Quidditch Fever
By the first Saturday of November, the whole school seemed to be buzzing about the upcoming Gryffindor vs. Slytherin match.
It wasn't just the rivalry—though that was fierce enough—it was the fact that Harry Potter, the youngest Seeker in a century, would be flying. Betting pools had sprung up in the corners of the common rooms. Fred and George were already bragging about "making sure Slytherin has a terrible day."
Lennon had no intention of joining the crowd, but she couldn't avoid the talk. Even Hermione, who usually thought Quidditch was a waste of time, had started asking Harry about rules and positions.
"You know," Hermione told him one evening in the common room, "if you treat it like strategy, it's really rather fascinating."
Ron groaned. "Don't encourage her, Harry."
Lennon smirked faintly. "Strategy's half the game. Make the right move at the right time, you win—even if the odds aren't in your favor."
Harry glanced at her. "You sound like you've played."
"I haven't," Lennon said simply, turning back to her parchment.
⸻
Mattheo – Slytherin Preparation
The Slytherin team trained just as hard. Mattheo wasn't on the team, but Lorenzo never stopped talking about it.
"We've got this in the bag," Lorenzo insisted in the common room. "Malfoy's been practicing every evening. And Marcus Flint—well, he's not pretty, but he's deadly with a Bludger."
Mattheo didn't bother replying. He didn't care who won. But when he overheard a third-year muttering about "making Potter regret ever touching a broom," he filed the words away.
Slytherin played to win. Sometimes that meant playing rough. Sometimes it meant worse.
⸻
The Morning of the Match
The sky was a pale, cold blue as the Gryffindor team ate breakfast. Lennon noticed Harry barely touched his toast.
"Eat," she told him quietly. "Even if you're nervous. You'll need the energy."
"I'm fine," Harry said, though his voice was tight.
Hermione, seated on his other side, tried for reassurance. "You'll be brilliant."
The Slytherins filed in wearing green-and-silver scarves, Malfoy smirking like he'd already won. Lennon caught Mattheo among them, leaning back against the table as though the match bored him. He noticed her look and held it for a second before glancing away.
⸻
The Stands Fill
By the time Lennon, Hermione, and Ron reached the stands, the air buzzed with shouts and cheers. The Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs seemed evenly split on who to support; the Slytherins were chanting loudly for their own team.
"Remember," Ron said to Hermione over the noise, "you have to keep your eyes on the game—don't get lost in the rules."
Hermione gave him a withering look.
Madam Hooch blew her whistle, and fourteen players kicked off into the air.
⸻
The Game Begins
Harry was a natural. Even Lennon, who had intended to watch with polite detachment, found herself leaning forward as he dove and swerved, keeping his eyes scanning for the Snitch.
The game was fast, brutal. Bludgers whistled past heads. Flint scored early for Slytherin, prompting a wave of green flags in the stands.
Fred and George retaliated by sending a Bludger so close to Malfoy that he yelped and swerved.
"Take that, you snake!" Fred shouted.
Lennon almost smiled.
⸻
The Broom Incident
It happened in the second half.
Harry's broom gave a violent lurch. Then another. He dropped several feet before jerking upright again, clutching at the handle.
Hermione frowned. "That's not normal."
"What d'you mean?" Ron asked.
"Look at it—it's trying to buck him off!"
Lennon's eyes swept the stands. And there—far across, in the staff section—Snape was staring at Harry, lips moving.
Hermione grabbed her arm. "Come on."
Lennon followed without question as Hermione pushed her way down the rows, shoving past startled spectators. They reached the base of the stands, and Hermione took off toward the staff section.
"What are you doing?" Lennon hissed.
"Stopping him!" Hermione said fiercely.
⸻
Fire and Distraction
Hermione dropped to her knees behind Snape's seat, pulled out her wand, and muttered, "Lacarnum Inflamarae."
Flames shot up the hem of Snape's robes.
He jumped, startled, and began beating them out. His concentration broke.
Above, Harry's broom steadied. Seconds later, he was diving—straight toward the ground.
"He's going to crash—!" Ron began, but Harry pulled up just in time, arm outstretched.
His fist closed around the Snitch.
The stands erupted.
⸻
After the Match
Gryffindor had won. The common room that night was a storm of celebration—shouting, singing, and endless retellings of "Harry's amazing dive."
Lennon stayed on the edge of it, sipping pumpkin juice while Hermione explained, in a low voice, what she'd seen Snape doing.
"You're sure it was him?" Lennon asked.
"I saw his mouth moving. He was jinxing the broom."
"Or," Lennon said slowly, "he could have been counter-acting someone else's curse."
Hermione frowned at her. "You sound like you don't want it to be him."
"I don't want to be wrong," Lennon said.
⸻
Mattheo – An Uneasy Observation
Down in the Slytherin common room, the mood was sour. Malfoy sulked in the corner, Flint raged about "Potter getting lucky," and Lorenzo sulked into his butterbeer.
Mattheo didn't say a word. But in his mind, he replayed the moment Harry's broom had gone wild.
And how Lennon had left the stands.
⸻
The Corridor at Night
The celebration in Gryffindor Tower lasted past curfew. By the time Lennon and Hermione headed upstairs, it was nearly midnight.
On the way, they found Ron and Harry in the common room—looking guilty.
"Where are you going?" Hermione asked sharply.
"Nowhere," Harry said too quickly.
Lennon crossed her arms. "You're terrible liars."
But she didn't stop them.
⸻
Fluffy
She found out why the next day.
Harry, Ron, and Hermione cornered her in the courtyard.
"You know the forbidden third-floor corridor?" Harry began.
"Yes," Lennon said slowly.
"There's a—well, a thing—in there," Ron said. "A huge three-headed dog."
Lennon stared. "And you were there because…?"
"It's guarding something," Harry said. "And I think it's to do with whatever Snape's after."
Hermione muttered something about "reckless idiocy," but she didn't deny it.
⸻
Mattheo – A Chance Meeting
That evening, Lennon went to the library for some quiet.
She didn't expect to see Mattheo in her usual seat again.
"You're making a habit of this," she said, dropping her bag.
He didn't look up. "You disappeared during the match."
"And?"
"People noticed."
She hesitated. "Did you?"
His mouth curved slightly. "Maybe."
They sat in silence for a while, pages turning in unison. But Lennon felt the weight of his glance, and she knew this wasn't the end of whatever thread had begun to tie them together.