Autumn had completely transformed the grounds. Dry leaves scattered the grass, the Black Lake was chilly and grey, and the Whomping Willow had almost dropped all of its leaves. Only the scraggly tips of pine trees were left, piercing the sky.
We had sat down for another Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson, waiting for Professor Lupin, when the door slammed open. Professor Snape whisked in, loudly closing the shutter to every window in the classroom.
He pulled down the projector screen with a snap, and then turned to face the class. "Turn to page 394," he said emotionlessly.
With much rustling and many confused looks, books were taken out.
"Excuse me, sir?" Potter asked. "Where's Professor Lupin?"
Snape stopped in front of him. "That's really not your concern, is it, Potter?" He replied harshly. "Suffice it to say that your professor finds himself incapable of teaching at the present time."
Then again, now at the back of the room, "Turn to page 394."
Next to me Weasley was flipping through his book page by page. With an aggravated flick of his wand, Snape sent Weasley's book flying to the correct number.
"Werewolves?" He asked after skimming the paragraph.
"But, sir, we've just begun learning about Red Caps and Hinkypucks," Hermione protested. "We're not meant to start nocturnal beasts for weeks."
"Quiet."
"When did she come in?" Weasley said, aghast. "Did you see her come in?" He asked me. I shrugged.
"Now, which one of you can tell me the difference between an Animagus and a werewolf?" Snape began.
Hermione raised her hand.
"No one? How disappointing," he said, as pictures began to roll onto the screen.
"Please, sir," Hermione said. "An Animagus is a wizard who elects to turn into an animal. A werewolf has no choice. With each full moon, when he transforms, he no longer remembers who he is. He'd kill his best friend if he crossed his path. Furthermore, the werewolf only responds to the call of its own kind."
Draco howled, and the Slytherins snickered.
"Thank you, Mr. Malfoy," Snape said drily. "That is the second time you have spoken out in turn, Miss. Granger. Are you incapable of restraining yourself or do you take pride in being an insufferable know-it-all?"
Hermione sucked in a breath behind me, and I threw the dirtiest glare I could at Snape, knowing full well that he could notify my father at any time.
"He's got a point you know," Weasley muttered to Potter.
"Weasley," I hissed.
"Five points from Gryffindor," Snape announced. "As an antidote to your ignorance, and on my desk by Monday morning, two rolls of parchment on the werewolf," there were groans from all students, "with particular emphasis on recognizing it."
"Sir, there's Quidditch tomorrow," Potter complained.
Snape leaned over the desk to him. "Then I suggest you take extra care, Mr. Potter. Loss of limb will not excuse you. Page 394."
Then he straightened and clipped away. "The term werewolf is a contraction of the Anglo-Saxon word "were," which means man, and "wolf," translating to "man-wolf."
Beside me, a paper bird landed in front of Potter. I looked over in the direction of where it came from to see Draco smirking. Potter opened it carefully. Drawn inside was an animated image of Potter getting whacked in the head with a Bludger at tomorrow's match.
Positively reassuring.
It was possibly the worst day for a Quidditch match ever. The rain poured down in sharp, slanted sheets, and thunder rumbled. I even saw a few lightning strikes in the clouding, boiling sky. How Potter or Diggory, Hufflepuff's Seeker, was going to find the Snitch in this weather, I hadn't the faintest.
I could barely even see which players were wearing what colors as they shot past. I don't think anyone even knew the score.
Potter and Diggory disappeared the higher they climbed, both racing for the little golden ball. We waited, trying to follow the Chasers as they blindly threw the ball around. After a little while, Diggory fell to the ground with a smoking broom, evidently having gotten struck by lightning.
Moments later, a shape emerged from the clouds. A body. Falling. I felt it in my gut before I saw the flash of red. I screamed and grabbed Hermione's arm. It was Potter, heading straight for the frozen ground at a million miles an hour.
There was shouting and cries of surprise as he was thrown and flipped around in the wind. The entire teachers box got to their feet. Seconds before I figured he was about to die, a weird, translucent cushion appeared, cast by Dumbledore.
Potter landed hard, and I stifled a coked gasp with my hand.
"Alexandra... you don't think-" Hermione gasped.
I shook my head violently, uncontrollably shaking.
"What could have possibly caused him to fall like that?" Weasley squeaked.
Everyone was screaming. I didn't know what was happening. It was all a dull roar in brain compared to the thudding of my heartbeat in my ears and the pounding of blood under my skin. Once freezing, I now had waves of heat rolling over me, and I couldn't think straight.
I dizzily stumbled after Professor McGonagall as she took us to the hospital wing. Potter was already there when we walked in, but curtains were shut around the bed and Madame Pomfrey wouldn't let us see him. That had to mean it was bad.
I was worried out of my mind.
Eventually, the rest of the Gryffindor team appeared. Fred and George told us that Hufflepuff had won. Diggory caught the Snitch the second Potter had fallen, but immediately called for a rematch once he realized what had happened. It was not granted. The Hufflepuffs technically beat us.
Apparently, Wood was in the locker room, and he wouldn't look at any of them. He couldn't even bring himself to come check on Potter. Then I noticed the wrapped up package George was holding.
"What's that?" I asked.
He winced. "Well... Harry's broom got a little carried away by the wind. It hit one specific tree and kind of..." he said, slowly unrolling the fabric. Encased inside was the shattered remains of Potter's Nimbus 2000, so badly damaged it was completely unfixable.
"He is not going to be happy about that," Weasley mumbled.
I don't know how long we all sat there once Madame Pomfrey had finally let us around his bed, but I had completely zoned out, everyone's conversation flowing around me like a faint buzz.
"He's a bit peaky, isn't he?" Weasley observed.
"Peaky?" Fred asked.
"What'd you expect?" George added.
"He fell over a hundred feet," Fred said.
"Yeah. come on Ron, let's walk you off the Astronomy Tower and see what you look like," George scoffed.
Weasley threw them both a dirty look.
"Probably a right state better than he normally does," Potter smiled weakly.
Everyone laughed in relief as he pushed himself up into a sitting position.
"How are you feeling?" I asked quickly.
"Oh, brilliant," he answered.
"You gave us a right good scare there, mate," George said.
"What happened?" Potter asked.
"Well... you fell off your broom," Weasley began.
"Really?" Potter said sarcastically. "I meant the match. Who won?"
No one spoke for a minute. Then Hermione said, "Erm... no one blames you, Harry. The dementors aren't supposed to come inside the grounds. Dumbledore was furious. As soon as he saved you, he sent them straight off."
Potter didn't look too please about this.
"There's, er, something else," Weasley continued for her. "Well, when you fell off your broom it- it sort of blew into the Whomping Willow... and well, it's... er..." he said awkwardly, picking up and inspecting the largest intact piece of the handle left.
Potter stared up in horror at his once gorgeous broom, now reduced to a pile of twigs. My heart hurt at his expression. It was pure misery.
It seemed as thought I had only blinked, and suddenly it was winter. Snow fell delicately over the grounds, and no matter how drafty the corridors got, the bright lights and Christmas spirit in the air made up for it.
There was another Hogsmeade trip scheduled for today so students could do their holiday shopping. It pained me to leave Potter again knowing how left out he felt, especially because of how down he had already currently been.
I had asked him earlier is he wanted me to stay back with him, but he insisted that I went with Hermione and Weasley.
A bell tolled, mingling with Filch's exasperated voice.
"Last call for Hogsmeade! Come on now! Hogwarts or Hogsmeade? Make your bloody minds up!"
We made our way down the windy path to the village. By the time we got there, our lips were chapped and our noses were numb with the cold.
"We never did get to go to the Shrieking Shack last time, did we?" Hermione asked.
And so we walked through Hogsmeade until the buildings became less and the trees became more. Finally, after reaching a gate that prevented us from going any further, we stopped. The house was tall, old, and dark, and looked as though one good gust of wind could sweep it right off the little bluff it was perched on.
"It's meant to be the most haunted building in Britain," Hermione said. "Did I mention that?"
Weasley chuckled. "Twice."
"Oh. Do you want to move a bit closer?" She asked.
"What?" Weasley said, head whipping to her.
"To the Shrieking Shack."
"Oh, actually I- I'm fine here."
I felt extremely awkward, and was almost relieved when a voice behind us drawled, "Well, well. Look who's here."
We all turned around to see Draco, accompanied by Parkinson and Zabini, stomping their way towards us through the drifts of snow.
"Shopping for your new dream home, Weasley?" Pansy asked. "Bit grand, isn't it? I heard your family all sleeps in one room."
"You know what, Parkinson-" I began, taking a step forward, and she raised an eyebrow.
"We were such good friends when we first met, Alexandra," she said sweetly. "What happened?"
Draco nudged me in the shoulder playfully. "Oh, come on. You can do better than this," he said, nodding to Hermione and Weasley behind me.
"Shut your mouth, Malfoy," Weasley grumbled.
"Ooh, not very friendly," Draco teased. "I think it's time to teach Weasle-Bee how to respect his superiors."
Hermione laughed in disbelief. "I hope you don't mean yourself."
"How dare you talk to me?" Draco snarled. "You filthy little Mudblood."
Just then, a snowball his him right in the jaw. Draco, Parkinson, and Zabini all turned around in different directions, looking for the attacker. But no one was anywhere.
"Who's there?" Draco's voice wobbled.
Two more snowballs came flying out of nowhere, hitting Parkinson and Zabini in turn.
"Don't just stand there!" Draco yelled. "Do something!"
"What?" Zabini replied, looking simply annoyed with the whole affair.
Parkinson's scarf was mysteriously pulled outward, and she was spun around in a circle many times before eventually falling over herself and collapsing into the snow. Zabini was tripped, and he landed with a huff.
Draco fell over in fright, trying to escape the invisible being, and was pulled by his feet past the gate and into a particularly large pile of wet slush. He scrambled to get to his feet, and ran back to his friends, panting.
They stumbled over each other to get away, back to the village. I felt a light tug on my hair.
"Potter!" I said, and he pulled the Invisibility Cloak off of himself, holding onto me and laughing.
"Bloody hell, Harry," Weasley said, shaken. "That was not funny."
"It was hilarious," Potter objected.
"It was cruel. Although I can't pretend it wasn't entertaining," Hermione scolded. "What would Professor McGonagall say if she saw that?"
"Speaking of that, how did you even get into Hogsmeade?" I added.
"Well..." Potter said sheepishly.
"Those weasels!" Weasley grumbled. "Never told me about any Marauders Map."
"But Harry isn't going to keep it. He's going to turn it over to Professor McGonagall. Aren't you?" Hermione said firmly.
"Oh, sure," I said. "Along with his Invisibility Cloak."
"Oh, look who it is," Hermione said teasingly. "Madam Rosmerta. Ron fancies her."
"That's not true!" He protested.
"Professor McGonagall! Cornelius!" Madam Rosmerta called from down the street. The two of them were in a carriage together, and we watched as Hagrid tried to open the door for the Minister. Instead, he just pulled it right off its hinges.
"Rosmerta, my dear. I hope business is good!" The Minister said in greeting.
"It'd be a lot better if the Ministry wasn't sending dementors into my pub every other night!" She exclaimed.
"We have... we have a killer on the loose," Fudge replied weakly.
"Oh, Sirius Black! In Hogsmeade! And what would bring him here?" Madam Rosmerta asked like the idea was preposterous.
Fudge leaned in and whispered something in her ear.
"Harry Potter?" She repeated loudly.
"Shush!" Professor McGonagall said frantically, pushing the woman into The Three Broomsticks.
I felt something brush past me and I gasped. It was Potter, disappearing under the Cloak. He held out his arm and I ducked under it with him.
"Guys!" Hermione hissed, and she and Weasley attempted at following us. Potter and I slipped through the closing door just in time, but the two of them were left outside. We carefully stayed behind the three adults as they climbed a set of stairs and opened a thick wooden door.
"Nobody wants to come to a pub where they're going to get scared out of their wits. Why?" Madame Rosmerta asked.
"Professor Dumbledore does not want dementors around the place, I can assure you," McGonagall added.
My hip banged into a small side table as we tried to move soundlessly into the room, and Fudge got up at the sound. After a moment of evidently hearing nothing more, he shrugged and sat again.
"Now, tell me what this is all about," Rosmerta insisted.
"Well, now, years ago," Professor McGonagall began, "when Harry Potter's parents realized they were marked for death, do you remember?"
Potter tensed up next to me and I slipped my hand into his. In different circumstances I would be embarrassed, but I could tell that whatever was coming was not going to be a happy surprise for him.
"They went into hiding. Few knew where they were. One who did was Sirius Black. And he told You-Know-Who!"
"Not only did Black lead You-Know-Who to the Potters that night, but he also killed one of their friends, Peter Pettigrew," Fudge said.
"Peter Pettigrew?" Rosmerta asked, astonished.
"Yes!" McGonagall confirmed, distressed. "A little lump of a boy. Always trailing after Sirius Black."
Potter was breathing very heavily now. I was scared that someone was going to hear him.
"I remember him!" Rosmerta announced. "Never let James and Sirius out of his sight. But what happened?"
"Well, Peter Pettigrew tried to warn the Potters, and he might have managed to had he not run into an old friend. Sirius Black," McGonagall continued her story.
Fudge got a little closer than I would have liked to us to pour himself a drink. "Black was vicious," he said. "He didn't kill Pettigrew, he destroyed him. A finger! That's all that was left. A finger, and nothing more."
"Oh yes," McGonagall agreed sadly. "Sirius Black may not have put his hands to the Potters, but he's the reason they're dead."
"And now he wants to finished what he started," Fudge explained.
"I don't believe it," Rosmerta shook her head, scandalized.
Potter squeezed my fingers so tight I thought he cut off the blood circulation. My stomach fluttered in a throughly annoying fashion.
"That's not the worst of it," Fudge noted, and I pulled on Potter's body towards the door, signaling that we should leave. But it seemed he was frozen in place.
"What could be worse?" Rosmerta muttered.
"This," Professor McGonagall said gravely. "Sirius Black was, and remains to this day, Harry Potter's godfather!"
We switched positions. I froze in disbelief, and Potter dragged me out of the room, still under the Cloak, not caring what the adults would think when the door unlocked and opened of its own accord.
We ran out the main door to the pub, still holding hands. I didn't know where he was taking us. I think he just wanted to get as far away as possible. We shoved our way right through a group of carolers, much to everyone's puzzlement.
Finally, when we reached a snow-packed clearing, Potter stumbled and collapsed onto a boulder. I stared in astonishment, now un-invisible, at his, still invisible, softly crying figure. I vaguely heard footsteps behind me.
I turned around and saw Hermione and Weasley standing there looking utterly alarmed. I walked over to Hermione and muttered what happened in her ear.
"Oh," was her only response.
I timidly walked back over to Potter, sat down next to him, and pulled the Cloak off slowly. He had his head bent, and tears where flowing freely down his face. Without warning, he wrapped his arms around my neck and hugged me, crying into my shoulder.
I was lost. I cautiously wrapped my arms around him in turn, attempting at comfort. I looked helplessly to Weasley and Hermione.
Hermione looked heartbroken for him. Weasley looked just about as scared as I felt.
"He was their friend," Potter said against my neck. "And he betrayed them."
I rubbed his back soothingly.
"He was their friend!" He yelled.
I guess I didn't succeed in soothing him.
"I hope he finds me," Potter announced, pulling away and furiously wiping at his face. "Because when he does, I'll be ready. When he does, I'm gonna kill him!"