Prologue
"Why do we have to do this?" said a cocky voice in the dark passage. "McGonagall hand-picked me back in my First Year. You can't possibly think of actually getting someone else?"
"Harry, I do not like this any more than you do," said another one, whom I recognized as the Gryffindor Captain, Angelina Johnson. "But this Umbridge woman is demanding new tryouts. If we don't do this, she's forfeiting the team."
"Stupid hag," cursed the one named Harry. "Ginny's not applying for Seeker, is she?"
"No, she wants to be Chaser. But you have to admit she's tough competition."
"The Weasleys are really good Quidditch players, I wouldn't wonder. Who else is trying out?"
"Just one. And it's a girl."
It? I'm an it?
"Really?"
"Yeah. Gabriella Knox."
"Gabriella Knox?" said Harry, with a derisive, disbelieving chuckle. "Is she even qualified?"
"Yes. Every Gryffindor is entitled to apply so—
"But she wears colored tights! And can you remember those silly bowed headbands she wears everyday? She doesn't act all athletic. I don't think she can last a minute on a broom."
Excuse me?
"Don't be too sure. She owns a Nimbus Three Thousand."
"You're kidding me. It's number one on Which Broomstick, neck and neck with my Fireb—
I cleared my throat as they materialized near the spot where I was standing .
"Hey Angelina."
"Gaby!" she replied, astounded. I narrowed my eyes as we emerged onto the Quidditch pitch, the sun was bright and blinding. "You're up early."
"Yeah. I want a headstart."
"You look different," she commented, staring at my ponytail. "It's nice."
"Yeah. The silly headband needs a rest, you know?"
"Oh, yeah," said Angelina, casting Harry a half-glance. "Well… did you straighten it?"
"No, it's naturally straight. I have this wonder potion for perms. I think you'll be needing a bit of the straightening variety, though. It's an expert on taming wild manes."
Raising a brow, she brushed my thinly-veiled insult aside and looked at Harry.
"Oh, by the way, I don't think you've met him. Gab, this is Harry. He's been our Seeker for four years now."
"Hi," he said, extending his hand.
The nerve of him to be all chummy.
Silly, huh?
I'll show him who's silly.
(God, those glasses are tacky.)
"Hello," I said, taking it. "Did you enjoy last season?"
"Yes. I guess."
"Good. I suggest you cherish it," I said, letting go of his hand as I stood my broom on end. "It'll be your last."