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."
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 with Potter's sass abilities.
The person I felt the most pity for was Ron Weasley, the new Gryffindor keeper, "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 their 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.
I yawned and leaned against the staircase railing. The three of us had a break before Defense Against the Dark Darts class, and rather than return to the Griffindor common room 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 Evie.
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 Morgana, a hint of impatience in her voice.
"Maybe they cover it up," I mused.
At this point, Morgana decided to ignore me. She turned to Evie and started a conversation about the muggleborn students who dressed up for Halloween. She'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. All three of us were laughing.
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, Adrian grinned at me. I was momentarily stunned by his dimples, but I shook the thought away.
"Draco can handle Potter," Miles was saying.
"Not without cheating," I muttered under my breath.
Morgan elbowed me in the side.
"Sounds like some Griffinbores want to be hexed?" asked Adrian.
"Great," I said grimly.
"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."
Evie, Morgana, and I watched them go, glaring at their backs.
"Bunch of dicks," I said.
Morgan nodded in agreement.
"Yes they are," said Evie, folding her arms over her chest.
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 Evie 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 a biased tool."
"But that's what makes it funny," said Evie. "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 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"
"—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 "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!" I screamed
Morgana gave me an odd look. She seemed as though she 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 Evie.
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 Morgana. "Draco's never beaten Potter."
"No!" cried Pansy. "No! He cheated! Potter cheated!"
"He didn't cheat," said Morgana. "Potter's just the better seeker."
Evie 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 Evie nervously.
"Probably insulting Potter," said Morgana. "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 Evie. "Sure, Slytherin 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.
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'll be fine," said Evie as we walked past her. "Madam Pomfrey can fix him in an instant."
"Besides," I said, "a few good punches will do him good. It builds character."
"Ashe." Morgana lightly held my forearm and steered me down the steps towards the exit. Evie followed.
"Sorry," I said as we joined the crowds leaving the stadium.
"Comforting isn't your thing," said Morgana.
There was no arguing with that.
Morgana glanced down at me and then asked, "So why did you start singing?"
I fought back a sigh. I should've known Morgana was going to ask me that. I glanced over my shoulder and saw that Evie was deliberately looking away from us, trying not to eavesdrop. I honestly didn't care if Evie overheard.
"Lee Jordan pissed me off," I said.
"Ah." Morgana nodded. "The Slytherin cheating comments."
"Not all Slytherins are cheaters," I complained. "Just like not all Gryffindor's are brave. Hufflepuffs are honest or all Ravenclaws wise. Don't lump them all together like that."
"So to prove him wrong," said Morgana, "you sang 'Weasley is our King'."
I opened my mouth to argue, but then I said nothing. Morgana was right, of course. I'd been immature and stupid.
We stepped out from the stadium onto the dirt path leading up to the castle. As the chilly air nipped our exposed skin, Morgana, Evie, 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 Morgana drew her wand and carefully twirled the slender pine between her fingers. All it took was a calm, quiet look from Morgana, and the comments died in their throats.
"Morgana," I said, "sometimes you can be such a badass."
Morgana shrugged. "It helps when your families an alleged Death Eater."
"It goes with your dark and mysterious image," said Evie . "No wonder that Millicent fancies you."
I laughed
"That reminds me." Morgana held out her 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 Morgana's hand and muttered, "It was fucking worth it."