The American Enigma

The Grimm Fractures of Quidditch

Y/N POV

"I got it back!" Harry announced, holding up the Firebolt. He was pleased with it, but I could tell that there was something else he wanted to say.

"You see! There was nothing wrong with it!"

"At least you know now that it's safe." Hermione sighed, upset that they wouldn't apologize.

"Yeah, I suppose so," Harry agreed. "I'd better put it upstairs."

"I'll take it!" Ron said eagerly. "I've got to give Scabbers his rat tonic."

"How are you getting through all this stuff?"

"Oh, well, you know… Working hard," Hermione said, but Harry looked worried.

"Why don't you just drop a couple of subjects?" Hermione looked scandalized at such a notion, making me smile.

"They're interesting subjects, and Arithmancy is my favorite class!" Before she could go on a long rant, Harry began teasing her about the subject until a strangled yell echoed from the boys dorms. Ron came storming down with fire hidden in his blue eyes.

"Look!" He shouted, waving the sheet in our faces. "Blood! Scabbers! He's gone! And you know what was on the floor?"

"N-No," Hermione stuttered out, looking concerned as Ron tossed several long ginger cat hairs onto her homework.

"Oh dear," I murmured, feeling a headache coming on. The blood didn't look like it would be enough for death. This is a fishy situation in all honesty. "Ron, there's not enough blood to confirm that your rat is dead. I've seen-" he spoke up quite loudly.

"Her cat's been after him from the start!"

"Yes, but Ron. It's possible he just ran off, whether he was attacked or not, so if we just try and look—"

But Ron wouldn't have it. Even when we all went searching for him—Hermione more desperately than anyone, not that Ron noticed—there was no sign of the rat. So I was back in the middle of the dissolving of a friendship once solidified by a troll. Ironic.

By Valentine's Day, the powderkeg was ready to explode. Hermione, in an effort to salvage whatever is left of the friendship with Harry and Ron, stayed away. Her eyes constantly had bags under them, and the excitement for learning dimmed.

Harry wasn't taking potshots thankfully.

And due to that, Ron took to doing it twice. The Slytherins were loving the fallout. Blaise Zabini, a dark skinned snake, was keeping the glee internalized thankfully.

On the days when it was really bad, I knew Hermione would sleep in the library. Awstin had managed to put a couch in there so she could rest. He'd stand guard over her, while I whittled away at the possible ways to remedy the fractured friendships. But sadly, there didn't seem to be any hope of that.

During the match with Ravenclaw, I noticed the Ravenclaw seeker, a beautiful woman with silky black hair, stay close to Harry. I couldn't remember her name, but that didn't bother me. He chose Ron. Neither even contemplating the idea that Crookshanks was innocent.

"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?" interrupted Professor McGonagall's voice.

"Okay, okay, Gryffindor in possession, Katie Bell of Gryffindor, heading for goal..."