Malfoy couldn't believe his eyes when he saw that Harry and Johnny were still at Hogwarts the next day, looking tired but perfectly cheerful. The next morning Harry, Ron and Johnny thought that meeting the three-headed dog had been an excellent adventure, and they were quite keen to have another one. And it turns out now, Johnny and Ron were actually friends.

In the meantime, Harry filled Ron and Johnny in about the package that seemed to have been moved from Gringotts to Hogwarts, and they spent a lot of time wondering what could possibly need such heavy protection.

"It's either really valuable or really dangerous," said Ron.

"Or both," Johnny suggested with a shrug, taking a hash brown that laid on Harry's plate. But all they knew for sure about the mysterious object was that it was about two inches long, they didn't have much chance of guessing what it was without further clues. The boys also filled Johnny in about the trapdoor that Johnny didn't notice last night. Neither Neville or Hermione showed the slightest interest in what lay underneath the dog and the trapdoor. All Neville cared about was never going near the dog again.

Hermione was now refusing to speak to Johnny, Harry and Ron, but she was such a bossy know-it-all that Harry and Ron saw this as an added bonus. Johnny on the other hand was very upset that his first friend wasn't talking to him. But all they really wanted now was a way of getting back at Malfoy, and to their great delight, just such a thing arrived in the mail about a week later.

As the owls flooded into the Great Hall as usual, everyone's attention was caught at once by two long, thin packages carried by six large screech owls. Harry and Johnny was just as interested as everyone else to see what was in these large parcels, and was amazed when the owls soared down and dropped them right in front of the boys, knocking their plates to the floor. They had hardly fluttered out of the way when another owl dropped two letters on top of the parcel.

Johnny ripped open the letter first, which was lucky, because it said:

DO NOT OPEN THE PARCEL AT THE TABLE.

It contains your new Nimbus Two Thousand, but I don't want everybody knowing you've got a broomstick or they'll all want one. Marcus Flint will meet you tonight on the Quidditch field at seven o'clock for your first training session.

Professor S. Snape

Johnny had difficulty hiding his glee as he and Harry handed the notes to Ron to read.

"Nimbus Two Thousands!" Ron moaned enviously. "I've never even touched one."

They left the hall quickly, wanting to unwrap the broomsticks in private before their first class, but halfway across the entrance hall they found the way upstairs barred by Crabbe and Goyle. Malfoy seized the package from Harry and felt it.

"They're broomsticks," he said, throwing it back to Harry with a mixture of jealousy and spite on his face. "You'll be in for it this time, Potter, Mudblood, first years aren't allowed them."

Ron couldn't resist it.

"It's not any old broomsticks," he said, "they're Nimbus Two Thousands. What did you say you've got at home, Malfoy, a Comet Two Sixty?" Ron grinned at Harry and Johnny. "Comets look flashy, but they're not in the same league as the Nimbus."

"What would you know about it, Weasley, you couldn't afford half the handle," Malfoy snapped back. "I suppose you and your brothers have to save up twig by twig."

Before Ron could answer, Professor Flitwick appeared at Malfoy's elbow.

"Not arguing, I hope, boys?" he squeaked.

"Potter and Scaletta has been sent broomsticks, Professor," said Malfoy quickly.

"Yes, yes, that's right," said Professor Flitwick, beaming at Harry and Johnny . "Professor McGonagall and Professor Snape told me all about the special circumstances. And what models are they?"

"Nimbus Two Thousands, sir," said Johnny, fighting not to laugh at the look of horror on Malfoy's face. "And it's really thanks to Malfoy here that we've got them," he added.

Harry, Ron and Johnny headed upstairs, smothering their laughter at Malfoy's obvious rage and confusion.

"Well, it's true," Harry chortled as the three reached the top of the marble staircase, "If he hadn't stolen Neville's Remembrall we wouldn't be on the teams..."

"So I suppose you think that's a reward for breaking rules?" came an angry voice from just behind them. Hermione was stomping up the stairs, looking disapprovingly at the packages in Harry and Johnny's hand.

"I thought you weren't speaking to us?" said Johnny, his emotions between sad, angry and happy.

"Yes, don't stop now," said Ron, "it's doing us so much good."

Hermione marched away with her nose in the air.

Johnny had a lot of trouble keeping his mind on his lessons that day. It kept wandering up to the dormitory where his new broomstick was lying under his bed, or straying off to the Quidditch field where he'd be learning to play that night. He bolted his dinner that evening without noticing what he was eating, and then rushed upstairs with Blaise to unwrap the Nimbus Two Thousand at last.

"Wow," Blaise sighed, as the broomstick rolled onto Johnny's green and silver bedspread.

Even Johnny, who knew nothing about the different brooms, thought it looked wonderful. Sleek and shiny, with a mahogany handle, it had a long tail of neat, straight twigs and Nimbus Two Thousand written in gold near the top.

As seven o'clock drew nearer, Johnny left the castle and set off in the dusk toward the Quidditch field. He'd never been inside the stadium before. Hundreds of seats were raised in stands around the field so that the spectators were high enough to see what was going on. At either end of the field were three golden poles with hoops on the end. They reminded Johnny of the little plastic sticks Muggle children blew bubbles through, except that they were fifty feet high.

Too eager to fly again to wait for Flint, Johnny mounted his broomstick and kicked off from the ground. What a feeling -- he swooped in and out of the goal posts and then sped up and down the field. The Nimbus Two Thousand turned wherever he wanted at his lightest touch.

"Hey, Scaletta, come down!"

Marcus Flint had arrived. He was carrying a large wooden crate under his arm. Johnny landed next to him.

"Very nice," said Flint, his eyes glinting. "I see what old McGonagall meant... you really are a natural. I'm just going to teach you the rules this evening, then you'll be joining team practice three times a week."

He opened the crate. Inside were four different-sized balls.

"Right," said Flint. "Now, Quidditch is easy enough to understand, even if it's not too easy to play. There are seven players on each side. Three of them are called Chasers, that's you and I."

"Three Chasers," Johnny repeated, as Flint took out a bright red ball about the size of a football.

"This ball's called the Quaffle," said Flint. "We throw the Quaffle to each other and try and get it through one of the hoops to score a goal. Ten points every time the Quaffle goes through one of the hoops. Follow me?"

"The Chasers throw the Quaffle and put it through the hoops to score," Johnny recited. "So -- that's sort of like basketball on broomsticks with six hoops, isn't it?"

"What's basketball?" said Flint curiously.

"Never mind," said Johnny quickly.

"Now, there's another player on each side who's called the Keeper -- Dax is Keeper for Slytherin. He has to fly around our hoops and stop the other team from scoring."

"Three Chasers, one Keeper," said Johnny, who was determined to remember it all. "And they play with the Quaffle. Okay, got that. So what are they for?" He pointed at the three balls left inside the box.

"I'll show you now," said Flint. "Take this."

He handed Johnny a small club, a bit like a short baseball bat.

"I'm going to show you what the Bludgers do," Flint said. "These two are the Bludgers."

He showed Johnny two identical balls, jet black and slightly smaller than the red Quaffle. Johnny noticed that they seemed to be straining to escape the straps holding them inside the box.

"Stand back," Flint warned him. He bent down and freed one of the Bludgers.

At once, the black ball rose high in the air and then pelted straight at Johnny's face. Johnny swung at it with the bat to stop it from breaking his nose, and sent it zigzagging away into the air -- it zoomed around their heads and then shot at Flint, who dived on top of it and managed to pin it to the ground.

"See?" Flint panted, forcing the struggling Bludger back into the crate and strapping it down safely. "The Bludgers rocket around, trying to knock players off their brooms. That's why you have two Beaters on each team -- the Royce twins are ours -- it's their job to protect their side from the Bludgers and try and knock them toward the other team. So -- think you've got all that?"

"Three Chasers try and score with the Quaffle; the Keeper guards the goal posts; the Beaters keep the Bludgers away from their team," Johnny reeled off.

"Very good," said Flint.

"Er -- have the Bludgers ever killed anyone?" Johnny asked, hoping he sounded offhand.

"Never at Hogwarts. We've had a couple of broken jaws but nothing worse than that. Now, the last member of the team is the Seeker. That's Elizabeth. And she doesn't have to worry about the Quaffle or the Bludgers--"

"-- unless they crack her head open."

"Don't worry, the Royce's are more than a match for the Bludgers -- I mean, they're like a pair of human Bludgers themselves."

Flint reached into the crate and took out the fourth and last ball. Compared with the Quaffle and the Bludgers, it was tiny, about the size of a large walnut. It was bright gold and had little fluttering silver wings.

"This," said Flint, "is the Golden Snitch, and it's the most important ball of the lot. It's very hard to catch because it's so fast and difficult to see. It's the Seeker's job to catch it. Elizabeth has got to weave in and out of the Chasers, Beaters, Bludgers, and Quaffle to get it before the other team's Seeker, because whichever Seeker catches the Snitch wins their team an extra hundred and fifty points, so they nearly always win. That's why Seekers get fouled so much. A game of Quidditch only ends when the Snitch is caught, so it can go on for ages -- I think the record is three months, they had to keep bringing on substitutes so the players could get some sleep. Well, that's it, any questions?"

Johnny shook his head. He understood what he had to do all right, it was doing it that was going to be the problem.

"We won't practice yet," said Flint, carefully shutting it back inside the crate, "it's too dark.."

"That Quidditch Cup'll have our name on it this year," said Flint happily as they trudged back up to the castle.

Perhaps it was because he was now so busy, what with Quidditch practice three evenings a week on top of all his homework, but Johnny could hardly believe it when he realised that he'd already been at Hogwarts two months. The castle felt more like home than his home ever had. His lessons, too, were becoming more and more interesting now that they had mastered the basics.

After his first two lessons on Halloween morning, Johnny had left Defence Against the Dark Arts talking to Lisa Turpin happily, until Hermione brushed passed him, a noticeable sob leaving her lips. Johnny apologised to Lisa and rushed off after his friend.

"Hermione!" Johnny yelled, brushing past students and even knocking a few over. He came to a halt at the girls toilets where Hermione had just entered, the noise of the students easing as they went off to their next lesson.

Johnny bit his lip as he looked around the abandoned corridor, before pushing the door to the girls toilets open. The sound of sobs were heard all throughout the toilets, echoing off the walls.

"Hermione?" Johnny said, knocking on the stall door. "Tesoro? (Darling?) what's wrong?"

"Johnny?" Hermione asked.

"It's me," Johnny confirmed, his heart clenching in his chest at the pain in her voice. Hermione unlocked the stall door and rushed into Johnny's awaiting arms, a fresh round of sobs rocking her body as the two slid down a nearby wall.

"What's wrong?" Johnny asked softly, running his hand through Hermione's bushy hair comfortingly.

"I-it was Ron!" Hermione sobbed, taking a fistful of Johnny's robes in her hand, burying her head in his chest. Johnny tensed.

"What's he done?" Johnny asked calmly, even though he already had a feeling.

"He said that I'm a nightmare and that no one can stand me."

"Well that's obviously a lie," Johnny said, tightening his arms around her. "I can stand you, you're my best friend."

"B-but-"

"No buts," Johnny said. For the rest of the day, the two stayed in that same position.

"Do you smell that?" Hermione asked, standing up and suddenly missing the physical contact between her and Johnny.

"Have you farted?" Johnny jokes, also standing and letting out a loud yawn as he stretched, but as the handle of the door rattled, Johnny was suddenly very alert as he hid in the stall by the side of him.

He was trying to be as quiet as possible, that was until he heard Hermione let out a bloodcurdling scream. Johnny flung himself out of the stall and in front of Hermione, with just enough time to push Hermione out of the way of a Troll's oncoming club.

"Go get help!" He yelled to Hermione just as he rolled out of the way of the Troll once again.

"No! You could get hurt!" Hermione yelled, tears rolling down her face as Johnny whipped his wand out of his abandoned bag. "You could get killed!"

"We both could be if you don't get help!" Johnny yelled, protecting his head from falling debris. "Stupify!"

But the stunning spell seemed to do nothing to the Troll, just make it more angry. Hermione quickly ran off to get help, just as Johnny pulled off another remarkable dodge, but his foot caught the club and he tripped, causing him to hit the floor, hard. He got up on shaky feet, his eyesight blurry and his green and silver robes covered in dust from the debris.

Just as Johnny slumped against the wall, prepared for his painful death, a voice forced him to open his eyes.

"Oy, pea-brain!" yelled Ron from the other side of the chamber, and he threw a metal pipe at it. The troll didn't even seem to notice the pipe hitting its shoulder, but it heard the yell and paused again, turning its ugly snout toward Ron instead, giving Harry time to run around it.

"Come on, run, run!" Harry yelled at Johnny, trying to pull him toward the door, but he couldn't move, he was still flat against the wall, practically unconscious at this point.

The shouting and the echoes seemed to be driving the troll berserk. It roared again and started toward Ron, who was nearest and had no way to escape.

Harry then did something that was both very brave and very stupid: He took a great running jump and managed to fasten his arms around the troll's neck from behind. The troll couldn't feel Harry hanging there, but even a troll will notice if you stick a long bit of wood up its nose, and Harry's wand had still been in his hand when he'd jumped - it had gone straight up one of the troll's nostrils.

Howling with pain, the troll twisted and flailed its club, with Harry clinging on for dear life; any second, the troll was going to rip him off or catch him a terrible blow with the club.

Hermione had sunk to the floor in fright; Ron pulled out his own wand -- not knowing what he was going to do he heard himself cry the first spell that came into his head: "Wingardium Leviosa!"

The club flew suddenly out of the troll's hand, rose high, high up into the air, turned slowly over -- and dropped, with a sickening crack, onto its owner's head. The troll swayed on the spot and then fell flat on its face, with a thud that made the whole room tremble.

Harry got to his feet. He was shaking and out of breath. Ron was standing there with his wand still raised, staring at what he had done. Harry walked towards Johnny and pulled the unconscious boy up, leaning Johnny against him.

It was Hermione who spoke first.

"Johnny! Is he--?"

"No, I don't think so," said Harry, "I think he's just unconscious."

Harry passed Johnny to Ron. He then bent down and pulled his wand out of the troll's nose. It was covered in what looked like lumpy gray glue.

"Urgh -- troll boogers."

He wiped it on the troll's trousers.

A sudden slamming and loud footsteps made the three of them look up. They hadn't realised what a racket they had been making, but of course, someone downstairs must have heard the crashes and the troll's roars. A moment later, Professor McGonagall had come bursting into the room, closely followed by Snape, with Quirrell bringing up the rear. Quirrell took one look at the troll, let out a faint whimper, and sat quickly down on a toilet, clutching his heart.

Snape bent over the troll. Professor McGonagall was looking at Ron, Harry and an unconscious Johnny.

"I-is he dead?" Professor Quirrell was the first to speak, looking directly at Johnny who was dribbling on Johnny's shoulder.

"Unconscious."

"What on earth were you thinking of?" said Professor McGonagall, with cold fury in her voice. Harry looked at Ron, who was still standing with his wand in the air. "You're lucky you weren't killed. Why aren't you in your dormitory?"

Snape gave Harry a swift, piercing look. Snape then took Johnny into his arms, and carried him bridal style all the way to the Hospital Wing.

Then a small voice came out of the shadows.

"Please, Professor McGonagall -- they were looking for me."

"Miss Granger!"

Hermione had managed to get to her feet at last.

"I went looking for the troll because I -- I thought I could deal with it on my own -- you know, because I've read all about them."

Hermione Granger was telling a downright lie to a teacher?

"If they hadn't found me, I'd be dead now. Johnny was the first to find me, he told me to run for help has he distracted it. Harry stuck his wand up its nose and Ron knocked it out with its own club. They didn't have time to come and fetch anyone. It was about to finish me off when they arrived."

Harry and Ron tried to look as though this story wasn't new to them.

"Well -- in that case... " said Professor McGonagall, staring at the three of them, "Miss Granger, you foolish girl, how could you think of tackling a mountain troll on your own?"

Hermione hung her head. Hermione was the last person to do anything against the rules, and here she was, pretending she had, to get them out of trouble. It was as if Snape had started handing out sweets.

"Miss Granger, five points will be taken from Gryffindor for this," said Professor McGonagall. "I'm very disappointed in you. If you're not hurt at all, you'd better get off to Gryffindor tower. Students are finishing the feast in their houses."

Hermione left.

Professor McGonagall turned to Harry and Ron.

"Well, I still say you were lucky, but not many first years could have taken on a full-grown mountain troll. You each win Gryffindor five points and tell Mr. Scaletta he won Slytherin five points. Professor Dumbledore will be informed of this. You may go."

And that was the start of the Golden Quadruple.