Wish Upon A Star

The Flight of the Fat Lady

Defence against the Dark Arts became everyone's favourite class and Care of Magical Creatures became the worst. Hagrid had lost his confidence and was making them feed Flobberworms. Ashlyn was getting better at Divination and she was now practically sleeping during Arithmancy. Muggle studies annoyed the crap out of her always. Half of their assumptions were shit. Potions was especially terrible for Neville whom Snape seemed to target particularly after the news of the Boggart came out.

Ashlyn had practised Patronus charm every Friday with Lupin. Now she could cast the spell without much effort, but that didn't stop her. She tried to cast it nonverbally and had failed terribly. Every night she would practice it without fail. So far she had managed to create whips of silver, but nothing more.

McGonagall was working her hard too. She had given her piles of heavy books on Animagus transfiguration. Ashlyn now knew all the theories she needed to know, but practical she was just terrible.

Wood wasn't helping either. As Quidditch season neared, Wood became even more excited.

"This is our last chance — my last chance — to win the Quidditch Cup," he told them, striding up and down in front of them. "I'll be leaving at the end of this year. I'll never get another shot at it.

"Gryffindor hasn't won for seven years now. Okay, so we've had the worst luck in the world — injuries — then the tournament getting called off last year. . . ." Wood swallowed, as though the memory still brought a lump to his throat. "But we also know we've got the best — ruddy — team — in — the — school," he said, punching a fist into his other hand, the old manic glint back in his eye.

"We've got three superb Chasers. We've got two unbeatable Beaters."

"Stop it, Oliver, you're embarrassing us," said Fred and George Weasley together, pretending to blush.

"And we've got a Seeker who has never failed to win us a match!" Wood rumbled, glaring at Harry with a kind of furious pride. "And me," he added as an afterthought.

"We think you're very good too, Oliver," said George.

"Spanking good Keeper," said Fred.

"The point is," Wood went on, resuming his pacing, "the Quidditch Cup should have had our name on it these last two years.  But we haven't got it, and this year's the last chance we'll get to finally see our name on the thing. . . ."

Wood spoke so dejectedly that even Fred and George looked sympathetic.

"Oliver, this year's our year," said Fred.

"We'll do it, Oliver!" said Angelina.

"Definitely," said Harry.

Full of determination, the team started training sessions, three evenings a week. The weather was getting colder and wetter, the nights darker, but no amount of mud, wind, or rain could tarnish the team's wonderful vision of finally winning the huge, silver Quidditch Cup.

Then came the first trip to Hogsmeade. Harry would sulk every time the place was mentioned. Ron would suggest sneaking out and Hermione would yell at him about Harry's safety. Every time this happened, Harry would turn to Ashlyn who would shrug and say, "Ask McGonagall. If she says no, then I suppose you sneak out". This would get Hermione even more furious.

Harry asked McGonagall and failed miserably. 

So the other three bid him goodbye before leaving to the village.

The first Hogsmead trip was fun. Filch checked each and every form and only then did he let them leave the grounds. 

"Cheer up, Harry. Something good might come out of you not going"  Ashlyn had said before leaving.