First Match
After the next DA meeting, we agree to halt our get-togethers until after Quidditch starts, as Angelina insists they need more time for practices. The other Houses seem to share the mindset, too, so Hermione tells everyone she'll get back in touch with everyone after Quidditch picks up.
Between the others' preoccupation with their extra practices and all the homework I've been neglecting between the DA meetings, and my extra sessions with Snape, the Saturday of the first Quidditch match between Gryffindor and Slytherin, sneaks up on me almost completely unnoticed.
Having come down late to breakfast that morning, I find everyone's already gone out for one last practice (other than Hermione, who I passed on my way down, heading to the library), I eat my breakfast alone, listening absentmindedly to the distant chatter of the others.
Something I've been thinking about lately nags at me until, as Dumbledore sweeps out into the hallway, I decide that he's the best one to answer my question.
"Professor Dumbledore," I call after him, rounding a corner on the way to his office. He turns back to look at me and I press on. "Could I have a word with you?"
"On a day like today, I would have thought you would rather join your friends on the pitch," he says, but nevertheless concedes. "What do you need?"
"I was only wondering if you knew where the Sorting Hat goes after the Welcoming Feast," I say. "I'd like to ask something of it."
"The Hat is settled away for the year," he replies. "Though perhaps I might be of assistance where the Sorting Hat cannot?"
"Maybe," I say, not having considered asking Dumbledore. "Can you confirm whether or not Tom Mavros, who served as Head of Ravenclaw House about twenty years ago was a Hufflepuff student himself, like the records say?"
"Yes, he was," Dumbledore says, a little surprised at the subject of the question. "It does happen every once in a while that a former student becomes Head of a House that wasn't their own. Tom Mavros was an excellent example of that."
"That's what the books in the library say," I tell him. "Tom Mavros was my father, though, and the Sorting Hat told me in September that my mother had been in Ravenclaw, and my father in Slytherin. Is it possible that the Hat was mistaken –"
Dumbledore holds up a hand as a scuffling sound comes from around the corner. He quickly crosses the distance to the intersection and glances in the direction of the sound. Apparently whoever had been there was gone now, because Dumbledore simply returns to the spot where I'm standing in the hall.
"I would suggest you be very careful where you mention that sort of information," he says in a lower voice than before.
Before I can figure out what's so important about what I've said, Dumbledore turns away and heads for his office. He's long out of sight before I realize that I never got any sort of answer out of him.
It's shortly after my unsuccessful talk with Dumbledore that the first signs of trouble surface.
I meet up with Hermione just after lunch and we walk out to the pitch together. Pansy Parkinson falls into step with us as we reach the stands.
"Do you like my pin?" she asks with a grin. "I've got more if you'd like some."
I lean over to read the writing on the little silver crown. Weasley is our King, it proclaims. I narrow my eyes at her; the words on a Slytherin make me uneasy. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"You'll see soon enough," she says, still grinning at us.
"Oh, fudge off," I tell her. "And wipe that shit-eating grin off your face while you're at it!"
"Ari!" Hermione berates me, as Pansy sashays away to the Slytherin stand. I may or may not have used the word 'fudge.'
I glance over to Pansy as she takes a seat with her friends, and find that every Slytherin bears a silver pin on their lapel. "They're planning something," I say to Hermione. "And I bet you anything it has to do with Ron – did you read her badge?"
"Yes, but there's nothing we can do about it right now," she replies. "Getting yourself kicked out of the stands for swearing at the Slytherins isn't going to do Ron any good, either."
I cross my arms at that, knowing she's right. I sit and stew, watching the Slytherin crowd for any action, but before long, the game has started and no one has made a move yet. I let myself relax a little bit and turn to watch the game.
"There's Alicia Spinnett with the quaffle now – dodges an ill-aimed bludger from Goyle. She passes to Katie Bell – intercepted by Adrian Pukey…Pucey, I mean. Slytherin is heading up the field – nice bludger by Fred – George – oh, I don't know who. Pucey aims and –"
The Slytherin crowd roars as Pucey makes it ten-nil for Slytherin.
"That's alright, Ron," Lee says over the speaker. "that was just a warmup one. Angelina Johnson with the quaffle now, and boy, is she looking good, folks – playing good, too, of course –"
"Jordan!" the one-word reprimand from Professor McGonagall is all that's needed.
"Sorry, professor, just telling it like it is," he says, not sounding sorry at all. "Johnson passes to Bell, Bell dodges another bludger by Goyle – oh, man – Crabbe's launched one at the same time, and by some miracle actually hits his target. Montague with the quaffle now, passes to Pukey, now back to Montague –"
Slytherin lets up another roar as Montague fakes right and puts the quaffle in off Ron's left.
"Two goals is nothing," Hermione says in Ron's defense. "They can make it up easy." But we're both a little more nervous when Slytherin scores two more times in short order.
"Spinnett with the quaffle now," Jordan begins again. "She tries to pass to Johnson, but Montague prevents the move. To Bell, instead – one of the Weasleys sends a sweet bludger right at Montague, Bell passes to Johnson – Johnson ducks under Pukey, pulls right – and Gryffindor is on the board!"
We all cheer at that, relieved for a goal. Chanting starts up from somewhere, and Lee pauses his commentary to let it be heard, but I realize uneasily that the noise isn't coming from the Gryffindor fans.
"Weasley cannot save a single thing,
He cannot block a single ring,
That's why Slytherins all sing,
Weasley is our King."
Hastily, Lee begins his commentary again, shouting to cover up the song. Ron, though, I can see, has picked up on at least some of the chant. Flustered, it isn't long before he's let in another goal.
"Weasley was born in a bin,
He always lets the Quaffle in,
Weasley will make sure we win,
Weasley is our King."
"Johnson in possession again and flying up field – solid pass to Bell, who passes back and – TEN FOR GRYFINDOR! Terrific goal by Gryffindor Captain Angelina Johnson! Warrington hands off to Montague, who is just missed by a Weasley bludger – nice try, mate – getting near the hoops, he is – and – oh! That's it! The snitch has been caught, Gryffindor takes the win! Hey! That's a dirty hit! Crabbe's launched a bludger at Potter, after the snitch has been caught! Somebody call a foul!"
Indeed, one of Malfoy's goons had taken a hit at Harry after the whistle, and against all odds, the bludger found its mark, knocking Harry clean to the ground. Luckily, he was only a few feet off of it since he'd been coming in for a landing.
Despite Lee's outrage, the referees don't call Crabbe's bad play, though the Gryffindor team on the ground doesn't seem to mind as badly, as they all gather around Harry to give congratulations. As sore a loser as ever, Malfoy wastes no time in wandering over to the Gryffindor group. I can't tell what he's saying, but while it's just Harry who turns to him at first, suddenly Fred and George are lunging for Malfoy, held back by Harry and the Chasers.
"This isn't good," Hermione frets, watching the pitch as closely as I am.
Sure enough, Malfoy says something else, and Harry loses whatever composure he had, and both he and one of the Weasley brothers – I can't tell which from way up in the stands – are on Malfoy and throwing punches. Crabbe and Goyle waste no time joining in the fray, though professors are already rushing in to break up the fight.
Professor McGonagall heads back to the castle, Harry and the offending Weasley following behind.
"Angelina's going to be pissed if they end up with detentions," I say, watching them leave.
"That's probably going to be getting off easy if she has any say in the matter," Hermione replies grimly. She points to a pink figure trailing behind the first three.
