QUIDDITCH

A crisp chill had settled over Hogwarts, painting the landscape in muted shades of amber and gold. The once-lush green grounds were now carpeted with fallen leaves, crunching underfoot as students hurried between classes. Misty mornings gave way to pale, watery sunlight that did little to ward off the encroaching cold.

From the castle windows, students could see Hagrid's massive form moving about the grounds, his breath visible in the frosty air. He was busy raking leaves, winterizing the pumpkin patch, and occasionally pausing to wave at passing owls delivering late morning mail.

Inside the Great Hall, the enchanted ceiling reflected the grey, overcast sky outside. Students huddled over steaming bowls of porridge and mugs of hot chocolate, grateful for the warmth. Harry, Ron, and Hermione had just settled at the Gryffindor table when a commotion caught their attention.

At the far end of the table, Neville Longbottom let out a yelp as his spoon suddenly turned into a rubber chicken. Laughter erupted from the Slytherin table, where Marteen sat with a self-satisfied smirk, twirling his wand between his fingers.

Before anyone could react further, Marteen stood and sauntered over to where Harry and his friends were sitting.

"Morning, Harry," he said, his eyes gleaming with mischief. "That troll incident was quite something, wasn't it? Bit of excitement to liven things up around here."

Hermione's eyes narrowed. "Excitement?" she hissed, "You nearly got expelled, Marteen. Or have you forgotten that using an Unforgivable Curse is illegal?"

"Details, details,"

he said, waving his hand dismissively. "We're all still here, aren't we? No harm done."

"No harm done? You used dark magic in Hogwarts!" Ron said.

"And saved your lives in the process," Marteen countered smoothly. "I'd say that balances things out quite nicely."

Harry, caught between gratitude and unease, remained silent, watching the exchange with a furrowed brow.

Marteen leaned in, "Come on, admit it. It was a bit thrilling, wasn't it? Facing danger, outsmarting a troll... We make quite the team."

Suddenly, Professor McGonagall's voice rang out across the Hall. "Mr. Grindelwald, kindly return Mr. Longbottom's spoon to its proper form immediately."

With a dramatic sigh and a flick of his wand, Marteen reversed the spell. Professor McGonagall then approached the group, her expression stern.

"Mr. Grindelwald, a word," she said sharply. "I must remind you not to boast about your... spell choice during the troll incident. The staff is trying to keep this matter confidential to prevent it from reaching the Ministry of Magic. Your recklessness could have severe consequences if word gets out."

"Of course, Professor. My apologies."

As McGonagall walked away, Marteen turned back to Harry, his mischievous grin returning. "Well, Harry, good luck in your first upcoming match against Slytherin. You'll need it." His eyes glinted with competitive spirit. "Though I doubt Gryffindor stands a chance against our team. "

"Oh yeah?" Ron retorted, "We'll see about that! With Harry as a new seeker, you Slytherins won't know what hit you!"

Marteen raised an eyebrow, clearly amused by Ron's outburst. "Big words, Weasley. Let's hope your team can back them up on the pitch." With that, he sauntered back to the Slytherin table, leaving the trio to ponder his words.

The incident left Harry, Ron, and Hermione with a mix of emotions - gratitude for Marteen's help with the troll, concern over his casual use of dark magic, and uncertainty about his true motives. As they turned back to their breakfast, it was clear that Marteen would continue to be a source of both intrigue and worry in the days to come.

As Harry, Ron, and Hermione were finishing their breakfast, a familiar snowy owl swooped into the Great Hall. Hedwig gracefully landed on the table, carefully balancing a long, thin package.

"What's that?" Ron asked, his eyes widening as Harry untied the package from Hedwig's leg.

Harry shrugged, equally puzzled. He carefully unwrapped the package, revealing a sleek, polished broomstick. The handle gleamed with a rich, deep polish, and the tail twigs were perfectly straight.

"Blimey," Ron breathed, his eyes wide with awe. "That's a Nimbus Two Thousand!"

Harry ran his hand along the smooth handle, admiring the craftsmanship.

"It's beautiful," he said, "but I don't really know much about brooms. Is it good?"

"Good? Harry, it's not just good, it's brilliant! The Nimbus Two Thousand is the fastest model on the market. Professional teams use these!"

Before Harry could respond, Fred and George Weasley appeared behind them, with Angelina Johnson in tow.

"Is that what I think it is?"

"A Nimbus Two Thousand. Now that's a proper Seeker's broom."

Angelina grinned widely. "With this, Harry, we're sure to beat Slytherin today. They won't know what hit them!"

Harry confused, "But who sent it? It couldn't have been the Dursleys..."

He glanced around the Great Hall, his eyes eventually landing on the staff table. There, Professor McGonagall was watching him, a rare smile playing on her lips. As their eyes met, she gave him a small nod.

"I think I know," Harry said.

In the Gryffindor common room, Harry sat by the fireplace, carefully stroking the smooth handle of his new Nimbus Two Thousand. Ron couldn't take his eyes off the broom, occasionally reaching out to touch it reverently.

"I still can't believe you've got one," Ron said, shaking his head in awe. "A real Nimbus Two Thousand. It's the fastest broom in production, you know. The acceleration on this thing is incredible."

Hermione, curled up in a nearby armchair, looked up from the thick book she was reading. "Harry, you really should read this," she insisted, holding up 'Quidditch Through the Ages'.

"Especially the part about 'Seven Hundred Ways of Committing a Quidditch Foul'. It's important to know the rules."

Ron rolled his eyes. "Hermione, you're mental. He can't memorize seven hundred rules in one day! Besides, Harry's a natural. He'll be fine."

Harry, however, had fallen silent, a thoughtful expression on his face. After a moment, he spoke up, "You know, I've been thinking... What if Snape was trying to steal whatever that three-headed dog is guarding? That could explain why he was there on Halloween, and why his leg was injured."

Ron's eyes widened. "Blimey, you're right! I forgot about his leg. That dog must've bitten him when he tried to get past it."

Hermione frowned, closing her book. "But why would Professor Snape try to steal something Dumbledore's protecting? He's a teacher, after all."

"Dunno," Harry shrugged, "but he's definitely up to something. You saw how he was limping after Halloween."

"Yeah, and he's always been a bit... off, hasn't he? Wouldn't put it past him to be after whatever's hidden there." Ron said.

"I don't know, Harry. It seems a bit far-fetched. Maybe we should tell someone about our suspicions?" Hermione asked.

Before Harry could respond, Oliver Wood appeared in the common room, holding a scarlet Quidditch robe.

"There you are, Harry!"

Wood exclaimed, his eyes lighting up at the sight of the Nimbus Two Thousand. "Brilliant broom you've got there. It'll give us a real edge today."

He handed Harry the Quidditch robe, which had 'POTTER' and the number 7 emblazoned on the back in gold. "Here's your team robe. Put it on and come with me to the pitch. We need to go over some last-minute strategies before the match."

Harry stood up, carefully setting his new broom aside to pull on the Gryffindor robe. As he did so, he felt a mix of excitement and nervousness flutter in his stomach.

"Good luck, Harry!" Hermione called as he headed for the portrait hole.

Ron grinned and gave him a thumbs up. "You'll be brilliant, mate. Show those Slytherins what you're made of! We'll see you there!"

With a final nod to his friends, Harry followed Wood out of the common room, his new Nimbus Two Thousand in hand. As they made their way to the Quidditch pitch, the reality of his first real match began to sink in. Despite his nerves, Harry felt a surge of determination. He was ready to prove himself on the Quidditch field, not just as The Boy Who Lived, but as a valuable member of the Gryffindor team.

The Gryffindor team made their way onto the Quidditch pitch. The stands were a sea of color, with students waving banners and flags. Red and gold dominated one side for Gryffindor, while green and silver filled the other for Slytherin. The excitement was palpable, with cheers and chants echoing across the grounds.

The pitch itself was a vast expanse of short, neatly trimmed grass. Six tall goal posts, three at each end, towered above the field. The golden hoops glinted in the weak autumn sunlight. In the teachers' stand, Harry could see Professor McGonagall sitting next to Dumbledore, whose long silver beard was easily visible even from a distance.

At eleven o'clock, the Gryffindor team gathered in the locker room. The atmosphere was charged with nervous energy and excitement. Harry sat among his teammates, clutching his Nimbus Two Thousand, his stomach doing somersaults.

Oliver Wood cleared his throat, drawing everyone's attention. His eyes gleamed with determination as he began to speak.

"Alright, team. This is it. The big one," Wood said, pacing in front of them. "The one we've all been waiting for. We've got the strongest team Gryffindor's seen in years. We've got three superb Chasers."

Angelina Johnson, Alicia Spinnet, and Katie Bell exchanged grins, flexing their arms dramatically.

"We've got two unbeatable Beaters."

Fred and George Weasley stood up, bowing deeply and blowing kisses to an imaginary crowd.

"And we've got a Seeker who has never failed to catch the Snitch during practice," Wood added, looking at Harry with pride. "And me," he said as an afterthought.

The team chuckled, some of the tension dissipating. Harry, for his part, tried to look confident despite feeling like he might be sick at any moment.

Wood continued, his voice growing more passionate. "This is our year. We're going to win. I can feel it." He paused, looking each of them in the eye. "Now, remember the strategy we've been practicing. Chasers, keep the Quaffle moving. Don't give Slytherin a chance to intercept. Fred, George, you know your job - keep those Bludgers away from our team and aim them at the Slytherin Chasers when you can."

The twins nodded, twirling their Beater's bats with matching grins.

"And Harry," Wood turned to the young Seeker, his voice softening slightly. "It's your first real match, but don't let that rattle you. Just focus on finding the Snitch. You've got the fastest broom out there, and you've got talent. We believe in you."

Harry nodded, feeling a surge of confidence at Wood's words, even as his stomach continued to do backflips.

As Harry stepped onto the Quidditch pitch with his teammates, the roar of the crowd washed over him like a wave. The stadium was a sea of red and gold on one side, green and silver on the other. Banners waved, and chants filled the air, creating an electric atmosphere that made Harry's heart race with a mixture of excitement and nerves.

The Slytherin team, led by their burly captain Marcus Flint, marched onto the field from the opposite side. Their green robes billowed in the cool November breeze as they took their positions, eyeing the Gryffindor team with barely concealed hostility.

Madam Hooch, her hawk-like yellow eyes scanning the players, strode to the center of the pitch. Her short gray hair ruffled in the wind as she addressed both teams, her voice sharp and authoritative.

"Now, I want a nice fair game, all of you," she said, her gaze lingering particularly on Marcus Flint, whose reputation for rough play was well-known. The Slytherin captain met her stare with a look of feigned innocence that didn't quite reach his eyes.

Harry gripped his Nimbus Two Thousand tightly, his palms sweaty inside his Quidditch gloves. He could feel the eyes of the entire stadium upon him, the whispers about "The Boy Who Lived" playing his first match reaching his ears even from this distance. As Madam Hooch continued her pre-game instructions, Harry took a deep breath, trying to focus on Wood's strategies and push away the butterflies in his stomach.

The tension between the two teams was palpable, with the Slytherin players shooting challenging glares at their Gryffindor counterparts. Harry caught sight of Ron and Hermione in the stands, their encouraging smiles providing a small comfort amidst the intimidating atmosphere of his first real Quidditch match.

High up in the Gryffindor stands, Ron and Hermione sat huddled together, their eyes fixed on the pitch below. They had secured spots near the front row, giving them an excellent view of the action. Ron clutched a pair of omniculars, ready to follow every move of the game, while Hermione nervously twisted a Gryffindor scarf in her hands.

On the opposite side of the stadium, in the sea of green and silver, Marteen Grindelwald found himself seated among his fellow Slytherins. He was flanked by Draco Malfoy, with Crabbe and Goyle occupying the row behind them like hulking bodyguards. Marteen's eyes gleamed with interest as he watched the teams take their positions, his gaze lingering on Harry Potter.

As Madam Hooch's whistle pierced the air, the players kicked off from the ground, soaring into the sky. The Quaffle was released, and the game began in earnest.

As the match began, the Quaffle was immediately seized by Marcus Flint of Slytherin, catching the Gryffindor team off guard. Lee Jordan's voice boomed across the stadium:

"And they're off! Slytherin Captain Marcus Flint grabs the Quaffle right out of the gate - bit of a sneaky move there, if you ask me -"

"Jordan, stick to the facts!" Professor McGonagall's voice cut in.

"Right you are, Professor. Flint passes to Pucey - intercepted by Katie Bell of Gryffindor! Bell's making a break for it, dodging Bludgers left and right!"

The crowd gasped as Katie narrowly avoided a collision with a Slytherin Chaser.

"Ooh, that was close! Bell passes to Johnson - Johnson to Spinnet - back to Bell - these Gryffindor Chasers are putting on quite a show of teamwork!"

Meanwhile, Harry circled high above, scanning for the Snitch. The Slytherin Seeker, Terence Higgs, shadowed him closely.

"Looks like Higgs is marking Potter closely - not giving our new Gryffindor Seeker any breathing room. But wait - what's this? Flint's got the Quaffle again, he's charging towards the Gryffindor goalposts!"

The Slytherin section of the crowd roared as Flint approached the goals.

"Flint shoots - spectacular save by Wood! That's why he's the Gryffindor Captain, folks! And now Gryffindor's back in possession..."

As the match progressed, the Slytherin team began to assert their dominance on the field. Lee Jordan's commentary reflected the shifting tide of the game:

"And Pucey scores again for Slytherin! That's their fourth goal, putting them in a commanding lead at 40-10. Gryffindor needs to step up their defense if they want to stay in this match!"

The Slytherin section of the stands erupted in cheers, while the Gryffindor supporters groaned in disappointment. In the Gryffindor stands, Ron and Hermione exchanged worried glances.

"Come on, Gryffindor!" Lee shouted, his attempt at impartiality slipping. "Show them what you're made of!"

"Jordan!"

"Sorry, Professor. Just trying to encourage fair play," Lee replied, not sounding sorry at all.

On the pitch, Oliver Wood was shouting instructions to his team, trying to rally them. The Gryffindor Chasers looked frustrated, while Fred and George Weasley were hitting Bludgers with increased ferocity.

Meanwhile, Harry continued to circle high above the main action, desperately searching for any sign of the Golden Snitch. The Slytherin Seeker, Terence Higgs, was marking him closely, making it difficult for Harry to maneuver freely.

In the Slytherin stands, Marteen Grindelwald watched the game with keen interest, his eyes flicking between Harry's search pattern and the main action below. Beside him, Draco Malfoy was cheering loudly for each Slytherin goal, while Crabbe and Goyle grunted their approval.

As the game continued, the pressure on Gryffindor mounted. They needed to either score several quick goals or for Harry to catch the Snitch soon, or Slytherin's lead would become insurmountable.

They turned to see Hagrid's massive form squeezing through the crowded stands. Students shuffled and grumbled as they made room for the half-giant gamekeeper.

"Hagrid!" Ron exclaimed, relieved to see a friendly face. "We were wondering where you were."

Hermione scooted closer to Ron to make space. "How's the match looking from your perspective, Hagrid?"

Hagrid settled in, taking up the space of at least three students. "Bit rough, I'd say. Slytherin's playin' dirty, if yeh ask me."

As if on cue, Marcus Flint made a blatant foul, elbowing Angelina Johnson as he snatched the Quaffle from her grasp.

"Oi!" Hagrid bellowed, "That's not right!"

Lee Jordan's voice echoed across the stadium, "And that's a clear foul by Slytherin Captain Marcus Flint! Absolutely disgraceful behavior!"

"JORDAN!"

Ron gripped his omniculars tightly. "They're getting away with murder out there!"

Suddenly, a collective gasp rippled through the crowd. A Bludger, hit with vicious force by one of the Slytherin Beaters, was hurtling straight for Oliver Wood.

"Look out!" Hermione cried.

The Bludger slammed into Wood's stomach with a sickening thud. The Gryffindor Keeper, caught off guard, lost his grip on his broom and began to fall.

"Oh no!" Hagrid exclaimed, half-rising from his seat.

The crowd watched in horror as Wood plummeted towards the ground. At the last moment, Professor McGonagall cast a spell from the teacher's stand, slowing Wood's descent. He hit the ground with a soft thud, clearly winded but alive.

Madam Hooch's whistle blew shrilly as she called for a time-out. The Gryffindor team huddled on the ground around their fallen Captain, while the Slytherin team smirked from their brooms.

"That's it," Hagrid growled, "If the ref don't start callin' these fouls proper, this match is goin' to get right nasty."

Ron and Hermione nodded in grim agreement, their eyes fixed on Harry, who was hovering anxiously above his injured teammate. The match had taken a dangerous turn, and the young Seeker now carried an even heavier burden on his shoulders.

The game resumed without Wood, Harry suddenly felt his broom give a frightening lurch. It began to buck and swerve erratically, as if trying to throw him off.

"What's Harry doin'?" Hagrid asked, squinting at the sky. "Looks like he's lost control of his broom."

Ron grabbed his omnioculars for a closer look. "Blimey, you're right! It's like the broom's trying to buck him off!"

Hermione gasped, her hand covering her mouth. "But that can't happen! Nimbus Two Thousands don't just decide to throw their riders off!"

Meanwhile, Lee Jordan's voice boomed across the stadium, a note of confusion in his commentary:

"Hang on a moment - what's going on with Harry Potter's broom? It seems to be - yes, it's definitely malfunctioning! I've never seen anything like this, folks!"

The crowd's attention shifted to Harry, who was now clinging desperately to his wildly jerking broom.

"Can a broom be sabotaged like that?" Hermione asked.

"Can' have. Can' nothin' interfere with a broomstick except powerful Dark magic - no kid could do that to a Nimbus Two Thousand."

At these words, Hermione seized Ron's omnioculars and started scanning the crowd frantically.

Ron, his face pale with concern, said, "It's got to be the Slytherins. They must be jinxing his broom!"

He snatched the omnioculars back from Hermione and began searching the Slytherin stands. His eyes landed on Marteen Grindelwald, who appeared to be muttering something.

"There!" Ron exclaimed. "It's Marteen! He's jinxing Harry's broom!"

Hermione grabbed the omnioculars back, focusing on Marteen. To her surprise, she saw him simply munching on some Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans, occasionally grimacing at an unpleasant flavor.

She lowered the omnioculars and gave Ron an exasperated look.

"Ron, he's just eating sweets."

"What? But I saw him muttering..."

Hermione shook her head and raised the omnioculars again, this time scanning the teacher's stand. Suddenly, she gasped.

"It's Snape! Look!"

Ron peered through the omnioculars. Sure enough, Snape sat rigid in his seat, eyes fixed on Harry, muttering nonstop under his breath.

"Blimey, you're right!" Ron exclaimed. "What do we do?"

"I've got an idea," Hermione said, standing up. "Keep an eye on Harry. I'll be right back."

As Hermione disappeared into the crowd, Ron turned his attention back to Harry, who was now hanging onto his broom for dear life as it twisted and turned in the air.

Hermione pushed her way through the crowded stands, her heart racing as she glanced up at Harry's precarious position. She muttered quick "excuse me"s and "sorry"s as she squeezed past bewildered spectators.

As she reached the Slytherin section, the atmosphere changed palpably. Green and silver scarves surrounded her, and suspicious glares followed her progress. She tried to keep her head down, but her Gryffindor scarf made her stick out like a sore thumb.

Just as she was about to pass Draco Malfoy and Marteen Grindelwald, she overheard their conversation.

"Look at Potter now," Draco sneered, pointing at Harry's flailing form. "Not so special on a faulty broomstick, is he?"

Marteen chuckled, "Perhaps he should have stuck to No-Majs sports. They keep both feet on the ground."

"What is No-Majs?" Draco confused.

Hermione couldn't help but shoot them a stern, disapproving look. Both boys noticed her, their laughter dying in their throats.

"Granger?" Draco said, "What are you doing in the Slytherin stands?"

"Lost your way to the library?" Marteen asked.

Hermione opened her mouth to retort, but then closed it, remembering her mission. She had no time for their taunts. With a final glare, she pushed past them, leaving Draco and Marteen exchanging confused looks.

"What's she up to?" Draco muttered suspiciously.

Marteen shrugged, his eyes following Hermione's retreating form. "No idea, but it can't be good for us if she's sneaking around here."

Hermione, meanwhile, had reached the edge of the Slytherin section. She paused for a moment, catching her breath and steeling herself for what she was about to do. The teachers' stand was just ahead, and with it, her chance to save Harry. With a determined set to her jaw, she pressed on, leaving the puzzled Slytherins behind her.

Hermione crouched beneath the teachers' stands, her heart pounding in her chest. She could hear the muffled sounds of the crowd above and the continued commentary from Lee Jordan about Harry's predicament. Taking a deep breath to steady herself, she peered up through the gaps in the wooden planks.

She could see the hem of Snape's long black robes just a few feet away. His feet were planted firmly on the ground, and she could hear his continuous muttering. Hermione knew she had to act fast.

Pulling out her wand, she pointed it carefully at the edge of Snape's robes. Her hand trembled slightly as she whispered,

"Lacarnum Inflamarae."

A jet of bluebell flames shot from her wand, catching the hem of Snape's robes. For a moment, nothing happened, and Hermione held her breath. Then, suddenly, the flames began to spread, licking up the black fabric.

Above her, she heard a startled yelp and the sound of sudden movement. Snape's muttering abruptly stopped as he realized his robes were on fire. There was a flurry of activity as nearby teachers noticed the flames and moved to help.

"Merlin's beard, Severus! You're on fire!" she heard Professor Flitwick squeak.

In the confusion that followed, Hermione quickly scrambled away from the stands, her heart racing. She didn't dare look back, afraid she might be caught. As she hurried back towards the Gryffindor section, she could only hope that her distraction had worked and that Harry was safe.

The crowd's reaction told her all she needed to know. There were gasps of relief and renewed cheering. Lee Jordan's voice boomed across the stadium:

"And Potter's back in control of his broom! Incredible recovery there - as if nothing had happened!"

Hermione allowed herself a small smile of triumph as she made her way back to Ron and Hagrid. Her plan had worked, and now it was up to Harry to finish the game.

As Harry regained control of his broom, he spotted the Snitch fluttering near the center of the pitch. Without hesitation, he urged his Nimbus 2000 forward.

Terence Higgs, the Slytherin Seeker, noticed Harry's movement and quickly gave chase. The two Seekers approached the Snitch from opposite directions, creating a game of chicken in the air.

Lee Jordan's voice rang out, "Potter and Higgs have spotted the Snitch! They're on a collision course!"

As they neared each other, the Snitch suddenly dropped. Both Seekers dived after it, spiraling around each other as they descended.

Harry inched ahead of Higgs, stretching his arm out as far as he could. Just as his fingers were about to close around the Snitch, it darted upwards. In a split-second decision, Harry jerked his broom handle up, causing him to do a quick backflip in the air.

As he came out of the flip, the Snitch was right in front of his face. Without thinking, Harry opened his mouth in surprise, and the Snitch flew straight in. He clamped his mouth shut, nearly choking on the tiny golden ball.

Coughing and spluttering, Harry descended to the ground. He spat the Snitch into his hand, holding it up triumphantly.

The stadium erupted in cheers as Lee Jordan's excited voice boomed,

"HARRY POTTER HAS CAUGHT THE SNITCH... WITH HIS MOUTH! GRYFFINDOR WINS!"

The Gryffindor team raced to meet Harry as he touched down, engulfing him in a celebratory group hug. The crowd poured onto the field, with Ron and Hermione leading the charge to congratulate their friend on his unconventional catch and Gryffindor's thrilling victory.

"Harry, that was brilliant!" Ron exclaimed, clapping Harry on the back. "I've never seen anything like it!"

Hermione, hugged Harry tightly. "You were amazing, Harry! But you nearly gave us a heart attack with that broom incident."

"Thanks! I still can't believe it myself. What happened with my broom, anyway?"

Before either of them could answer, Hermione's attention was drawn to the Slytherin stands. Her eyes widened, and she nudged Ron with her elbow.

"Ron, look," she said, pointing discreetly.

Ron followed her gaze to see Marteen Grindelwald and Draco Malfoy at the front of the Slytherin section. Both boys were visibly frustrated, their faces contorted with anger and disappointment. Marteen slammed his fist against the railing of the stands, while Draco kicked the barrier in front of him.

"Looks like someone's not too happy with the result," Ron said with a smirk.

Hermione nodded, "I guess they didn't expect Harry to pull off such an incredible catch."

Harry, noticing his friends' distraction, asked, "What are you two looking at?"

Ron grinned, turning back to Harry. "Just enjoying the view of some very disappointed Slytherins. Seems like Marteen and Malfoy aren't taking the loss too well."

Harry glanced over at the Slytherin stands, catching a glimpse of Marteen and Draco's frustration before they disappeared into the departing crowd.

"Well," Harry said with a grin, "I suppose we can't please everyone."

The three friends laughed, their spirits high from Gryffindor's unexpected victory. As they made their way off the pitch, surrounded by jubilant teammates and supporters, they couldn't help but feel that this was just the beginning of an exciting year at Hogwarts.

As the excitement of the match began to die down, Hagrid made his way through the dispersing crowd to Harry, Ron, and Hermione.

"That was some catch, Harry!" Hagrid beamed, clapping Harry on the back with enough force to make his knees buckle. "How 'bout celebratin' with a nice cup o' tea at my place?"

Harry grinned, still flushed with victory. "Sounds great, Hagrid. Thanks!"

They made their way across the grounds towards Hagrid's hut, they spotted a group of Slytherins walking pass by. Draco, Marteen, Zabini, Crabbe, and Goyle were huddled together, pointedly avoiding looking at Harry and his friends.

Ron couldn't resist a jab. "Oi, Malfoy! Marteen! Enjoy the match?" he called out with a smirk.

The Slytherins quickened their pace, Draco's face turning a shade of pink as they passed by.

Hagrid chuckled. "Looks like they're not too happy with the result, eh?"

Hermione observed the Slytherins with a mix of satisfaction and curiosity.

"Did you see how Marteen was trying not to look at us? I wonder what he's thinking. Probably plotting revenge for the next match. You know how Slytherins are."

"Yeah, well, they can plot all they want," Ron said, puffing out his chest. "We've got the best Seeker in the school. Right, Harry?"

"Come off it, Ron. It was just luck."

"Luck, my foot!" Hagrid exclaimed. "That was pure talent, that was. Yeh should be proud, Harry."

As they approached Hagrid's hut, Hermione glanced back at the retreating Slytherins. "I just hope they don't try anything nasty to get back at us. Especially Marteen - he seems the type to hold a grudge."

"Don' you worry 'bout them," Hagrid said as he opened the door to his hut. "They're all talk, them Slytherins. Now, who's ready for some tea and rock cakes?"

The trio exchanged a quick glance at the mention of Hagrid's notoriously hard rock cakes but followed him inside, the warmth of victory still glowing within them.

They entered Hagrid's hut, the trio was enveloped by the warmth of the crackling fire. The single room was cluttered but cozy, with oversized furniture, bundles of herbs hanging from the ceiling, and an assortment of oddly shaped objects scattered about. A massive bed covered in a patchwork quilt occupied one corner, while a copper kettle bubbled cheerfully over the fire.

"Make yerselves at home," Hagrid said, gesturing to the enormous wooden chairs around a rough-hewn table. "An' meet Fang, my loyal companion."

A large boarhound lumbered out from under the table, his jowls drooping as he eyed the newcomers. Fang immediately made his way to Harry, resting his heavy head on Harry's knee and leaving a trail of drool on his robes.

"Er, nice to meet you, Fang," Harry said, awkwardly patting the dog's head.

As Hagrid busied himself with the tea, Fang decided Ron's shoelaces were particularly interesting and began to chew on them enthusiastically.

"Oi!" Ron yelped, trying to shoo the dog away. "Those aren't edible, you know!"

Hermione, however, was preoccupied with more serious matters. "Hagrid," she began, her voice filled with concern, "we think Snape was jinxing Harry's broom during the match."

Hagrid nearly dropped the teapot he was holding. "Nonsense!" he exclaimed. "Why would Snape do somethin' like that?"

Harry leaned forward, his eyes intense. "We think he's trying to steal whatever that three-headed dog is guarding."

"How do yeh know 'bout Fluffy?"

"Fluffy?" Ron repeated incredulously. "That thing has a name?"

"Well, o' course he does. He's mine. Bought him off a Greek chappie I met in the pub las' year." Hagrid said.

Hermione pressed on, "But what's Fluffy guarding, Hagrid?"

"Now, that's none of yer business," Hagrid said firmly. "That's between Professor Dumbledore an' Nicholas Flamel-"

He stopped abruptly, looking horrified at what he'd just said.

"Nicholas Flamel?" Harry repeated, his curiosity piqued.

Hagrid's face reddened beneath his wild beard. "I shouldn't have said that. Forget you heard that name, all of yeh. It's nothin' to do with you. Now, who wants to hear about the new batch of flobberworms I'm raisin'?"

"Flobberworms? Brilliant! Do they do any tricks? Maybe we could teach them to juggle or something." Ron said.

Hagrid let out a relieved chuckle at Ron's absurd suggestion, grateful for the distraction. As he launched into a detailed explanation of flobberworm care, Harry, Ron, and Hermione exchanged meaningful glances. They had a new mystery to solve, and the name Nicholas Flamel was their first clue.