IN BETWEEN

The dungeon classroom was thick with steam and the acrid scent of various ingredients as the first-year students huddled over their cauldrons in pairs. Professor Snape's voice cut through the haze, sharp and precise.

"Today, we will be brewing a simple Cure for Boils," Snape drawled, "While hardly complex, it requires attention to detail. Something I'm sure many of you will struggle with."

His gaze lingered on Harry for a moment before he continued, "The instructions are on the board. You will need dried nettles, crushed snake fangs, stewed horned slugs, and porcupine quills. Begin."

The classroom filled with the sounds of chopping, grinding, and the gentle bubbling of cauldrons. Hermione was meticulously crushing snake fangs, occasionally glancing at Harry to ensure he was following her lead. Across the room, Marteen and Blaise Zabini were working in tandem, their movements fluid and practiced. Draco and Pansy whispered and snickered at a nearby table, while Ron and Dean Thomas fumbled with their ingredients, looking slightly lost.

"Mr. Grindelwald," Snape's voice suddenly rang out, causing Marteen to jump slightly. "Tell me, what is the purpose of the porcupine quills in this potion?"

"The porcupine quills, sir, act as a binding agent. They help stabilize the volatile reaction between the nettles and snake fangs, while also enhancing the potion's ability to reduce inflammation." Marteen answered.

"Correct. Five points to Slytherin."

Hermione's jaw clenched, her hand twitching as if longing to shoot into the air. She glanced sideways at Harry, who gave her a sympathetic shrug.

However, as the lesson progressed, it became clear that Marteen's prowess was limited to theory. His cauldron emitted an ominous hissing sound, and the liquid inside was a murky brown instead of the clear pink it should have been.

"Mr. Zabini," Snape snapped, "control your partner's incompetence before he melts another cauldron."

Hermione couldn't help but feel a twinge of satisfaction as she stirred her and Harry's perfectly pink potion. Her relief, however, was short-lived.

BOOM!

The classroom erupted into chaos as Neville's cauldron exploded with a deafening bang. Thick, green smoke billowed from the remains of his workstation, and a foul odor filled the air.

"Longbottom!" Snape roared, striding towards the trembling boy. "Can you read? Or are you simply determined to endanger the lives of your classmates?"

As Snape berated Neville, whose face was now covered in angry red boils, the rest of the class watched in a mixture of horror and fascination. Harry and Hermione exchanged worried glances, while Ron leaned over to Dean, whispering loudly enough for those nearby to hear.

"Bloody hell, I thought our potion was bad. At least ours didn't try to kill us!"

Dean nodded fervently, both boys eyeing their own cauldron with newfound wariness.

Marteen, meanwhile, had edged away from his own cauldron, eyeing it warily as if expecting it to follow Neville's example at any moment. Zabini shot him an exasperated look, clearly regretting their partnership.

The dungeon, once filled with the orderly sounds of potion-making, now echoed with Snape's angry tirade, Neville's whimpers, and the frantic whispers of students trying to salvage their own brews. Just another day in Potions class at Hogwarts, where even the simplest lessons could turn into chaotic adventures.

The Gryffindor Quidditch team huddled in the locker room, the air thick with anticipation and the faint scent of broom polish. Outside, they could hear the distant rumble of excited students filing into the stands. Harry's stomach churned with a mixture of excitement and nerves as he clutched his Nimbus 2000.

Oliver Wood paced before them, his face set in determined lines. He stopped abruptly, turning to face his team with fire in his eyes.

"Right, listen up!" Wood's voice rang out, "This is it. The big one. The one we've all been waiting for."

Fred Weasley leaned over to Harry, whispering, "He says that every match. I think he's got it memorized."

George nodded solemnly. "Tragic, really. We've been meaning to introduce him to some new material."

"Weasleys!"

Wood barked, shooting them a stern look before continuing. "Hufflepuff's got a strong team this year. Their new Seeker, Cedric Diggory, is fast and has a keen eye. But we've got something they don't." He paused dramatically. "We've got Harry Potter."

Harry felt his cheeks flush as all eyes turned to him. Angelina Johnson gave him an encouraging smile.

"Now, here's the plan," Wood continued. He began to sketch furiously on a magical board, X's and O's zooming across its surface. "Katie, Angelina, Alicia – you'll run the Hawkshead Attacking Formation. Fred, George – I want you focusing on their Chasers. Disrupt their plays at all costs, but watch out for their Beaters. They've got a mean swing."

"Aye aye, Captain!"

"Harry, it's simple. Catch the Snitch or die trying."

"No pressure, mate," George said cheerfully, clapping Harry on the back.

"Remember, Hufflepuff's weakness is their left flank. Their Keeper tends to drift right, so aim for those left hoops. And watch out for Diggory's Wronski Feint – he's been practicing it."

A whistle blew outside, signaling it was time. Wood took a deep breath, looking at each of his players in turn.

"This is our year, I can feel it. We're the best team Gryffindor's had in years. So let's get out there and show Hufflepuff what we're made of!"

The team roared in agreement, the sound drowning out Harry's pounding heart. As they filed out of the locker room, broomsticks in hand, Harry felt a surge of determination. The nerves were still there, fluttering in his stomach, but now they were mixed with excitement and a fierce desire to prove himself.

The roar of the crowd grew louder as they stepped onto the pitch. The sky above was a brilliant blue, perfect flying conditions. Harry mounted his broom, took a deep breath, and kicked off into the air, ready to face whatever challenges this match would bring.

Hermione and Ron made their way towards the Gryffindor stands, the excited chatter of students filled the air. Suddenly, they found themselves face-to-face with a group of Slytherins:

Malfoy, Marteen, Crabbe, and Goyle.

"Well, well. If it isn't Weasley and Granger. Come to watch Potter make a fool of himself, have you?" Draco began.

"Shove off, Malfoy. Harry's going to wipe the pitch with Hufflepuff." Ron said.

"Oh, I'm sure," Malfoy drawled. "Just like he wiped his broom with his robes when he nearly fell off last time. Some 'youngest Seeker in a century' he turned out to be."

Crabbe and Goyle guffawed stupidly. Marteen, however, remained silent.

"Let's go," Malfoy said, turning away. "I can feel my intelligence dropping just standing near these two."

As the Slytherins began to leave, Hermione suddenly called out,

"Marteen! Wait a moment."

Marteen paused, glancing back at his housemates before approaching Hermione. "What is it?" he asked, his tone cautious.

A familiar twinge of envy twisted in her stomach as she prepared to acknowledge Marteen's skill. It wasn't easy for her, being the know-it-all she was, to admit someone else might be better at something academic. But she pushed the feeling aside, reminding herself that this was for Harry's safety.

"I— I know we don't always see eye to eye, but I've noticed how good you are at Defense Against the Dark Arts," Hermione said, the words leaving a slightly bitter taste in her mouth. "I was wondering if you could do me a favor."

"Go on."

"Could you... keep an eye on Snape during the match?"

"Snape? Why?"

"In the last match against Slytherin, we think he tried to jinx Harry's broom. I'm worried he might try something again."

"That's ridiculous, Hermione. I know Snape can be... stern, but he wouldn't try to kill a student. Besides, even if he wanted to, he's far too clever to attempt anything in front of a crowd."

"But—" Hermione began, but Marteen cut her off.

"Look," he said, pointing towards the teachers' stand. "Dumbledore's there. Do you really think Snape would try anything with him around?"

Hermione followed his gaze, her shoulders sagging slightly as she spotted the Headmaster's distinctive silver beard. A part of her bristled at being dismissed so easily, especially by someone she considered an academic rival. Yet, she couldn't deny the logic in his words.

"I think you need to put your paranoia to rest, Hermione. It's a Quidditch match, not a battlefield." Marteed added.

With that, he turned and jogged to catch up with his fellow Slytherins, leaving Hermione looking both frustrated and slightly embarrassed. She watched him go, a mix of emotions churning inside her - annoyance at being brushed off, lingering envy at his abilities, and a grudging respect for his reasoning.

Ron, who had been listening to the exchange, turned to Hermione as Marteen left.

"Think he'll actually keep an eye on Snape?"

Hermione shrugged, her eyes still on Marteen's retreating form. "I hope so. Come on, let's find good seats. We need to be ready to help Harry if anything goes wrong."

As they climbed the stairs to the Gryffindor section, the roar of the crowd grew louder. The pitch spread out before them, a vast green expanse ready for the match to begin. Ron and Hermione settled into their seats, their eyes scanning the sky for any sign of their friend Harry, both silently hoping for a safe and successful game.

The shrill blast of Madam Hooch's whistle pierced the air, and fourteen brooms shot skyward. The Quidditch match between Gryffindor and Hufflepuff had begun.

Lee Jordan's magically amplified voice boomed across the stadium: "And they're off! Gryffindor in possession, Katie Bell with the Quaffle, streaking down the pitch. Oh, nice dodge around Hufflepuff Chaser Cadwallader!"

The crowd roared as Katie weaved through the opposition, her red robes a blur against the blue sky.

"Bell passes to Johnson, Johnson to Spinnet, back to Bell — ooh, nasty Bludger there from Hufflepuff Beater O'Flaherty, but Bell holds on!"

Harry circled high above the pitch, his eyes darting back and forth, searching for that elusive glint of gold. Across the field, Cedric Diggory mirrored his movements, equally vigilant.

"Hufflepuff in possession now, Applebee with the Quaffle, she's really putting on speed — watch out for that Bludger! — no, brilliantly deflected by Fred or George Weasley, can't tell which from up here!"

The crowd gasped as a Bludger narrowly missed Angelina's head, sent her way by the other Hufflepuff Beater.

"Close one there for Johnson! Gryffindor back in possession, Spinnet's tearing up the pitch — she shoots — she — SCORES! Ten points to Gryffindor!"

The Gryffindor stands erupted in cheers, red and gold banners waving frantically.

"Hufflepuff keeper Fleet looks disappointed, bit early in the game for that, mate! And it's Hufflepuff with the Quaffle, Cadwallader making a break for it — nice Bludger work there by George Weasley, Cadwallader drops the Quaffle, caught by Johnson — Gryffindor back on the attack!"

The game continued at a breakneck pace, neither team able to gain a significant advantage. The score teetered back and forth: 20-10 Gryffindor, then 20-20, then 30-20 Hufflepuff.

"This is a close one, folks! Both teams evenly matched today. No sign of the Snitch yet — wait, was that a glint of gold by the Hufflepuff goalposts?"

Harry and Cedric both suddenly dived, causing the crowd to gasp. They streaked towards the Hufflepuff end, neck and neck, hands outstretched —

"False alarm, folks! Looks like it was just a reflection off someone's watch. But what a feint by both Seekers! This match could go either way!"

The game raged on, the Chasers trading possession back and forth, Beaters sending Bludgers flying in all directions, and Keepers making spectacular saves.

"Another goal for Hufflepuff! That ties it up at 50-50. This is anyone's game, and it looks like it'll come down to which Seeker spots the Snitch first. Potter and Diggory both looking sharp today, folks!"

As Lee's commentary continued, the tension in the stadium built. Everyone knew that with the scores so close, the capture of the Snitch would decide the match. All eyes were on Harry and Cedric, waiting for that crucial moment when one of them would spot the tiny golden ball and make the decisive move.

The match had been raging for nearly an hour, the score a tight 80-70 in Gryffindor's favor, when it happened.

Lee Jordan's voice suddenly rose to a fever pitch: "Wait a minute! Is that — yes, it is! The Snitch has been spotted!"

A collective gasp rippled through the crowd as Harry and Cedric both suddenly changed direction, their eyes locked on a tiny glint of gold hovering near the Gryffindor goalposts.

"Potter and Diggory are neck and neck! They're both diving for the Snitch!"

The two Seekers plummeted towards the ground, the wind whistling past their ears. The rest of the game seemed to freeze, all eyes on the two blurs of red and yellow streaking across the pitch.

"They're getting closer! Oh, this is going to be close!"

Harry stretched out his arm, feeling the rush of air against his fingertips. He could see Cedric doing the same out of the corner of his eye. The Snitch was just inches away, its wings beating furiously as it tried to escape.

"Potter's inching ahead! But Diggory's not giving up!"

With a final burst of speed, Harry lunged forward on his broom. His fingers closed around the cool metal of the Snitch just as Cedric's hand grasped at empty air.

"HE'S GOT IT! HARRY POTTER HAS CAUGHT THE SNITCH! GRYFFINDOR WINS!"

The stadium erupted into a deafening roar. Red and gold banners waved frantically as the Gryffindor supporters leapt to their feet, cheering and hugging each other.

Lee's voice could barely be heard over the din: "And that's it, folks! With just five minutes left on the clock, Harry Potter catches the Snitch! Gryffindor wins, 230 to 70!"

Harry held the Snitch high above his head, a wide grin spreading across his face as his teammates converged on him, enveloping him in a mid-air group hug.

On the ground, Madam Hooch's whistle signaled the end of the match. The Gryffindor team descended, still cheering and patting Harry on the back. Cedric Diggory landed nearby, looking disappointed but sporting enough to offer Harry a congratulatory handshake.

As the crowd began to spill onto the pitch, Harry caught sight of Ron and Hermione pushing their way through, both beaming with pride. Another Quidditch victory for Gryffindor, and this time, without any mysterious broom jinxes or near-death experiences. Just pure, exhilarating sport.

The air was filled with excited chatter and victory chants as the students began to make their way back to the castle, the thrill of the match still buzzing through the crowd. It was a perfect end to a nail-biting game, and Harry couldn't have been happier.

Next day, The Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom buzzed with anticipation as the first-year Gryffindors and Slytherins filed in. Professor Quirrell stood at the front, his turban wobbling precariously as he addressed the class.

"T-today," he stammered, "we'll tackle the K-Knockback Jinx. A s-simple yet potent spell to repel opponents."

With a dramatic flourish — somewhat undermined by his nervous twitch — Quirrell demonstrated. "Flipendo!" A burst of blue light shot from his wand, sending a nearby cushion tumbling.

"Now, everyone grab a d-dummy and spread out. Wands at the ready!"

There was a mad scramble as students rushed to claim their targets. The room soon filled with a cacophony of voices shouting "Flipendo!" punctuated by the occasional thud of a successfully knocked-back dummy.

FWOOSH! Seamus's wand emitted a pathetic spark, leaving his dummy unmoved and his eyebrows slightly singed.

"Flippendo! No, Flipendo! Argh, FLIPENDO!" Ron's increasingly frustrated attempts were met with nothing more than a few wisps of smoke.

Hermione's precise incantation sent her dummy skidding backwards with a satisfying screech across the stone floor.

Draco, lips curled in concentration, managed to topple his dummy — though whether from the spell's force or a conveniently timed lean was debatable.

Then came Marteen's turn. The chatter died down as he raised his wand, an intense focus in his eyes that seemed beyond his years.

"Flipendo!"

WHAM! The dummy rocketed across the room as if shot from a cannon, crashing into the far wall with a thunderous boom that rattled the windows.

For a moment, stunned silence reigned. Then —

"Merlin's beard!"

"Did you see that?"

"How in the world...?"

Even Quirrell gaped, his stutter forgotten. "A-astonishing, Mr. Grindelwald! Truly remarkable!"

Marteen lowered his wand, a flicker of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. He caught Harry's eye and gave a modest shrug that seemed to say, "Just lucky, I guess."

The rest of the lesson passed in a blur of renewed efforts and whispered awe. As they filed out, the air crackled with excitement and speculation about the young Grindelwald's mysterious talent.

As Marteen obliged, demonstrating with exaggerated slowness, it was clear that this lesson had shifted something in the dynamics of their year. The question on everyone's mind: Just how powerful was Marteen Grindelwald?

As the quartet emerged from the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, their footsteps echoed through the stone corridors, mingling with the excited chatter of their classmates. Marteen walked alongside Harry, Ron, and Hermione, his wand still warm from the impressive display of magic.

Hermione, her bushy hair bouncing with each determined step, couldn't contain herself any longer. "Marteen," she began, her tone sharp with barely concealed envy, "how is it you're always so good at every spell we learn? It's — well, it's rather suspicious, isn't it?"

"How come you remember every spell in the book, Hermione?" he shot back, his American accent standing out among the British voices. "We've all got our things, right?"

Hermione's cheeks flushed, her mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water.

Ron snickered, elbowing Harry. "He's got you there, Hermione!"

Harry grinned, but his eyes darted between Marteen and Hermione, sensing the underlying tension.

As they rounded a corner, the smell of lunch hit them like a wave. Ron's stomach let out a loud growl.

"Blimey, I'm starving! What d'you reckon we're having for lunch?"

Their conversation drifted to more mundane topics as they neared the Great Hall, the mystery of Marteen's abilities temporarily forgotten in favor of speculating about the day's menu.

Meanwhile, several paces behind them, Draco Malfoy trudged along with Crabbe and Goyle flanking him like a pair of trollish bodyguards. His grey eyes narrowed as he watched Marteen laughing at something Potter had said.

"I don't understand it," Draco muttered, "Why's Marteen spending so much time with those... those Gryffindors?"

Crabbe grunted noncommittally, while Goyle simply shrugged his massive shoulders.

"He's a Slytherin, for Merlin's sake!" Draco continued, "He shouldn't be fraternizing with the likes of them. Especially not Potter and his... his mudblood and blood traitor friends."

As they entered the Great Hall, the enchanted ceiling above showing a clear blue sky with fluffy white clouds, Draco's scowl deepened. He watched as Marteen hesitated for a moment at the threshold, exchanging a few more words with the Gryffindor trio before making his way to the Slytherin table.

"I'll have to have a word with him," Draco decided, "Remind him where his loyalties should lie."

But as Marteen sat down at the Slytherin table, his easy smile and confident demeanor a stark contrast to Draco's sullen expression, it was clear that any such 'reminder' would be easier said than done. The young Grindelwald, it seemed, played by his own rules — and that made him both intriguing and dangerous in equal measure.