Harry felt as though he were carrying some kind of talisman inside his chest over the following two weeks, a glowing secret that supported him through Umbridge's classes and even made it possible for him to smile blandly as he looked into her horrible bulging eyes. He and the DA were resisting her under her very nose, doing the very thing she and the Ministry most feared, and whenever he was supposed to be reading Wilbert Slinkhard's book during her lessons he dwelled instead on satisfying memories of their most recent meetings, remembering how Neville had successfully disarmed Hermione, how Colin Creevey had mastered the Impediment Jinx after three meetings’ hard effort, how Parvati Patil had produced such a good Reductor Curse that she had reduced the table carrying all the Sneakoscopes to dust.
He was finding it almost impossible to fix a regular night of the week for the DA meetings, as they had to accommodate three separate: team's Quidditch practices, which were often rearranged due to bad weather conditions; but Harry was not sorry about this; he had a feeling that it was probably better to keep the timing of their meetings unpredictable. If anyone was watching them, it would be hard to make out a pattern.
Hermione soon devised a very clever method of communicating the time and date of the next meeting to all the members in case they needed to change it at short notice, because it would look suspicious if people from different Houses were seen crossing the Great Hall to talk to each other too often. She gave each of the members of the DA a fake Galleon (Ron became very excited when he first saw the basket and was convinced she was actually giving out gold).
‘You see the numerals around the edge of the coins?’ Hermione said, holding one up for examination at the end of their fourth meeting. The coin gleamed fat and yellow in the light from the torches. ‘On real Galleons that's just a serial number referring to the goblin who cast the coin. On these fake coins, though, the numbers will change to reflect the time and date of the next meeting. The coins will grow hot when the date changes, so if you're carrying them in a pocket you'll be able to feel them. We take one each, and when Harry sets the date of the next meeting he'll change the numbers on his coin, and because I've put a Protean Charm on them, they'll all change to mimic his.’
A blank silence greeted Hermione's words. She looked around at all the faces upturned to her, rather disconcerted.
‘Well—I thought it was a good idea,’ she said uncertainly, ‘I mean, even if Umbridge asked us to turn out our pockets, there's nothing fishy about carrying a Galleon, is there? But ... well, if you don't want to use them—’
‘You can do a Protean Charm?’ said Terry Boot.
‘Yes,’ said Hermione.
‘But that's ... that's NEWT standard, that is,’ he said weakly.
‘Oh,’ said Hermione, trying to look modest. ‘Oh ... well ... yes, I suppose it is.’
‘How come you're not in Ravenclaw?’ he demanded, staring at Hermione with something close to wonder. ‘With brains like yours?’
‘Well, the Sorting Hat did seriously consider putting me in Ravenclaw during my Sorting,’ said Hermione brightly, ‘but it decided on Gryffindor in the end. So, does that mean we're using the Galleons?’
There was a murmur of assent and everybody moved forwards to collect one from the basket. Harry looked sideways at Hermione.
‘You know what these remind me of?’
‘No, what's that?’
The Death Eaters’ scars. Voldemort touches one of them, and all their scars burn, and they know they've got to join him.’
‘Well ... yes,’ said Hermione quietly, ‘that is where I got the idea ... but you'll notice I decided to engrave the date on bits of metal rather than on our members’ skin.’
‘Yeah ... I prefer your way,’ said Harry, grinning, as he slipped his Galleon into his pocket. ‘I suppose the only danger with these is that we might accidentally spend them.’
‘Fat chance,’ said Ron, who was examining his own fake Galleon with a slightly mournful air, ‘I haven't got any real Galleons to confuse it with.’
As the first Quidditch match of the season, Gryffindor versus Slytherin, drew nearer, their DA meetings were put on hold because Angelina insisted on almost daily practices. The fact that the Quidditch Cup had not been held for so long added considerably to the interest and excitement surrounding the forthcoming game; the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs were taking a lively interest in the outcome, for they, of course, would be playing both teams over the coming year; and the Heads of House of the competing teams, though they attempted to disguise it under a decent pretence of sportsmanship, were determined to see their own side victorious. Harry realised how much Professor McGonagall cared about beating Slytherin when she abstained from giving them homework in the week leading up to the match.
I think you've got enough to be getting on with at the moment,’ she said loftily. Nobody could quite believe their ears until she looked directly at Harry and Ron and said grimly, ‘I've become accustomed to seeing the Quidditch Cup in my study, boys, and I really don't want to have to hand it over to Professor Snape, so use the extra time to practise, won't you?’
Snape was no less obviously partisan; he had booked the Quidditch pitch for Slytherin practice so often that the Gryffindors had difficulty getting on it to play. He was also turning a deaf ear to the many reports of Slytherin attempts to hex Gryffindor players in the corridors. When Alicia Spinnet turned up in the hospital wing with her eyebrows growing so thick and fast they obscured her vision and obstructed her mouth, Snape insisted that she must have attempted a Hair-thickening Charm on herself and refused to listen to the fourteen eye-witnesses who insisted they had seen the Slytherin Keeper, Miles Bletchley, hit her from behind with a jinx while she worked in the library.
Harry felt optimistic about Gryffindors chances; they had, after all, never lost to Malfoy's team. Admittedly, Ron was still not performing to Wood's standard, but he was working extremely hard to improve. His greatest weakness was a tendency to lose confidence after he'd made a blunder; if he let in one goal he became flustered and was therefore likely to miss more. On the other hand, Harry had seen Ron make some truly spectacular saves when he was on form; during one memorable practice he had hung one-handed from his broom and kicked the Quaffle so hard away from the goalhoop that it soared the length of the pitch and through the centre hoop at the other end; the rest of the team felt this save compared favourably with one made recently by Barry Ryan, the Irish International Keeper, against Poland's top Chaser, Ladislaw Zamojski. Even Fred had said that Ron might yet make him and George proud, and that they were seriously considering admitting he was related to them, something they assured him they had been trying to deny for four years.
The only thing really worrying Harry was how much Ron was allowing the tactics of the Slytherin team to upset him before they even got on to the pitch. Harry, of course, had endured their snide comments for over four years, so whispers of, ‘Hey, Potty, I heard Warrington's sworn to knock you off your broom on Saturday', far from chilling his blood, made him laugh. ‘Warrington's aim's so pathetic I'd be more worried if he was aiming for the person next to me,’ he retorted, which made Ron and Hermione laugh and wiped the smirk off Pansy Parkinson's face.
But Ron had never endured a relentless campaign of insults, jeers and intimidation. When Slytherins, some of them seventh-years and considerably larger than he was, muttered as they passed in the corridors, ‘Got your bed booked in the hospital wing, Weasley?’ he didn't laugh, but turned a delicate shade of green. When Draco Malfoy imitated Ron dropping the Quaffle (which he did whenever they came within sight of each other), Ron's ears glowed red and his hands shook so badly that he was likely to drop whatever he was holding at the time, too.
October extinguished itself in a rush of howling winds and driving rain and November arrived, cold as frozen iron, with hard frosts every morning and icy draughts that bit at exposed hands and faces. The skies and the ceiling of the Great Hall turned a pale, pearly grey, the mountains around Hogwarts were snowcapped, and the temperature in the castle dropped so low that many students wore their thick protective dragonskin gloves in the corridors between lessons.
The morning of the match dawned bright and cold. When Harry awoke he looked round at Ron's bed and saw him sitting bolt upright, his arms around his knees, staring fixedly into space.
‘You all right?’ said Harry.
Ron nodded but did not speak. Harry was reminded forcibly of the time Ron had accidentally put a Slug-vomiting Charm on himself; he looked just as pale and sweaty as he had done then, not to mention as reluctant to open his mouth.
‘You just need some breakfast,’ Harry said bracingly. ‘C'mon.’
The Great Hall was filling up fast when they arrived, the talk louder and the mood more exuberant than usual. As they passed the Slytherin table there was an upsurge of noise. Harry looked round and saw that, in addition to the usual green and silver scarves and hats, every one of them was wearing a silver badge in the shape of what seemed to be a crown. For some reason many of them waved at Ron, laughing uproariously. Harry tried to see what was written on the badges as he walked by, but he was too concerned to get Ron past their table quickly to linger long enough to read them.
They received a rousing welcome at the Gryffindor table, where everyone was wearing red and gold, but far from raising Ron's spirits the cheers seemed to sap the last of his morale; he collapsed on to the nearest bench looking as though he were facing his final meal.
‘I must've been mental to do this,’ he said in a croaky whisper. ‘Mental.’
‘Don't be thick,’ said Harry firmly, passing him a choice of cereals, ‘you're going to be fine. It's normal to be nervous.’
‘I'm rubbish,’ croaked Ron. ‘I'm lousy. I can't play to save my life. What was I thinking?’
‘Get a grip,’ said Harry sternly. ‘Look at that save you made with your foot the other day, even Fred and George said it was brilliant.’
Ron turned a tortured face to Harry.
‘That was an accident,’ he whispered miserably. ‘I didn't mean to do it—I slipped off my broom when none of you were looking and when I was trying to get back on I kicked the Quaffle by accident.’
‘Well,’ said Harry, recovering quickly from this unpleasant surprise, ‘a few more accidents like that and the game's in the bag, isn't it?’
Hermione and Ginny sat down opposite them wearing red and gold scarves, gloves and rosettes.
‘How're you feeling?’ Ginny asked Ron, who was now staring into the dregs of milk at the bottom of his empty cereal bowl as though seriously considering attempting to drown himself in them.
‘He's just nervous,’ said Harry.
‘Well, that's a good sign, I never feel you perform as well in exams if you're not a bit nervous,’ said Hermione heartily.
‘Hello,’ said a vague and dreamy voice from behind them. Harry looked up: Luna Lovegood had drifted over from the Ravenclaw table. Many people were staring at her and a few were openly laughing and pointing; she had managed to procure a hat shaped like a life-size lion's head, which was perched precariously on her head.
‘I'm supporting Gryffindor,’ said Luna, pointing unnecessarily at her hat. ‘Look what it does ...’
She reached up and tapped the hat with her wand. It opened its mouth wide and gave an extremely realistic roar that made everyone in the vicinity jump.
‘It's good, isn't it?’ said Luna happily. ‘I wanted to have it chewing up a serpent to represent Slytherin, you know, but there wasn't time. Anyway ... good luck, Ronald!’
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, clown 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 sunlight, 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 in the sunlight, 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.’
’ —a nd 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 wheeled around to watch 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 had 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 turned on their heels and 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.
They had barely reached the door of Professor McGonagalls office when she came marching along the corridor behind them. She was wearing a Gryffindor scarf, but tore it from her throat with shaking hands as she strode towards them, looking livid.
‘In!’ she said furiously, pointing to the door. Harry and George entered. She strode around behind her desk and faced them, quivering with rage as she threw the Gryffindor scarf aside on to the floor.
‘Well?’ she said. ‘I have never seen such a disgraceful exhibition. Two on one! Explain yourselves!’
‘Malfoy provoked us,’ said Harry stiffly.
‘Provoked you?’ shouted Professor McGonagall, slamming a fist on to her desk so that her tartan tin slid sideways off it and burst open, littering the floor with Ginger Newts. ‘He'd just lost, hadn't he? Of course he wanted to provoke you! But what on earth he can have said that justified what you two—’
‘He insulted my parents,’ snarled George. ‘And Harry's mother.’
‘But instead of leaving it to Madam Hooch to sort out, you two decided to give an exhibition of Muggle duelling, did you?’ bellowed Professor McGonagall. ‘Have you any idea what you've—?’
‘Hem, hem.’
Harry and George both wheeled round. Dolores Umbridge was standing in the doorway wrapped in a green tweed cloak that greatly enhanced her resemblance to a giant toad, and was smiling in the horrible, sickly, ominous way that Harry had come to associate with imminent misery.
‘May I help, Professor McGonagall?’ asked Professor Umbridge in her most poisonously sweet voice.
Blood rushed into Professor McGonagall's face.
‘Help?’ she repeated, in a constricted voice. ‘What do you mean, help?’
Professor Umbridge moved forwards into the office, still smiling her sickly smile.
‘Why, I thought you might be grateful for a little extra authority.’
Harry would not have been surprised to see sparks fly from Professor McGonagall's nostrils.
‘You thought wrong,’ she said, turning her back on Umbridge.
‘Now, you two had better listen closely. I do not care what provocation Malfoy offered you, I do not care if he insulted every family member you possess, your behaviour was disgusting and I am giving each of you a week's worth of detentions! Do not look at me like that, Potter, you deserve it! And if either of you ever—’
‘Hem, hem.’
Professor McGonagall closed her eyes as though praying for patience as she turned her face towards Professor Umbridge again.
‘Yes?’
‘I think they deserve rather more than detentions,’ said Umbridge, smiling still more broadly.
Professor McGonagall's eyes flew open.
‘But unfortunately,’ she said, with an attempt at a reciprocal smile that made her look as though she had lockjaw, ‘it is what I think that counts, as they are in my House, Dolores.’
‘Well, actually, Minerva,’ simpered Professor Umbridge, ‘I think you'll find that what I think does count. Now, where is it? Cornelius just sent it ... I mean,’ she gave a false little laugh as she rummaged in her handbag, ‘the Minister just sent it ... ah yes ...’
She had pulled out a piece of parchment which she now unfurled, clearing her throat fussily before starting to read what it said.
‘Hem, hem ...“Educational Decree Number Twenty-five".’
‘Not another one!’ exclaimed Professor McGonagall violently.
‘Well, yes,’ said Umbridge, still smiling. ‘As a matter of fact, Minerva, it was you who made me see that we needed a further amendment ... you remember how you overrode me, when I was unwilling to allow the Gryffindor Quidditch team to re-form? How you took the case to Dumbledore, who insisted that the team be allowed to play? Well, now, I couldn't have that. I contacted the Minister at once, and he quite agreed with me that the High Inquisitor has to have the power to strip pupils of privileges, or she—that is to say, I—would have less authority than common teachers! And you see now, don't you, Minerva, how right I was in attempting to stop the Gryffindor team re-forming? Dreadful tempers ... anyway, I was reading out our amendment ... hem, hem ...“the High Inquisitor will henceforth have supreme authority over all punishments, sanctions and removal of privileges pertaining to the students of Hogwarts, and the power to alter such punishments, sanctions and removals of privileges as may have been ordered by other staff members. Signed, Cornelius Fudge, Minister for Magic, Order of Merlin First Class, etc., etc.” ’
She rolled up the parchment and put it back into her handbag still smiling.
‘So ... I really think I will have to ban these two from playing Quidditch ever again,’ she said, looking from Harry to George and back again.
Harry felt the Snitch fluttering madly in his hand.
‘Ban us?’ he said, and his voice sounded strangely distant. ‘From playing ... ever again?’
‘Yes, Mr. Potter, I think a lifelong ban ought to do the trick,’ said Umbridge, her smile widening still further as she watched him struggle to comprehend what she had said. ‘You and Mr. Weasley here. And I think, to be safe, this young man's twin ought to be stopped, too—if his teammates had not restrained him, I feel sure he would have attacked young Mr. Malfoy as well. I will want their broomsticks confiscated, of course; I shall keep them safely in my office, to make sure there is no infringement of my ban. But I am not unreasonable, Professor McGonagall,’ she continued, turning back to Professor McGonagall who was now standing as still as though carved from ice, staring at her. ‘The rest of the team can continue playing, I saw no signs of violence from any of them. Well ... good afternoon to you.’
And with a look of the utmost satisfaction, Umbridge left the room, leaving a horrified silence in her wake.
‘Banned,’ said Angelina in a hollow voice, late that evening in the common room. ‘Banned.No Seeker and no Beaters ... what on earth are we going to do?’
It did not feel as though they had won the match at all. Everywhere Harry looked there were disconsolate and angry faces; the team themselves were slumped around the fire, all apart from Ron, who had not been seen since the end of the match.
‘It's just so unfair,’ said Alicia numbly. ‘I mean, what about Crabbe and that Bludger he hit after the whistle had been blown? Has she banned him?’
‘No,’ said Ginny miserably; she and Hermione were sitting on either side of Harry. ‘He just got lines, I heard Montague laughing about it at dinner.’
‘And banning Fred when he didn't even do anything!’ said Alicia furiously, pummelling her knee with her fist.
‘It's not my fault I didn't,’ said Fred, with a very ugly look on his face, ‘I would've pounded the little scumbag to a pulp if you three hadn't been holding me back.’
Harry stared miserably at the dark window. Snow was falling. The Snitch he had caught earlier was now zooming around and around the common room; people were watching its progress as though hypnotised and Crookshanks was leaping from chair to chair, trying to catch it.
‘I'm going to bed,’ said Angelina, getting slowly to her feet. ‘Maybe this will all turn out to have been a bad dream ... maybe I'll wake up tomorrow and find we haven't played yet ...’
She was soon followed by Alicia and Katie. Fred and George sloped off to bed some time later, glowering at everyone they passed, and Ginny went not long after that. Only Harry and Hermione were left beside the fire.
‘Have you seen Ron?’ Hermione asked in a low voice.
Harry shook his head.
‘I think he's avoiding us,’ said Hermione. ‘Where do you think he—?’
But at that precise moment, there was a creaking sound behind them as the Fat Lady swung forwards and Ron came clambering through the portrait hole. He was very pale indeed and there was snow in his hair. When he saw Harry and Hermione, he stopped dead in his tracks.
‘Where have you been?’ said Hermione anxiously, springing up.
‘Walking,’ Ron mumbled. He was still wearing his Quidditch things.
‘You look frozen,’ said Hermione. ‘Come and sit down!’
Ron walked to the fireside and sank into the chair furthest from Harry's, not looking at him. The stolen Snitch zoomed over their heads.
‘I'm sorry,’ Ron mumbled, looking at his feet.
‘What for?’ said Harry.
‘For thinking I can play Quidditch,’ said Ron. ‘I'm going to resign first thing tomorrow.’
‘If you resign,’ said Harry testily, ‘there'll only be three players left on the team.’ And when Ron looked puzzled, he said, ‘I've been given a lifetime ban. So've Fred and George.’
‘What?’ Ron yelped.
Hermione told him the full story; Harry could not bear to tell it again. When she had finished, Ron looked more anguished than ever.
‘This is all my fault—’
‘You didn't make me punch Malfoy,’ said Harry angrily.
‘— if I wasn't so terrible at Quidditch—’
‘—it's got nothing to do with that.’
‘—it was that song that wound me up—’
‘—it would've wound anyone up.’
Hermione got up and walked to the window, away from the argument, watching the snow swirling down against the pane.
‘Look, drop it, will you!’ Harry burst out. ‘It's bad enough, without you blaming yourself for everything!’
Ron said nothing but sat gazing miserably at the damp hem of his robes. After a while he said in a dull voice, ‘This is the worst I've ever felt in my life.’
‘Join the club,’ said Harry bitterly.
‘Well,’ said Hermione, her voice trembling slightly. ‘I can think of one thing that might cheer you both up.’
‘Oh yeah?’ said Harry sceptically.
‘Yeah,’ said Hermione, turning away from the pitch-black, snow-flecked window, a broad smile spreading across her face. ‘Hagrid's back.’
哈利觉得最近两个星期他的心中好像有什么护身符似的，一个令人激动的秘密支持他上完Umbridge的课，甚至使他在看着Umbridge讨厌的凸出的眼睛时能装出殷勤的样子。他和DA就在Umbridge的鼻子底下反抗她，做的正是她和魔法部最怕的事。当他在课上装着读Wilbert Slinkhard的书的时候 ，他就会满意地回想起DA最近的聚会，回忆纳威怎么样成功地解除了荷米恩的武器，Colin Creevey经过三堂课的努力怎样掌握了障碍咒，Parvati Patil怎样用一个很完美的还原咒,将桌上的窥镜变成了灰尘。
哈利觉得很难为DA的会面定一个固定的时间，因为他们要适应三支不同的魁地奇队伍的训练时间，而且训练时间常会因为坏天气的影响而重新安排。但哈利觉得这样挺好，他有一种感觉，不固定的聚会时间更好一点，如果有人在监视他们，这会让他们难以得逞。
荷米恩很快想出了一个非常聪明的方法，万一有什么变化，可以用来通知全体成员下一次聚会的日期和时间，因为如果不同学院的人总是穿过大厅相互交谈的话，会显得很可疑。她发给每个DA成员一个假的金加隆（罗恩第一次看到装金加隆的篮子时非常兴奋，还以为荷米恩真的在分发金子）。
“你们看见金币边上的数字了吗？”在第四次聚会快结束的时候荷米恩说，并拿起了一个金币查看上面的数字。在火把的照耀下金币泛着黄色的光芒。“在真的加隆上有的只是铸造金币的古灵阁精灵刻上的序列号，可这些假金币上的数字会显示我们下一次会面的日期和时间。当日期变化时金币会发热，要是你们把金币放在口袋里的话就可以感觉到。我们一人拿一个，当哈利决定了下次聚会的时间后就改变他硬币上的时间，因为我已经给金币施了转换咒，所有人的金币上的时间会随着他金币的改变而改变。”
她说完后大家一阵沉默，荷米恩不安的看着大家。
“哦——我本来以为这是个好主意，”她不确定地说，“我的意思是，就算Umbridge翻我们的口袋，有一个金加隆也不会引起她的注意，不是吗？不过。。。哦，如果你们不想用的话——”
“你会用转换咒？”Terry Boot问。
“是的，”荷米恩回答。
“可是，那不是高级巫师等级考试的水平吗？”他小声说。
“噢，”荷米恩说，并尽量让自己看上去很谦虚，“噢，是的，我想是吧。”
“你怎么没分在拉文克劳？”他询问，用某种近乎惊奇的眼光看着荷米恩。“象你这么有头脑的人？”
“好吧，分院式的时候分院帽真的想过要把我分到拉文克劳的，”荷米恩爽快地说，“可是他最终决定把我分在格兰芬多。那么，这是不是意味着我们要用这些金币？”
大家低声交换了意见表示赞同，于是每人都上前从篮子里拿了一个金币。哈利站在一旁看着荷米恩。
“你知道这使我想起了什么吗？”
“不知道，是什么？”
“食死徒的伤疤。伏地魔碰到其中的一个伤疤，其他的人的伤疤燃烧，他们就会知道他们的主人在召唤他们。”
“好吧。。。是的，”荷米恩平静的说，“我就是从这里得到的灵感，但你应该注意到了我把日期刻在了金属上而不是你们的皮肤上。”
“对啊。。。我比较喜欢你的方法，”哈利笑着把金币放进口袋。“我想唯一的危险就是我们有可能把它当成真的金币花掉。”
“奢侈的机会，”罗恩说，一边有点悲哀地看着他的金币，“我都没有真的金币可以和它搞混。”
第一赛季的魁地奇比赛日益临近，格兰芬多对斯莱特林，因为安吉丽娜坚持每天都练习，DA的聚会一直在推迟。事实上因为很久都没有举行魁地奇杯了，使得大家都更加兴奋并期待着比赛的到来。拉文克劳和赫夫帕夫对比赛的结果非常期待，当然，对他们来说，无论结果怎样，来年他们都要和两支队伍交手的。而各学院的院长们，尽管他们试图用运动家精神来掩饰这一点，他们还是希望自己这方获胜的。当麦格教授在比赛前的一个星期放弃了给他们布置作业时，哈利才意识到她对在比赛中打败斯莱特林是多么的重视。
“我相信你们现在已经准备好了，”她高傲的说。没有人相信他们的耳朵，直到麦格教授严肃地看着哈利和罗恩说，“我已经习惯魁地奇冠军杯被我们学院夺得了，小伙子们，我可不想把它交给斯内普教授，所以用这额外的时间加紧练习，知道吗？”
斯内普非常明显地在偏袒斯莱特林队，他频繁地为斯莱特林预定练习场，弄得格兰芬多的球员很难订到场地来练习。他也装着没听到斯莱特林的人在走廊上对格兰分多球员施咒的传言。当Alicia Spinnet 进了医院，因为她的眉毛越长越浓密，很快就遮住了她的视线并盖住了她的嘴巴时，斯内普不顾14个证人作证说他们看见了斯莱特林的守门员Miles Bletchley在Alicia在图书馆看书时在她背后用咒语攻击了她，坚持说Alicia肯定是尝试对自己施了个增毛咒。
哈利乐观地认为格兰芬多能获胜。不管怎么样，他们从来都没有输给过马尔夫的球队。诚然，罗恩的水平还赶不上伍德，但他已经非常努力地在练习了。他最大的弱点就是失误了一次后就容易丧失信心，如果他漏过了一个球就会惊慌失措，然后出现更多的失误。另一方面，哈利看过罗恩在训练时救过很多好球。在一次难忘的练习中，罗恩用一只手控制着扫帚用力将鬼飞球击离了球门，球飞过了整个球场，穿过了另外一边的中心区。其他队员认为这个救球可以和最近爱尔兰国际守门员Barry Ryan扑救波兰最好的追球手Ladislaw Zamojski的那个球相比了。就连弗来德也说他和乔治也许还会以罗恩为荣，他们会认真考虑承认罗恩是他们的亲戚，同意他们四年来一直否认的。
哈里唯一真正担心的是，罗恩会不会在上球场之前就被斯莱特林的心理战术惹恼，哈利，当然，他已经忍受斯莱特林那些卑鄙的勾当四年了，所以诸如“嗨，波特，我听说Warrington发誓他会在星期六把你撞下扫帚。”这类的话远远不能让哈利发火，只让他觉得可笑。“Warrington的准头真是差劲，如果他瞄准我旁边的人的话我也许会更担心一点。”他反驳道。这些话让罗恩和荷米恩笑了起来，也让Pansy Parkinsons 脸上的假笑消失了。 可是罗恩从来没有忍受过被人无情的侮辱、取笑和威胁。当斯莱特林们，一些七年级的、块头比他大的多的男生，在他路过走廊的时候低声说“你在医院预定床位了吗，威斯里？”时，他没有笑，脸色有些发青。当马尔夫模仿罗恩不小心掉了鬼飞球的动作时（每次他们遇见的时候他都会做），罗恩的耳朵热的发红，他的手抖的那么厉害，以至无论当时他拿着什么都会掉下来。
十月在狂风和暴雨中结束了，十一月到了，冷的像冰冻的铁板，每个早晨都有很重的霜，寒冷的气流吹在人们暴露在外的手和脸上。天空和礼堂里的天花板变成了暗淡、珍珠般的灰色，霍格沃兹周围的山都被雪覆盖着。城堡里的温度变得那么低，因此很多学生在两节课间到走廊时都戴上了他们保暖的厚龙皮手套。
比赛那天早上的明亮而寒冷。当哈利醒来的时候，看到罗恩笔直的坐在床上，双手抱膝，目不转睛的看着上空。
“你还好吧？”哈利问·。
罗恩点了点头但没有说话。哈里不由想起了有一次罗恩意外地将一个呕吐咒施在了自己身上，他看上去就像那时一样苍白无力，更别提他好象难以开口的样子了。
“你只是需要吃点早餐，”哈利精神地说，”来吧。”
他们到了以后大厅里就快满了，大家大声谈论着，气氛比平时更热烈。当他们走过斯莱特林的桌子时，鼓噪声一下增大了。哈利看到，除了平时戴的绿色和银色的围巾和帽子，他们每个人都戴着一个银色的徽章，形状象一个王冠。出于某种原因，很多人嬉笑着向罗恩招手。哈利试图在走过时看清楚他们的徽章上写着什么字，但与其磨蹭去看这个，他更想赶紧让罗恩尽快地走过他们的桌子。
在格兰芬多那儿他们受到了热烈欢迎，每个人都穿戴着红色和金色的服饰，可这欢迎非但没有鼓起罗恩的勇气，反而象是让他泄了最后一点气，他瘫坐在最近的长凳上，表情看起来仿佛面对着他最后的一餐。
“我一定是疯了才会来干这个，”他嘶哑地说。“神经错乱了。”
“别傻了，”哈利坚定地说，把燕麦粥递给他，“你会好起来的。感到紧张是正常的。”
“我是废物，”罗恩黯然说。“我很没用，我干不下去了。我在想什么？”
“控制住自己，”哈利严厉地说。“想想那天你用脚救起的球，就连弗来德和乔治都说了不起。”
罗恩痛苦地转向哈利。
“那是偶然的，”他虚弱地咕哝着：“我不是有意的——你们都没注意到我从扫帚上滑下来了，当我想坐好时我碰巧踢到了那个球。”
“好吧，”哈利说，很快从诧异中回过神来，“多点这样的意外，胜利就是我们的囊中之物了，不是吗？”
荷米恩和金妮坐在他们对面，戴着红色和金色的围巾、手套和玫瑰花饰。
“你感觉怎么样？”金妮问罗恩，罗恩正盯着自己的空燕麦碗底的剩牛奶看，好象真的企图把自己演死在里面。
“他只是紧张，”哈利说。
“好啊，这是个好迹象，我从没见过你在不紧张的情况下，在考试中取得好成绩。”荷米恩热忱地说。
“嗨，”一个茫然的、梦幻似的声音在他们背后响起，哈利抬头一看，Luna Lovegood从拉文克劳的桌子那边飘然而至，很多人都盯着她看，有些人还公开的指指点点取笑她。她成功地弄到了一顶帽子，形状象个老狮子头，在她脑袋上摇晃着。
“我支持格来芬多，”Luna说，多余地指着她的帽子。“看这是什么。。。”
她抽出魔杖来碰了碰她的帽子。那狮子张大嘴，发出一声非常逼真的咆哮，让附近的人都吓了一跳。
“很好吧，不是吗？”Luna高兴地说。“我希望它嚼碎斯莱特林的大毒蛇，你知道，但现在不是时候。不管怎么样。。。祝你好运，Ronald！”
她飘然而去。当Angelina和Katie及Alicia匆忙走向他们的时候，他们还没从那顶帽子带来的惊吓中恢复过来，在Pomfrey夫人的治疗下，Alicia的眉毛已经恢复原状了。
“你们好了的话，”她说，“我们直接去场地，检查一下环境并换衣服。”
“我们很快就到，”哈利保证说。“只是罗恩还要再吃点早餐。”
但是，十分钟后他就明白罗恩显然咽不下任何东西，哈利想最好还是快点带他去更衣室。当他们站起来时，荷米恩也站了起来，拽住哈利的胳膊把他拉到一边。
“别让罗恩看见斯莱特林的徽章上写了什么，”她焦急地轻声说。
哈利疑惑地看着她，但她警告地摇了摇头，罗恩正向他们这边来，看上去迷惑而绝望。
“祝你好运，罗恩，”荷米恩说，踮起脚尖来吻了他的面颊，“还有你，哈利——”
当他们从大厅后面穿过去时，罗恩看上去清醒点了。他抚摩着脸上刚刚被荷米恩吻过的地方，看上去很困惑，好象他不能确定刚才到底发生了什么。他看上去过于心烦意乱，没空注意周围的事，但当他们走过斯莱特林的桌子时，哈利好奇地看了一眼那个王冠形状的徽章，这次他看清楚了上面刻的字：
威斯里是我们的王牌
他不详地预感到这不会是什么好事，因此催促着罗恩快步穿过了大门，走下石阶，踏进了寒冷的空气中。
当他们匆忙走过斜坡上的草坪去体育馆的时候，结霜的野草被他们踩的嘎扎嘎扎响。今天没有一丝风，天空是纯净的珍珠白色，这表明今天没有阳光晃眼的问题，可见度很高。哈利一边走一边跟罗恩指出他们的有利因素，但他不确定罗恩是不是在听。
当他们到达时Angelina已经换好了衣服正向其他队员走来。哈利和罗恩穿上他们的长袍（罗恩用了好几分钟想把衣服前后正过来，直到Angelina看不下去过来帮他），然后坐下来听每次比赛前的讲话，这时随着人群从城堡涌到体育场，喧哗声越来越大。
“那么，我刚刚才知道斯莱特林的最后阵容，”Angelina说，参考着一张羊皮纸。“去年的击球手Derrick和Bole已经走了，但看起来Montague用惯用的大块头替换了他们，或者不如说，任何知道怎么飞的人。他们是两个叫Crabbe和Goyle的家伙，我对他们不是很熟——”
“我们熟悉，”哈利和罗恩一起说。
“恩，他们看起来还没聪明到足以分辨扫帚的两头，”Angelina说，把羊皮纸装到口袋里，“但我常常很惊讶Derrick和Bole能在没有路标的情况下找到来场地的路。”
“Crabbe和Goyle跟他们是一个模子里刻出来的，”哈利肯定地说。
他们能听到数以百记的脚步声踏上观众席的长凳。有的人在唱歌，尽管哈利听不清楚词。他开始感到紧张，但他知道他恶心的感觉远比不上罗恩的强烈，罗恩正捂着自己的胃呆呆地直视着前方，他的下巴张着、脸色灰白。
“时间到了，”Angelina镇定地说，看了看表，“来吧，伙计们。。。祝你们走运。”
大家站起来，扛着扫帚，排成一队走出了更衣室，来到耀眼的阳光下。一阵极大的欢呼声迎接着他们，哈利仍然可以听见歌声，尽管它被欢呼声和口哨声压过了。
斯莱特林队站在那儿等候着他们。他们也戴着银色王冠状的徽章。他们的新队长，Montague，建立起了一支达德利？杜斯利式的队伍，个个都有多毛的大腿一般魁梧的前臂。在他背后站着Crabbe和Goyle，在阳光下愚蠢地眯着眼睛，摇晃要他们的新球棒。马尔夫站在一边，太阳照耀在他的金发上。他迎着哈利的视线假笑着，戳着自己胸前的王冠形徽章。
“队长，握握手，”当Angelina和Montague走到对方面前时，裁判Hooch夫人命令说，哈利敢说Montague想捏碎Angelina的手指，尽管Angelina并没退缩。“骑上扫帚。。。”
Hooch夫人把哨子放进嘴里，吹了一下。
球放了出来，同时14个队员也冲了上去。哈利用眼角瞄到罗恩向球门冲去。他急速上升，躲开一个游走球，然后在场地上空飞了一大圈，四处搜寻金色的光芒。在体育场的另一边，马尔夫也在做同样的事。
“那是Johnson，Johnson和鬼飞球，那女孩是个多棒的队员啊，我说了好几年了，可她还是不肯跟我出去——”
“乔丹！”麦格教授叫道。
“只是开个玩笑，增加点趣味——她躲过了Warrington，她晃过了Montag，她——欧——她被Crabbe打来的一个游走球击中了。。。Montague抓住了鬼飞球，Montague掉头回到了场地——乔治？威斯里击出了一记漂亮的游走球。那是对准Montague脑袋的，他丢了鬼飞球，被Katie Bell抓住了，格兰芬多的Katie Bell回传给Alicia Spinnet，Spinnet要——”
李？乔丹的解说在场中回响，哈利透过耳边的风声、人群的喧哗声，包括所有的喊叫、嘘声和歌声，尽量使劲听着。
“——躲开了Warrington，躲过了一个游走球——千钧一发，Alicia——观众喜欢这个，听听，他们在唱什么？”
当李停下来听的时候，斯莱特林看台上那片银色和绿色的海洋中传来的歌声变得响亮清晰了。
“威斯里一个球都救不了，他连一下都挡不住，这就是为什么我们斯莱特林总是说，威斯里是我们的王牌。”
“威斯里生在垃圾箱，他总让鬼飞球漏进去，威斯里会确保我们赢，威斯里是我们的王牌。”
“——Alicia从Angelina后面过去了！”李叫道，当哈利转向时，简直为刚才听到的歌声气炸了，他知道李想淹没这歌声，“现在来吧，Angelina ——看样子她刚敲打了守门员！——她射门了——她——哈哈哈哈。。。” 不幸地，斯莱特林的守门员救起了这个球，他把鬼飞球扔给Warrington，Warrington带着它迅速滑开了，在Alicia和Katie之间之字形的飞行着，当他越来越接近罗恩的时候，下面的歌声变得越来越大。
“威斯里是我们的王牌，威斯里是我们的王牌，他总让鬼飞球漏进去，威斯里是我们的王牌。”
哈利无法控制自己，放弃了搜寻飞贼，他旋转着想去看看罗恩，在遥远的场地那头的孤独身影，当大块头Warrington向他冲来时他正盘旋在球门的三个铁圈前。
“——现在Warrington带着鬼飞球，Warrington向球门冲去，他已经越过了游走球的攻击范围，现在他前面只有守门员了——”
下面斯莱特林的看台上发出一阵高涨的歌声：
“威斯里一个球都救不了，他连一下都挡不住。。。”
“——这是格兰芬多的新守门员威斯里的第一个考验，击球手弗来德和乔治的兄弟，鬼飞球从他们中间飞过去了，直接穿过了罗恩守着的中间的球门。”
“斯莱特林得分！”下面观众的欢呼声和嘘声中，传来了李的声音，“斯莱特林得10分——不走运啊，罗恩。”
斯莱特林的歌声更响了：
“威斯里生在垃圾箱，他总让鬼飞球漏进去。。。”
“——格兰芬多队员回到了自己的位置上，现在Katie Bell冲过场地——”李勇敢的大叫，尽管现在歌声已经是震耳欲聋，他几乎没办法让自己的声音盖过它。
“威斯里会确保我们赢，威斯里是我们的王牌。。”
“哈利，你在干什么？”Angelina尖声叫道，从他身边飞过去追赶Katie，“继续飞！”
哈利意识到他已经在空中停留了一分多钟，注视着比赛进程而把飞贼忘到了脑后。他吃了一惊，俯冲下去开始沿着场地转圈，凝视着周围，试图不去注意体育场内雷鸣般的歌声：
“威斯里是我们的王牌，威斯里是我们的王牌。。。”
他丝毫看不到飞贼的踪影，马尔夫也象他一样在体育场里绕圈。他们在途中反向擦身而过，这时哈利听见马尔夫大声说：
“威斯里生在垃圾箱。。。”
“——现在又轮到Warrington了，”李在下面说，“他传给了Pucey，Pucey躲开了Spinnet，现在来了，Angelina，你能对付他，——事实上你不能——但弗来德？威斯里打出了一个漂亮的游走球，我是说，乔治？威斯里，哦，管他呢，不管怎么样总是他们中的一个，现在Warrington掉了鬼飞球而Katie Bell——哦——也松手了——现在是Montague带着鬼飞球，斯莱特林的队长Montague拿着鬼飞球，他已经飞高了，现在快，格来芬多们，堵住他！”
哈利急升到在体育场一头的斯莱特林的球门后面，希望自己别看见罗恩那头发生了什么。当他掠过斯莱特林的守门员时，他听到Bletchley和下面的观众一起唱着：
“威斯里一个球都救不了。。。”
“——Pucey又躲开了Alicia，他直接向球门飞去，拦住他，罗恩！”
哈利不需要看发生了什么：格兰芬多这头发出了一阵悲惨的叹息声，伴随着斯莱特林那头新的尖叫和欢呼。往下看时，哈利看见长着一张哈巴狗面孔的Pansy Parkinson就在看台正前方，背对着球场，指挥斯莱特林的支持者精神饱满地唱着：
“这就是为什么斯莱特林都说威斯里是我们的王牌”
但20分算不了什么，格兰芬多还有时间追上，或者抓到飞贼。进几个球他们又会象平时那样取胜，哈利对自己说，上下穿梭在其他队员间去追击前面闪光的一点，后来发现那是Montague的表带。
但罗恩又放进两个球。哈利现在已经有点着忙急于要找到飞贼了。如果他能刚好找到它并迅速结束比赛的话。
“——格兰芬多的Katie Bell躲过了Pucey，闪过了Montague，好一个转身，Katie，现在她扔给了Johnson，Angelina Johnson抓住了鬼飞球，她通过了Warrington，她向球门冲去，现在来吧，Angelina ——格来芬多得分！！现在斯莱特林是40比10，40比10，现在Pucey拿着鬼飞球。”
哈利能够听见LUNA那头滑稽的狮子帽的吼声夹杂在格来芬多的欢呼声中，这令他感到振奋。只差30分了，那算不了什么，他们很容易追回来。哈利躲过了一个Crabbe向他的方向狠打过来的游走球，继续在场内疯狂的穿行寻找飞贼，同时观察着马尔夫以防有什么迹象显示他发现了飞贼，但马尔夫和他一样，只是一直在场内高高盘旋，徒劳地寻找着。。。
“Pucey扔给了Warrington，Warrington给了Montague，Montague扔回给Pucey——Johnson插了进来，Johnson拿到了鬼飞球，Johnson给了Bell，看上去有希望——我是说不妙—— Bells被斯莱特林的Goyle 打来的游走球击中了，现在Pucey拿着球。”
“威斯里生在垃圾箱，他总让鬼飞球漏进去，威斯里会确保我们赢”
但哈利终于找到了它：那微小的摆动着翅膀的金色飞贼正在斯莱特林的场地那头，在离地几英尺的地方盘旋着。
他俯冲下去。。。
至多几秒钟的功夫，马尔夫从哈利的左边疾弛过去，只看到一团绿色和银色的影子伏在他的扫帚上。。。
飞贼在一个球门的脚下环绕了几圈并迅速向看台的另一边溜去。它的方向改变对马尔夫
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