The Gryffindor and Slytherin teams were projected on their respective screens. The other two screens were, presently, showing the crowd and would later focus solely on Harry and Draco whilst the remaining two screens would show the game.
"Captains, shake hands," ordered the umpire, Madam Hooch, as Angelina and Graham Montague reached each other. It was quite obvious Montague was trying to crush Angelina's fingers, though she did not wince. "Mount your brooms..."
Madam Hooch placed her whistle in her mouth and blew.
The balls were released and the fourteen players shot upward; out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw Ron streak off toward the goal hoops. He zoomed higher, dodging a Bludger, and set off on a wide lap of the pitch, gazing around for a glint of gold; on the other side of the stadium, Draco Malfoy was doing exactly the same.
"And it's Johnson, Johnson with the Quaffle, what a player that girl is, I've been saying it for years but she still won't go out with me—"
"JORDAN!" yelled Professor McGonagall.
"Just a fun fact, Professor, adds a bit of interest— and she's ducked Vaisey, she's passed Montague, she's— ouch— been hit from behind by a Bludger from Crabbe... Montague catches the Quaffle, caught by Katie Bell, Katie bell of Gryffindor reverse passes to Alicia Spinnet and Spinnet's away—"
Lee Jordan's commentary rang through the stadium and Harry listened as hard as he could through the wind whistling in his ears and the din of the crowd, all yelling and booing and singing.
"—dodged Vaisey, avoids a Bludger— close call, Alicia— and the crowd is loving this, just listen to them, what's that they're singing?"
And as Lee paused to listen the song rose loud and clear from the sea of green and silver in the Slytherin section of the stands.
Weasley cannot save a thing,
He cannot block a single ring,
That's why Slytherins all sing:
Weasley is our King.
Weasley was born in a bin,
He always lets the Quaffle in,
Weasley will make sure we win,
Weasley is our King.
"—and Alicia passes to Angelina!" Lee shouted, and as Harry swerved, his insides boiling at what he had just heard, he knew Lee was trying to drown out the sound of the singing. "Come on now, Angelina— looks like she's got just the Keeper to beat— SHE SHOOTS— SHE— aaaah..."
Bletchley, the Slytherin Keeper, had saved the goal; he threw the Quaffle to Vaisey, who sped off with it, zigzagging in between Alicia and Katie; the singing from below grew louder and louder as he drew nearer and nearer Ron.
"—and it's Vaisey with the Quaffle, Vaisey heading for the goal, he's out of Bludger range with just the Keeper ahead—"
A great swell of song rose from the Slytherin stands below:
Weasley cannot save a thing,
He cannot block a single ring...
"—so it's the first test for new Gryffindor Keeper, Weasley, brother of Beaters, Fred and George, and a promising new talent on the team— come on, Ron!"
But the scream of delight came from the Slytherin end: Ron had dived wildly, his arms wide, and the Quaffle had soared right between them, straight through Ron's central hoop.
"Slytherin scores!" came Lee's voice amid the cheering and booing from the crowds below. "So that's ten-nil to Slytherin— bad luck, Ron..."
The Slytherins sang even louder.
WEASLEY WAS BORN IN A BIN,
HE ALWAYS LETS THE QUAFFLE IN...
"—and Gryffindor back in possession and it's Katie Bell tanking up the pitch—" cried Lee valiantly, though the singing was now so deafening that he could hardly make himself heard about it.
WEASLEY WILL MAKE SURE WE WIN,
WEASLEY IS OUR KING...
"Harry, WHAT ARE YOU DOING?" screamed Angelina, soaring past him to keep up with Katie. "GET GOING!"
Harry realized that he had been stationary in midair for more than a minute, watching the progress of the match without sparing a thought for the whereabouts of the Snitch; horrified, he went into a dive and started circling the pitch again, staring around, trying to ignore the chorus now thundering through the stadium:
WEASLEY IS OUR KING,
WEASLEY IS OUR KING...
There was no sign of the Snitch anywhere he looked; Malfoy was still circling the stadium just like Harry. They passed midway around the pitch going in opposite directions and Harry heard Malfoy singing loudly,
WEASLEY WAS BORN IN A BIN...
"—and it's Vaisey again," bellowed Lee, "who passes to Pucey, Pucey's off past Spinnet, come on now Angelina, you can take him— turns out you can't— but nice Bludger from Fred Weasley, I mean George Weasley, oh who cares, one of them anyway, and Vaisey drops the Quaffle and Katie Bell— er— drops it too— so that's Montague with the Quaffle, Slytherin Captain Montague takes the Quaffle, and he's off up the pitch, come on now, Gryffindor, block him!"
Harry zoomed around behind the Slytherin goal hoops, willing himself not to look at what was going on at Ron's end; as he sped past the Slytherin Keeper, he heard Bletchley singing along with the crowd below,
WEASLEY CANNOT SAVE A THING...
"—and Pucey's dodged Alicia again, and he's heading straight for the goal, stop it, Ron!"
Harry did not have to look to see what had happened: There was a terrible groan from the Gryffindor end, coupled with fresh screams and applause from the Slytherins. Looking down, Harry found one of the Slytherins conducting the Slytherin supporters, who were roaring:
THAT'S WHY SLYTHERINS ALL SING:
WEASLEY IS OUR KING.
But twenty-nil was nothing, there was still time for Gryffindor to catch up or catch the Snitch, a few goals and they would be in the lead as usual, Harry assured himself. He bobbed and wove through the other players in pursuit of something shiny that turned out to be Montague's watch strap...
But Ron let in two more goals. There was a hinge of panic in Harry's desire to find the Snitch now. If he could just get it soon and finish the game quickly...
"—and Katie Bell of Gryffindor dodges Pucey, ducks Montague, nice swerve, Katie, and she throws to Johnson, Angelina Johnson takes the Quaffle, she's past Vaisey, she's heading for goal, come on now Angelina— GRYFFINDOR SCORE! It's forty-ten, forty-ten to Slytherin, and Pucey has the Quaffle..."
Harry could hear Luna's ludicrous lion hat roaring amidst the Gryffindor cheers and felt heartened; only thirty points in it, that was nothing, they could pull back easily. Harry ducked a Bludger that Crabbe had sent rocketing in his direction and resumed his frantic scouring of the pitch for the Snitch, keeping one eye on Malfoy in case he showed signs of having spotted it, but Malfoy, like him, was continuing to soar around the stadium, searching fruitlessly...
"—Pucey throws to Vaisey, Vaisey to Montague, Montague back to Pucey— Johnson intervenes, Johnson takes the Quaffle, Johnson to Bell, this looks good— I mean bad— Bell's hit by a Bludger from Goyle of Slytherin and it's Pucey in possession again..."
WEASLEY WAS BORN IN A BIN,
HE ALWAYS LETS THE QUAFFLE IN,
WEASLEY WILL MAKE SURE WE WIN—
But Harry had seen it at last: The tiny fluttering Golden Snitch was hovering feet from the ground at the Slytherin end of the pitch.
He dived...
In a matter of seconds, Malfoy was streaking out of the sky on Harry's left, a green-and-silver blur lying flat on his broom...
The Snitch skirted the foot of one of the goal hoops and scooted off toward the other side of the stands; its change of direction suited Malfoy, who was nearer. Harry pulled his Firebolt around, he and Malfoy were now neck and neck...
Feet from the ground, Harry lifted his right hand from his broom, stretching toward the Snitch... to his right, Malfoy's arm extended too, reaching, groping...
It was over in two breathless, desperate, windswept seconds— Harry's fingers closed around the tiny, struggling ball— Malfoy's fingernails scrabbed the back of Harry's hand hopelessly— Harry pulled his broom upward, holding the struggling ball in his hand and the Gryffindor spectators screamed their approval.
They were saved, it did not matter that Ron had let in those goals, nobody would remember as long as Gryffindor had won—
WHAM!
A Bludger hit Harry squarely in the small of the back and he flew forward off his broom; luckily he was only five or six feet above the ground, having dived so low to catch the Snitch, but he was winded all the same and landed flat on his back on the frozen pitch. He heard Madam Hooch's shrill whistle, an uproar in the stands compounded of catcalls, angry yells and jeering, a thud, and then Angelina's frantic voice.
"Are you all right?"
"'Course I am," said Harry grimly, taking her hand and allowing her to pull him to his feet. Madam Hooch was zooming toward one of the Slytherin players above him, though he could not see who it was at this angle.
"It was that thug, Crabbe," said Angelina angrily. "He whacked the Bludger at you the moment he saw you'd got the Snitch— but we won, Harry, we won!"
Harry heard a snort from behind him and turned around, still holding the Snitch tightly in his hand: Draco Malfoy had landed close by; white-faced with fury, he was still managing to sneer.
"Saved Weasley's neck, haven't you?" Draco said to Harry. "I've never seen a worse Keeper... but then he was born in a bin... Did you like my lyrics, Potter?"
"Harry, you were great!" (Y/n) exclaimed, jogging up to the Gryffindor team.
Harry beamed at her, not answering Malfoy's attempts to rile him up; he turned away to meet the rest of the team who were now landing one by one, yelling and punching the air in triumph, all except Ron, who had dismounted from his broom over by the goalposts and was making his way slowly back to the changing rooms alone.
"You got here quickly," Harry said.
"The crowds were too noisy so I got up early," (Y/n) frowned. "My ears are still ringing..."
"We wanted to write another couple of verses!" Malfoy called as Katie and Alicia hugged Harry. "But we couldn't find rhymes for fat and ugly— we wanted to sing about his mother, see—"
"Talk about sour grapes," said Angelina, casting Malfoy a disgusted look. Her lips were quick to turn up as she drank in (Y/n) wearing her jacket.
"—we couldn't fit in useless loser either— for his father, you know—"
Fred and George had realized what Malfoy was talking about. Halfway through shaking Harry's hand, they stiffened, looking around at Malfoy.
"Leave it," said Angelina at once, taking Fred by the arm. "Leave it, Fred, let him yell, he's just sore he lost, the jumped-up little—"
"—but you like the Weasleys, don't you, Potter?" said Malfoy, sneering. "Spend holidays there and everything, don't you? Can't see how you stand the stink, but I suppose when you've been dragged up with Muggles, even the Weasleys' hovel smells okay—"
Harry and (Y/n) grabbed hold of George; meanwhile, it was taking the combined efforts of Angelina, Alicia, and Katie to stop Fred from leaping on Malfoy, who was laughing openly. Harry looked for Madam Hooch, but she was still berating Crabbe for his illegal Bludger attack.
"Or perhaps," said Malfoy, leering as he backed away, "you're used to the stink of your Mudblood mother's and Warrington's sloppy seconds—"
There was a brief flash of regret across Malfoy's face the second his words left his mouth. But George and Harry were both already sprinting at him by that time. (Y/n)'s grip on them had loosened the moment Malfoy brought her into it. Harry had completely forgotten the fact that all the teachers were watching: All he wanted to do was cause Malfoy as much pain as possible. With no time to draw out his wand, he merely drew back the fist clutching the Snitch and sink it as hard as he could into Malfoy's stomach.
"HARRY! GEORGE!" (Y/n) finally managed to shriek. Before she could intervene, Adrian Pucey caught her wrist.
"You'll get hurt," Adrian said sternly. (Y/n) did not try to fight him.
"HARRY! HARRY! GEORGE! NO!" Angelina cried.
Even with the girls' shrieks, Hary and George were not relenting. Malfoy was yelling, George was swearing, and then a whistle blew. Even then, the countless hits did not stop until somebody in the vicinity yelled "IMPEDIMENTA!" and only when the boys were knocked over backward by the force of the spell were any attempts to punch every inch of Malfoy abandoned.
"What do you think you're doing?" screamed Madam Hooch as Harry leapt to his feet again; it was she who had hit him with the Impediment Jinx. She was holding her whistle in one hand and a wand in the other, her broom lay abandoned several feet away. Malfoy was curled up on the ground, whimpering and moaning, his nose bloody; George was sporting a busted lip; Fred was still being forcibly restrained by the three Chasers, and Crabbe was cackling in the background. "I've never seen behaviour like it— (Y/n), take them back up to the castle, both of them. Straight to your Head of House's office, boys! Go! NOW!"
Harry and George marched off the pitch, both panting, neither saying a word to each other. (Y/n) trailed behind them silently. The howling and jeering of the crowd grew fainter and fainter as they walked. (Y/n) eventually had to pick up to a half-jog to keep up with the boys.
"Get your scolding over with," George finally said.
"What, like you'd listen?" (Y/n) said coolly. George glanced back at her and slowed down to walk beside (Y/n).
"What's that supposed to mean?" George pressed. (Y/n) shrugged pathetically.
"I'm not going to waste my breath on something you won't take two seconds to listen to," (Y/n) said. George threw his hands up in exasperation.
"What would you have done?"
"Walk away."
"Of course you would!" George exclaimed. "You're so bloody passive! Malfoy had it coming!"
"He did," (Y/n) agreed. "But—"
"You're just letting him get away with it?" George interrupted, holding out his arm to stop (Y/n) from walking. "After he called you 'sloppy seconds'?"
"He's not the first!" (Y/n) said. "And he won't be the last!" George stared silently at her, a new fury building up inside of him. (Y/n) stared right back at him before she reached up and cupped his cheek, tilting his head to get a better look at his busted lip. "You're really infuriating sometimes, Georgie."
"What're you going to do about it? Shut me up?" George challenged. (Y/n)'s eyes narrowed and the two glared challengingly at one another. George seemed to hesitate for a moment and with a glance at (Y/n)'s lips, he pulled back from her touch.
"I can pick my own fights. I'm not some helpless princess in need of saving! I don't need you doing it for me. Defend your family all you want, but let me pick my own battles," (Y/n) mumbled.
"No way," George murmured. (Y/n) blinked.
"Wh—"
"I'm not just going to stand there and let someone insult you," George said simply.
"Mr. Weasley!" Professor McGonagall exclaimed from a staircase down. "My office, now... Where has Mr. Potter gone?" (Y/n) sent George a wide-eyed look as he was ushered down by the fuming Professor McGonagall. Harry had already been waiting outside of her office by the time they reached it. Professor McGonagall tore off her scarf with shaking hands.
"In!" she said furiously, pointing to the door. Harry and George entered. She strode around behind her desk and faced them, quivering with rage as she threw her Gryffindor scarf aside onto the floor. "Well?" she said. "I have never seen such a disgraceful exhibition. Two onto one! Explain yourselves!"
"Malfoy provoked us," said Harry stiffly.
"Provoked you?" shouted Professor McGonagall, slamming a fist onto her desk so that her tartan biscuit tin slid sideways off it and burst open, littering the floor with Ginger Newts. "He's just lost, hadn't he, of course he wanted to provoke you! But what on earth he can have said that justified what you two—"
"He insulted my parents," snarled George. "And Harry's mother and (Y/n)!"
"But instead of leaving it to Madam Hooch to sort out, you two decide to give an exhibition of Muggle duelling, did you?" bellowed Professor McGonagall. "Have you any idea what you've—?"
"Hem, hem."
George and Harry both spun around. Dolores Umbridge was standing in the doorway wrapped in a green tweed cloak that greatly enhanced her resemblance to a giant toad, and smiling in the horribly sickly, ominous way that Harry had come to associate with imminent misery.
"May I help, Professor McGonagall?" asked Professor Umbridge in her most poisonously sweet voice. Blood rushed to Professor McGonagall's face.
"Help?" Professor McGonagall repeated in a constricted voice. "What do you mean, 'help'?" Professor Umbridge moved forward into the office, still smiling her sickly smile.
"Why, I thought you might be grateful for a little extra authority."
Harry would not have been surprised to see sparks fly from Professor McGonagall's nostrils.
"You thought wrong," Professor McGonagall said, turning her back on Umbridge. "Now, you two had better listen closely. I do not care what provocation Malfoy offered you, I do not care if he insulted every family member you possess, your behaviour was disgusting and I am giving each of you a week's worth of detention! Do not look at me like that, Potter, you deserve it! And if either of you ever—"
"Hem, hem."
Professor McGonagall closed her eyes as though praying for patience as she turned her face toward Professor Umbridge again.
"Yes?"
"I think they deserve rather more than detention," said Umbridge, smiling still more broadly.
Professor McGonagall's eyes flew open. "But unfortunately," she said with an attempt at a reciprocal smile that made her look as though she had lockjaw, "it is what I think that counts, as they are in my House, Dolores."
"Well, actually, Minerva," simpered Umbridge, "I think you'll find that what I think does count. Now, where is it? Cornelius just sent it... I mean," she gave a little false laugh as she rummaged in her handbag, "the Minister just sent it... Ah yes..."
She had pulled out a piece of parchment that she now unfurled, clearing her throat fussily before starting to read what it said.
"Hem, hem... 'Educational Decree Number Twenty-five...'"
"Not another one!" Professor McGonagall exclaimed violently.
"Well, yes," said Umbridge, still smiling. "As a matter of fact, Minerva, it was you who made me see that we needed a further amendment... You remember how you overrode me, when I was unwilling to allow the Gryffindor Quidditch team to reform? How you took the case to Dumbledore, who insisted that the team be allowed to play? Well, now, I couldn't have that. I contacted the Minister at once, and he quite agreed with me that the High Inquisitor has to have the power to strip pupils of privileges, or she— that is to say, I— would have less authority than common teachers! And you see now, don't you, Minerva, how right I was in attempting to stop the Gryffindor team reforming? Dreadful tempers... Anyways, I was reading out our amendment... hem, hem... 'The High Inquisitor will henceforth have supreme authority over all punishments, sanctions, and removal of privileges pertaining to the students of Hogwarts, and the power to alter such punishments, sanctions, and removals of privileges as may have been ordered by other staff members. Signed, Cornelius Fudge, Minister of Magic, Order of Merlin First Class, etc., etc...."
She rolled up the parchment and put it back into her handbag, still smiling.
"So... I really think I will have to ban these two from playing Quidditch ever again," she said, looking from Harry to George and back again.
"Ban us?" Harry said, and his voice sounded strangely distant. "From playing... ever again?"
"Yes, Mr. Potter, I think a lifelong ban ought to do the trick," said Umbridge, her smile widening still further as she watched him struggle to comprehend what she had said. "You and Mr. Weasley here. And I think, to be safe, the young man's twin ought to be stopped too— if his teammates had not restrained him, I feel sure he would have attacked young Mr. Malfoy as well. I will want their broomsticks confiscated, of course; I shall keep them safely in my office, to make sure there is no infringement of my ban. But I am not unreasonable, Profesor McGonagall," she continued, turning back to Professor McGonagall, who was now standing as still as though carved from ice, staring at her. "The rest of the team can continue playing, I saw no signs of violence from any of them. Well... good afternoon to you."
And with a look of the utmost satisfaction, Umbridge left the room, leaving a horrified silence in her wake.