————————————
Aurora Areli
AS THE NEXT TWO weeks went by, I could tell that the hope I had wasn't something only I was feeling. The secret meetings the DA was holding were going really well. So well, in fact, that Umbridge's classes were almost bearable. Knowing that there were those of us doing the very thing she and the Ministry most feared, right under their noses, definitely helped.
Nearly everyone in the DA was improving, which I was thrilled about. Neville could now even successfully disarm me without much trouble. The only thing was that it was impossible to schedule regular meetings around three Quidditch teams' practices, but that was probably for the best; it was better to be unpredictable.
Hermione and I even figured out a way to let everyone know the next date and time of each meeting. One particular dream I had had recently stuck out to me. It showed the mark of a Death Eater branded onto someone's forearm (which seemed oddly familiar) that started out as a faint red colour, but soon turned jet black. As unsettling as the dream was, it gave me an idea. I shared it with Hermione, and the two of us set out to make it a reality at once.
At the end of our fourth meeting, we brought out a basket filled with fake gold Galleons. When I started passing them around, Ron grew very excited, like he thought they were real. However, Hermione began explaining as I passed them out, and Ron's excitement quickly faded.
"You see the numerals around the edge of the coins?" Hermione said, holding one up for examination. "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."
"They'll get really hot when the date changes," I continued, once I was finished passing out the faux Galleons, "that way if you're carrying them in a pocket you'll be able to feel them. Everyone will have one, and when Harry sets the date of the next meeting he'll change the numbers on his coin, because Hermione and I figured out how to put a Protean Charm on them. They'll all change to mimic his."
There was a blank silence after we finished talking. Hermione and I looked at each other, and then around at everyone else's disconcerted faces.
"Well — Rory and I thought it was a good idea," Hermione 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?" Terry Boot asked.
"Yes, Rory and I can," Hermione said.
"But that's . . . that's NEWT standard, that is," he said weakly.
"Oh," Hermione said, trying to look modest, while I avoided looking at anyone. "Oh . . . well . . . yes, I suppose it is."
"How come you two aren't in Ravenclaw?" he demanded, as I fidgeted with the end of my sleeve. "With brains like yours?"
"Well, the Sorting Hat did seriously consider putting me in Ravenclaw during my Sorting," Hermione said brightly, "but it decided on Gryffindor in the end."
When I glanced over and noticed Terry looking at me expectantly, I shrugged and said, "I guess I was just more Gryffindor than anything."
I saw Harry smile knowingly at me.
"So," Hermione said, "does that mean we're using the Galleons?"
There was a murmur of assent and many people examined their Galleons, which glinted brightly in the torchlight. After everyone had left and Harry made sure they were safely back in their common rooms with the Marauder's Map, he, Ron, Hermione and I left the Room of Requirement ourselves.
"You know what those coins remind me of?" Harry said, as we made our way up a staircase.
"What's that?" I asked.
"The Death Eaters' scars. Voldemort touches one of them, and all their scars burn, and they know they've got to join him."
"Well . . . yes," Hermione said quietly, "that's where Rory got the idea, actually . . . but you'll notice we decided to engrave the date on bits of metal rather than on our members' skin."
"Yeah . . . I prefer your way," Harry said, grinning, as he grabbed my hand. "I suppose the only danger with these is that we might actually spend them."
"Fat chance," Ron said, examining his fake Galleon slightly mournfully, "I haven't got any real Galleons to confuse it with."
. . . . .
As the first Quidditch match (which happened to be Gryffindor versus Slytherin) drew nearer, the DA meetings were put on hold because Angelina insisted on almost daily practices. However, luck was on our side in some departments. Professor McGonagall, for example, clearly cared so much about beating Slytherin that she abstained from giving us 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. I almost couldn't believe my ears at first, until she looked directly at Harry, Ron and I and said grimly, "I've become accustomed to seeing the Quidditch Cup in my study, boys and Miss Areli, so use the extra time to practice, won't you?"
Snape, on the other hand, was just as horrible as usual, if not more. He booked the Quidditch pitch for Slytherin practice so often that the Gryffindor team 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.
I wasn't too worried, though; we had never lost to Malfoy's team. Ron, admittedly, wasn't performing as well as Oliver had, but he was working hard to improve. His problem was losing confidence after he'd make a blunder; if he missed a goal, he became flustered and more likely to miss more. However, Ron had made some pretty spectacular saves. For example, he had hung one-handed 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.
One day, Harry expressed his worry that Ron was letting the Slytherins get to him too much. I couldn't help but agree. While Harry and I were used to their many snide comments from over the years, Ron had endured far less. Whispers of, "Hey, Potty, I heard Warrington's sworn to knock you off your broom on Saturday," made Harry laugh rather than scare him, for instance.
"Warrington's aim's so pathetic I'd be more worried if he was aiming for the person next to me," Harry retorted, which made Ron, Hermione and I laugh as well, and wiped the smirk off Pansy Parkinson's face.
However, when some Slytherins, (a few of which happened to be seventh-years, and much larger than Ron was) muttered as they passed in the corridors, "Got your bed booked in the hospital wing, Weasley?" he didn't laugh, but went a little green, no matter how much I told him not to worry. When Malfoy imitated Ron dropping the Quaffle (which he did whenever they came within sight of each other), Ron's ears glowed red and his hands shook so badly he was likely to drop whatever he was holding at the time.
Sooner than I expected, October was over and November arrived, cold as the hard frosts that coated the grounds each morning and icy draughts that bit at exposed hands and faces.
The morning of the match dawned bright and cold as ever. Hermione, Ginny and I headed down to breakfast a little later than usual, because Hermione and Ginny had wanted to dress up a little extra to show their support to Gryffindor. I would, of course, be wearing my scarlet Quidditch robes, but Ginny insisted on at least braiding my hair.
As we were walking across the Great Hall to meet Harry and Ron at the Gryffindor table, Ginny audibly groaned.
"What's wrong?" I asked.
"The Slytherins' new badges, that's what," Ginny said in an undertone, so that only Hermione and I could hear.
I glanced over as we passed the Slytherin table, and saw that, in addition to the usual green and silver scarves and hats, nearly all of them were wearing a silver badge in the shape of a crown. I had to squint slightly to see the writing on them, but as soon as I realised what they said, I scowled.
"I hope Ron hasn't seen those," Hermione said, as we made our way to the Gryffindor table, where everyone was wearing red and gold.
"How're you feeling?" Ginny asked Ron, who was staring into the dregs of milk at the bottom of his empty cereal bowl, almost like he was considering drowning himself in them.
"He's just nervous," Harry said.
"Well, that's a good sign, I never feel you perform as well in exams if you're not a bit nervous," Hermione said heartily. I tried to nod as encouragingly as I could.
"Hello," said a vague, dreamy voice from behind us. We all looked up, and saw that Luna Lovegood had drifted over from the Ravenclaw table. Many people were staring at her, a few even laughing and pointing; as much as I didn't condone it, I could understand why. 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," Luna said, 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 such a realistic roar that everyone in the vicinity jumped.
"It's good, isn't it?" Luna said happily. "I wanted to have it chewing up a serpent to represent Slytherin, you know, but there wasn't time. Anyway . . . good luck, Ronald!"
With that, she drifted away, leaving us all quite shocked. We still hadn't quite recovered by the time Angelina and Katie came hurrying over.
"When you're ready," Angelina said, "we're going to go straight down to the pitch, check out conditions and change."
"We'll be there in a bit," Harry assured her. "Ron's just got to have some breakfast."
I continued to eat my porridge, exchanging worried looks with Harry when Ron wasn't looking, which was often. After ten minutes, it became clear that Ron wasn't capable of forcing any more food into his body.
"Should we head down?" I asked both boys, though only Harry was able to respond.
"Yeah," he nodded, pushing away his own empty bowl, "let's go."
As we rose from the table, Hermione steered Harry and me away to one side.
"Don't let Ron see what's on those Slytherins' badges," she whispered urgently, sending me a significant look.
Harry looked at me questioningly, but I shook my head. "Just take our word for it."
By then, Ron had ambled over to us, looking lost and desperate.
"Good luck, Ron," Hermione said, standing up on her tiptoes and kissing him on the cheek. "And you, Harry, Rory —"
She reached over to give me a hug, which I returned. As soon as we separated, and she went back to Ginny, Harry caught my eye. I smiled exasperatedly, though really I was just amused.
I stepped towards him to give him a quick kiss on the lips, pulling away sooner than he seemed to have liked.
"All right, come on," I said, linking my arm with his and grabbing Ron's with my other hand, "we have a game to win."
Ron seemed to come to himself slightly as we walked back across the Great Hall. He touched the spot on his face where Hermione had kissed him, looking puzzled, as though he was not sure what had just happened.
I snickered. "You're blushing, Ron."
In retaliation, he sent me a glare, ears reddening. I just smiled innocently. I glanced over to see Harry's reaction, but found him frowning. He must've seen what the badges said.
The frosty grass crunched under our feet as we hurried down the sloping lawns towards the stadium. Harry tried to point out to Ron that there was no wind at all, and the sky was overcast, meaning visibility would be good without the sun right in our eyes. However, Harry's words seemed to fall on deaf ears; Ron looked to be lost in his own thoughts.
Angelina was already changed and talking to the rest of the team when we entered. Harry, Ron and I pulled on our robes (I ended up having to help Ron when he tried to do his up back-to-front for several minutes), then sat down to listen to the pre-match talk. Outside the changing rooms, the babble of voices grew steadily louder as the crowd arrived at the pitch.
"Okay, I've only just found out the final line-up for Slytherin," Angelina said, 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," Harry, Ron and I told her.
"Well, they don't look bright enough to tell one end of a broom from the other," Angelina said, pocketing her parchment, "but then I was always surprised Derrick and Bole managed to find their way onto the pitch without signposts."
"Trust me," I assured her, "Crabbe and Goyle aren't any sharper."
The sound of hundreds of footsteps mounting the benches of the spectators' stands thundered above us. Some people were singing, though I couldn't make out the words. The tune wasn't anything familiar, anyway. I took a deep breath as I stretched to calm the butterflies that had begun to surface; if I was nervous, I couldn't imagine how Ron was feeling. He was clutching his stomach and staring straight ahead again, his jaw set and complexion a pale grey.
"Don't worry," I said to him, trying to sound reassuring, "you'll be fine."
A few moments later, Angelina checked her watch. "It's time," she said in a hushed voice. "C'mon everyone . . . good luck."
I glanced over at Harry, who was already looking at me, and said softly, "Good luck."
The team rose, shouldered our brooms and marched in single file out of the changing room, out into the dazzling, pearly white sky. A roar of sound greeted us; I could still hear singing, though it was muffled by the cheers and whistles.
The Slytherin team was already standing waiting for us, but they didn't look right without Atticus standing among them. They, too, were wearing those silver crown-shaped badges. The new Captain, Montague, had a build that reminded me of Harry's cousin Dudley. Crabbe and Goyle were lurking behind him, almost as large, blinking stupidly, swinging their new Beaters' bats. Malfoy stood to one side of them. He caught my eye and smirked, tapping the crown-shaped badge on his chest. I scowled.
"Captains, shake hands," Madam Hooch ordered, as Angelina and Montague reached each other. I could tell that Montague was trying to crush Angelina's fingers, but she didn't wince. "Mount your brooms . . ."
Madam Hooch placed her whistle in her mouth and blew.
The balls were released and all fourteen of us shot upwards. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Ron streak off towards the goalhoops, and Harry zoom even higher. I also saw that Angelina had the Quaffle, so I flew after her, dodging a Bludger and players dressed in green.
"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!" Professor McGonagall yelled. I laughed.
"— 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 Rory Areli and Areli's away —"
Lee's commentary rang through the stadium, though it was slightly difficult to hear with the wind whistling in my ears and the din of the crowd, all yelling and booing and singing.
The Quaffle tucked securely under my arm, I shot across the pitch towards the opposing goalposts, determined to score a goal. There was no way we were going to lose the first match of the season, no matter how many obstacles were in the way.
"— dodges Warrington, avoids a Bludger — close call, Rory — and the crowd are loving this, just listen to them, what's that they're singing?"
Lee paused to listen, and I tried my hardest to make out the words as I was flying. 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."
My blood boiled when I realised what they were saying, which made me pass the Quaffle to Angelina with a little more force than necessary. Warrington, the Slytherin Chaser, wasn't expecting me to throw the ball behind me, so that gave Angelina time to make her way up to the goalhoops.
Lee's commentary was louder than before, and I knew he was 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 . . ."
I cursed when Bletchley, the new Slytherin Keeper, saved the goal; he threw the Quaffle to Warrington who sped off with it, zigzagging in between Katie and I. The two of us exchanged quick, angry looks before shooting after him, determined to steal the Quaffle back. All the while, the singing from below grew louder and louder as Warrington drew nearer and nearer to Ron, which didn't help at all when I tried to focus.
"Weasley is our King,
Weasley is our King,
He always lets the Quaffle in
Weasley is our King."
In my furious stupor, I (rather stupidly) hadn't realised that Goyle had just pelted one of the Bludgers toward me, and Fred had to swoop in and knock it off course inches before it hit me.
I looked over at him with wide eyes, and shouted, "Thanks, Fred!" over the wind.
I didn't hear his response, but saw his mouth open when he yelled something back.
Then, I continued across the pitch, towards the goalposts that Ron alone was guarding. I urged my broom to go faster towards the massive figure of Warrington pelting towards him. Atticus' old Nimbus Two Thousand and One really came in handy; it was clear he took good care of it, but I couldn't say the same for the other members of the Slytherin team, and that gave me an advantage.
"— and it's Warrington with the Quaffle, Warrington 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.
"Weasley cannot save a single 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!"
"You can do it, Ron!" I yelled, though I knew he would not hear me.
But when Warrington threw the Quaffle, a 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.
I groaned.
"Slytherin score!" came Lee's voice over the cheering and booing from the crowds below, "so that's ten-nil to Slytherin — bad luck, Ron."
The Slytherins response was to sing 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 —" Lee cried valiantly, though the singing was now so deafening that he could barely make himself heard above it.
"WEASLEY WILL MAKE SURE WE WIN
WEASLEY IS OUR KING . . ."
"Harry, WHAT ARE YOU DOING?" I heard Angelina scream as we soared after Katie, who was in possession of the Quaffle. "GET GOING!"
One of the Slytherin Chasers took my moment of distraction to ram my shoulder with his, successfully knocking me off course. I yelped, but quickly regained my balance and sped off after my fellow Chasers in scarlet, trying to ignore the chorus now thundering through the stadium:
"WEASLEY IS OUR KING,
WEASLEY IS OUR KING . . ."
A Bludger flew towards Katie, and I swore once again when she dropped the Quaffle.
"WEASLEY WAS BORN IN A BIN . . ."
"— and it's Warrington again," Lee bellowed, "who passes to Pucey, Pucey's off past Bell, 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!"
I flew forward towards Pucey, in an attempt to knock him off his broom. To my dismay, he swerved just in time to avoid it. That didn't stop me, though; I gritted my teeth and tried again.
"WEASLEY CANNOT SAVE A THING . . ."
"— and Pucey's dodged Rory again and he's heading straight for goal, stop it, Ron!"
It didn't take a genius to know what was about to happen. I had worried that Ron would take the Slytherins' taunting to heart, and unfortunately I was right. There was a terrible groan from the Gryffindor end, coupled with fresh screams and applause from the Slytherins.
"THAT'S WHY SLYTHERINS ALL SING
WEASLEY IS OUR KING."
I told myself over and over again that it was fine, twenty-nil was nothing, there would still be time for Angelina, Katie and I to catch Gryffindor up or for Harry to catch the Snitch.
Just a few more goals, I kept chanting in my head, as I wove between players and avoided Bludgers, just a few more goals, and we're back in the lead.
But Ron let in two more goals. I tried not to panic, though. I had faith in our team, faith that Harry would catch the Snitch before Malfoy did.
"— and Katie Bell of Gryffindor dodges Pucey, ducks Montague, nice swerve, Katie, and she throws to Johnson, Angelina Johnson takes the Quaffle, she reverse passes to Rory Areli, Rory's past Warrington, she's heading for the goal, come on now, Rory — GRYFFINDOR SCORE! It's forty-ten, forty-ten to Slytherin and Pucey has the Quaffle . . ."
I grinned at Angelina when she high-fived me, before the two of us and Katie shot after Pucey. We were only thirty points behind now, that was nothing, we could easily pull back.
"— Pucey throws to Warrington, Warrington to Montague, Montague back to Pucey —"
But before Pucey could catch the Quaffle, I shot up from below and stole it from the air, laughing at the slightly stupefied looks on both Slytherins' faces.
"— nice steal, Rory! She takes the Quaffle, passes 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 . . ."
Just as I was about to try and snatch the Quaffle away from Pucey again, I heard shouts of glee from George.
"Yeah! Come on, Harry!" he screamed over the noise of the crowd.
My head immediately snapped towards the other side of the pitch, where Malfoy and Harry were flying neck and neck, hands outstretched towards the small spec of gold I knew to be the Golden Snitch.
"Yes!" I shouted, shooting after Harry a second later. He had caught the Snitch, we had won. Then —
WHAM.
A Bludger sent by Crabbe hit Harry squarely in the small of the back and he flew forwards off his broom. I gasped, and zoomed in his direction even faster. Though he was only five or six feet above the ground, having dived so low to catch the Snitch, that fall still had to hurt.
I stretched my hand out to grab hold of Harry's Firebolt before my feet hit the ground. Then, I dropped our two brooms and sprinted towards him amid compounded catcalls, angry yells and jeering from the stands.
"Harry!" I yelled frantically, kneeling down beside him. "Are you all right?"
Harry winced, but when he saw me, cracked a smile.
"Course I am," he said, taking the hand I held out to him and allowing me to pull him to his feet, once I had stood up myself. Madam Hooch was zooming towards Crabbe above us, ready to start scolding him, and rightfully so.
"It was Crabbe," I said grimly, and the smile fell from Harry's face, "he whacked the Bludger at you the moment he saw you'd got the Snitch, that thug."
"Yeah," Harry said, glancing up at Crabbe and Madam Hooch before turning back to me and smiling again, "but we won."
I grinned. "Yeah, we did!"
I then pulled Harry into a celebratory hug, and he was quick to wrap his arms around my waist in return.
There was a snort behind us. Harry and I separated, glanced at each other and then turned around: Draco Malfoy had landed close by. White-faced with fury, he was still managing to sneer.
"Saved Weasley's neck, haven't you?" he said to Harry. "I've never seen a worse Keeper . . . but then he was born in a bin . . . did you like my lyrics, Potter? How about you, Areli?"
I rolled my eyes, but neither Harry or I answered. Instead, Harry took my hand and steered us towards the rest of the team, who were now landing one by one, yelling and punching the air in triumph. The only person who wasn't celebrating was Ron, who I saw had dismounted his broom over by the goalposts and seemed to be slowly trudging back to the changing rooms alone.
"We wanted to write another couple of verses!" Malfoy called, as Katie and Angelina hugged Harry and me. "But we couldn't find rhymes for fat and ugly — we wanted to sing about his mother, see —"
"Talk about sour grapes," Angelina said, casting Malfoy a disgusted look.
"— we couldn't fit in useless loser either — for his father, you know —"
By then, Fred and George had realised what Malfoy was talking about. After hugging me and halfway through shaking Harry's hand, they stiffened, looking around at Malfoy.
"Leave it!" Angelina said 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? Areli?" Malfoy said, sneering. "Spend the 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 and blood-traitors, even the Weasleys' hovel smells okay —"
Harry seized the back of George's robes, while I grabbed hold of his arm. Meanwhile, it was taking the combined efforts of Angelina and Katie to stop Fred leaping on Malfoy, who was laughing openly.
"Don't give him a reaction," I said to George through gritted teeth. "It's what he wants."
I looked around for Madam Hooch, but she was still berating Crabbe for his illegal Bludger attack. I silently willed her to get on with it already, for George was straining against Harry and me even more now.
"Or perhaps," Malfoy said, leering as he backed away, "you can remember what your mother's house stank like, Potter, and Weasley's pigsty reminds you of it —"
In a split second, I registered Harry releasing George, who quickly broke free from my grip on his arm, and the two of them sprinting towards Malfoy, despite my many protests. I watched, horrified, as Harry drew back his fist that was still clutching the Snitch, and sank it into Malfoy's stomach.
I gasped, my hands flying to my mouth.
"Harry! HARRY! GEORGE! NO!" Angelina screamed.
The three boys soon became a mass of punches, jabs, kicks and yells as Angelina, Katie and I screamed for them to stop. I tried to step forward and pull them apart, but Katie grabbed me by the wrist and brought me back. I knew she meant well by that, but it was horrifying to just stand back and watch Harry and George as they tried to get in as many hits as possible.
"Impedimenta!" shouted an angry voice, knocking Harry, George and Malfoy backwards away from each other. I looked up as Madam Hooch came storming over, screaming, "What do you think you're doing?"
Harry leapt to his feet, looking around frantically, his glasses knocked askew and his knuckles bruised and bloody. Malfoy was curled up on the ground, whimpering and moaning with a bleeding nose, and George was sporting a swollen lip. Luckily, Angelina, Katie and I had managed to keep a thrashing Fred restrained. I could hear Crabbe cackling in the background.
"I've never seen behaviour like it!" Madam Hooch went on furiously, addressing Harry and George. "Back up to the castle, both of you, and straight to your Head of House's office! Go! Now!"
Harry and George marched off the pitch, both visibly panting and shaking with anger. When Malfoy was finally led away by another teacher, Fred slumped against us. As furious as I was, I couldn't help but worry when I saw Umbridge looking all too pleased as she trotted off towards the castle.
. . . . .
"Banned," Angelina said in a hollow voice, late that evening in the common room. "Banned. No Seeker and no Beaters . . . what on earth are we going to do?"
Unlike every time before, there was no party to celebrate Gryffindor's victory over Slytherin. To be honest, I was quite glad of that. After hearing the news that Harry, Fred and George were banned from playing Quidditch for the rest of their time at Hogwarts by Umbridge, I didn't feel up to celebrating. It seemed that everyone else in Gryffindor felt the same; everywhere I looked there were desolate and angry faces.
Our Quidditch team was slumped around the fire, except for Ron, who nobody had seen since the end of the match.
"It's just so unfair," Katie said numbly. "I mean, what about Crabbe and that Bludger he hit after the whistle had been blown? Has she banned him?"
"No," Ginny said miserably; she was sitting on the floor by the sofa, leaning on my legs. "He just got lines, I heard Montague laughing about it at dinner."
"And Fred didn't even do anything!" I said furiously, crossing my arms around myself. "I hate that toad-faced woman."
"Me too," Fred agreed, with a very ugly look on his face. "If you three hadn't held me back, I would've pounded the little scumbag to a pulp, it's not my fault I didn't do anything."
I stared into the fire with my lip between my teeth; by now it was bleeding, but I didn't care that it hurt. I was beyond outraged at the injustice at this school, all because of a stupid, pink cardigan-wearing, sorry excuse for a teacher. And to think she worked for our government.
"I'm going to bed," Angelina said, 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 their dormitory some time later, glowering at everyone as they passed, and Ginny went not long after that. Only Harry, Hermione and I remained beside the fire.
"Have you seen Ron?" Hermione asked us in a low voice.
"No," I said grumpily, and Harry shook his head.
"I think he's avoiding us," Hermione said. "Where do you think he —?"
But at that precise moment, there was a creaking sound behind us as the Fat Lady swung forwards and Ron came clambering through the portrait hole. He was looking extra pale and there was freshly-fallen snow in his hair. When he noticed Harry, Hermione and me, he stopped dead in his tracks.
"Where have you been?" Hermione said anxiously, springing up.
"Walking," Ron mumbled. He was still wearing his Quidditch things.
"You look frozen," Hermione said. "Come and sit down!"
Ron walked to the fireside and sank into the chair furthest from the sofa, not looking at any of us, especially Harry and me.
"I'm sorry," Ron mumbled, looking at his feet.
"What for?" Harry asked.
"For thinking I can play Quidditch," Ron said. "I'm going to resign first thing tomorrow."
I laughed bitterly. "Well, if you resign, then we'll end up being a three-player team."
When Ron looked puzzled, Harry said, "I've been given a lifetime ban. So've Fred and George."
"What?" Ron yelped.
Hermione told him the full story; during the whole thing, Harry regained his miserable look, and I tried to tune it out, not wanting to hear it a second time when I'd have to live with it anyway. When she had finished, Ron looked more anguished than ever.
"This is all my fault —"
"You didn't make me punch Malfoy," Harry said angrily.
"— if I wasn't so terrible at Quidditch —"
"— it's got nothing to do with that."
"Don't say that, Ron," I said, frowning.
"— it was that song that wound me up —"
"— it would've wound anyone up," Harry retorted.
Hermione got up and walked to the window, away from the argument, watching the snow swirling down against the pane.
"Look, drop it, will you!" Harry burst out. "It's bad enough, without you blaming yourself for everything!"
Ron said nothing, instead gazing gloomily at the damp hem of his robes. After a while he said in a dull voice, "This is the worst I've ever felt in my life."
"Join the club," Harry said acridly.
"Well," Hermione spoke up, her voice trembling slightly. "I can think of one thing that might cheer you three up."
"Unless Umbridge has been miraculously sacked, I don't see what would," I said, slumping against the back of the sofa.
"Well, it's not that," Hermione said, turning away from the pitch-black, snow-flecked window, a broad smile growing on her face. "Hagrid's back."