Chapter Seven: The Quidditch Match Became A Musical

As October reached its end, the first Quidditch match of the season drew closer. Since the Quidditch season had been cancelled last year due to the Triwizard Tournament taking place, special attention was being paid to the opening match, Slytherin versus Gryffindor.

Tensions between the houses were at a high. Gryffindor and Slytherin students passed insults in the hallways, while Snape and McGonagall not-so-subtly showed favoritism to their house players. Several Slytherins—Montague in particular—had been accused of trying to hex Gryffindor players. I had actually witnessed Miles Bletchley hit Alicia Spinnet with a Hair-Thickening spell from behind, sending Spinnet to the Hospital Wing with abnormally bushy eyebrows. When this incident was brought to Snape's attention, he insisted that Spinnet had tried the charm on herself for some strange reason. Sometimes, I really hated Snape.

Once, on the way to Defense Against the Dark Arts class, Pansy caught sight of Potter and sneered, "Hey, Potty, I heard Warrington's sworn to knock you off your broom on Saturday."

I rolled my eyes, and Tracey tried to drag Pansy away before she scratched someone's eyes out.

Potter gave Pansy a scathing look and said, "Warrington's aim's so pathetic I'd be more worried if he was aiming for the person next to me."

The smirk disappeared from Pansy's face, and I found myself impressed (not for the first time) with Potter's sass abilities.

The person I felt the most pity for was Ron Weasley, the new Gryffindor keeper. I overhead Montague ask, "Got your bed booked in the hospital wing, Weasley?" in the corridor between classes. And instead of giving a clever retort, Weasley just turned green. Draco had also perfected his impersonation of Weasley dropping the Quaffle and would show the act to anyone who would watch. Pansy, Crabbe, Goyle, Millicent, and Georgina would all laugh loudly whenever Weasley came near them. And if poor Weasley was upset by our house antics now, he had no way to cope with what was in store for him come game day.

"Weasley's going to crumble on Saturday," said Pansy, practically jumping around with excitement.

Tracey sighed. "Our reputation's going to get even worse after this, isn't it?"

"We're just getting into the spirit of the game," said Pansy who didn't care about the Slytherin reputation in the slightest.

I yawned and leaned against the staircase railing. The five of us had a break before Defense Against the Dark Darts class, and rather than return to the Slytherin dungeons or visit the crowded library, we had ended up hanging around the moving staircases.

"So how many people do you think have died on these staircases?" I asked, watching as the stairs above us, which used to lead to the fifth floor, shifted to the sixth floor.

"They don't move while you're on them," said Nott.

I tipped my head back and stared up at the ceiling. The hall was ten stories high with stone staircases connecting the floors. Looking up from the third floor, it looked like a mosaic pattern, the staircases crisscrossing and moving as they pleased.

"I'm sure there are spells to stop people from falling to their deaths," I said. "It'd give Hogwarts a bad rep if they had to report the number of student deaths by staircases every year."

"No one dies from the staircases," said Blaise, a hint of impatience in his voice.

"Maybe they cover it up," I mused.

At this point, Blaise decided to ignore me. He turned to Nott and started a conversation about the muggleborn students who dressed up for Halloween. He'd seen Hufflepuff's Sophie Roper dressed like a fairy and Ravenclaw's Lisa Turpin dressed like some kind of furry animal walking around together.

"Oh, Daphne." Tracey pulled me to the edge of the staircase so I could look down. "It's Number Five."

Several sixth year Hufflepuff boys were hanging out on the second-floor staircase; among them was a blond-haired boy with a charming smile—Jacob Stebbins, Number Five on our Hogwarts' Fittest Boys List.

"Stebbins?" Pansy moved to the handrail to look down with me. "Well, he's not Draco, but even I have to admit those locks of his are fine."

I snorted. "Did you really just say 'locks'?"

"He has a girlfriend, doesn't he?" asked Nott. "Fawcett or whatever her name is."

"Yeah," said Tracey. "But Pansy and Daphne have decided that girlfriends play no role in the Top Ten List. Cedric Diggory dated Cho Chang last year, and he was still Number One."

Blaise gave me a knowing look. It was no secret that I had fancied Diggory.

I folded my arms over my chest and said, "Brains don't matter either. Roger Davies is currently Number One, and we all know he has pixie shit for a brain."

"Personality doesn't matter either," said Pansy, "since Cormac McLaggen is Number Four."

Tracey and I exchanged glances. We decided not to mention that Draco, placed at Number Three, was a true example of how much personality didn't matter.

Blaise sighed and moved to lean against the handrail next to me. "If you lot get to make a Top Ten Boys List, do we get to make a Top Ten Girls List?"

Pansy scoffed. "Of course not. That would be the objectification of women, and as a civil society, we are above such matters."

Pansy glanced at me and then at Tracey. Her lips twitched as she tried to hold back a smile at the pure hypocrisy of that statement. Then, all three of us were laughing, while Nott and Blaise resisted the urge to push us off the moving staircase and see if there were really protection charms to stop us from dying.

Our laughter was cut short when a group of the Slytherin Quidditch players started making their way down the staircase. Miles Bletchley and Adrian Pucey were laughing loudly at some joke Cassius Warrington had made, while Graham Montague ran his fingers through his dark hair and threw a smile in Pansy's direction.

Pansy, in true Pansy fashion, pretended to check her hair for split ends as Montague approached her.

"Are you excited for the match Saturday?" he asked.

"Of course," said Pansy, "Draco's playing."

Montague turned pink about the ears. "Yeah, well, hopefully he can catch the Snitch."

"True," I said. "He has a less than stellar track record."

Adrian (Number Nine on the List) grinned at me. I was momentarily stunned by his dimples, but I shook the thought away.

"Draco can handle Potter," Pansy was saying.

"Not without cheating," I muttered under my breath.

Blaise elbowed me in the side.

"You coming to the game, Daphne?" asked Adrian.

"If I don't, Pansy will throw a fit," I said grimly.

"Besides," said Blaise, "Daph has to help with 'Weasley is our King'. Her singing voice is to die for."

"Really?" Adrian glanced at me in surprise.

I glared at Blaise. He and I both knew I couldn't carry a tune to save my life. None of my family could. During birthday celebrations, Astoria and I have to cover our ears so we don't hear our mother's squeaky, off-key voice.

"I heard Alicia Spinnet got let out of the Hospital Wing," said Nott in a low voice.

If Nott had been glaring at me like that, I'd have been running in the opposite direction as fast as my short legs could carry me, but Miles Bletchley just shrugged and said, "Stupid girl practiced a Hair-Thickening Charm on herself."

My eyes narrowed. Our Quidditch team was doing nothing to endear Slytherin to the other houses.

Miles looked Nott up and down as Nott glared back at him. No one with a brain would openly pick a fight with Nott; his dad was in the Dark Lord's inner circle after all. Instead, Miles glanced at Tracey at smirked. He didn't have to say anything for us to know what sort of rude comment he was thinking. It was common knowledge among Slytherins that Tracey's mum was muggleborn ever since third year when Georgina Runcorn had publicly told Tracey that she might as well be a muggle. While most people didn't care one way or another, some Slytherins said cruel things to Tracey and treated her as if she had the plague.

"Good luck tomorrow," I said loudly, cutting across any remark Miles might make. "Break a wand or whatever the saying is."

"Thanks," said Adrian. "I'll see you in the stands."

Montague smiled at Pansy before leading his friends away. Blaise, Nott, and I watched them go, glaring at their backs.

"Miles is a prick," I said.

Nott nodded in agreement.

"They all are," said Tracey, folding her arms over her chest.

"Adrian's not bad," I pointed out.

"He hangs out with them though," said Tracey. "No decent human being would voluntarily spend time with Miles Bletchley."

Well, I couldn't argue with that. Still, Tracey's words wouldn't stop me from thinking Adrian Pucey was fit and someone I wouldn't mind being friends with.


The first Saturday of November brought with it the cold. We grabbed our fur coats, gloves, and scarves before making our way up to the Great Hall for the pre-Quidditch breakfast. Before we left the common room, Pansy made sure we all had our silver badges, which read "Weasley is our King" in flashing letters. She had spent the last couple days making sure that everyone in the house knew about "Weasley is our King"; there was no way she was going to let her closest friends go without participating.

As we entered the green, silver, red, and gold Great Hall, I glared down at the obnoxious, crown-shaped badge on my chest. Maybe I could take it off when Pansy's back was turned…

"Don't even think about it," said Pansy when I moved to unhook the pin. "Don't forget, I'm a prefect and I have the power to put you in detention."

Glaring at her, I lowered my hands and let the badge stay in place. Blaise and Nott sat on either side of me at the Slytherin table while Tracey sat across. Pansy was still trying to organize all the underclassmen and didn't have time for breakfast.

"Her loss," said Tracey, buttering herself a piece of toast when Pansy wasn't looking.

"If only she could put this energy into more productive and positive things," I said with a sigh. "She could probably reform the entire wizarding world."

"Instead," said Tracey, "she's determined to chase after Draco Malfoy."

I shook my head. "Such a shame."

"Weasley looks rather pale," said Nott, glancing over at the red-haired, freckled boy sitting at the Gryffindor table. "I don't think he's noticed the badges yet though."

"If he's pale now," I said, "he's going to faint when he hears the song."

We heard a squeal behind us and turned to see Pansy clinging to Draco's arm. It looked as if she was bragging about the badges she'd made, but it was hard to be sure. Draco smiled at her and said something in his usual arrogant manner. Pansy released his arm and gave him an adoring smile before Draco followed the rest of his teammates out of the Great Hall. The Gryffindor Quidditch team departed not long after.

"I guess Weasley didn't see," said Pansy, gloomily taking a seat next to Tracey.

"He will," I muttered.

"But will it affect him?" asked Pansy. "Do you think he'll cry?"

"Your viciousness impresses me," said Blaise.

Pansy tossed her dark hair over her shoulder and said, "It's called tactics. You should try learning it some time."

"Blaise knows tactics," I said, stealing a piece of bacon from Blaise's plate. "His tactic is to pretend he's better than everyone else."

"I don't have to pretend." Blaise snatched the bacon out of my hands before I could take a bite.

I stuck my tongue out at him.

"Don't forget your diet," said Blaise.

Pansy, who had been too preoccupied with her tea, looked up and spotted the piece of bacon. "Daphne! It's one thing to eat carbs, but greasy, fattening bacon is definite no. Do you want to get fat?"

"I'm a perfectly healthy weight," I muttered as Tracey hid her buttered toast under the table.

I shot Blaise a murderous glare. He grinned, and when Pansy's back was turned, he gave me two pieces of bacon.

After breakfast, we made our way down the Quidditch pitch with the rest of the student body. The grass was tipped with morning frost, and a bitter wind swept across the grounds. I wrapped my fur cloak around me and buried my nose in my green and silver scarf. Tracey and Nott walked on their side of me, their cheeks bright red. Blaise had forgotten his scarf, but he was too proud to admit that he was cold, so he battled the wind in silence.

"I hope Draco dresses warmly enough," said Pansy, fiddling with her rolled up "Weasley is our King" banner.

"I honestly don't care," I said.

Nott nodded in agreement.

The stands were packed, as they usually were for the first Quidditch match of the season. Gryffindor supporters sat on the far side of the pitch and Slytherin supporters sat in the stands nearest to the castle. Most Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw students and chosen to sit in the Gryffindor section. I spotted Stephen and Sue sitting in the front row of the Slytherin stands, however, and I made my way down the steps to talk to them.

"You chose us over those Gryffindors?" I asked, clutching a hand to my chest. "I'm touched."

"Of course," said Stephen, "I'd never cheer for those Gryffin-bores."

He laughed, while Sue and I stared at him in disgust. His jokes still hadn't improved from when we were eleven.

"Daphne!" cried Pansy, storming down the steps and grabbing me roughly by the arm. "You're sitting with us today."

Sue gave Pansy a strained smile. "Hello."

"Hi," said Pansy. She glanced at Sue and Stephen's fur robes and asked, "Where's your 'Weasley is our King' badges?"

"Oh," said Sue, glancing around the stands. "Is that what those things say?"

"It's a cheering tactic," I said. "We're being strategic fans."

Pansy pretended not to hear the sarcasm in my voice as she handed Sue and Stephen crown-shaped badges. She spotted some Slytherin fourth-years and shouted, "You there! I'm a prefect!"

The fourth year boys scurried over at Pansy's command. One of them blushed when he made direct eye contact with Pansy. I fought back a sigh; Pansy was too pretty for her own good.

"Teach these two the song," said Pansy, pointing at Sue and Stephen.

The boys nodded mutely.

Pansy smiled at Sue and Stephen. "I would love to chat, but I need to take Daphne away. If I let her out of my sight for too long, she's going to take off the badge."

I pulled a face and waved goodbye to my friends as Pansy dragged me along the bleachers to where Tracey, Blaise, Nott, Millicent, and Georgina were figuring out how to set up the "Weasley is our King" banner. Well, I should say that Georgina and Tracey were figuring out how to put up the banner. Blaise was sitting down on the bleachers, occasionally calling out advice for the two girls, and Millicent was trying to strike up a conversation with Nott, who was determinedly ignoring her by pretending to adjust his silver badge.

"No!" cried Pansy, sprinting up the steps to where Tracey and Georgina were wrapped up in the cotton banner. "Don't you know how to do a Sticking Charm? Can't you do anything without me?"

I moved along the seats to sit down next to Blaise. "You ready for this?"

Blaise gave me a scathing look.

"I'll take that as a 'no'."

"Why does Millicent insist on talking to me?" asked Nott, who had finally managed to escape when Pansy called Millicent over to help with the banner.

"She thinks you're 'dark and mysterious'," I explained.

"I'm really not," said Nott.

I grinned. "All the brooding you do gives girls the wrong impression. They think you're 'cool'."

"This is what you get for preferring to read by yourself rather than coming to Hogsmeade with us," said Blaise.

"That happened one time," grumbled Nott.

"Three times," said Blaise. "And one of those times, Pansy made me stalk Draco with her."

Nott shrugged. "You could have stayed in the common room too."

"Here they are!" squealed Pansy, sprinting down the bleachers to sit beside Nott.

Sure enough, down on the pitch, seven players dressed in green robes stepped out of the Slytherin locker room onto the grass. On the other side of the field, seven scarlet-clad players did the same. I glanced over my shoulder to see the flickering green and silver banner. At the moment, the colors were a faded shade of green, so that only people close by could read the words "Weasley is our King". The moment the Quaffle went near Ron Weasley, however, the words would be flashing silver and the Slytherin stands would burst into song.

"Weasley looks like he's about to be sick," said Tracey. She had Pansy's omnioculars held up to her eyes as she surveyed the pitch.

Johnson and Montague shook hands and then stepped back into formation. On Madam Hooch's order, the two teams mounted their brooms and kicked off from the ground. Tracey handed back Pansy's onmioculars as the fourteen players raced around the pitch.

Lee Jordan's voice filled the stadium as he started his commentary of the game. "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 McGonagall.

"I love Jordan's commentary," said Tracey with a laugh.

"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…"

"They should get someone else to commentate the Gryffindor games though," I said. "Jordan's biased."

"But that's what makes it funny," said Tracey. "Don't you want to listen to him insult Draco?"

Well, I couldn't argue with that. It was also fun to hear Draco complain about Jordan's commentary after the match.

Jordan's voice filled the stadium, interrupting my thoughts. "Montague catches the Quaffle, Montague heading back up the pitch—"

As Montague approached the three golden hoops at the Gryffindor end of the pitch, Pansy jumped to her feet and cried, "Weasley cannot save a thing!"

Millicent, Georgina, and Tracey took up the chant immediately. "He cannot block a single ring."

The third year girls in front of us joined in along with the seventh years to our right. "That's why the Slytherins all sing: Weasley is our King!"

"Nice Bludger there from George Weasley," cried Lee Jordan, not noticing as the song spread through the Slytherin section of the stands. "That's a Bludger to the head for Montague, he drops the Quaffle, caught by Katie Bell, Katie Bell of Gryffindor reverse passes to Alicia Spinnet and Spinnet's away—"

"Weasley is our King,

Weasley is our King,

He always lets the Quaffle in,

Weasley is our King"

The off-key singing of the Slytherin fans filled my ears so that I could barely hear Lee Jordan's commentary.

"—dodges Warrington, avoids a Bludger—close call, Alicia—and the crowd are loving this, just listen to them, what's that they're singing?" He paused to listen.

"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 back to Angelina!" yelled Jordan, trying to drown out our song. "Come on now, Angelina—looks like she's got just the Keeper to beat—she shoots—she—"

As much as I disliked Miles Bletchley, he was an excellent Keeper. He blocked Johnson's shot no problem and tossed the Quaffle to Cassius Warrington. Cassius darted between Gryffinor's two other chasers, Spinnet and Bell, towards the three goalposts on the other end of the field. The noise around me increased in volume.

"Weasley is our King,

Weasley is our King,

He always lets the Quaffle in,

Weasley is our King"

"Daphne!" cried Pansy, grabbing me by the wrist. "You're not singing!"

"—and it's Warrington with the Quaffle," cried Jordan. "Warrington heading for goal, he's out of Bludger range with just the keeper ahead—"

I kept my mouth shut as Pansy screamed into my ear, "Weasley cannot save a thing!"

"—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!"

Cassius hurled the Quaffle into the central hoop and a great roar rose up around me. I managed some weak applause. A part of me still felt guilty about the song; this was Weasley's first game after all.

The score was now ten-nil with Gryffindor's Katie Bell taking the Quaffle up the pitch. Jordan was having trouble commentating over the roar of the Slytherin stands' song. I couldn't even hear him anymore. Montague had managed to get ahold of the Quaffle and was racing up pitch towards the Gryfindor goalposts. In her excitement, Pansy raced down to the front of the stands and started conducting the Slytherin fans in the song. Montague passed to Adrian, who feinted to the left and then tossed the Quaffle into the right hoop.

The Slytherin fans screamed in excitement. Millicent almost broke my eardrums.

"Weasley is our King,

Weasley is our King,

He always lets the Quaffle in,

Weasley is our King"

Alicia Spinnet had the Quaffle but dropped it when she was shouldered in the jaw by Cassius Warrington. Montague caught the Quaffle and raced towards the Gryffindor goalposts.

"That's dirty cheating!" cried Jordan into his microphone. "Should've expected nothing less from a Slytherin!"

"Jordan," snapped McGonagall, her voice sharp with warning.

As Montague neared Ron Weasley and the Gryffindor goalposts, I felt a wave of anger in my chest. Should've expecting nothing less from a Slytherin. What did Lee Jordan know about Slytherin house? Just because the Dark Lord was a Slytherin didn't mean we were all horrible people. Just because some Slytherins were pureblood elitists, didn't mean we all were. Just because Cassius played Quidditch rough, didn't mean all Slytherin cheated in sports. But did Lee Jordan care about that? No. All Slytherins were evil in his eyes, and therefore he had the right to say whatever he wanted during a Quidditch match.

The words of the song surrounded me, rising higher and higher as Montague drew back his arm and threw the Quaffle. Weasley dove, but the Quaffle soared through his open arms through the center goalpost.

A great cheer rose from the Slytherin stands, and I found myself cheering with them.

"Weasley cannot save a thing,

He cannot block a single ring,

That's why Slytherins all sing:

Weasley is our King."

If Lee Jordan wanted me to be a bully, then I could be a bully. Maybe Ron Weasley didn't deserve to be the focus of our song, but we didn't deserve to be judged by our house.

Goyle hit a Bludger at Katie Bell, causing her to drop the Quaffle. Both Johnson and Adrian went for the ball, but Adrian got there first. He did a reverse pass to Montague, who sped down field. Fred/George Weasley sent a Bludger at Montague, but he passed the Quaffle to Cassius before dodging the wild ball. Cassius passed to Adrian, who tossed the ball into the far right hoop. Forty-nil.

"Weasley is our King!" screamed Tracey.

"Nice one, Adrian!" I shouted, waving my arms over my head.

Blaise gave me an odd look. He seemed as though he wanted to say something to me, but there was no way to be heard over the green and silver crowd.

Johnson finally got the Quaffle past Miles, making the score forty-ten.

"—Pucey throws to Warrington," cried Jordan. "Warrington 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…"

"If you can't be impartial, don't commentate," I muttered.

No one heard me as the crowd let out a great cry. Potter was darting towards the ground with Draco on the tail of his broom.

"Come on, Draco!" screamed Pansy.

"It'd be embarrassing if we lost after all this," said Blaise.

The Snitch shifted positions, so that Draco had the better position. Potter wrenched his broom around so that he was neck and neck with Draco.

A hush had fallen over the Slytherin crowd. We all watched, breathless, as Draco and Potter reached for the Snitch.

Potter's hand closed around the golden ball.

"I knew it," said Tracey. "Draco's never beaten Potter."

"No!" cried Pansy. "No! He cheated! Potter cheated!"

"He didn't cheat," said Blaise. "Potter's just the better seeker."

Tracey let out little squeak, and I turned to the pitch in time to see a Bludger slam into Potter's back. Potter flew forward off his broom. However, he was only a couple meters off the ground, and he landed safely on the frostbitten grass.

As Madam Hooch's shrill whistle filled the stadium, I saw Crabbe flying in circle above Potter, bat resting on his shoulder and an ugly grimace on his face. The Gryffindor section was shouting and jeering, while many of the Slytherins were booing Potter's catch.

Draco landed on the pitch not far from Potter. I think Draco was saying something, but from the bleachers I had no idea what.

The rest of the Gryffindor team landed beside Potter to congratulate him. But Draco—stupid Draco—just kept talking.

"What's he saying?" asked Tracey nervously.

"Probably insulting Potter," said Blaise. "Or Weasley. Or Gryffindor."

I saw Fred and George Weasley tense and said, "I think Weasley."

Potter grabbed hold of George Weasley, while the three Gryffindor chasers held back Fred. Madam Hooch was too busy scolding Crabbe about the Bludger attack to notice what was happening between the boys.

"Is Draco stupid?" asked Tracey. "Sure, we lost, but Gryffindor won fairly."

"I hope the Weasleys punch him in the face," I muttered.

All of a sudden, Potter had released George Weasley and the two of them were sprinting at Draco. There were no wands. Potter drew back his fist and whacked Draco in the stomach.

"Well," I said, "it's not the face, but that'll do."

"Draco!" screamed Pansy. "That bastard Potter!"

"Aim for the face, Potter!" I cried.

Thankfully, Pansy couldn't hear me over the roar of the stands; otherwise, she might have tried to hit me in the face.

Madam Hooch had finally seen what was going on. With a wave of her wand, she separated the boys. Draco was lying on the ground, blood dripping from his nose, while George was holding a hand to his lip. Potter was gasping for breath, his face contorted with rage.

After the boys had been sent off the pitch, and undoubtedly to the Headmaster's Office, the stands erupted into conversation. The Slytherin stands seemed to be of two minds. Half of the students supported Draco, calling Potter a cheater and the Weasley twins violent. The other half seemed to think Draco was an obnoxious twat and wished that Potter and George Weasley had landed a few more punches.

"Draco," cried Pansy, her face stark white. "He was bleeding. Did you see the blood? Do you think he'll be all right?"

"He'll be fine," said Tracey, wrapping her arms around Pansy in a tight hug. "Madam Pomfrey can fix him in an instant."

"Besides," I said, "a few good punches will do him good. It builds character."

Tracey glared at me over Pansy's head. "Not helping," she mouthed at me.

"Daphne." Blaise lightly held my forearm and steered me down the steps towards the exit. Nott followed, leaving Tracey, Georgina, and Millicent to do the consoling.

"Sorry," I said as we joined the crowds leaving the stadium.

"Comforting isn't your thing," said Blaise.

There was no arguing with that.

Blaise glanced down at me and then asked, "So why did you start singing?"

I fought back a sigh. I should've known Blaise was going to ask me that. I glanced over my shoulder and saw that Nott was deliberately looking away from us, trying not to eavesdrop. I honestly didn't care if Nott overheard. The only time Blaise and I were ever secretive was when we were discussing our parents.

"Lee Jordan pissed me off," I said.

"Ah." Blaise nodded. "The Slytherin stereotype."

"Not all Slytherins are cheaters," I complained. "Just like not all Hufflepuffs are honest or all Ravenclaws wise. Don't lump us all together like that."

"So to prove him wrong," said Blaise, "you perpetuated the Slytherin stereotype by singing 'Weasley is our King'."

I opened my mouth to argue, to explain that the song was a strategic move, but then I said nothing. Blaise was right, of course. I'd been immature and stupid, and as much as I liked to joke about being a future Death Eater and upholding the Slytherin reputation with my friends, I hated being lumped into the Slytherin stereotype by the other houses.

We stepped out from the stadium onto the dirt path leading up to the castle. Rather than head back, we decided to wait for Tracey and Pansy. As the chilly air nipped our exposed skin, Blaise, Nott, and I leaned against the wooden wall of the Quidditch stadium and watched as the other students passed. A few of the Gryffindor students shouted insults at us, but the comments stopped when Nott drew his wand and carefully twirled the slender pine between his fingers. All it took was a calm, quiet look from Nott, and the comments died in their throats.

"Nott," I said, "sometimes you can be such a badass."

Nott shrugged. "It helps when your father's an alleged Death Eater."

"It goes with your dark and mysterious image," said Blaise. "No wonder Millicent fancies you."

I laughed and tilted my head to the side so that it rested on Blaise's shoulder.

Blaise glanced down at me, one eyebrow quirked questioningly.

"I'm tired," I said. "I should've stayed in bed rather than go to this stupid Quidditch game."

"We all should've," said Nott.

"That reminds me." Blaise held out his hand in front of me. "You told Potter to aim for Draco's face."

Sighing, I rummaged through the pocket of my fur cloak and found the sickle I'd started carrying around with me. I dropped the coin into Blaise's hand and muttered, "It was worth it."