My jaw drops as I read the billboard in the hallway by the Great Hall. A large piece of parchment hangs from the wall and it reads:
"By order of the Hogwarts High Inquisitor: All student organizations, societies, teams, groups, and clubs are henceforth disbanded. Permission to reform must be approved by High Inquisitor Umbridge. No student organization can exist without the knowledge and approval of the High Inquisitor. Any student found to be a part of an illegal organization will be expelled immediately."
Suddenly, Harry and Angelina push their way through towards the billboard as well.
'She refused to allow us to reform the Gryffindor team. We had to go to Dumbledore to get her to allow it.'
An angry look appears on Harry's face, and I wonder if Roger has permission for our Quidditch team already or if he had to step to Dumbledore too. But then, Umbridge doesn't have as much as an issue with students of Ravenclaw as with Gryffindor.
'Not only that,' Harry starts, pulling me out of my thoughts, 'but what about the D.A.?'
My heart skips a beat, Harry is right. This notice doesn't only affect Quidditch teams, but our newfound D.A. club as well.
'This cannot be a coincidence,' I say, and Harry nods.
'I fear you're right. Somehow, Umbridge knows.'
I run a hand thoughtfully through my hair. 'What are we going to do?'
Harry shrugs. 'I don't know. We need a safe place for our meetings, that is for sure, but where?'
A silence falls between us since I too don't know the answer to that, but then it's time for my first class of the day and I set course to the classroom; leaving Harry alone with his thoughts since he doesn't follow Arithmancy.

October turns into November, and the leaves gradually vanish from the trees and snow begins to drift into sight. The weather is diverse in the Scottish Highlands, that's for sure. One day there are snow storms and the other days there is so much fog you can't even see your own feet when you're walking over the courtyard to the classes. The first weekend of November arrives and today is also the first Quidditch match of the season: Gryffindor versus Slytherin.

The enchanted ceiling in the Great Hall is as always the same as the real weather outside: on this Saturday morning, a blizzard is thundering through the air. I feel bad for the Quidditch players who have to play in this weather.
After I have finished my breakfast, I walk to the Gryffindor table, sitting down between Beatrice and Hermione. I smile at them both in a greeting which Beatrice returns but Hermione quickly averts her eyes to the golden plate in front of her. My smile fades away, did I do something wrong? I clear my throat and focus upon Ron and Harry who are sitting at the other side of the table.
'Are you guys ready?' I ask them, and while Ron usually eats a lot in the morning, he now only stares at his breakfast. His skin is pale, making his freckles stand out even more.
Harry pats his friends on the back. 'Yes, we're ready. We're going to beat Slytherin, I can feel it.'
Ron, however, becomes even paler and I fear he might throw up the little breakfast he managed to have eaten.
Beatrice reaches for his hand over the table, giving it a comforting squeeze. Ron blinks a few times in surprise; his amber coloured eyes shooting between their intertwined hands and Beatrice's face.
'You're going to do great,' she says and Ron's eyes glaze over like he's seeing something we can't.
'Thank, B,' he mutters.
Beatrice gives his hand one last squeeze and then lets go.
I knowingly grin at her and she shoves my shoulder.
'Zip it,' she hisses at me, low enough for only me to hear, and I chuckle.
At nine thirty, Ron and Harry stand up from the table; already walking towards the Quidditch pitch for a quick team meeting before the match starts at ten AM.
I talk to Beatrice about everything that comes to mind, but sometimes my eyes wander towards Hermione who is reading her Arithmancy textbook while making some notes. Sometimes I wished I was sorted in Gryffindor as well, I bet it would be a whole lot easier to get closer to her. Then an idea pops into my head.
'Hermione,' I start and she looks up from her textbook. 'I'm having a little bit of trouble with our Arithmancy homework for next class. I was wondering, maybe you could help me sometime today after the match?'
Hermione nods while brushing some strands of hair out of her eyes. 'Of course, Thomas. I'd be happy to help. Shall we meet in the Library at three o'clock?'
'Yes,' I answer, maybe a bit too quick and enthusiastic since this time, I hear a giggle coming from Beatrice. My cheeks heat up and I stand up from the table. 'Well, would you look at the time,,' I say while clearing my throat, 'it is almost ten o'clock.'
We put on our winter robes, House scarves and gloves, and we set course to the Quidditch pitch just like most students and professors of the school. No one wants to miss a Quidditch match, especially one between Gryffindor and Slytherin.
The thick layer of snow crunches underneath our boots as we walk over the field, and I have to squeeze my eyes almost shut against the icy wind that blows snowflakes in them. We find a standing place in the stand and I pull the scarf over my mouth and nose. Merlin's beard, it is freezing cold.
'I could really do with a fire whiskey right now,' I say with a loud voice to be audible over the howling wind.
'Same,' Beatrice answers, jumping up and down to stay a bit warmer.
Next to me, Hermione shivers as well and in an instinct I put an arm around her shoulder to share my body warmth with her - like I would have done with Beatrice. Hermione freezes for a moment and I can feel her eyes upon my face, but I pretend as if I don't notice. Then, what feels like ages, she relaxes and shuffles a bit closer, wrapping an arm around my waist.
I try not to breathe too loudly out in relief. 'Better?' I ask her, referring to the coldness, and she nods.
When the pitch is full of students and professors and the clock strikes ten AM, the Quiddtich teams appear on the field. Red and green streaks shoot through the air, over the field and as the Keepers take their places, the other team members gather around in the air above Madam Hooch.
The referee says something to the Gryffindors and Slytherins above her, but due to the distance and howling wind, we in the stands can't hear it. A high whistle rings through the cold air, and the Snitch races off while the Bludgers shoot away in random directions as well. Madam Hooch throws the Quaffle and all of the six Chasers try to get to it first.
The match has begun!

'Go, Ron!' Hermione, Beatrice and I shout in unison when a Slytherin Chaser with the Quaffle spurts for the hoops. The Chaser aims, shoots, and. . . scores, again.
I groan when Lee Jordan announces the stand so far: forty-ten for Slytherin.
'Weasley is our king, Weasley is our king,' the Slytherins at the other side of the stand sing. 'He always lets the Quaffle in, Weasley is our king!'
Every time Ron misses a goal, the song rises up in the crowd, and I feel really bad for him. His flying is getting worse and worse by the minute, his nerves getting the best of him.
Several Slytherins, in possession of the Quaffle once again, bear down on the Gryffindor goals. They throw the Quaffle and Ron flies off in the complete opposite direction of the Quaffle. A loud gong sounds, accompanied with another groan from the Gryffindors, Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs.
'Another ten points to Slytherin,' Lee announces. 'The score is now fifty-ten in favour of Slytherin.'
High in the air, Malfoy pulls up on his broom near Ron's. I can't hear what Draco is saying, but it can't be very nice as even from this distance, I can see Ron almost losing his footing, gliding partly from his broom.
Beatrice gasps for air, but Ron quickly regains his balance.
Then, a thin flash of gold blasts past Malfoy.
'The Snitch!' I scream when Draco takes off in pursuit. Harry rockets after him at top speed, they both give chase; following the Snitch as fast as they can in this biting cold circumstances. Mafloy, however, is still far closer than Harry.
The Snitch banks sharply, and both Harry and Draco turn with it but now Harry has pulled even with Malfoy. They are inches away from the Snitch, they reach with all of their might.
'Get it, Harry!' I thunder with a loud voice, Gryffindor needs to win!
Harry's hand inches out in front of Draco and closes around the Snitch. Draco's fingers scrabble on the back of Harry's gloved hand.
'We won, we won!' Beatrice and Hermione squeal, and I laugh in triumph as well - even though it's not my House.
My laugh cuts short though, when suddenly, without a warning, Crabbe emerges from the blizzard and cracks Harry across the back of the head with his Beater's Club. Harry slumps forward on his broom and nose-dives into the pitch.
We all scream, but luckily he lands safely, rolling to a stop and looking rather dazed.
I jump over the wooden rail of the stance, helping Hermione and Beatrice over it as well and side by side we run towards Harry.
'Harry, are you all right?' Hermione asks, concern almost drowning out her voice completely.
Fred and George help him to his feet.
'Bet you loved that, Potter!' Draco says, landing on the snowy ground as well. 'Saved Weasley's neck, didn't you?'
I shoot him a nasty look but the others simply ignore him, so I do that as well - focussing solely on Harry who still looks a bit confused.
'I've never seen a worse Keeper,' Draco continues. 'Maybe we should add some more verses to our little song. About his filthy mother!'
George tries to leap at Draco, letting go off of Harry but I grab his upper arm, holding him back.
'Don't,' I say to George. 'He's just a sore loser, and totally not worth it.'
'And his pathetic loser of a father too!' Draco adds.
Now, Fred attempts to charge at Draco too, and the other Gryffindor team members step in to help restrain the Weasley twins.
Draco only seems to enjoy the havoc he's causing. 'But then, you like the Weasleys, don't you? How can you stand the stink? I guess it reminds you of your own dear mother!'
Harry turns and runs full out at Draco before any of us can stop him. Draco looks startled as Harry leaps at him, crushing his fist into Draco's jaw and knocking him to the ground.
George manages to free his arms from my grip as I'm still astonished by Draco's cruel words, and he lashes out to Malfoy as well.
Harry leaps onto Draco, hitting him again and again.
'Stop it!' Hermione screams, tears forming in her eyes and I get back to my senses. I run a few passes towards the fighting trio to pull them apart but before I can, Madam Hooch has reached us too.
'Impedimenta!' she yells, her spell hitting Harry and George and knocking them off of Malfoy.
Professor McGonagall storms onto the pitch, her fiery Gryffindor scarf flapping wildly in the wind. 'What on earth do you two think you're doing?' she asks between clenched jaws, her face stern and cold.
Harry rolls to his feet and goes for Malfoy again, his rage blinding him.
Madam Hooch leaps between them, her wand pointed directly at Harry. 'Don't make me stupify you, Potter!'
Harry stops dead in his tracks, breathing hard and glaring daggers at Malfoy. The Slytherin is curling in a ball on the snow, bleeding and crying as if he's the one who has been hurt the most.
McGonagall comes right up to Harry and grabs him hard by the elbow. He finally turns his attention to her. His Head of the House is pale and grim-faced.
'My office. Now,' she orders both Harry and George. 'This match is over, return to your dormitories,' she says to the rest of us, raising her voice and deepening it; a clear indicator for all of us to not go against it.
I sadly cross eyes with Beatrice and Hermione. Gryffindor's victory over Slytherin was very short-lived. . .