Chapter Thirteen: Gryffindor's New Seeker
Richard was fascinated by the news of the third-floor corridor excursion, and kept interrupting the girls' story to ask for more details. When they were done, he threw up his hands and let out an excited whoop.
"Cerberus! Fantastic! And we can get past him too. Brilliant!"
Vivian fluttered her eyelids sarcastically. "Oh Richard, you're such a tease."
Richard grabbed her around the waist and gave her a big kiss on the cheek. "You beautiful woman, if you can find out why there's a cerberus guarding the trapdoor, I'll marry you. That goes for all of you," he declared grandly, hugging Melissa and Beth simultaneously.
"Me too, Rich?" simpered Uther.
"Especially you. I told you this was going to be an important year. The secret of the century -- just begging to be found out!"
Nobody won the right to marry Richard, although Uther made a show of proposing marriage almost every time he spotted one of the SSA coming down the hall. With three weeks left in the term, the teachers began cracking down on homework, and a whole pile of essays came due all at the same time.
On the other hand, none of the teachers were nearly as strict as Marcus Flint. He started calling Quidditch practices at dusk, in the rain, early in the morning, anything to prepare the team for their first match and whatever conditions it might bring.
"My head hurts," Warrington groaned one morning, his forehead resting on the breakfast table. Beth patted his back reassuringly.
Bruce's head was bent back over his chair. "I am too tired to eat."
"There's no such thing," Marcus boomed, passing by. "Chow down. We're practicing over lunch."
Warrington beat his head against the table a few times. "Make it stop."
Aaron Pucey stood up suddenly. "Whine to someone else," he all but snarled. He picked up his plate one-handed and moved down the table, plopping down across from a startled Mervin.
Bruce watched him go, guilt all over his face.
"Don't fret, Brucey," Melissa said comfortingly. "You deserve the spot. You won it. To the victor go the spoils."
"You mean like 6 a.m. practices?" said Bruce wryly.
"I want to die," groaned Warrington.
Aaron didn't speak to the members of the Quidditch team until the first game. He started partnering with Mervin in Potions, and made a decided effort to get to meals when the team wasn't there. On the day of the first game, he waited until the players had left to get changed before he came down to breakfast.
The whole school filled the stadium; even residents of Hogsmeade turned out to watch the game. It was a clear morning, and the air held a crisp autumnal bite. Beth and Melissa skipped breakfast and slept in on mutual agreement. They got to the field just as the seats were starting to fill, and sat near the front row behind the Slytherin goals.
The Gryffindor supporters wore red, the house colors; the number of them was overwhelming. The Slytherins, in green, formed a patch of color behind their goals.
Richard came and took a seat beside Melissa. "Look at that," he said in disgust, waving a hand at the masses of red cloaks and badges. "The audience is three to one against us -- and they claim that Gryffindor's the underdog!"
"Gosh Richard, when you're around things just seem brighter and cheerier," Vivian remarked from behind them.
"Just wait until the players come out," Richard glowered. "That's what always kills me."
Just a few minutes later the Gryffindors took the field, as Jordan read off their names in rapid order. Cheers rose from three-fourths of the throng. The Slytherins, green-clad and steel-faced, emerged from the other end of the field.
"Flint! Montague! Pucey! Warrington! Bole! Bletchley! Aannd ... Higgs!"
"Way to go, Brucey!" Beth shrieked, while Melissa pounded the bleachers with her feet and whooped enthusiastically.
"Listen," said Richard gloomily.
Beth stopped cheering and listened closely. Over the din of the Slytherins, she could still make out a low, rolling sound that sent a sudden chill through her bones.
Some of the audience was actually booing.
"They're not -" she gasped, but Richard nodded.
"Every time. Marcus warns them before they come out, you can see it in their faces."
It was true. Every expression was firmly set. It made the Slytherin team look like a gang of brutes. Warrington, heavy-browed as he was, came across practically paleolithic. Bruce looked no better. Even from her seat, Beth could tell that he clutched his Comet with white knuckles.
Madame Hooch called the team captains together.
"Counter-intuitively, that may be why we win," Riggs interjected thoughtfully. He sat beside Vivian and had actually brought along homework. "Who's more determined to win than the team everyone hates?"
"I can't believe you just used the word 'counter-intuitively'," Vivian said, but Melissa, peering through a pair of binoculars, broke in:
"There they go!"
Lee Jordan, the dreadlocked Gryffindor with the pet tarantula, had somehow landed the job of announcer. His magically-magnified voice echoed through the Quidditch pitch.
"And the Quaffle is taken immediately by Angelina Johnson of Gryffindor -- what an excellent Chaser that girl is, and rather attractive, too --"
"JORDAN!" Professor McGonagall barked.
"Sorry, Professor."
"How did he get the job?" Melissa demanded. "You couldn't find anyone more biased!"
"We've got the Quaffle!" cried Beth, almost strangling Melissa in her attempt to get hold of the binoculars around her neck. "It's Marcus, look at him go! He's almost -- oh no, Wood's blocked it!"
"Give me those back!" Melissa regained the binoculars just as Beth's statement was backed up by Lee Jordan:
" ... stopped by an excellent move by Gryffindor Keeper Wood and the Gryffindors take the Quaffle ..."
The Quaffle didn't stay in the hands of the Gryffindors for long, however. Warrington aimed a well-placed Bludger at the back of the Chaser's head, and while she was still spinning around in pain, Adrian Pucey swiped up the Quaffle and shot toward the Slytherin goal.
Cheering erupted from the Slytherin stands, but quickly turned to groans as Adrian was almost thrown from his broom by a Bludger. Gryffindor's Chaser Johnson snagged the Quaffle and hurtled across the field.
"She's heading right to Bruce! It's all him!" Melissa squealed.
"Then let me see!" Beth demanded, grappling with the binoculars. They ended up side by side, heads pressed together, looking through the binoculars with one eye apiece.
On the field, Angelina Johnson was flying as fast as she could toward the Slytherin goal. She ducked between Warrington and Bole, dodged a Bludger that one of them managed to hurl her way, and zoomed toward Bruce, who hovered expectantly before the goal posts. Without warning, she swung a full circle and dove a full ten feet, coming up far to Bruce's left, and hurled the Quaffle toward the goal posts. Bruce lunged for the Quaffle, but it was too late; the goal was good.
The Slytherins broke into groans that were overridden by the cheering from the rest of the school. "Poor Bruce!" cried Melissa, as Jordan emphatically announced: "GRYFFINDORS SCORE!"
Bruce, looping around the goalposts, looked as if someone had told him that his mother had died. He gathered his nerve and took his position again just as Madame Hooch blew a blast on her whistle and the game resumed.
The Slytherins took possession right away, finally getting a chance to execute the plays that Flint had been drilling into their heads. Bole and Warrington went after the Bludgers aggressively, once managing to send one towards the Gryffindor Seeker who circled high above the other players. Uther and Marcus, weaving around the field elaborately, ducked all three Chasers to get the Quaffle to Adrian, who took off down the field again.
Suddenly Terrence Higgs, who had been lurking below the action, skyrocketed up into the line of play and shot towards Adrian. "There's the Snitch!" Melissa exclaimed, although Beth couldn't make it out from where she was sitting. "It's right by Adrian's head!" Startled, Adrian whirled around. His hands flew open, and the Quaffle fell to Earth.
"Oh no!" Vivian wailed. "Pick it up, someone!"
Uther Montague darted underneath the falling Quaffle and snagged it neatly in one arm, but at that moment the Snitch was the subject of everyone's attention. Terrence and Potter narrowed in on each other, arms outstretched. "Potter's got a better broom," Melissa complained, shifting with excitement. "He's faster --"
Marcus Flint, however, was not going to let a fast broom get in the way of victory. He threw himself in front of Potter, sending the Gryffindor Seeker flying off in a spin. Madame Hooch barged in, blowing her whistle angrily while the Gryffindors screamed "Foul, throw him out!" from the stands.
Lee Jordan agreed. "So -- after that obvious and disgusting bit of cheating --"
"Jordan!"
"I mean, after that open and revolting foul --"
"Jordan, I'm warning you!"
"All right, all right, Flint nearly kills the Gryffindor Seeker, which could happen to anyone, I'm sure, so a penalty to Gryffindor ..."
The Gryffindors were given a penalty shot, although luckily Marcus was allowed to stay in the game. "I don't know why that's illegal," Melissa said in disgust. "Isn't the point to keep the Snitch away from the other team?"
"Hush, it's Bruce again," shushed Beth, flapping her free hand and peering through the binoculars.
But his first miss must have badly shaken Bruce; Gryffindor Chaser Spinnet sank the penalty shot past his clumsy block. He returned to his spot in front of the goals, muttering furiously to himself and gripping his broomstick harder than ever. Flint flew by him with a few encouraging words before swishing back to the center of the field.
Madame Hooch threw the Quaffle up again, and once more the Slytherins took possession; the Chasers, at least, were on top of their game. Uther passed the ball to Marcus, who went dodging down the field, past all of the Gryffindor Chasers, moving in on the Keeper --
A Bludger came out of nowhere and struck Marcus full in the face. He lurched backwards, losing his grip on the Quaffle, but Adrian Pucey caught it and darted past Oliver Wood for a quick and easy score.
"Way to go, Pucey!" Vivian cried, over the energetic cheers of the Slytherins.
"Slytherins score ... oh no ... that's twenty-ten, Gryffindor favor, and the Snitch is nowhere in sight," Jordan narrated. "Back to the toss-up, Gryffindors take possession -- Beater Warrington tries to take Spinnet's head off with a Bludger, what a lousy --"
"Jordan, will you please!"
"So Slytherin has the Quaffle, after that completely gratuitous violence -- just kidding, Professor -- Chaser Montague speeds past the Weasleys -- he's heading toward the goal -- wait a minute, what's wrong with the Gryffindor Seeker?"
All eyes turned to Harry Potter, high above the other players. His broomstick was rising even higher still, and jerking as if it had a mind of its own. Suddenly, it started to roll over in a sickening barrel roll. The broom lurched, bucking Potter off except for one grasping hand.
"What is he doing?" gasped Melissa, standing up for a better view. Potter's teammates were swarming around him, trying to get him onto their own brooms, but the wayward broomstick wouldn't let them come close enough. Terrence Higgs circled silently below, keeping a keen eye on Potter.
"Look at Terrence, he's going to try to catch him," Richard whispered, almost falling over in suspense.
Vivian let out a high, nervous giggle. "Look, Marcus thinks the game's still on." He had grabbed the Quaffle and was busy scoring as many times as possible while the other team was preoccupied. He looked like he was going to win the game singlehandedly.
There was a yelp from lower in the stands and Professor Snape started hopping around on one foot, smoke streaming from the hem of his robe. Suddenly Potter pulled himself onto his broomstick and dove for the ground, obviously planning to get as low as possible before it happened again. Just as he was about to land he clapped a hand over his mouth in surprise -- he collapsed onto the field -- and he coughed the Golden Snitch into his hand.
"I've got the Snitch!" he hollered, holding it in the air. His relieved teammates landed around him, completely obscuring him from sight. Madame Hooch blew a shaky blast on her whistle and landed, hand over her heart.
The Slytherins were aghast. "That can't count!" Melissa shrieked, gripping her binoculars so hard that Beth thought they were going to be crushed. "You can't win a game by eating the Snitch!"
Marcus Flint landed and stormed up to Madame Hooch, fiercely arguing, but the referee was more interested in checking on Potter's safety than hearing his complaints. She waved them all back to the locker rooms, completing the chaos on the field.
In the stands, no one knew whether to stay or go. The Gryffindors mobbed their teammates; random Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs swarmed around them, either to offer congratulations or just catch a glimpse of the new Gryffindor Seeker, who had ridden a bucking broomstick and lived. "Gryffindor victory, one hundred and seventy to sixty!" Lee Jordan rejoiced. "Although why those last five goals by Slytherin should count is beyond me!" Professor McGonagall, anxiously hurrying to her student, was unavailable for comment.
The Slytherins finally left the Quidditch pitch in packs, disgruntled with the whole thing. "I wouldn't mind losing," Melissa complained on the way back, "if it was a proper game. They should have fouled him right out."
The team came out of the locker room and started plodding back to the castle. They looked bitterly disappointed, with the exception of Marcus Flint, who was just plain mad.
"He didn't catch it, he nearly swallowed it," he howled to his teammates, who grunted back in agreement. "We were right on their tails until then. We would have clobbered them otherwise. And Terrence was even watching out for him instead of looking for the Snitch. Bloody ungrateful."
"It's a good thing we have off tomorrow," Beth said, dejected. "I don't want to face the Gryffindors for a few days."
"Their heads will be as big as balloons," Melissa agreed with a sniff. They could still hear the sounds of wild celebration behind them. "Especially that awful Lee Jordan. He'll be intolerable."
"The whole school is going to be intolerable," Riggs grumbled, slouching along beside them. "They've wanted this for six years."
From the throngs of exuberant spectators and the cheers that still went on at the field, Beth had to agree.