Magic? || Years 1-5

Nicolas Flamel: Year 1

"Did something happen to it when Flint blocked him?" Seamus whispered, his eyes not leaving the hyperactive broom.

"Can't have. Can't nothing interfere with a broomstick except powerful Dark magic -- no kid could do that to a Nimbus Two Thousand," Hagrid replied shakily, not paying any heed to Hermione as she snatched his binoculars and turned the lenses onto the crowd.

"What are you doing?" Ron asked critically, giving her a puzzled look.

Amisty kept silent, knowing that Hermione had to know something was up. She was too brilliant to do that randomly.

"I knew it, Snape -- look," She whispered, pointing at the Potions Master, eyes wide and pale-faced.

Ron grabbed the binoculars, his own gasp leaving his lips.

With a small tug, Amisty dragged them away so she could see for herself. There he was, staring down her friend and whispering something repeatedly.

"He's doing something -- jinxing the broom," Hermione gasped, her voice shaking with the realization.

"What should we do," Amisty asked, perched on the edge of her seat like a bird preparing to take flight.

"Leave it to me," The brown-eyed girl replied, before taking off into the crowd, robes billowing around her.

Amisty's gaze followed her as she made her way through the masses, eyes shooting up to Harry every few seconds.

A glare formed on her face as Flint scored five times with the quaffle, talk about bad sportsmanship.

"Come on, Hermione," Ron muttered, not letting his gaze falter from Harry.

She watched as Hermione raced through the students, accidentally knocking Quirrell to the ground in the process, and crouching down once she reached Snape.

Pulling out his wand, she whispered a spell, and a spray of bright blue flames caught light on his robes.

Amisty, though if the situation were different she would've laughed, let out a breath of relief. Hermione withdrew a jar from her pocket, collected the fire, and reappeared back to her side.

The raven-haired girl's eyes shot back up to Harry, glad to see that he was steadily climbing back onto his broom.

"Neville, you can look!" Ron exclaimed, tapping the crying boy on the shoulder with a relieved grin on his face.

The split-second Neville had looked back up again, Harry was racing to the ground, his hand clamped to his mouth.

Biting her lip, Amisty couldn't look away as he rolled off his broom last minute and coughed something into his hand.

A flash of gold caught her vision, and a strangled laugh left her throat as he got to his feet grinning.

"I've got the Snitch!" He yelled, throwing up his hand in victory.

The small, struggling golden ball fluttered its wings as if it could escape his grasp.

A wave of confusion fell over the crowd until the Gryffindor side rose to their feet in a collective cheer.

"Gryffindor has won by ONE HUNDRED AND SEVENTY TWO POINTS TO SIXTY!" Lee hollered into the microphone, leading the crowd to be even more ecstatic.

"WE WON, WE WON, WE WON!" Amisty pumped her fist into the air, only to be dragged off to Hagrid's cottage by Hermione and Ron.

Her hands clasped around a warm mug of tea, she listened in to the conversation, slightly disappointed at the sudden change of tone.

"It was Snape, we all saw him. He was cursing your broomstick, muttering, he wouldn't take his eyes off you," Ron explained, his tone bitter.