Forbidden Love: (a Harry Potter love story.)

Chapter 13) Nicolas Flamel.

Dumbledore had convinced Harry not to go looking for the Mirror Of Erised again, and for the rest of the holidays his invisibility cloak had stayed at the bottom of his trunk. Harry told us about his recurring nightmares of green light and a high voice cackling of laughter.

"See? Dumbledore was right. That mirror could drive you nuts." Ron had said. It was a relief when Hermione returned from the holidays, but she was torn between horrified at the thought of us roaming the school three nights in a row  and disappointment at us not being able to find out who Flamel was.

We had started to give up hope of ever finding him in a library book, although I had a nagging thought in my brain about chocolate frogs. But that was probably because Hermione wanted to search every lunch time and head to class early at breakfast, which sucked because it meant less food for me.

Wood was working the Quidditch team harder than ever, and even the seemingly endless rain didn't dampen his spirits. It did me though, I hadn't been properly dry since Christmas. On the bright side, if we beat Hufflepuff in the next match, we would overtake Slytherin for the first time in seven years.

During one wet and muddy practice, Wood got mad at the Weasley twins for dive bombing each other and pretending to fall of their brooms. What happened? He let slip that Snape was refereeing the next match. R.I.P Harry Potter, the boy who was about to die.

When Wood said this George really did fall off his broom.

"Snape's refereeing?! When's he ever referred a Quidditch match?! Oh come on, there's no way he's going to be fair if there's a chance of us overtaking Slytherin." I spat, landing on the ground kinda hard and making me stumble a bit. The rest of the team landed next to me to start complaining too.

"Well it's not my fault! We just have to make sure we play a clean game so Snape doesn't have an excuse to pick on us. That means you, Fred, George, Silvia. No funny business." Wood whined.

"Fine, but just so ya know, I still might try." I shrugged, but we had something else to worry about. Me and Harry had another reason for not wanting Snape near us on broomsticks.

Me and Harry left quickly at the end of practice, heading straight back to Gryffindor common room. "Don't talk to me for a moment." Ron said, who was playing chess with Hermione. "I need to concen-"

"Snape's referring the next match." Harry said abruptly. "Don't play." Hermione said at once.
"Say your ill." Ron suggested.
"Pretend to break your legs!"
"Really break your legs!"

That last one was just stupid. At that moment, Neville toppled into the common room. How he had managed to climb through the portrait hole was a mystery. His legs were suck together in what we instantly recognised as the leg-locker curse. Poor bloke must have had to bunny hop all the way up to the common room.

Everyone started laughing, except Hermione, who sprang up and performed the counter curse. "What happened?"

"Malfoy. I ran into him outside the library, he said he'd been wanting to practice it on Silvia, but since I was there he cursed me instead." Neville replied shakily. So that git wanted to curse me? Not surprising.

Hermione started blabbering about how Neville should go and rat out Malfoy to McGonagall, but I just shook my head and rolled my eyes. "You've got to stand up to him Neville! He's used to walking all over people, but that's no reason to lie down in front of him and make it easier!" Ron whined.

"You don't need to tell me I'm not brave enough to be in Gryffindor. Malfoy's already done that." Neville mumbled. Harry got to his feet and and pulled out a chocolate frog from the box Hermione had given him at Christmas, giving it to Neville, who was on the verge of tears.