I head down to the football field with Ginny and Luna, our scarves billowing in the air behind us, cheeks pink and bitten by the wind. Dusk crawls across the sky, and the last amber glows of the sun are ready to fade away. My conversation with McGonagall has left a bad taste in my mouth — perhaps literally, as I couldn't stomach any of the roast chicken at dinner. I know I should do as she advised, and focus on my classes and let it go. I resign myself to this. I remind myself a literature qualification is still a huge accomplishment. But I can't shake the nagging sensation in the back of my mind, the part of me shaking her fist and refusing to give up.

I turn to ask Ginny something so I can take my mind off it all as we take our seats, but see her face contort into a frown, her fists clench in her lap. I follow her line of sight to where the cheerleaders are warming up, clad in blue and green for the first string, red and gold for the second. Among the red cheerleaders, their captain is unmissable. Her silky hair whips effortlessly through the air as she moves, and her legs are lean and perfect, the skirt hem hanging mid-thigh. It's obvious the other cheerleaders are desperate for her attention, appreciation, praise. They flip and jog and show off, eyes continually darting to the captain, looking away just as quickly.

"Who's that?" I ask.

"Cho Chang." Ginny sucks in a deep breath. "Total bitch."

I let out a nervous laugh in surprise. Ginny's never said a bad word about anybody before, except maybe her brothers, all in jest.

"We all went to high school together," Luna explains, as the seats around us fill. "Harry, too."

"I'll never forgive what she did to him," Ginny mutters.

My jaw drops as I glance back to Cho. It's not hard to picture her and Harry together — he is a micro celebrity, after all, due to the serial killer that murdered his parents. He pulled a knife on Harry, no more than a year old in his cot, and the police arrived with barely seconds to spare. He still has a scar on his forehead from the attempt. Between that and the fact he's rather decent looking, smart and good at sport, he attracts a fair amount of attention. Usually Ginny laughs it off, so I know there must be more than jealousy to this story.

"Did she break his heart?" I ask.

"Oh, no. Far more brutal than that," Luna says, as Ginny continues to stare daggers. "She almost got him expelled."

"What?!" I exclaim, barely paying attention to the announcer introducing the game. "While they were dating?"

"She's completely cold-hearted," Ginny says, no emotion in her voice. "Anyway, let's watch the game. Harry will be coming out soon. You ready to be beat?" She recovers enough to stick a tongue out at Luna and me, both Ravenclaws.

"They call it second string for a reason," I smirk in return.

"It doesn't mean anything."

"Actually, it's because all the first string players were Ravenclaw or Slytherin for about a hundred years," Luna informs us. "So it became a sort of tradition unique to the school."

"Yes, well, these days Ravenclaw do all the heavy lifting, don't they?"

"But we're the largest house," I point out. "The number of Ravenclaws probably break even to Gryffindor and Hufflepuff combined."

"It's a stupid system," Ginny sniffs.

I think about the Slytherins, admitted only by invitation, offered experiences the rest of us can only dream of. "It is," I agree bitterly.

"Look, there's Harry!"

Harry runs onto the field with his team, pumping a fist in the air and tapping the side of his helmet. Ginny claps extra hard, but even Luna and I can't help but support our friend. In a sea of blue, the first string team come out onto the field, earning a roar of applause. I don't know the first thing about football — I was far from the cheerleader type in high school — but even I can't deny the energy in the crowd is infectious. I get caught up and consumed in the excitement, the chatter and applause, the hollered bets on who might win the game and ribbing jabs of house rivalry.

"Look," Luna nudges me. "Our quarterback's a Slytherin player."

Luna isn't the only one to notice as murmurs abound at the sight of the quarterback in a green jersey. I freeze, hands mid-clap, as my eyes find the figure walking onto the field.

'Malfoy' is plastered above his number, 7, on the back of his emerald jersey. I can't suppress the drop of my jaw as I stare. In McGonagall's office, Malfoy had seemed far from the athletic type — lean, polished in his blazer and cuff-links, discussing alchemy as though it was as normal as the weather. I had not been expecting the taut biceps and forearms, the perfectly sculpted legs, the surprisingly muscular chest.

My initial surprise fades and turns to anger.

I realise in that moment just how jealous I am of Draco Malfoy. It burns at my throat, bubbles beneath my skin, a hatred so strong I can barely contain it. It feels like he's taunting me, a demon sent from my own specific circle of hell. What can he do next? He's bought his way into the college I spent years fighting for admittance into, he's somehow managing to take just about every class they have on offer, he's getting an allowance on top of income from his trust fund, and now he's out here as quarterback of the football team as though none of it even matters to him. I stare in disgust as he readies with his team, stretching his arms to the side and running back after their initial huddle.

"Is that him?" Ginny asks.

"That's him," I say bitterly.

"I suppose you'll be cheering for second string, after all."

All sense of team spirit is gone as I'm suddenly caught in my own melancholy. My homework nags at the back of my mind. I think about the sheets of parchment curled on my desk in the dorm. If it weren't for Harry, I'd probably leave the game to spend the evening in solitude. But he's my friend, and despite my glum mood, I'm still on my feet cheering each time he runs back out onto the field, each time he scores a touchdown. A few Ravenclaws sat beside us glare at my enthusiasm for the second string team, but they fade into insignificance.

However, my continued presence at the game means more time in the vicinity of Draco Malfoy. And, as much as I hate to admit it, he plays surprisingly well. I get a small wave of satisfaction each time he's tackled, often by guys twice the size of him. But he outruns them more often than not, and as much as I hate to admit it, his plays are good. Smart. Intelligent.

I'm strangely disappointed when first string win the game.

Ginny puts her head in her hands. I pat her awkwardly on the back, while Luna rambles on about how politics are infiltrating even college football games. But even Ginny cheers up a little when I point out Cho Chang, pouting, shoulders slumping as she chats with the other cheerleaders.

"I'm gonna go," I mumble, tucking my scarf into my blazer and slinging my satchel onto my shoulder.

"What about the after-party?" Luna asks, humming along happily to the chanting of the crowd.

I glance at Ginny. Her face, still pissed off, says it all.

The noise of the crowds becomes further and further away as I walk across the grounds, heading back to my dorm. I'll have a fine view of the football field, the forests, the grounds and the lake from the common room. I expect they'll be empty by then, the students all crammed into one dorm or another for the afterparty. Then I realise, glumly, Ravenclaw tower will be the afterparty. I sigh, pressing two fingers to my temple. The wind bites at me and I grow even more agitated. Perhaps I need to see the nurse, ask for a Xanax or something similar. It might help me sleep through the noise at least.

Along the edge of the forest, I'm distracted by the sound of voices, carried on the wind. I frown, not wanting to intrude, until I hear Draco's name.

"…So foolish, Draco. You know exactly what he'll say."

"Don't be ridiculous," Draco snaps. "He's made a large donation to the football team."

"He asked us not to draw any attention to ourselves. He's going to be furious. We're close to breaking point with the time-turners already, if this goes wrong…"

Curious, I inch forwards, until I can see them through the trees. My heart pounds; I feel it in my throat. Draco is stood with two others, still in his green jersey. A girl with curled hair and a pinched nose seems to be chastising him, arms folded across her chest, creasing her emerald cardigan. Their other companion leans back against a tree, rolling his eyes, bronze skin smooth in the dusky haze. All three of them have an air about them, a beauty, that sets them apart.

"Pansy, would you relax?" Draco shifts his helmet to the crook of his elbow.

"You're putting more than just yourself at risk," she hisses. "Blaise?"

Blaise sighs. "It's his choice, Pans." Before she can speak again, he holds up a hand. "Yeah, he's an idiot. But it's still his choice."

Pansy throws her hands up in the air. "Right. Fine. Whatever. The rest of us can just continue to make sacrifices, while you—"

Shit. A twig snaps beneath my feet, and all three sets of eyes turn to glare in my direction. I gulp. It's still too light, and they can easily see me. For a moment I consider running away. But when Draco's eyes lock onto mine, I see some semblance of my own animosity reflected back at me. I recall the way I'd cowered in McGonagall's office, the triumphant smirk he'd worn straight afterwards.

"Can I have a word?" I hiss.

Pansy glowers. "Who the fuck is this?"

"Drop it," Draco mutters. "I'll be back soon."

Pansy makes sure to nudge me on her way past, her shoulder making contact with my own. Blaise looks as though he's trying not to smile. I wait until their footsteps and muttering voices have faded away before speaking again. Draco raises an eyebrow, waiting, still hostile.

"I didn't know you played football," I say.

"I didn't know it was any of your business."

I clench my jaw. "It is, actually."

"Yeah? And why's that?"

I realise I've truly caught him in a foul mood. I almost drop it, turn away and leave him. Until I realise that I'll be returning to a dorm too noisy to study in, while he'll be happily partaking in the celebrations, not giving a second thought to putting any work in.

"Because I had to work very, very hard to be here. I worked my ass off for years, and I'm finally here, and then I find out I need to prove myself against you of all people. And then it gets even better, when I find out you're taking six freaking degrees at the same time, and this Snape is paying you extra for the privilege. And while I'm terrified to even come to a damn football game, because that's an hour of homework I'm going to lose, you're out here flouncing around as the god damn quarterback, without a care in the world." I take a breath. "Am I missing anything?"

Draco's face betrays no surprise at my outburst, no emotion at all. "You don't know what you're talking about," he says quietly.

"Am I wrong?" I ask.

"You're being a fucking child, Astoria." He sighs and walks forward. "See you around."

"No." I put a hand on his chest, stopping him.

"What does it matter to you?" he shouts. "Why do you care if I'm flouncing without a care in the world?"

I glare into those silver eyes. "Because I like a fair fight."

He shakes his head. "Lucky this isn't about you. And stop poking around things you don't understand. I mean it. It's for your own good."

I'm left standing alone in the dark after he leaves, too furious to go back to Ravenclaw tower and see everyone after the game. I don't feel unsafe or threatened, not at the fringes of the forest, with the fairy lights and lamps of the grounds just a few metres away. It's only the next morning a chill of fear runs along my spine like ice. Only when I read the words printed on the front page of the school newspaper, the Daily Prophet.

Missing: The search begins for Vincent Crabbe.