing up at him all over the stands. I gasped as Harry fell off and was just holding on with one hand.

"Did something happen to it when Flint blocked him?" Seamus repeated what Dean had said.

"Can't have," Hagrid said shakily. "Can't nothing interfere with a broomstick except powerful Dark magic — no kid could do that to a Nimbus Two Thousand."

Hermione did not hesitate in grabbing Hagrid's binoculars, looking around at the crowd.

"What are you doing?" Ron's face was pale.

"I knew it," Hermione gasped, "It's Snape — look."

Ron grabbed the binoculars from her.

"He's doing something -- jinxing the broom," said Hermione. My eyebrows shot up.

"What? Hand me those!" Instead of waiting I snatched them from Ron to see for myself.

Yet sure enough, Snape was standing in the stands opposite ours, eye fixed on Harry and muttering nonstop under his breath. I was shocked. I knew Snape despised Harry, but not to this level.

"What should we do?" Ron was saying.

"Leave it to me."

Hermione took off. I turned the binoculars back to Harry, whose broom was shaking so much that I could tell he was struggling to hang on. The Weasley twins were desperately trying to help, and Marcus Flint continued to score without anyone knowing or caring.

"Come on, Hermione," Ron muttered, eyes scanning the crowd. I handed Ron the binoculars. Instead of focusing on Harry ("I can't watch"), he looked down at Snape in the stands. I could barely make him out in the crowd. I looked between him and Harry. After a few moments I noticed Snape scrambling and knocking over poor Professor Quirrell in the process. Hermione returned a minute or so later, but I hadn't noticed. I was watching Harry climbing safely back into his broom.

"Neville, you can look!" Ron said. Neville had been crying nonstop into Hagrid's coat for the last five minutes.

Harry was diving hastily to the ground and I noticed him put a hand to his mouth as if he were to be sick. I pursed my lips. I hated when people threw up. He landed gracefully and spit out something gold into his hand. While I was relieved it wasn't bile, I couldn't believe my eyes.

"I've got the Snitch!" he shouted, waving it excitedly above his head.

The game ended with the Slytherins furious. We all waited nervously for Harry outside. When he came out, still visibly shaking, I wasn't sure whether to comfort or congratulate him. I had a sinking feeling that he was in for many more attempts on his life.

"Harry!" Hermione called when she spotted him. "Is everything alright?"

"I think so," he huffed. "Definitely shaken. Somebody wasn't happy about the score."

Though I chuckled nervously at the joke, I shared a look with Ron and Hermione. Harry wouldn't be happy to hear his assailant was more than likely our own Potions teacher.

"We think we know who it was," I started to say. "But it'll be hard to believe—"

Ron snorted. "Hard to believe? Snape's been a real prick to Harry since day one. I think we've all got good reason to believe."

"Snape?" I could see Harry's shift in expression to anger, even as his face grew more pale. "I didn't think he'd want to kill me, but I guess I'm not all that surprised."

"Harry!" Hagrid called from some distance behind us. We turned around to see him walking towards us. "You alright?"

"Not the first time someone's tried to kill me," Harry exhaled. When Hagrid caught up, he put a hand on Harry's shoulder to help him relax. When he stopped shaking, Hagrid patted him on the back.

"C'mon, you lot." Hagrid ushered us along. "Let me fix you some tea."