𝗦𝗰𝗮𝗿-𝗖𝗿𝗼𝘀𝘀𝗲𝗱 𝗟𝗼𝘃𝗲𝗿𝘀 - 𝗬𝗲𝗮𝗿 𝗢𝗻𝗲

10 | Prep Time

Your P.O.V.

I'm sitting in the Great Hall, eating breakfast with Harry on my left. Ron and Mione are across from us.

Ron's shoveling food into his mouth faster than he can swallow—no surprises there—but Harry hasn't touched his food. He's barely spoken all morning. He doesn't have the usual mischievous glint in his dazzling emerald eyes.

He's nervous.

"Take a bit of toast, mate. Go on," Ron encourages.

"Ron's right, Harry. You're going to need your strength," Hermione adds.

"I'm not hungry," Harry insists for the thousandth time.

"Come on, Potter," I say. "We can't have our Seeker fainting from starvation in the first game of the season!"

Harry smiles a bit and that brilliant glint returns.

"Oh, (y/n), you care. I'm touched," he teases.

"Dream on, Potter. I just don't want to lose to Slytherin," I shoot back, smirking.

"Rude!" Harry exclaims, pretending to be hurt.

"Yes, that was the intention," I tell him. "Now eat!"

"I hate you," Harry replies, truly smiling for the first time today.

He takes a bite of his food.

"Happy now?"

"Not even close," I laugh.

Harry finishes everything on his plate.

"Better?"

"Much."

Suddenly, Snape appears out of nowhere.

I wish he would stop doing that.

"Good luck today, Potter, Roberts. Then again, now that you've proven yourself against a troll, a little game of Quidditch should be easy work for you... even if it is against Slytherin."

Snape walks up toward the teacher's table and I see he's limping. Harry notices too.

"That explains the blood," he mutters.

"Blood?" Hermione asks.

"What blood, Harry?" I ask.

"Last night. You didn't see it? I thought you were the brilliant (y/n) Roberts."

"I was a little busy being unconscious to notice if Snape's leg was bleeding. Next time a troll attacks, I'll make sure to look at peoples ankles," I sass.

"Next time?" Ron squeaks. "What are you talking about 'next time'? I don't want a next time!"

"Listen," Harry interrupts, "last night, I'm guessing Snape let the troll in as a diversion so he could try and get past that three headed dog. But, he got himself bitten. That's why he's limping."

"But why would anyone go near that dog?" Hermione wonders.

Harry thinks for a long time and then something hits him.

It's my hand. Slapping him. In face.

"Still alive over there, Potter?"

"Thinking."

Suddenly Harry gasps.

"That's it!"

"What's it, Harry?" Hermione asks.

"The day I was at Gringotts, Hagrid took something out of one of the vaults. He said it was Hogwarts business, very secret."

"So you're saying the dog..." I puzzle out, catching on.

"That's what the dog's guarding. That's what Snape wants."

"We can't let him get it," I state. They all stare at me. "What?"

"(Y/n), you don't even know what it is," Hermione reasons.

"I know it's important enough that someone broke into Gringotts for it. It's important enough Snape would risk not only getting eaten, but letting a mountain troll inside Hogwarts. It's important enough Snape would risk getting caught. And I know we can't let him have it."

Out of nowhere, Harry's owl, Hedwig, and three others swoop down.

Hedwig and a barn owl drop a package for Harry and two screech owls drop a package for me.

The packages are identical. Long and skinny, with a bulge at one end.

"But I-I never get mail," Harry insists.

"Neither do I," I say.

"Let's open them!" Ron suggests, completely ignoring both Harry and I.

Harry and I glance at each other then simultaneously open our packages.

"They're broomsticks!" Harry exclaims.

"Those aren't just any broomsticks, Harry. They're Nimbus 2000s!" Ron says, wide eyed.

"But who...?" I wonder.

I glance up at the teacher's table and see McGonagall stroking Hedwig and an owl who delivered my package.

I elbow Harry gently.

"Look. McGonagall."

"Whoa."

⚡️⚡️⚡️

We've got about two minutes before the Quidditch game starts.

I'm starting to get a little nervous, but Harry's practically petrified.

"Scared, (y/n)?" Wood asks.

I'm about to reply with my usual "nervous but fine" then I stop to think.

These aren't bad nerves, these are good.

"I'm ready," I reply truthfully.

"How 'bout you, Harry? Scared?"

"A little," Harry says.

Understatement of the century.

"That's alright," Wood tells him. "I felt the same way before my first game."

"What happened?" Harry asks.

"I, erm, I don't really remember. I took a bludger to the head two minutes in. Woke up in the hospital a week later."

"What a lovely pep talk," I mutter to no one.

The twins snort.

"Alright Harry, let's review," I say, turning to my friend.

"Review what?"

"Think of it as a game. You just have to say 'fact' or 'fiction'."

"One: You're Harry Potter."

"Fact."

"Two: they wouldn't let us play if there were deaths being recorded regularly."

"...Also fact."

"Three: you're amazing, you're brilliant, and you're a good player."

"I can't confirm that."

"And four: we don't do it for them," I point to the doors in front of us where we can hear cheering. "We do it for us."