Book: Courage
Chapter 68
Word Count: 4918
Over the following two weeks, the DA were resisting Umbridge under her very nose, doing the very thing she and the Ministry most feared. The DA were doing really well. Neville had successfully disarmed Hermione, Colin Creevey had mastered the Impediment Jinx after three meetings' hard effort, and Parvati had produced such a good Reductor Curse that she had reduced the table carrying all the Sneakoscopes to dust.
Although, the DA meetings were hard to keep track of regarding what day they were on. They were rather unpredictable since the meetings had to work around Quidditch practices.
Hermione soon devised a very clever method of communicating the time and date of the next meeting to all the members in case they needed to change it at short notice, because it would look suspicious if people from different Houses were seen crossing the Great Hall to talk to each other too often. She gave each of the members of the DA a fake Galleon (Ron became very excited when he first saw the basket and was convinced she was actually giving out gold).
"You see the numerals around the edge of the coins?" Hermione said, holding one up for examination at the end of their fourth meeting. The coin gleamed fat and yellow in the light from the torches. "On real Galleons, that's just a serial number referring to the goblin who cast the coin. On these fake coins, though, the numbers will change to reflect the time and date of the next meeting. The coins will grow hot when the date changes, so if you're carrying them in a pocket you'll be able to feel them. We take one each, and when Harry sets the date of the next meeting he'll change the numbers on his coin, and because I've put a Protean Charm on them, they'll all change to mimic his."
A blank silence greeted Hermione's words. She looked around at all the faces upturned to her, rather disconcerted.
"Well — I thought it was a good idea," she said uncertainly, "I mean, even if Umbridge asked us to turn out our pockets, there's nothing fishy about carrying a Galleon, is there? But... well, if you don't want to use them—"
"You can do a Protean Charm?" said Terry Boot.
"Yes," said Hermione.
"But that's... that's NEWT standard, that is," he said weakly.
"Oh," said Hermione, trying to look modest. "Oh... well... yes, I suppose it is."
"How come you're not in Ravenclaw?" he demanded, staring at Hermione with something close to wonder. "With brains like yours?"
"Well, the Sorting Hat did seriously consider putting me in Ravenclaw during my Sorting," said Hermione brightly, "but it decided on Gryffindor in the end. So, does that mean we're using the Galleons?"
There was a murmur of assent and everybody moved forwards to collect one from the basket.
As the first Quidditch match of the season, Gryffindor versus Slytherin, drew nearer, their DA meetings were put on hold because Angelina insisted on almost daily practices. The fact that the Quidditch Cup had not been held for so long added considerably to the interest and excitement surrounding the forthcoming game; the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs were taking a lively interest in the outcome, for they, of course, would be playing both teams over the coming year; and the Heads of House of the competing teams, though they attempted to disguise it under a decent pretence of sportsmanship, were determined to see their own side victorious. Layla realised how much Professor McGonagall cared about beating Slytherin when she abstained from giving them homework in the week leading up to the match.
"I think you've got enough to be getting on with at the moment," she said loftily. Nobody could quite believe their ears until she looked directly at Harry, Layla, and Ron and said grimly, "I've become accustomed to seeing the Quidditch Cup in my study, and I really don't want to have to hand it over to Professor Snape, so use the extra time to practise, won't you?"
Snape was no less obviously partisan; he had booked the Quidditch pitch for Slytherin practice so often that the Gryffindors had difficulty getting on it to play. He was also turning a deaf ear to the many reports of Slytherin attempts to hex Gryffindor players in the corridors.
Layla felt optimistic about Gryffindor's chances. Admittedly, Ron was still not performing to Oliver Wood's standard, but he was working extremely hard to improve. His greatest weakness was a tendency to lose confidence after he'd made a blunder; if he let in one goal he became flustered and was therefore likely to miss more. On the other hand, Layla had seen Ron make some truly spectacular saves when he was on form; during one memorable practice he had hung one-handed from his broom and kicked the Quaffle so hard away from the goalhoop that it soared the length of the pitch and through the centre hoop at the other end; the rest of the team felt this save compared favourably with one made recently by Barry Ryan, the Irish International Keeper, against Poland's top Chaser, Ladislaw Zamojski. Even Fred had said that Ron might yet make him and George proud, and that they were seriously considering admitting he was related to them, something they assured him they had been trying to deny for four years.
October extinguished itself in a rush of howling winds and driving rain and November arrived, cold as frozen iron, with hard frosts every morning and icy draughts that bit at exposed hands and faces. The skies and the ceiling of the Great Hall turned a pale, pearly grey, the mountains around Hogwarts were snowcapped, and the temperature in the castle dropped so low that many students wore their thick protective dragonskin gloves in the corridors between lessons.
The morning of the match dawned bright and cold. Normally, Layla would of course skip breakfast, but she was determined to win the match and she wouldn't be her best on an empty stomach. A breakfast muffin wouldn't hurt.
The Great Hall was filling up fast when she arrived, the talk louder and the mood more exuberant than usual. As she passed the Slytherin table, there was an upsurge of noise. Layla looked round and saw that, in addition to the usual green and silver scarves and hats, every one of them was wearing a silver badge in the shape of what seemed to be a crown. Layla tried to see what was written on the badges as she walked by, but she was unable to.
She received many 'good luck's and other wishes from other houses on her way over to Ginny, and when she sat down, Ginny grinned cheerfully at her.
"I can't wait for the match! You'll do amazing!"
"Thanks, Gin," replied Layla, grabbing a single muffin for breakfast.
"Hello," said a vague and dreamy voice from behind Layla. Ginny looked over Layla's shoulder and smiled at the owner of the voice. Layla turned in her seat to see that it was Luna Lovegood. She drifted over from the Ravenclaw table. Many people were staring at her and a few were openly laughing and pointing; she had managed to procure a hat shaped like a life-size lion's head, which was perched precariously on her head. "I'm supporting Gryffindor," said Luna, pointing unnecessarily at her hat. "Look what it does..."
She reached up and tapped the hat with her wand. It opened its mouth wide and gave an extremely realistic roar that made everyone in the vicinity jump.
"It's good, isn't it?" said Luna happily. "I wanted to have it chewing up a serpent to represent Slytherin, you know, but there wasn't time. Anyway... good luck, Layla!"
She drifted away. Layla and Ginny had not quite recovered from the shock of Luna's hat before Angelina came hurrying towards them, accompanied by Katie.
"When you're ready, Layla," she said, "we're going to go straight down to the pitch, check out conditions and change."
"Okay, I'll leave in a second," Layla assured her, taking another small bite out of her muffin. A few seconds later, however, Layla stared at her muffin, suddenly full, even if she had only taken about three of the tiniest bites out of it. She turned to Ginny. "Want the rest of this?"
"Are you sure?" Ginny frowned. "I thought you'd want to eat more before a game."
"No, I'm the opposite," said Layla with a shrug. "I don't like eating before a game. I better be leaving anyway."
"Okay," Ginny took the muffin, "good luck."
So, with that, Layla rose from the table, and on her way past the Slytherin table, she cast another curious glance at the crown-shaped badges that the Slytherins wore, and this time, she made out the words etched on to them:
Weasley is our King
With an unpleasant feeling that this could mean nothing good, she hurried across the Entrance Hall, down the stone steps and out into the icy air.
The frosty grass crunched under her feet as she hurried down the sloping lawns towards the stadium. There was no wind at all and the sky was a uniform pearly white, which meant that visibility would be good without the drawback of direct sunlight in the eyes.
Angelina had changed already and was talking to the rest of the team when Layla entered. Layla pulled on her robes, then sat down to listen to the pre-match talk while the babble of voices outside grew steadily louder as the crowd came pouring out of the castle towards the pitch.
"Okay, I've only just found out the final line-up for Slytherin," said Angelina, consulting a piece of parchment. "Last year's Beaters, Derrick and Bole, have left, but it looks as though Montague's replaced them with the usual gorillas, rather than anyone who can fly particularly well. They're two blokes called Crabbe and Goyle, I don't know much about them—"
"We do," said Harry and Ron together.
"They're complete idiots. I've never seen them fly before," said Layla. "I mean, they're not bright enough to tell one end of a broom from the other."
"Okay, the odds may be in our favor for this match," said Angelina, pocketing her parchment. "I was always surprised Derrick and Bole managed to find their way on to the pitch without signposts."
"Crabbe and Goyle are in the same mould," Harry assured her.
They could hear hundreds of footsteps mounting the banked benches of the spectators' stands. Some people were singing, though Layla could not make out the words.
"It's time," said Angelina in a hushed voice, looking at her watch. "C'mon everyone... good luck."
The team rose, shouldered their brooms and marched in single file out of the changing room and into the dazzling sunlight, A roar of sound greeted them in which Layla could still hear singing, though it was muffled by the cheers and whistles.
The Slytherin team was standing waiting for them. They, too, were wearing those silver crown-shaped badges. Behind the new Captain, Montague, lurked the large Crabbe and Goyle, blinking stupidly in the sunlight, swinging their new Beaters' bats. Draco stood to one side, the sunlight gleaming on his white-blond head.
"Captains, shake hands," ordered the referee Madam Hooch, as Angelina and Montague reached each other. Layla could tell that 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 upwards. Out of the corner of her eye, Layla saw Ron streak off towards the goalhoops. Layla zoomed higher, dodging a Bludger, and began heading closer to Angelina, who had the Quaffle, swerving around a Slytherin chaser who was trying to block her.
"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 Warrington, she's passed Montague, she's — ouch — been hit from behind by a Bludger from Crabbe... Montague catches the Quaffle, Montague heading back up the pitch and — nice Bludger there from George Weasley, that's a Bludger to the head for Montague, he drops the Quaffle, caught by Katie Bell, Katie Bell of Gryffindor reverse-passes to Layla Lupin and Lupin's away — dodges Warrington, avoids a Bludger — close call, Layla — and the crowd are 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 Layla passes back to Angelina!" Lee shouted, trying to drown out the words of the song. "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 Warrington who sped off with it, zig-zagging in between Layla and Katie; the singing from below grew louder and louder.
Weasley is our King,
Weasley is our King,
He always lets the Quaffle in
Weasley is our King.
"—and it's Warrington with the Quaffle, Warrington heading for 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 Slytherins' end: Ron had dived wildly, his arms wide, and the Quaffle had soared between them straight through Ron's central hoop.
"Slytherin score!" 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 above it.
WEASLEY WILL MAKE SURE WE WIN
WEASLEY IS OUR KING...
"—and it's Warrington again," bellowed Lee, "who passes to Pucey, Pucey's off past Katie, narrowly avoids Layla — 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 Warrington 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!"
WEASLEY CANNOT SAVE A THING...
"—and Pucey's dodged Layla again and he's heading straight for goal, stop it, Ron!"
There was a terrible groan from the Gryffindor end, coupled with fresh screams and applause from the Slytherins. Looking down, Layla saw the pug-faced Pansy Parkinson right at the front of the stands, her back to the pitch as she conducted 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, Layla assured herself.
But Ron let in two more goals.
"—and Katie Bell of Gryffindor dodges Pucey, ducks Montague, nice swerve, Katie, and she throws to Lupin, Layla Lupin takes the Quaffle, she's past Warrington, she's heading for goal, come on now, Layla — GRYFFINDOR SCORE! It's forty-ten, forty-ten to Slytherin, and Pucey has the Quaffle..."
Layla 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.
"—Pucey throws to Warrington, Warrington to Montague, Montague back to Pucey — Lupin intervenes, Lupin takes the Quaffle, Lupin 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 suddenly, Layla's hopelessness vanished at the sound of screams and rours from the Gryffindor supporters, and the Slytherin stands had stopped singing in an instant. Spinning around on her room, Layla sighed in relief at what she saw.
Harry had caught the Snitch. They'd won!
They were saved, it did not matter that Ron had let in those goals, nobody would remember as long as Gryffindor had won—
WHAM.
Layla witnessed a Bludger hit Harry squarely in the small of the back and he flew forwards off his broom. Luckily he was only five or six feet above the ground. Madam Hooch blew her whistle, an uproar in the stands compounded of catcalls, angry yells and jeering, and Angelina had rushed over to check on Harry, who appeared fine, much to Layla's relief — though she wouldn't admit that aloud.
Layla dismounted her broom and approached Fred and George, high-fiving both boys.
"Nice Beatering, boys," Layla joked, receiving a proud smirk from George and a playful wink from Fred.
"Nice Chasering, Little Lay," both boys chorused back in unison.
Before Layla could respond, Layla heard a snort nearby. She turned to see Draco stood there, glaring at Harry, who was talking to Angelina.
"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?"
Layla looked around for Ron, only to see that he had dismounted from his broom over by the goalposts and seemed to be making his way slowly back to the changing rooms alone.
"We wanted to write another couple of verses!" Draco called. "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.
"—we couldn't fit in useless loser either - for his father, you know—"
Layla felt Fred and George both stiffen from beside her.
"Leave it!" said Layla at once, taking Fred by the arm. She was surprised at herself for stopping Fred. Everyone knew that she had been all for a bit of violence all year. "Leave it, Fred, he's just sore he lost."
"—but you like the Weasleys, don't you, Potter?" said Draco, 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 by Muggles, even the Weasleys' hovel smells okay—"
Harry had grabbed hold of George since Layla couldn't keep hold of both twins.
"Or perhaps," said Draco, leering as he backed away, "you can remember what your mother's house stank like, Potter, and Weasley's pigsty reminds you of it—"
But Harry had suddenly released George, both boys sprinting towards Draco. Layla watched as Harry drew back the fist clutching the Snitch and sank it as hard as he could into Malfoy's stomach.
"Harry! HARRY! GEORGE! NO!" Angelina and Katie screamed.
Layla sighed and pushed a struggling Fred over to Angelina and Katie to hold back, before she ran over to the three fighting boys. She pulled Harry off of Draco with such force that Harry went stumbling back several feet. She then pushed herself in between Draco and George, pressing her hands to both of their chests to keep them apart.
"Ew, get your disgusting hands off of me, filthy half-blood," spat Draco, shoving Layla's hand off of him. "I wouldn't want to be anywhere near the famous werewolf girl."
That stupid nickname again. Something in Layla snapped, as it always did when she was filled with anger. She let go of a struggling George, pushing him back slightly, before turning to Draco and grabbing him by the shoulders. She then lifted her knee and kneed him as hard as she could in the crotch. Draco didn't have time to catch his breath, gasping in pain as he fell to his knees, clutching his crotch as he groaned.
With a satisfied smirk, Layla turned and grabbed George and Harry's wrists, dragging both angry boys back over to their teammates.
"What do you think you're doing?" screamed Madam Hooch, hurrying towards Harry, Layla, and George. Draco was curled up on the ground, whimpering and moaning, his nose bloody, and he was still clutching his groin; George was sporting a swollen lip; Fred was still being forcibly restrained by Angelina and Katie, and Crabbe was cackling in the background. "I've never seen behaviour like it — back up to the castle, all three of you, and straight to your Head of House's office! Go! Now.''
Harry, Layla, and George turned on their heels and marched off the pitch, all panting, none of them saying a word to each other. The howling and jeering of the crowd grew fainter and fainter until they reached the Entrance Hall, where they could hear nothing except the sound of their own footsteps.
They had barely reached the door of Professor McGonagalls office when she came marching along the corridor behind them. She was wearing a Gryffindor scarf, but tore it from her throat with shaking hands as she strode towards them, looking livid.
"In!" she said furiously, pointing to the door. Harry, Layla, and George entered. She strode around behind her desk and faced them, quivering with rage as she threw the Gryffindor scarf aside on to the floor. "Well?" she said. "I have never seen such a disgraceful exhibition. Three on one! Explain yourselves!"
"Malfoy provoked us," said Harry stiffly.
"Provoked you?" shouted Professor McGonagall, slamming a fist on to her desk so that her tartan tin slid sideways off it and burst open, littering the floor with Ginger Newts. "He'd just lost, hadn't he? Of course he wanted to provoke you! But what on earth he can have said that justified what you three—"
"He insulted my parents," snarled George. 'And Harry's mother. And he called Layla 'werewolf girl'."
"Again, Miss Lupin?" Professor McGonagall sighed. "This is the third time this year that you have been in trouble for getting into fights all because of that nickname! Two of them being because of Miss Brown, and now because of Mr Malfoy."
"Well, maybe people should take the hint and learn to shut their mouths about my dad and I," Layla shrugged nonchalantly.
"Not all problems can be solved with an exhibition of Muggle duelling!" bellowed Professor McGonagall. "Have you any idea what you've—?"
"Hem, hem."
Harry, Layla, and George all wheeled round. Dolores Umbridge was standing in the doorway, wrapped in a green tweed cloak that greatly enhanced her resemblance to a giant toad, and was smiling in the horrible, sickly, ominous way that Layla had come to associate with imminent misery.
"May I help, Professor McGonagall?" asked Professor Umbridge in her most poisonously sweet voice.
Blood rushed into Professor McGonagall's face.
"Help?" she repeated, in a constricted voice. "What do you mean, help?"
Professor Umbridge moved forwards into the office, still smiling her sickly smile.
"Why, I thought you might be grateful for a little extra authority."
Layla would not have been surprised to see sparks fly from Professor McGonagall's nostrils.
"You thought wrong," she said, turning her back on Umbridge.
"Now, you three 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, I do not care if he calls you names, your behaviour was disgusting and I am giving each of you a week's worth of detentions! Do not look at me like that, Lupin, you deserve it! And if any of you ever—"
"Hem, hem."
Professor McGonagall closed her eyes as though praying for patience as she turned her face towards Professor Umbridge again.
"Yes?"
"I think they deserve rather more than detentions," 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 Professor 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 false little laugh as she rummaged in her handbag, "the Minister just sent it... ah yes..."
She had pulled out a piece of parchment which she now unfurled, clearing her throat fussily before starting to read what it said.
"Hem, hem... 'Educational Decree Number Twenty-five'."
"Not another one!" exclaimed Professor McGonagall 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 re-form? 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 re-forming? Dreadful tempers... anyway, 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 for 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 three from playing Quidditch ever again," she said, looking from Layla to Harry to George and back again.
"Ban us?" Harry said. "From playing... ever again?"
"Yes, Mr Potter, I think a lifelong ban ought to do the trick," said Umbridge, her smile widening still further. "You, Miss Lupin, and Mr Weasley here. And I think, to be safe, this 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, Professor 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."
Layla had to grip the sides of the chair she sat on until her knuckles turned white to stop her from charging at Umbridge.
With a look of the utmost satisfaction, Umbridge left the room, leaving a horrified silence in her wake.
"Banned," said Angelina in a hollow voice, late that evening in the common room. "Banned. No Seeker, no Beaters, and down a Chaser... what on earth are we going to do?"
It did not feel as though they had won the match at all. Everywhere Layla looked, there were disconsolate and angry faces; the team themselves were slumped around the fire, all apart from Ron, who had not been seen since the end of the match.
"It's just so unfair," said Katie numbly. "I mean, what about Crabbe and that Bludger he hit after the whistle had been blown? Has she banned him?"
"No," said Ginny miserably; she and Hermione were sitting on either side of Layla. "He just got lines, I heard Montague laughing about it at dinner."
"And banning Fred when he didn't even do anything!" said Katie furiously, pummelling her knee with her fist.
"It's not my fault I didn't," said Fred, with a very ugly look on his face, "I would've pounded the little scumbag to a pulp if you guys hadn't been holding me back."
"I'm going to bed," said Angelina, getting slowly to her feet. "Maybe this will all turn out to have been a bad dream... maybe I'll wake up tomorrow and find we haven't played yet..."
She was soon followed by Katie. Fred and George sloped off to bed some time later, glowering at everyone they passed, and Ginny went not long after that. Layla would have stayed down there longer with Hermione, but that meant also having to deal with sitting with Harry, which she didn't want. So, she quickly hugged Hermione and then headed up to bed herself.
Layla was also hoping that it would all just turn out to be a bad dream...