The Order of the Phoenix Read online

  She drifted away. They had not quite recovered from the shock of Luna’s hat before Angelina came hurrying towards them, accompanied by Katie and Alicia, whose eyebrows had mercifully been returned to normal by Madam Pomfrey.

  ‘When you’re ready,’ she said, ‘we’re going to go straight down to the pitch, check out conditions and change.’

  ‘We’ll be there in a bit,’ Harry assured her. ‘Ron’s just got to have some breakfast.’

  It became clear after ten minutes, however, that Ron was not capable of eating anything more and Harry thought it best to get him down to the changing rooms. As they rose from the table, Hermione got up, too, and taking Harry’s arm she drew him to one side.

  ‘Don’t let Ron see what’s on those Slytherins’ badges,’ she whispered urgently.

  Harry looked questioningly at her, but she shook her head warningly; Ron had just ambled over to them, looking lost and desperate.

  ‘Good luck, Ron,’ said Hermione, standing on tiptoe and kissing him on the cheek. ‘And you, Harry –’

  Ron seemed to come to himself slightly as they walked back across the Great Hall. He touched the spot on his face where Hermione had kissed him, looking puzzled, as though he was not quite sure what had just happened. He seemed too distracted to notice much around him, but Harry cast a curious glance at the crown-shaped badges as they passed the Slytherin table, and this time he made out the words etched on to them:

  Weasley is our King

  With an unpleasant feeling that this could mean nothing good, he hurried Ron across the Entrance Hall, down the stone steps and out into the icy air.

  The frosty grass crunched under their feet as they hurried down the sloping lawns towards the stadium. There was no wind at all and the sky was a uniform pearly white, which meant that visibility would be good without the drawback of direct sunlight in the eyes. Harry pointed out these encouraging factors to Ron as they walked, but he was not sure that Ron was listening.

  Angelina had changed already and was talking to the rest of the team when they entered. Harry and Ron pulled on their robes (Ron attempted to do his up back-to-front for several minutes before Alicia took pity on him and went to help), then sat down to listen to the pre-match talk while the babble of voices outside grew steadily louder as the crowd came pouring out of the castle towards the pitch.

  ‘OK, I’ve only just found out the final line-up for Slytherin,’ said Angelina, consulting a piece of parchment. ‘Last year’s Beaters, Derrick and Bole, have left, but it looks as though Montague’s replaced them with the usual gorillas, rather than anyone who can fly particularly well. They’re two blokes called Crabbe and Goyle, I don’t know much about them –’

  ‘We do,’ said Harry and Ron together.

  ‘Well, they don’t look bright enough to tell one end of a broom from the other,’ said Angelina, pocketing her parchment, ‘but then I was always surprised Derrick and Bole managed to find their way on to the pitch without signposts.’

  ‘Crabbe and Goyle are in the same mould,’ Harry assured her.

  They could hear hundreds of footsteps mounting the banked benches of the spectators’ stands. Some people were singing, though Harry could not make out the words. He was starting to feel nervous, but he knew his butterflies were as nothing compared to Ron’s, who was clutching his stomach and staring straight ahead again, his jaw set and his complexion pale grey.

  ‘It’s time,’ said Angelina in a hushed voice, looking at her watch. ‘C’mon everyone … good luck.’

  The team rose, shouldered their brooms and marched in single file out of the changing room and into the dazzling sky. A roar of sound greeted them in which Harry could still hear singing, though it was muffled by the cheers and whistles.

  The Slytherin team was standing waiting for them. They, too, were wearing those silver crown-shaped badges. The new Captain, Montague, was built along the same lines as Dudley Dursley, with massive forearms like hairy hams. Behind him lurked Crabbe and Goyle, almost as large, blinking stupidly, swinging their new Beaters’ bats. Malfoy stood to one side, the sunlight gleaming on his white-blond head. He caught Harry’s eye and smirked, tapping the crown-shaped badge on his chest.

  ‘Captains, shake hands,’ ordered the referee Madam Hooch, as Angelina and Montague reached each other. Harry could tell that Montague was trying to crush Angelina’s fingers, though she did not wince. ‘Mount your brooms …’

  Madam Hooch placed her whistle in her mouth and blew.

  The balls were released and the fourteen players shot upwards. Out of the corner of his eye Harry saw Ron streak off towards the goalhoops. Harry zoomed higher, dodging a Bludger, and set off on a wide lap of the pitch, gazing around for a glint of gold; on the other side of the stadium, Draco Malfoy was doing exactly the same.

  ‘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 Professor McGonagall.

  ‘– 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 … Montague catches the Quaffle, Montague heading back up the pitch and – nice Bludger there from George Weasley, 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 –’

  Lee Jordan’s commentary rang through the stadium and Harry listened as hard as he could through the wind whistling in his ears and the din of the crowd, all yelling and booing and singing.

  ‘– dodges Warrington, avoids a Bludger – close call, Alicia – and the crowd are loving this, just listen to them, what’s that they’re singing?’

  And as Lee paused to listen, the song rose loud and clear from the sea of green and silver in the Slytherin section of the stands:

  ‘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!’ Lee shouted, and as Harry swerved, his insides boiling at what he had just heard, he knew Lee was trying to drown out the words of the song. ‘Come on now, Angelina – looks like she’s got just the Keeper to beat! – SHE SHOOTS – SHE – aaaah …’

  Bletchley, the Slytherin Keeper, had saved the goal; he threw the Quaffle to Warrington who sped off with it, zig-zagging in between Alicia and Katie; the singing from below grew louder and louder as he drew nearer and nearer Ron.

  ‘Weasley is our King,

  Weasley is our King,

  He always lets the Quaffle in

  Weasley is our King.’

  Harry could not help himself: abandoning his search for the Snitch, he turned his Firebolt towards Ron, a lone figure at the far end of the pitch, hovering before the three goalhoops while the massive Warrington pelted towards him.

  ‘– and it’s Warrington with the Quaffle, Warrington heading for goal, he’s out of Bludger range with just the Keeper ahead –’

  A great swell of song rose from the Slytherin stands below:

  ‘Weasley cannot save a thing,

  He cannot block a single ring,

  ‘– 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!’

  But the scream of delight came from the Slytherins’ end: Ron had dived wildly, his arms wide, and the Quaffle had soared between them straight through Ron’s central hoop.

  ‘Slytherin score!’ came Lee’s voice amid the cheering and booing from the crowds below, ‘so that’s ten–nil to Slytherin – bad luck, Ron.’

  The Slytherins sang even louder:

>   ‘WEASLEY WAS BORN IN A BIN

  HE ALWAYS LETS THE QUAFFLE IN …’

  ‘– and Gryffindor back in possession and it’s Katie Bell tanking up the pitch –’ cried Lee valiantly, though the singing was now so deafening that he could hardly make himself heard above it.

  ‘WEASLEY WILL MAKE SURE WE WIN

  WEASLEY IS OUR KING …’

  ‘Harry, WHAT ARE YOU DOING?’ screamed Angelina, soaring past him to keep up with Katie. ‘GET GOING!’

  Harry realised he had been stationary in midair for over a minute, watching the progress of the match without sparing a thought for the whereabouts of the Snitch; horrified, he went into a dive and started circling the pitch again, staring around, trying to ignore the chorus now thundering through the stadium:

  ‘WEASLEY IS OUR KING,

  WEASLEY IS OUR KING …’

  There was no sign of the Snitch anywhere he looked; Malfoy was still circling the stadium just as he was. They passed one another midway around the pitch, going in opposite directions, and Harry heard Malfoy singing loudly:

  ‘WEASLEY WAS BORN IN A BIN …’

  ‘– and it’s Warrington again,’ bellowed Lee, ‘who passes to Pucey, Pucey’s off past Spinnet, come on now, Angelina, you can take him – turns out you can’t – but nice Bludger from Fred Weasley, I mean, George Weasley, oh, who cares, one of them, anyway, and Warrington drops the Quaffle and Katie Bell – er – drops it, too – so that’s Montague with the Quaffle, Slytherin Captain Montague takes the Quaffle and he’s off up the pitch, come on now, Gryffindor, block him!’

  Harry zoomed around the end of the stadium behind the Slytherin goalhoops, willing himself not to look at what was going on at Ron’s end. As he sped past the Slytherin Keeper, he heard Bletchley singing along with the crowd below:

  ‘WEASLEY CANNOT SAVE A THING …’

  ‘– and Pucey’s dodged Alicia again and he’s heading straight for goal, stop it, Ron!’

  Harry did not have to look to see what had happened: there was a terrible groan from the Gryffindor end, coupled with fresh screams and applause from the Slytherins. Looking down, Harry saw the pug-faced Pansy Parkinson right at the front of the stands, her back to the pitch as she conducted the Slytherin supporters who were roaring:

  ‘THAT’S WHY SLYTHERINS ALL SING

  WEASLEY IS OUR KING.’

  But twenty–nil was nothing, there was still time for Gryffindor to catch up or catch the Snitch. A few goals and they would be in the lead as usual, Harry assured himself, bobbing and weaving through the other players in pursuit of something shiny that turned out to be Montague’s watchstrap.

  But Ron let in two more goals. There was an edge of panic in Harry’s desire to find the Snitch now. If he could just get it soon and finish the game quickly.

  ‘– and Katie Bell of Gryffindor dodges Pucey, ducks Montague, nice swerve, Katie, and she throws to Johnson, Angelina Johnson takes the Quaffle, she’s past Warrington, she’s heading for goal, come on now, Angelina – GRYFFINDOR SCORE! It’s forty–ten, forty–ten to Slytherin and Pucey has the Quaffle …’

  Harry could hear Luna’s ludicrous lion hat roaring amidst the Gryffindor cheers and felt heartened; only thirty points in it, that was nothing, they could pull back easily. Harry ducked a Bludger that Crabbe had sent rocketing in his direction and resumed his frantic scouring of the pitch for the Snitch, keeping one eye on Malfoy in case he showed signs of having spotted it, but Malfoy, like him, was continuing to soar around the stadium, searching fruitlessly …

  ‘– Pucey throws to Warrington, 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 …’

  ‘WEASLEY WAS BORN IN A BIN

  HE ALWAYS LETS THE QUAFFLE IN

  WEASLEY WILL MAKE SURE WE WIN …’

  But Harry had seen it at last: the tiny fluttering Golden Snitch was hovering feet from the ground at the Slytherin end of the pitch.

  He dived …

  In a matter of seconds, Malfoy was streaking out of the sky on Harry’s left, a green and silver blur lying flat on his broom …

  The Snitch skirted the foot of one of the goalhoops and scooted off towards the other side of the stands; its change of direction suited Malfoy, who was nearer; Harry pulled his Firebolt around, he and Malfoy were now neck and neck …

  Feet from the ground, Harry lifted his right hand from his broom, stretching towards the Snitch … to his right, Malfoy’s arm extended too, was reaching, groping …

  It was over in two breathless, desperate, windswept seconds – Harry’s fingers closed around the tiny, struggling ball – Malfoy’s fingernails scrabbled the back of Harry’s hand hopelessly – Harry pulled his broom upwards, holding the struggling ball in his hand and the Gryffindor spectators screamed their approval …

  They were saved, it did not matter that Ron had let in those goals, nobody would remember as long as Gryffindor had won –

  WHAM.

  A Bludger hit Harry squarely in the small of the back and he flew forwards off his broom. Luckily he was only five or six feet above the ground, having dived so low to catch the Snitch, but he was winded all the same as he landed flat on his back on the frozen pitch. He heard Madam Hooch’s shrill whistle, an uproar in the stands compounded of catcalls, angry yells and jeering, a thud, then Angelina’s frantic voice.

  ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘Course I am,’ said Harry grimly, taking her hand and allowing her to pull him to his feet. Madam Hooch was zooming towards one of the Slytherin players above him, though he could not see who it was from this angle.

  ‘It was that thug Crabbe,’ said Angelina angrily, ‘he whacked the Bludger at you the moment he saw you’d got the Snitch – but we won, Harry, we won!’

  Harry heard a snort from behind him and turned around, still holding the Snitch tightly in his hand: Draco Malfoy had landed close by. White-faced with fury, he was still managing to sneer.

  ‘Saved Weasley’s neck, haven’t you?’ he said to Harry. ‘I’ve never seen a worse Keeper … but then he was born in a bin … did you like my lyrics, Potter?’

  Harry didn’t answer. He turned away to meet the rest of the team who were now landing one by one, yelling and punching the air in triumph; all except Ron, who had dismounted from his broom over by the goalposts and seemed to be making his way slowly back to the changing rooms alone.

  ‘We wanted to write another couple of verses!’ Malfoy called, as Katie and Alicia hugged Harry. ‘But we couldn’t find rhymes for fat and ugly – we wanted to sing about his mother, see –’

  ‘Talk about sour grapes,’ said Angelina, casting Malfoy a disgusted look.

  ‘– we couldn’t fit in useless loser either – for his father, you know –’

  Fred and George had realised what Malfoy was talking about. Halfway through shaking Harry’s hand, they stiffened, looking round at Malfoy.

  ‘Leave it!’ said Angelina at once, taking Fred by the arm. ‘Leave it, Fred, let him yell, he’s just sore he lost, the jumped-up little –’

  ‘– but you like the Weasleys, don’t you, Potter?’ said Malfoy, sneering. ‘Spend holidays there and everything, don’t you? Can’t see how you stand the stink, but I suppose when you’ve been dragged up by Muggles, even the Weasleys’ hovel smells OK –’

  Harry grabbed hold of George. Meanwhile, it was taking the combined efforts of Angelina, Alicia and Katie to stop Fred leaping on Malfoy, who was laughing openly. Harry looked around for Madam Hooch, but she was still berating Crabbe for his illegal Bludger attack.

  ‘Or perhaps,’ said Malfoy, leering as he backed away, ‘you can remember what your mother’s house stank like, Potter, and Weasley’s pigsty reminds you of it –’

  Harry was not aware of releasing George, all he knew was that a second later both of them were sprinting towards Malfoy. He h
ad completely forgotten that all the teachers were watching: all he wanted to do was cause Malfoy as much pain as possible; with no time to draw out his wand, he merely drew back the fist clutching the Snitch and sank it as hard as he could into Malfoy’s stomach –

  ‘Harry! HARRY! GEORGE! NO!’

  He could hear girls’ voices screaming, Malfoy yelling, George swearing, a whistle blowing and the bellowing of the crowd around him, but he did not care. Not until somebody in the vicinity yelled ‘Impedimenta!’ and he was knocked over backwards by the force of the spell, did he abandon the attempt to punch every inch of Malfoy he could reach.

  ‘What do you think you’re doing?’ screamed Madam Hooch, as Harry leapt to his feet. It seemed to have been her who had hit him with the Impediment Jinx; she was holding her whistle in one hand and a wand in the other; her broom lay abandoned several feet away. Malfoy was curled up on the ground, whimpering and moaning, his nose bloody; George was sporting a swollen lip; Fred was still being forcibly restrained by the three Chasers, and Crabbe was cackling in the background. ‘I’ve never seen behaviour like it – back up to the castle, both of you, and straight to your Head of House’s office! Go! Now!’

  Harry and George marched off the pitch, both panting, neither saying a word to the other. The howling and jeering of the crowd grew fainter and fainter until they reached the Entrance Hall, where they could hear nothing except the sound of their own footsteps. Harry became aware that something was still struggling in his right hand, the knuckles of which he had bruised against Malfoy’s jaw. Looking down, he saw the Snitch’s silver wings protruding from between his fingers, struggling for release.