Chapter 6: Chapter Six

I settle back on the bench as play continues, watching for any sign of the tiny Golden Snitch. If it’s out there, I can’t see it, and the match would be over if someone had caught it. I peer through the field-glasses again, watching for activity. The next run on the Gryffindor hoops has commenced, with the Slytherin team definitely putting the boot in more than is really necessary.

Flint, clearly infuriated at Wood’s skills as a Keeper, grabs the bat off of one of his team’s Beaters, pounding a Bludger straight into Oliver’s chest, knocking him through the centre hoop. Despite being barely conscious, he manages to maintain his seat astride his broom until he lands in the sandy patch at the base of the hooped column.

Thanks to our Keeper being out-of-play, the Slytherin team manage to make a shot that nets them their first ten points, before Captain Flint gives an order to one of his team. The pair box Angelina in, harrying her until she ends up hitting the fabric siding of one of the towers, emerging onto the grass a few moments later, limp on the gravel. Two members down, and the Slytherin team are, apparently, more interested in a win via elimination, rather than playing for the Quaffle.

A few minutes of furious scrimmaging over the Quaffle leads to Slytherin sinking another ten points, putting both teams neck-and-neck. It’s not looking good for us… if we can’t make a comeback, we’ll lose the first match of the season!

Suddenly, Harry blurs into motion! He’s been hovering up above the melee, avoiding getting caught up in the chaos as he hunts for the Snitch. He must have gotten a glimpse of it, or else he wouldn’t be powering towards the centre, right?!

His pace slows as he dodges beneath a careening Bludger, managing to avoid getting clobbered, before something highly irregular happens. Harry’s broom begins jerking around in his grasp, threatening to unbalance him and send him plummeting!

 

I scan the air for any sign of what could be causing it, utilizing the field-glasses for enhanced vision. Over on the opposite side, in the teachers’ stand, I can see Professor Snape muttering, his lips moving furiously as he stares, unblinking, at Harry. I nudge Hermione. “It’s Snape! He’s jinxing Harry’s broom!” I whisper fiercely.  

She whispers the same thing to Ron, who yelps in outrage. “What d’we do?!” I gasp as Hermione squirms out from between us, with a hiss of, “leave it to me!” she disappears into the crush of bodies packing the stands.

While she’s out of sight, Harry’s broomstick continues its wild gyrations, flipping end over end and leaving Harry hanging off it with one hand! Fortunately, the boy manages to get his other hand back on his broom, swaying as it jerks from side to side. 

Suddenly, a commotion breaks out in the staff box, and Professor Snape appears to be dancing madly, knocking several other faculty members over. Harry’s broom ceases to be recalcitrant and he swings himself back astride, jetting away in pursuit of his reacquired target. The Slytherin Seeker is bearing down on the fleeing Snitch.

Harry shoots into position beside his opposite number, slamming shoulder-first into him as they jockey for the prize just ahead. The other boy’s greater bulk allows him to barge Harry aside without much effort, but Harry’s as determined as a tick; he retaliates by gaining more momentum thanks to the shoulder-charge and pulling into a side-by-side dive as the Snitch flits towards the grass.

 Despite his bravado, the Slytherin boy pulls out before he can go into a death-spiral and leaves Harry to the chase, as the dark-haired boy releases his hands from the broomstick, rising onto his feet like a muggle boy on a skaet-bored.  As he balances, still going like the clappers, he lunges, going into a forwards roll across the grassy pitch, his Nimbus 2000 drifting to the side and tumbling to a halt. He rises to his feet, and begins retching, there in the centre of the pitch.

A few heaves later, and Harry spits something golden and spherical into his cupped hands, as Lee Jordan roars, “He’s got the Snitch! HARRY POTTER RECIEVES ONE HUNDRED AND FIFTY POINTS FOR CATCHING THE SNITCH!”

 

Madam Hooch blasts onto the pitch astride her broom and lets out a piercing shriek from her whistle. “Gryffindor wins!” As the red and gold side of the stadium erupts in jubilant cheering, I can swear I see Malfoy sulking. Serves the smug git right!

 

Half an hour later, Harry rejoins us, with Hermione having slipped back scant minutes before, looking very pleased with herself.  Hagrid, the gigantic man who’d been chaperoning Harry, met up with us as we left, heading back towards the castle. After Hermione and Ron filled him in, thankfully without bringing me into it, Hagrid spluttered, “Now, why would Snape put a jinx on ‘Arry’s broom? Don’t make sense.”

Harry rebuts, “Who knows? Why was he trying to get past that three-headed dog, back on Halloween?” Hagrid shoots him a surprised look.  “How d’ye know about Fluffy?” Hermione bites back a splutter, asking, “That THING has a name???”

“O’ course he does, I named ‘im!” the giant explains. “I bought ‘im off’n Irish feller I met down the pub last year! Then I lent ‘im to Dumbledore to guard the-”

“Yes?” Harry interjects, apparently more eager than the rest of us to find out exactly what ‘Fluffy’ was guarding. Hagrid casts a worried eye at us. “Shouldn’t ‘ave said that. No more questions! Don’t ask any more questions, that’s top-secret that is!”

“But Hagrid, we KNOW Snape’s trying to steal whatever it is!” Harry protests, and I nod in support.

“Codswallop! Professor Snape’s a Hogwarts teacher!”

Hermione folds her arms. “Hogwarts teacher or not, I know a spell when I see one! I’ve read all about them. You’ve got to keep eye-contact, and Snape. Wasn’t. Blinking!”

 

Hagrid draws a deep, shuddering breath, before pointing a gloved finger the size of a salami at us. In a low voice, he rumbles, “Now listen here, the four of ye! Ye’re meddlin’ in things that ought not to be meddled in!”

We simply stare up at him, three out of four expressions stony.

Hagrid continues, “What that dog is guarding is stric’ly between Professor Dumbledore an’ Nicholas Flamel!” Harry seizes on that titbit of information like a crow on a morsel of cheese.

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“Nicholas Flamel?” he repeats, and Hagrid’s mouth snaps shut. He turns pale, and begins mumbling, “Should not ‘ave said that. I should NOT ‘ave said that…” as he wanders off.

I turn to my friend and the two boys. “So… who’s Nicholas Flamel?” I ask, and my heart sinks when I see even Hermione shaking her head. We slowly trudge back towards the castle, and the warmer air inside. It’s not exactly clement out here in late November…

 

The weeks pass, and I grow closer with Ron and Harry. I still haven’t found the courage to tell them the truth about me. Hermione and I bond as well, her original dislike of me gone, now that she has someone who can actually match her razor wit and keen mind, and snow begins to blanket the grounds of Hogwarts. The grey skies of the Scottish highlands let loose great flurries of snow, huge drifts of powdery white settling at the foot of the walls and buttresses of the ancient buildings. Hagrid drags in a massive tree for decorating, the huge coniferous pine giving off a pleasant scent as it dominates the entrance hallway.

Even the ghosts are ‘enlivened’ by the festive atmosphere, strolling the halls and serenading students with carols, many people packing up to return home for Christmas. I, however, was told, under no uncertain terms, to remain at Hogwarts over the holidays. Honestly, the thought of having to spend Christmas under the frosty gaze of my disapproving extended family was not something I’d been eagerly anticipating.

As I sat in the Great Hall, watching Harry and Ron battle it out in a game of Wizard Chess, I spot Hermione entering the hall, a suitcase in hand.  I felt my heart drop into my knees at the thought of spending the holidays without the one person who knew my secret. As she approaches, Harry moves one of his knights to E-5, and Ron counters by ordering his queen to take the knight. As the red queen demolishes Harry’s knight with her throne in a move that wouldn’t been out-of-place in a tavern-brawl, the brainy brunette splutters, “That’s barbaric!”

 

Ron grins. “THAT’S Wizard’s Chess. See you’ve packed,” he nods towards Hermione’s trunk, and I shrink a little more. The girl retorts, “I see you haven’t!” Ron shrugs. “Change of plans. My parents decided to go to Romania for the holidays, visit my brother Charlie. He’s studying dragons there.”

Hermione’s eyes glitter as she gestures. “Good, then you can help Harry and Max. They’re still trying to find out who Nicholas Flamel is. They’ll be in the library.”

Ron puts his head in his hands. “We’ve looked a hundred times!”

 Hermione smirks, playing her trump card. “Not in the Restricted Section, we haven’t. Happy Christmas. Max, I’ve left your present somewhere safe, you’ll know where.” She turns and trundles her trunk away, out of the hall as the three of us stare after her. Ron leans in and mutters, “I think we’ve had a bad influence on her.”

The last few days trickle away, like sand in an hourglass, until Ron’s bellowing awakens us at the crack of dawn. “HARRY! MAX! WAKE UP! HARRY, MAX!”

The pair of us barrel downstairs. I only pause long enough to pull on my dressing-gown and follow after. Harry is standing at the balustrade looking down into the common room. Ron is standing by the fireplace, grinning and shouting, “Happy Christmas, you two!”, with…

“Ron, what are you wearing?” Harry asks, smiling.  Ron looks down at the sweater with a giant letter R on the front. He grins back. “Me mum made it. Looks like you’ve both got one, too!”

Harry’s eyes widen, and I think that he’s about to fall over. “I’ve got presents?!” he gasps, and Ron looks down at the mass of gifts, then back up. “Yeah!”

I head after the excited boy, stopping to wish Ron a happy Christmas, before taking a seat on the couch.  Despite my parent’s obvious unwillingness to have me in their presence this year, they certainly made up for it with presents. I suppose it ‘wouldn’t do’ to seem unloving, at least in public. I’m sure they’ve been milking it in front of our relatives, though.

Harry goes straight for his pile of Christmas plunder, scooping up something bulky and shapeless. He pauses, opening a folded piece of parchment attached to the parcel.

“Your father left this in my possession before he died. It is… time it was returned to you. Use it well.” He reads, as Ron shrugs around a mouthful of sweets. Harry drops the letter on the armrest of his chair, tugging the string and paper apart and staring down at something on his lap. A strange, shimmery cloak, almost liquid in its elegance, that seems to drink in the light and feed off it somehow.

“It’s… some kind of cloak.” He says, and Ron grins, speaking around a jawful of toffee. “Well, put it on! Lessee what it looks like!” he chortles, before both mine and his mouths hang open. For, as Harry whisks the cloak around to cover himself… his body… vanishes, leaving only his head, hanging in mid-air.

“Whooaaa!” Ron’s exclamation of surprise causes Harry to look down, then back up. “My body’s gone!”

“I know what that is...” I say softly. “That’s an… an invisibility cloak… they’re exceptionally rare…” The two boys look over at me, and I lean back, trying not to be stared at too much.

Ron reaches down for the discarded note, looking for any sign of who could have sent such a treasure. Judging by his frown, there’s nothing that could identify where it came from. I swallow, and sigh. Now is as good a time as any. Seamus, Lee and Neville have gone home, and the girls’ dorm is deserted too. It’s just the three of us. Taking a deep breath to calm myself, (which honestly didn’t help at all), I clear my throat softly. Harry and Ron halt their foraging for clues as to the cloak’s origins, and turn to look at me.

“Um… guys, I… I have something that I’ve been trying to tell you, but… It’s been really, REALLY difficult to gather up the courage to do it… it’s something that only one other person knows, and it’s the kind of thing that could literally and utterly destroy me if the wrong people found out… I want to trust you with it… but I need you to promise that you won’t tell ANYONE, alive, dead, or in-between, without my permission… please?”

The boys share a long, silent look. Ron sits next to me as Harry sits invisible from the neck down in his armchair.

“Sure, mate. I won’t tell a soul, no matter what.” Ron swears, putting his arm around me. Harry adds, “I won’t either. Any secret you share with me is safe.”

Swallowing again, I struggle to speak around the ball of anxiety and nerves in my throat. Finally, I manage to say the words.

“Harry… Ronald… I’m transgender. I was born a boy, but I’ve… I’ve always been a girl on the inside. I’ve been trapped in a prison for so long, that, when Hermione confronted me about why I was always so withdrawn, I ended up telling her. She’s kept my secret, and… I think you can too. I… I trust you…” I say, my eyes beseeching the pair to not react the way I’m so, so terrified they would…

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