nico di angelo joins the duo and they almost get killed
Harry’s nerves burned in his chest, the adrenaline building as he stared out at the Quidditch pitch. It was his first-ever match, and he couldn’t shake the feeling of all the eyes on him. The Slytherins were watching him like he was some sort of savior—like he held the fate of their team in his hands. It didn’t help that Draco kept giving him these half-hearted words of encouragement, not exactly a fountain of confidence.
“You’ll be fine,” Draco said earlier, clapping him on the back, but Harry didn’t feel fine. “You’ve got this, Potter.”
But Harry couldn’t shake the tension. He’d tried to tell everyone about Snape, about what he suspected was going on, but no one listened. Draco didn’t believe him, Ron didn’t believe him, and even Hermione—who was always buried in her books—was distracted with her own research.
Still, despite the swirling nerves and thoughts, when he was finally on his broom and in the air, Harry felt something shift inside him. His heart rate slowed, and the familiar weightlessness of flying took over. The crowd’s cheers became distant, fading into the background, and all Harry could focus on was one thing—*find the snitch*. His nerves were gone, replaced by a singular goal.
The Gryffindor Seeker was... well, not impressive. Harry easily outpaced him, darting around the pitch like he’d done it a thousand times before. But then, just as he was closing in on the small golden ball, his broom began to jerk and jolt beneath him. It was as though something was pulling him off course. His grip tightened around the broomstick, trying to steady himself.
The broom was acting erratically, bucking and swerving beneath him. It was as if it had a mind of its own, and Harry struggled to control it.
“Come on, come on!” he muttered, trying to keep his balance. His eyes darted around, searching for the snitch, but his broom seemed intent on bucking him off.
Then, out of nowhere, his broom tilted sharply to the right, making him lean dangerously forward. In a last-ditch effort, Harry lunged forward and, with all his might, closed his mouth around the tiny golden ball.
The crowd erupted in cheers as Harry clutched the snitch between his teeth, but just as quickly as it had started, the world went black. The last thing he saw was Draco’s concerned face and the look of shock on Ron’s before everything went dark.
---
When Harry came to, his head was pounding. The first thing he saw was Draco’s pale face hovering above him, eyes wide with concern, and Ron’s worried expression just over his shoulder.
“Hermione…” Harry muttered weakly, but his voice was hoarse.
“She’s right here,” Draco replied, glancing at Hermione, who was hovering anxiously at his side. Her eyes softened when they met Harry’s.
“You’re alright, Harry,” Hermione said, her voice full of relief. “You scared us half to death. We thought you’d passed out for good.”
Harry blinked up at her, still dazed. “What happened?”
Hermione looked conflicted, clearly hesitant. “Snape was jinxing your broom, Harry. It was him. I saw it. I swear, I saw the signs of him controlling it from the sidelines.”
Harry’s stomach churned. “Snape? Are you sure?”
Draco shot an incredulous glance at Hermione. “No, it wasn’t Snape,” he said, his voice firm. “It was Quirrell. Snape’s the one who *saved* you.”
“Saved me?” Harry echoed, now more confused than ever.
“Yeah,” Draco said, looking frustrated. “You were having trouble, and I noticed that Snape was watching you. The whole time. And then—”
Suddenly, it clicked for Harry. The burning sensation he had felt earlier. The way Snape had looked at him during the match. But then... “Wait, if Snape wasn’t jinxing my broom, who was?”
Hermione looked pained, but she nodded. “It was Quirrell. He was the one causing all the trouble. He was the one jinxing your broom.”
“I saw the signs,” Hermione said quietly. “You need to maintain eye contact with the broom to control it, but you couldn’t. It was like the broom was being forced to do something.”
“But why would Quirrell do that?” Harry asked.
“Because of *this*,” Draco replied, looking grim. “You should’ve seen the way he reacted when Snape set him on fire.”
“*Set him on fire*?” Harry asked, still trying to process everything.
“Yeah,” Draco said, his tone turning wry. “Snape did it. He set Quirrell on fire, and that was when your broom stopped acting up.”
Hermione looked like she was about to say something, but she stopped. "It was the only thing that made Quirrell stop. He fell over when Snape did that. His curse broke, and your broom stabilized.”
Harry’s mind was reeling. “So... Quirrell was controlling my broom... and Snape was trying to stop him?”
Ron scratched his head, clearly as confused as Harry. “But why would Quirrell want to mess with Harry? Why risk it all?”
“No idea,” Draco muttered, frowning. “But it doesn’t add up. Quirrell’s no match for Snape, and whatever he was doing—it wasn’t just a regular curse. There’s something more going on.”
Hermione bit her lip, but her eyes were sharp. “We need to talk to Dumbledore about this. Quirrell’s involvement... this could be bigger than just a prank.”
________________________________________________________________________
It was one of those nights when Harry just couldn’t sleep. No matter how much he tossed and turned, his mind wouldn’t settle. With a sigh, he sat up, rubbing his eyes. To his surprise, he wasn’t the only one awake. Across the dormitory, Draco was perched on his bed, a book in his lap. His pale face was illuminated by the dim light of his wand.
Draco glanced up, raising a suspicious eyebrow. “What are you doing?”
Harry grinned. “Want to go exploring with me?”
Draco shot him a look like he was debating whether or not to scold him, then smirked. “Sure.”
The two boys slipped out of bed, moving as quietly as they could to avoid waking the others. The common room was dark, the greenish glow from the lake outside casting eerie shadows on the walls. But they weren’t alone. Near the fireplace stood Nico di Angelo, speaking softly to—no one. Or at least, no one visible.
When he noticed them, his dark eyes narrowed in suspicion before softening slightly when they landed on Draco. “What are you two doing?”
Draco smirked. “Exploring. Want to come?”
Nico hesitated, his fingers twitching at his sides. Then, to Harry’s surprise, he nodded. “Alright.”
With their trio formed, they snuck through the dim corridors of the castle, the thrill of breaking the rules buzzing between them. Draco suddenly grinned. “Want to go flying?”
Harry’s face lit up. “Absolutely.”
At the same time, Nico frowned. “I can’t fly well.”
Draco waved him off. “Don’t worry, we’ll teach you.”
They made their way to the broom cupboard, and with a casual flick of his wand, Draco muttered, “*Alohomora*.” The door clicked open. He grabbed three brooms, passing them out before leading them outside into the cool night air. The moon was high, casting silver light over the Quidditch pitch.
At first, Nico was stiff, gripping the broom like it might bite him. But with some coaxing from Draco and Harry, he slowly got the hang of it. Soon, they were darting through the air, the crisp wind whipping through their hair. Laughter rang through the night as they chased each other, passing an imaginary Quaffle back and forth.
Harry felt a surge of gratitude toward Draco. He hadn’t expected his soulmate to be *this*—not just his destined partner, but a friend. Someone who made things lighter, easier.
After a while, they landed, exhilarated and slightly breathless. They returned the brooms quietly, but as they made their way back, their luck ran out.
“OUT OF BED PAST CURFEW! NAUGHTY, NAUGHTY SLYTHERINS!”
Peeves.
The poltergeist’s shrill voice echoed through the corridor, sending a jolt of panic through them.
“Run!” Draco hissed, and the three bolted, their feet pounding against the stone floor. Peeves cackled behind them, zooming after them like a vengeful ghost. They turned down corridor after corridor, but Peeves kept pace, shrieking about getting Filch.
Finally, they skidded to a stop in front of a locked door.
“*Alohomora!*” Draco muttered, and the lock clicked open. The three boys scrambled inside, slamming the door shut behind them.
Panting, Harry leaned against the wall. “That was close.”
But then he turned around.
His relief evaporated.
A massive, hulking shape loomed over them. Three pairs of glowing eyes peered down. Three large heads. Three sets of jaws, each one lined with glistening, sharp teeth.
The *dog* growled.
Harry’s heart stopped.
Nico let out a quiet curse. “That’s a *three-headed dog*.”
Draco, face pale, whispered, “Did you see what was underneath it?”
Harry forced himself to look past the monstrous creature’s enormous paws. A wooden trapdoor was set into the floor.
“He’s *guarding* something,” Draco muttered.
Nico exhaled, shaking his head. “I was too focused on the three *heads*.”
The dog let out a deep, rumbling growl, its middle head lowering toward them.
“RUN!” Harry shouted.
The boys bolted, throwing the door open and sprinting down the hall without looking back.
They didn’t stop running until they reached the safety of the dungeons. All three were panting, hands on their knees, their hearts racing.
After a long pause, Draco straightened, smoothing his robes like he hadn’t just almost been eaten. “Well. That was *eventful*.”
Harry let out a breathless laugh. “Yeah. Just a little.”
Draco glanced at Nico. “You okay?”
Nico nodded slowly, though he still looked shaken. “I think we just found something we weren’t supposed to.”
Draco’s eyes gleamed with something unreadable. “Something is happening at Hogwarts.”
Harry couldn’t argue with that.