Griffin Blakes is your average teenage witch attending Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. She is a lot of things... but sneaky is not one of them. So what is she going to tell her three best friends when she starts to fall for the enemy? An...
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{Griffin}
THE ATMOSPHERE had noticeably changed. With the sun spending her most recent days hidden behind drifting clouds and there being a definite decrease in temperature, it was clear summer had dissolved into winter. Different seasons are thought to bring about change; yet Umbridge's reign of terror stayed unwavering here at Hogwarts.
The Order was not doing so well, either. Sirius Black -codename Padfoot- informed us the minister was doing everything within his power to block out the truth. This truth was Voldemort's path of destruction; small for now but we were wise enough to know it would not last forever.
A paranoid Fudge had also successfully cut off any form of combat training, convinced that Dumbledore was fabricating some scheme to overthrow the Ministry by means of a makeshift army. The notion is already ridiculous on its own, but the fact that Voldemort was out there lurking in the shadows made our lack of defensive magic endangering. If no teacher at Hogwarts could teach us, we would come up with a plan of defense ourselves.
"I despise the bloody snow," Ron mumbled, rubbing his hands together to exert heat.
"I told you to bring mittens," Hermione chided. In another second, her wand was out and pointing a warmth charm in his direction. The ginger supplied soft words of gratitude in return.
Coincidentally, today was indeed the first snowfall of the season.
"Well, I happen to be quite fond of the snow," I hummed. "It's rather beautiful." Microscopic snowflakes floated, flew, and fell through the cold air like powdered sugar.
"Sure, it's all poetic and beautiful until we get frostbite," Ron said.
Hermione lightly elbowed him while Harry stayed silent. I glanced next to me and saw his eyebrows knit in thought as the four of us trudged through the small, all-wizarding village of Hogsmeade.
"This is mad," he spoke up. "Who'd want to be taught by me? I'm a nutter, remember?"
I grimaced at his choice of words, recalling our first day of the school year when Malfoy used that exact insult. Shaking my head, I pushed aside the feeling of great discomfort that rose simply from thinking of him.
How does this boy always sneak into my thoughts?
"Look at it this way: at least you can't be any worse than that old toad face."
"Thanks, Ron."
"Anytime, mate."
My stomach suddenly growled and I regretted skipping breakfast. "Hey, does anyone fancy a butterbeer before we head in?" I asked, not carrying enough galleons for real food and figuring a butterbeer would have to suffice.
"I think they may already be waiting for us, Griff," Hermione replied.
You see, this particular outing was not for an average weekend trip away from Hogwarts. In the past few days, we managed to spread word of a privy meeting which would be held at the Hog's Head Inn. The tavern was never crowded and possessed a disreputable reputation, making it the perfect place to host this sort of gathering.
