I thought Angelina had left, but then I remembered that she turned 17 in the fourth book, and in Britain you turn 18 in your last year of school. So she's in her last year.
It was the morning of the Quidditch final and Harry felt as though he had been hit on the head by a Bludger. He couldn't cope with this! He was going to lose, and by a lot, presumably. Malfoy would have had a lot more practice than him, living with a wizard family. Harry was going to be humiliated.
But the hour of the match was soon upon them and the Gryffindor team were warming up. Harry could see Ron, Hermione and Andromeda in the crowd, wearing red in honour of the occasion. They were pointing at him and turning to one another. Harry wished he could hear what they were saying. He wanted very much to be sitting up there with them, chatting excitedly about the match at hand but with no need for any kind of nerves.
But his doubts vanished as he kicked off the ground and soared into the air, dodging the Quaffle flying close to his head… he remembered how it was to fly, knowing that your goal was in sight… it was strange. He hadn't been aware that he'd forgotten the thrill of competition.
After what seemed a very short time, he touched down again. They had warmed up enough. The sun was obscured by a cloud, providing perfect Quidditch conditions. It was cool but not wet, bright but not glaring – with any luck, he wouldn't have trouble seeing the Snitch.
Standing among the team as the captains shook hands, Harry looked into the stands and was able to pick out Hagrid almost immediately. He was waving entusiastically, and the people around him were ducking and looking very worried. There were other people he recognised – Ginny and her friends, Colin and Dennis Creevey, Dean, Seamus, Parvati and Lavender. Even Grace and Lizzie, who usually disliked Quidditch, had turned up to cheer on their house team. Harry smiled involuntarily.
The whistle sounded and once more, Harry rose into the air, this time close to the mass of red and green blurs. He was relieved when the rest of the players stopped, level with the goalposts, and he could soar free of them, gazing around for the Snitch. He saw Malfoy on the other side of the pitch, looking thoughtful. He saw Angelina zooming around in a line with Katie and Alicia. He saw Fred and George, coursing around the pitch, their bats raised. He saw Edward Elms, the Keeper, who didn't have much to do yet. He saw the Slytherin Chasers throwing the ball to each other, seemingly without an aim… the Slytherin Keeper and Beaters, close together. He saw the blurs of the noisy crowd and he saw the ground, formidably far below him, yawning greenly as though waiting to swallow him. He was nervous again.
Harry's hands shook slightly as he gripped his Firebolt and sped after a flash of gold, but as often happened during Quidditch games, he had been fooled by somebody's wristwatch. The nerves were worst when he didn't have anything to concentrate on, so he flew at a leisurely pace around the field, looking in every direction. No sign of it.
Suddenly his attention was seized by a clamour from the crowd. The wrong side of the crowd. He could hear Lee Jordan's voice bouncing around the stadium – 'Slytherin score. Ten-zero to Slytherin.' For some reason, he didn't sound too jubilant about the news.
Harry vented his frustration with a series of jolting up-and-down movements. He exercised this annoyed sequence several more times, because the score was soon forty-zero to Slytherin. What was going on? Gryffindor weren't playing badly. It just looked like it was going to be an unlucky match for Harry's team.
His attention was diverted by a flash of gold. It was on the other side of the pitch, though – too far away – Malfoy had seen it. Leaning forward with all his might, Harry sped towards it… but it wasn't going to work… Malfoy was too close, and Harry was metres away… they were going to lose the match, and the Cup... Malfoy stretched out his hand…. and the Snitch flitted away and out of sight.
Harry looped the loop, feeling lighter than he had just seconds ago, and heard Lee Jordan saying, 'Looks like there's been a Snitch sighting, but no luck yet for the Gryffindor team.'
After two more Slytherin goals, and a saved penalty to Gryffindor, the match was looking very bleak. Both teams had a large lead in the Cup, but Gryffindor needed to win by sixty points at least, and the way things were going, it might not be easy. Three more goals from Slytherin would put the margin very tight.
And two more goals arrived. But Gryffindor got one back, and the stadium exploded into cheers. Harry grinned, even though he knew they were doing badly. 'Finally!' shouted Lee Jordan. 'Eighty-ten to Slytherin.'
There followed fifteen uneventful minutes. Harry saw the Snitch once more, but it vanished before he could even move the Firebolt towards it. Breaking the tedious calm, Slytherin scored once more. The scores were positioned very precariously.
A few minutes later, Harry watched sadly as the Slytherin Chasers sped towards the goalposts… Edward Elms was a reasonable Keeper, but he was no match for these three, and they were going to score. Harry knew it. And then, as if in a dream, he turned around, hand open and raised to shoulder level, and the Snitch was there. He seized it.
Both houses were cheering. Why? Bewildered, Harry held the Snitch high as his teammates swooped upon him. Then he realised. The goal had gone in, a split second before he had caught the Snitch – the score was now one hundred and sixty to ninety. They had tied for the Cup.
The Gryffindor team landed, still as one large mass, on the ground and looked at each other. Should they celebrate, or should they be annoyed at sharing the honour with Slytherin? Harry was the first to decide. He took off again, and performed a spectacular spinning ascent into the air, closely followed by his teammates.
One person who didn't have a hard decision to make was Andromeda. Her inner conflict, of whether to support the house she had been Sorted into or the one to which she felt she belonged, had been instantly resolved and she was standing on her rather wobbly seat, screaming at the top of her voice. She felt completely exhilarated as she watched both teams making their parallel laps of honour.
Ron was gazing, enthralled, at the Gryffindors, choosing to ignore the Slytherins' equal triumph. He was very proud to have Harry as a best friend, and amazed at the growing gift Harry continued to show. Deep down, he wished he could be just as good at that, but it didn't stop him from celebrating along with his fellow Gryffindors.
Hermione, grinning despite herself, was cheering between Ron and Andromeda. She wasn't cheering just for the victory; she was pleased to see the Gryffindor and Slytherin teams shooting around the pitch, side by side, moving as one. Like they were one team and not two. Maybe, just maybe, Hermione thought, the barriers between the two houses wouldn't be so sturdy after the celebrations ended.
Harry met up with his friends straight after the match. Of course, they were all keen to congratulate him, and asked how he'd known that the Snitch was directly behind him. But even Harry didn't know the answer to that. He'd just turned around, and there it had been, waiting for him. He was glad the match had turned out the way it had. It meant that Andromeda didn't have to worry about offending the other Slytherins, and that there wasn't quite as much rivalry between the two teams. Although Harry couldn't help being glad that Slytherin hadn't won just one more point…
It was a very tired crowd of Gryffindors, and one exhausted Slytherin, that departed to their dormitories after a big party led by Fred and George. Now all they had to worry about was the exams and their entire future careers.