When Leo came downstairs the next morning, he found Marisa standing in front of the noticeboard, looking absolutely furious.
"What?" he asked.
Marisa was too angry to speak coherently. Instead she pointed to the piece of paper with the Quidditch team published on it. In neatly handwritten block capitals, it read: SEEKER: DRACO MALFOY. RESERVE: MARISA KING.
"Oh," said Leo.
"Well?" she spat. "Aren't you going to do something?"
Leo hesitated. In truth there wasn't really that much he could do. "You can speak to Flint," he said, "but that's all we can do."
Marisa nodded. "Fine! And I'll make sure to tell him that I think he's an idiotic blood purist who doesn't deserve to be captain of a paper bag!"
"If you want to get on his team, that's probably not the best thing to tell him."
"Fair point," conceded Marisa.
"Come on. Let's get breakfast. He'll probably be down there."
Marisa nodded and they walked downstairs together. Flint was easy to find: he was one of the few up that early. Fortunately, Draco was not, which made things much less complicated.
"Okay," said Leo quietly, "no threats, no insults, no jinxing. Got it?"
"Yes," said Marisa, perhaps a touch reluctantly. Then she walked up to Flint. Leo sat down nearby to watch.
"Hello," said Marisa. "I wanted a word with you about the Quidditch team?"
"Ah," said Flint, "yes. You're the better player, King, but I didn't have a choice. Half the team would resign if we made you Seeker, not to mention we'd lose those Nimbus Two Thousand and Ones."
"If you just gave me one chance… I'm sure if the whole House saw me win them a match I could – "
"No," he said. "I'm sorry. If Draco turns out to be not as good as I think he is, I'll try you, but I can't promise anything else. You should be grateful you got what you did."
Marisa hesitated. Then, slowly, reluctantly, she nodded. "When does training start?"
"It's every Saturday," Flint replied, "beginning this week. Thank you."
She nodded and sat down opposite Leo, reaching for a slice of toast.