Chapter 14 Felix Felicis

Harry had Herbology first thing the following morning. He had been unable to tell Ron and Hermione about his lesson with Dumbledore over breakfast for fear of being

overheard, but he filled them in as they walked across the vegetable patch toward the greenhouses. The weekend's brutal wind had died out at last; the weird mist had

returned and it took them a little longer than usual to find the correct greenhouse.

“Wow, scary thought, the boy You-Know-Who,” said Ron quietly, as they took their places around one of the gnarled Snargaluff stumps that formed this term's project,

and began pulling on their protective gloves. “But I still don't get why Dumbledore's showing you all this. I mean, it's really interesting and everything, but what's

the point?”

“Dunno,” said Harry, inserting a gum shield. “But he says its all important and it'll help me survive.”

“I think it's fascinating,” said Hermione earnestly. “It makes absolute sense to know as much about Voldemort as possible. How else will you find out his weaknesses?

”

“So how was Slughorn's latest party?” Harry asked her thickly through the gum shield.

“Oh, it was quite fun, really,” said Hermione, now putting on protective goggles. “I mean, he drones on about famous exploits a bit, and he absolutely fawns on

McLaggen because he's so well connected, but he gave us some really nice food and he introduced us to Gwenog Jones.”

“Gwenog Jones?” said Ron, his eyes widening under his own goggles. “The Gwenog Jones? Captain of the Holyhead Harpies?”

“That's right,” said Hermione. “Personally, I thought she was a bit full of herself, but —”

“Quite enough chat over here!” said Professor Sprout briskly, bustling over and looking stern. “You're lagging behind, everybody else has started, and Neville's

already got his first pod!”

They looked around; sure enough, there sat Neville with a bloody lip and several nasty scratches along the side of his face, but clutching an unpleasantly pulsating

green object about the size of a grapefruit.

“Okay, Professor, we're starting now!” said Ron, adding quietly, when she had turned away again, “Should've used Muffliato, Harry.”

“No, we shouldn't!” said Hermione at once, looking, as she always did, intensely cross at the thought of the Half-Blood Prince and his spells. “Well, come on ...

we'd better get going...”

She gave the other two an apprehensive look; they all took deep breaths and then dived at the gnarled stump between them.

It sprang to life at once; long, prickly, bramble-like vines flew out of the top and whipped through the air. One tangled itself in Hermione's hair, and Ron beat it

back with a pair of secateurs; Harry succeeded in trapping a couple of vines and knotting them together; a hole opened in the middle of all the tentacle-like branches;

Hermione plunged her arm bravely into this hole, which closed like a trap around her elbow; Harry and Ron tugged and wrenched at the vines, forcing the hole to open

again, and Hermione snatched her arm free, clutching in her fingers a pod just like Neville's. At once, the prickly vines shot back inside, and the gnarled stump sat

there looking like an innocently dead lump of wood.

“You know, I don't think I'll be having any of these in my garden when I've got my own place,” said Ron, pushing his goggles up onto his forehead and wiping sweat

from his face.

“Pass me a bowl,” said Hermione, holding the pulsating pod at arm's length; Harry handed one over and she dropped the pod into it with a look of disgust on her face.

“Don't be squeamish, squeeze it out, they're best when they're fresh!” called Professor Sprout.

“Anyway,” said Hermione, continuing their interrupted conversation as though a lump of wood had not just attacked them, “Slughorn's going to have a Christmas party,

Harry, and there's no way you'll be able to wriggle out of this one because he actually asked me to check your free evenings, so he could be sure to have it on a night

you can come.”

Harry groaned. Meanwhile, Ron, who was attempting to burst the pod in the bowl by putting both hands on it, standing up, and squashing it as hard as he could, said

angrily, “And this is another party just for Slughorn's favorites, is it?”

“Just for the Slug Club, yes,” said Hermione.

The pod flew out from under Ron's fingers and hit the green house glass, rebounding onto the back of Professor Sprout's head and knocking off her old, patched hat.

Harry went to retrieve the pod; when he got back, Hermione was saying, “Look, I didn't make up the name ‘Slug Club’ —”

“'Slug Club,'” repeated Ron with a sneer worthy of Malfoy. “It's pathetic. Well, I hope you enjoy your party. Why don't you try hooking up with McLaggen, then

Slughorn can make you King and Queen Slug —”

“We're allowed to bring guests,” said Hermione, who for some reason had turned a bright, boiling scarlet, “and I was going to ask you to come, but if you think it's

that stupid then I won't bother!”

Harry suddenly wished the pod had flown a little farther, so that he need not have been sitting here with the pair of them. Unnoticed by either, he seized the bowl that

contained the pod and began to try and open it by the noisiest and most energetic means he could think of; unfortunately, he could still hear every word of their

conversation.

“You were going to ask me?” asked Ron, in a completely different voice.

“Yes,” said Hermione angrily. “But obviously if you'd rather I hooked up with McLaggen...”

There was a pause while Harry continued to pound the resilient pod with a trowel.

“No, I wouldn't,” said Ron, in a very quiet voice.

Harry missed the pod, hit the bowl, and shattered it.

“Reparo,” he said hastily, poking the pieces with his wand, and the bowl sprang back together again. The crash, however, appeared to have awoken Ron and Hermione to

Harry's presence. Hermione looked flustered and immediately started fussing about for her copy of Flesh-Eating Trees of the World to find out the correct way to juice

Snargaluff pods; Ron, on the other hand, looked sheepish but also rather pleased with himself.

“Hand that over, Harry,” said Hermione hurriedly. “It says we're supposed to puncture them with something sharp...”

Harry passed her the pod in the bowl; he and Ron both snapped their goggles back over their eyes and dived, once more, for the stump.

It was not as though he was really surprised, thought Harry, as he wrestled with a thorny vine intent upon throttling him; he had had an inkling that this might happen

sooner or later. But he was not sure how he felt about it... He and Cho were now too embarrassed to look at each other, let alone talk to each other; what if Ron and

Hermione started going out together, then split up? Could their friendship survive it? Harry remembered the few weeks when they had not been talking to each other in

the third year; he had not enjoyed trying to bridge the distance between them. And then, what if they didn't split up? What if they became like Bill and Fleur, and it

became excruciatingly embarrassing to be in their presence, so that he was shut out for good?

“Gotcha!” yelled Ron, pulling a second pod from the stump just as Hermione managed to burst the first one open, so that the bowl was full of tubers wriggling like

pale green worms.

The rest of the lesson passed without further mention of Slughorn's party. Although Harry watched his two friends more closely over the next few days, Ron and Hermione

did not seem any different except that they were a little politer to each other than usual. Harry supposed he would just have to wait to see what happened under the

influence of Butterbeer in Slughorn's dimly lit room on the night of the party. In the meantime, however, he had more pressing worries.

Katie Bell was still in St. Mungo's Hospital with no prospect of leaving, which meant that the promising Gryffindor team Harry had been training so carefully since

September was one Chaser short. He kept putting off replacing Katie in the hope that she would return, but their opening match against Slytherin was looming, and he

finally had to accept that she would not be back in time to play.

Harry did not think he could stand another full-House tryout. With a sinking feeling that had little to do with Quidditch, he cornered Dean Thomas after Transfiguration

one day. Most of the class had already left, although several twittering yellow birds were still zooming around the room, all of Hermione's creation; nobody else had

succeeded in conjuring so much as a feather from thin air.

“Are you still interested in playing Chaser?”

“Why... yeah, of course!” said Dean excitedly. Over Dean's shoulder, Harry saw Seamus Finnegan slamming his books into his bag, looking sour. One of the reasons why

Harry would have preferred not to have to ask Dean to play was that he knew Seamus would not like it. On the other hand, he had to do what was best for the team, and

Dean had outflown Seamus at the tryouts.

“Well then, you're in,” said Harry. “There's a practice tonight, seven o'clock.”

“Right,” said Dean. “Cheers, Harry! Blimey, I can't wait to tell Ginny!”

He sprinted out of the room, leaving Harry and Seamus alone together, an uncomfortable moment made no easier when a bird dropping landed on Seamus's head as one of

Hermione's canaries whizzed over them.

Seamus was not the only person disgruntled by the choice of Katie's substitute. There was much muttering in the common room about the fact that Harry had now chosen two

of his classmates for the team. As Harry had endured much worse mutterings than this in his school career, he was not particularly bothered, but all the same, the

pressure was increasing to provide a win in the upcoming match against Slytherin. If Gryffindor won, Harry knew that the whole House would forget that they had

criticized him and swear that they had always known it was a great team. If they lost... well, Harry thought wryly, he had still endured worse mutterings...

Harry had no reason to regret his choice once he saw Dean fly that evening; he worked well with Ginny and Demelza. The Beaters, Peakes and Coote, were getting better

all the time. The only problem was Ron.

Harry had known all along that Ron was an inconsistent player who suffered from nerves and a lack of confidence, and unfortunately, the looming prospect of the opening

game of the season seemed to have brought out all his old insecurities. After letting in half a dozen goals, most of them scored by Ginny, his technique became wilder

and wilder, until he finally punched an oncoming Demelza Robins in the mouth.

“It was an accident, I'm sorry, Demelza, really sorry!” Ron shouted after her as she zigzagged back to the ground, dripping blood everywhere. “I just —”

“Panicked,” Ginny said angrily, landing next to Demelza and examining her fat lip. “You prat, Ron, look at the state of her!”

“I can fix that,” said Harry, landing beside the two girls, pointing his wand at Demelzas mouth, and saying “Episkey.” “And Ginny, don't call Ron a prat, you're

not the Captain of this team—”

“Well, you seemed too busy to call him a prat and I thought someone should—”

Harry forced himself not to laugh.

“In the air, everyone, let's go...”

Overall it was one of the worst practices they had had all term, though Harry did not feel that honesty was the best policy when they were this close to the match.

“Good work, everyone, I think we'll flatten Slytherin,” he said bracingly, and the Chasers and Beaters left the changing room looking reasonably happy with

themselves.

“I played like a sack of dragon dung,” said Ron in a hollow voice when the door had swung shut behind Ginny.

“No, you didn't,” said Harry firmly. “You're the best Keeper I tried out, Ron. Your only problem is nerves.”

He kept up a relentless flow of encouragement all the way back to the castle, and by the time they reached the second floor, Ron was looking marginally more cheerful.

When Harry pushed open the tapestry to take their usual shortcut up to Gryffindor Tower, however, they found themselves looking at Dean and Ginny, who were locked in a

close embrace and kissing fiercely as though glued together.

It was as though something large and scaly erupted into life in Harry's stomach, clawing at his insides: hot blood seemed to flood his brain, so that all thought was

extinguished, replaced by a savage urge to jinx Dean into a jelly. Wrestling with this sudden madness, he heard Ron's voice as though from a great distance away.

“Oi!”

Dean and Ginny broke apart and looked around.

“What?” said Ginny.

“I don't want to find my own sister snogging people in public!”

“This was a deserted corridor till you came butting in!” said Ginny.

Dean was looking embarrassed. He gave Harry a shifty grin that Harry did not return, as the newborn monster inside him was roaring for Dean's instant dismissal from the

team.

“Er... c'mon, Ginny,” said Dean, “let's go back to the common room...”

“You go!” said Ginny. “I want a word with my dear brother!”

Dean left, looking as though he was not sorry to depart the scene.

“Right,” said Ginny, tossing her long red hair out of her face and glaring at Ron, “let's get this straight once and for all. It is none of your business who I go

out with or what I do with them, Ron—”

“Yeah, it is!” said Ron, just as angrily. “D’ you think I want people saying my sister's a —”

“A what?” shouted Ginny, drawing her wand. “A what, exactly?”

“He doesn't mean anything, Ginny —” said Harry automatically, though the monster was roaring its approval of Ron's words.

“Oh yes he does!” she said, flaring up at Harry. “Just because he's never snogged anyone in his life, just because the best kiss he's ever had is from our Auntie

Muriel —”

“Shut your mouth!” bellowed Ron, bypassing red and turning maroon.

“No, I will not!” yelled Ginny, beside herself. “I've seen you with Phlegm, hoping she'll kiss you on the cheek every time you see her, it's pathetic! If you went

out and got a bit of snogging done yourself, you wouldn't mind so much that everyone else does it!”

Ron had pulled out his wand too; Harry stepped swiftly between them.

“You don't know what you're talking about!” Ron roared, trying to get a clear shot at Ginny around Harry, who was now standing in front of her with his arms

outstretched. “Just because I don't do it in public—!”

Ginny screamed with derisive laughter, trying to push Harry out of the way.

“Been kissing Pigwidgeon, have you? Or have you got a picture of Auntie Muriel stashed under your pillow?” You —

A streak of orange light flew under Harry's left arm and missed Ginny by inches; Harry pushed Ron up against the wall.

“Don't be stupid —”

“Harry's snogged Cho Chang!” shouted Ginny, who sounded close to tears now. “And Hermione snogged Viktor Krum, it's only you who acts like it's something disgusting,

Ron, and that's because you've got about as much experience as a twelve-year-old!”

And with that, she stormed away. Harry quickly let go of Ron; the look on his face was murderous. They both stood there, breathing heavily, until Mrs. Norris, Rich's

cat, appeared around the corner, which broke the tension.

“C'mon,” said Harry, as the sound of Filch's shuffling feet reached their ears.

They hurried up the stairs and along a seventh-floor corridor. “Oi, out of the way!” Ron barked at a small girl who jumped in fright and dropped a bottle of toad-

spawn.

Harry hardly noticed the sound of shattering glass; he felt disoriented, dizzy; being struck by a lightning bolt must be something like this. It's just because she's

Ron's sister, he told himself. You just didn't like seeing her kissing Dean because she's Ron's sister...

But unbidden into his mind came an image of that same deserted corridor with himself kissing Ginny instead... the monster in his chest purred... but then he saw Ron

ripping open the tapestry curtain and drawing his wand on Harry, shouting things like “betrayal of trust"... “supposed to be my friend"...

“D'you think Hermione did snog Krum?” Ron asked abruptly, as they approached the Fat Lady. Harry gave a guilty start and wrenched his imagination away from a corridor

in which no Ron intruded, in which he and Ginny were quite alone—

“What?” he said confusedly. “Oh ... er ...”

The honest answer was “yes,” but he did not want to give it. However, Ron seemed to gather the worst from the look on Harry's face.

“Dilligrout,” he said darkly to the Fat Lady, and they climbed through the portrait hole into the common room.

Neither of them mentioned Ginny or Hermione again; indeed, they barely spoke to each other that evening and got into bed in silence, each absorbed in his own thoughts.

Harry lay awake for a long time, looking up at the canopy of his four-poster and trying to convince himself that his feelings for Ginny were entirely elder-brotherly.

They had lived, had they not, like brother and sister all summer, playing Quidditch, teasing Ron, and having a laugh about Bill and Phlegm? He had known Ginny for years

now... it was natural that he should feel protective... natural that he should want to look out for her... want to rip Dean limb from limb for kissing her... no... he

would have to control that particular brotherly feeling...

Ron gave a great grunting snore.

She's Ron's sister, Harry told himself firmly. Ron's sister. She's out-of-bounds. He would not risk his friendship with Ron for anything. He punched his pillow into a

more comfortable shape and waited for sleep to come, trying his utmost not to allow his thoughts to stray anywhere near Ginny.

Harry awoke next morning feeling slightly dazed and confused by a series of dreams in which Ron had chased him with a Beater's bat, but by midday he would have happily

exchanged the dream Ron for the real one, who was not only cold-shouldering Ginny and Dean, but also treating a hurt and bewildered Hermione with an icy, sneering

indifference. What was more, Ron seemed to have become, overnight, as touchy and ready to lash out as the average Blast-Ended Skrewt. Harry spent the day attempting to

keep the peace between Ron and Hermione with no success; finally, Hermione departed for bed in high dudgeon, and Ron stalked off to the boys’ dormitory after swearing

angrily at several frightened first-years for looking at him.

To Harry's dismay, Ron's new aggression did not wear off over the next few days. Worse still, it coincided with an even deeper dip in his Keeping skills, which made him

still more aggressive, so that during the final Quidditch practice before Saturday's match, he failed to save every single goal the Chasers aimed at him, but bellowed

at everybody so much that he reduced Demelza Robins to tears.

“You shut up and leave her alone!” shouted Peakes, who was about two-thirds Ron's height, though admittedly carrying a heavy bat.

“ENOUGH!” bellowed Harry, who had seen Ginny glowering in Ron's direction and, remembering her reputation as an accomplished caster of the Bat-Bogey Hex, soared over

to intervene before things got out of hand. “Peakes, go and pack up the Bludgers. Demelza, pull yourself together, you played really well today. Ron...” he waited

until the rest of the team were out of earshot before saying it, “you're my best mate, but carry on treating the rest of them like this and I'm going to kick you off

the team.”

He really thought for a moment that Ron might hit him, but then something much worse happened: Ron seemed to sag on his broom. all the fight went out of him and he

said, “I resign. I'm pathetic.”

“You're not pathetic and you're not resigning!” said Harry fiercely, seizing Ron by the front of his robes. “You can save anything when you're on form, it's a mental

problem you've got!”

“You calling me mental?”

“Yeah, maybe I am!”

They glared at each other for a moment, then Ron shook his head wearily.

“I know you haven't got any time to find another Keeper, so I'll play tomorrow, but if we lose, and we will, I'm taking myself off the team.”

Nothing Harry said made any difference. He tried boosting Ron's confidence all through dinner, but Ron was too busy being grumpy and surly with Hermione to notice.

Harry persisted in the common room that evening, but his assertion that the whole team would be devastated if Ron left was somewhat undermined by the fact that the rest

of the team was sitting in a huddle in a distant corner, clearly muttering about Ron and casting him nasty looks. Finally Harry tried getting angry again in the hope of

provoking Ron into a defiant, and hopefully goal-saving, attitude, but this strategy did not appear to work any better than encouragement; Ron went to bed as dejected

and hopeless as ever.

Harry lay awake for a very long time in the darkness. He did not want to lose the upcoming match; not only was it his first as Captain, but he was determined to beat

Draco Malfoy at Quidditch even if he could not yet prove his suspicions about him. Yet if Ron played as he had done in the last few practices, their chances of winning

were very slim...

If only there was something he could do to make Ron pull himself together... make him play at the top of his form... something that would ensure that Ron had a really

good day...

And the answer came to Harry in one, sudden, glorious stroke of inspiration.

Breakfast was the usual excitable affair next morning; the Slytherins hissed and booed loudly as every member of the Gryffindor team entered the Great Hall. Harry

glanced at the ceiling and saw a clear, pale blue sky: a good omen.

The Gryffindor table, a solid mass of red and gold, cheered as Harry and Ron approached. Harry grinned and waved; Ron grimaced weakly and shook his head.

“Cheer up, Ron!” called Lavender. “I know you'll be brilliant!”

Ron ignored her.

“Tea?” Harry asked him. “Coffee? Pumpkin juice?”

“Anything,” said Ron glumly, taking a moody bite of toast.

A few minutes later Hermione, who had become so tired of Ron's recent unpleasant behavior that she had not come down to breakfast with them, paused on her way up the

table.

“How are you both feeling?” she asked tentatively, her eyes on the back of Ron's head.

“Fine,” said Harry, who was concentrating on handing Ron a glass of pumpkin juice. “There you go, Ron. Drink up.”

Ron had just raised the glass to his lips when Hermione spoke sharply.

“Don't drink that, Ron!”

Both Harry and Ron looked up at her.

“Why not?” said Ron.

Hermione was now staring at Harry as though she could not believe her eyes.

“You just put something in that drink.”

“Excuse me?” said Harry.

“You heard me. I saw you. You just tipped something into Ron's drink. You've got the bottle in your hand right now!”

“I dont know what you're talking about,” said Harry, stowing the little bottle hastily in his pocket.

“Ron, I warn you, don't drink it!” Hermione said again, alarmed, but Ron picked up the glass, drained it in one gulp, and said, “Stop bossing me around, Hermione.”

She looked scandalized. Bending low so that only Harry could hear her, she hissed, “You should be expelled for that. I'd never have believed it of you, Harry!”

“Look who's talking,” he whispered back. “Confunded anyone lately?”

She stormed up the table away from them. Harry watched her go without regret. Hermione had never really understood what a serious business Quidditch was. He then looked

around at Ron, who was smacking his lips.

“Nearly time,” said Harry blithely.

The frosty grass crunched underfoot as they strode down to the stadium.

“Pretty lucky the weathers this good, eh?” Harry asked Ron.

“Yeah,” said Ron, who was pale and sick-looking.

Ginny and Demelza were already wearing their Quidditch robes and waiting in the changing room.

“Conditions look ideal,” said Ginny, ignoring Ron. “And guess what? That Slytherin Chaser Vaisey — he took a Bludger in the head yesterday during their practice,

and he's too sore to play! And even better than that—Malfoy's gone off sick too!”

“What?” said Harry, wheeling around to stare at her. “He's ill? What's wrong with him?”

“No idea, but it's great for us,” said Ginny brightly. “They're playing Harper instead; he's in my year and he's an idiot.”

Harry smiled back vaguely, but as he pulled on his scarlet robes his mind was far from Quidditch. Malfoy had once before claimed he could not play due to injury, but on

that occasion he had made sure the whole match was rescheduled for a time that suited the Slytherins better. Why was he now happy to let a substitute go on? Was he

really ill, or was he faking?

“Fishy, isn't it?” he said in an undertone to Ron. “Malfoy not playing?”

“Lucky, I call it,” said Ron, looking slightly more animated. “And Vaisey off too, he's their best goal scorer, I didn't fancy—hey!” he said suddenly, freezing

halfway through pulling on his Keepers gloves and staring at Harry.

“What?”

“I... you...” Ron had dropped his voice, he looked both scared and excited. “My drink ... my pumpkin juice ... you didn't...?”

Harry raised his eyebrows, but said nothing except, “We'll be starting in about five minutes, you'd better get your boots on.”

They walked out onto the pitch to tumultuous roars and boos. One end of the stadium was solid red and gold; the other, a sea of green and silver. Many Hufflepuffs and

Ravenclaws had taken sides too: amidst all the yelling and clapping Harry could distinctly hear the roar of Luna Lovegood's famous lion-topped hat.

Harry stepped up to Madam Hooch, the referee, who was standing ready to release the balls from the crate.

“Captains shake hands,” she said, and Harry had his hand crushed by the new Slytherin Captain, Urquhart. “Mount your brooms. On the whistle... three... two... one...

”

The whistle sounded, Harry and the others kicked off hard from the frozen ground, and they were away.

Harry soared around the perimeter of the grounds, looking around for the Snitch and keeping one eye on Harper, who was zigzagging far below him. Then a voice that was

jarringly different to the usual commentator's started up.

“Well, there they go, and I think we're all surprised to see the team that Potter's put together this year. Many thought, given Ronald Weasley's patchy performance as

Keeper last year, that he might be off the team, but of course, a close personal friendship with the Captain does help...”

These words were greeted with jeers and applause from the Slytherin end of the pitch. Harry craned around on his broom to look toward the commentator's podium. A call,

skinny blond buy with an upturned nose was standing there, talking into the magical megaphone that had once been Lee Jordan's; Harry recognized Zacharias Smith, a

Hufflepuff player whom he heartily disliked.

“Oh, and here comes Slytherin's first attempt on goal, it's Urquhart streaking down the pitch and —”

Harry's stomach turned over.

“— Weasley saves it, well, he's bound to get lucky sometimes, I suppose...”

“That's right, Smith, he is,” muttered Harry, grinning to himself, as he dived amongst the Chasers with his eyes searching all around for some hint of the elusive

Snitch.

With half an hour of the game gone, Gryffindor were leading sixty points to zero, Ron having made some truly spectacular saves, some by the very tips of his gloves, and

Ginny having scored four of Gryffindor's six goals. This effectively stopped Zacharias wondering loudly whether the two Weasleys were only there because Harry liked

them, and he started on Peakes and Coote instead.

“Of course, Coote isn't really the usual build for a Beater,” said Zacharias loftily, “they've generally got a bit more muscle —”

“Hit a Bludger at him!” Harry called to Coote as he zoomed past, but Coote, grinning broadly, chose to aim the next Bludger at Harper instead, who was just passing

Harry in the opposite direction. Harry was pleased to hear the dull thunk that meant the Bludger had found its mark.

It seemed as though Gryffindor could do no wrong. Again and again they scored, and again and again, at the other end of the pitch, Ron saved goals with apparent ease.

He was actually smiling now, and when the crowd greeted a particularly good save with a rousing chorus of the old favorite “Weasley Is Our King,” he pretended to

conduct them from on high.

“Thinks he's something special today, doesn't he?” said a snide voice, and Harry was nearly knocked off his broom as Harper collided with him hard and deliberately.

“Your blood-traitor pal...”

Madam Hooch's back was turned, and though Gryffindors below shouted in anger, by the time she looked around, Harper had already sped off. His shoulder aching, Harry

raced after him, determined to ram him back...

“And I think Harper of Slytherin's seen the Snitch!” said Zacharias Smith through his megaphone. “Yes, he's certainly seen something Potter hasn't!”

Smith really was an idiot, thought Harry, hadn't he noticed them collide? But next moment, his stomach seemed to drop out of the sky—Smith was right and Harry was

wrong: Harper had not sped upward at random; he had spotted what Harry had not: the Snitch was speeding along high above them, glinting brightly against the clear blue

sky.

Harry accelerated; the wind was whistling in his ears so that it drowned all sound of Smith's commentary or the crowd, but Harper was still ahead of him, and Gryffindor

was only a hundred points up; if Harper got there first Gryffindor had lost... and now Harper was feet from it, his hand outstretched...

“Oi, Harper!” yelled Harry in desperation. “How much did Malfoy pay you to come on instead of him?”

He did not know what made him say it, but Harper did a double-take; he fumbled the Snitch, let it slip through his fingers, and shot right past it. Harry made a great

swipe for the tiny, fluttering ball and caught it.

“YES!” Hairy yelled: wheeling around, he hurtled back toward the ground, the Snitch held high in his hand. As the crowd realized what had happened, a great shout went

up that almost drowned the sound of the whistle that signaled the end of the game.

“Ginny, where're you going?” yelled Harry, who had found himself trapped in the midst of a mass midair hug with the rest of the team, but Ginny sped right on past

them until, with an almighty crash, she collided with the commentator's podium. As the crowd shrieked and laughed, the Gryffindor team landed beside the wreckage of

wood under which Zacharias was feebly stirring, Harry heard Ginny saying blithely to an irate Professor McGonagall, “Forgot to brake, Professor, sorry.”

Laughing, Harry broke free of the rest of the team and hugged Ginny, but let go very quickly. Avoiding her gaze, he clapped cheering Ron on the back instead as, all

enmity forgotten, the Gryffindor team left the pitch arm in arm, punching the air and waving to their supporters.

The atmosphere in the changing room was jubilant. “Party up in the common room, Seamus said!” yelled Dean exuberantly. “C'mon, Ginny, Demelza!”

Ron and Harry were the last two in the changing room. They were just about to leave when Hermione entered. She was twisting her Gryffindor scarf in her hands and looked

upset but determined.

“I want a word with you, Harry.” She took a deep breath. “You shouldn't have done it. You heard Slughorn, it's illegal.”

“What are you going to do, turn us in?” demanded Ron.

“What are you two talking about?” asked Harry, turning away to hang up his robes so that neither of them would see him grinning.

“You know perfectly well what we're talking about!” said Hermione shrilly. “You spiked Ron's juice with lucky potion at breakfast! Felix Felicis!”

“No, I didn't,” said Harry, turning back to face them both.

“Yes you did, Harry, and that's why everything went right, there were Slytherin players missing and Ron saved everything!”

“I didn't put it in!” said Harry, grinning broadly. He slipped his hand inside his jacket pocket and drew out the tiny bottle that Hermione had seen in his hand that

morning. It was full of golden potion and the cork was still tightly sealed with wax. “I wanted Ron to think I'd done it, so I faked it when I knew you were looking.”

He looked at Ron. “You saved everything because you felt lucky. You did it all yourself.”

He pocketed the potion again.

“There really wasn't anything in my pumpkin juice?” Ron said, astounded. “But the weather's good... and Vaisey couldn't play... I honestly haven't been given lucky

potion?”

Harry shook his head. Ron gaped at him for a moment, then rounded on Hermione, imitating her voice.

“You added Felix Felicis to Ron's juice this morning, that's why he saved everything! See! I can save goals without help, Hermione!”

“I never said you couldn't — Ron, you thought you'd been given it too!”

But Ron had already strode past her out of the door with his broomstick over his shoulder.

“Er,” said Harry into the sudden silence; he had not expected his plan to backfire like this, “shall... shall we go up to the party, then?”

“You go!” said Hermione, blinking back tears. “I'm sick of Ron at the moment, I don't know what I'm supposed to have done...”

And she stormed out of the changing room too.

Harry walked slowly back up the grounds toward the castle through the crowd, many of whom shouted congratulations at him, but he felt a great sense of let-down; he had

been sure that if Ron won the match, he and Hermione would be friends again immediately. He did not see how he could possibly explain to Hermione that what she had done

to offend Ron was kiss Viktor Krum, not when the offense had occurred so long ago.

Harry could not see Hermione at the Gryffindor celebration party, which was in full swing when he arrived. Renewed cheers and clapping greeted his appearance, and he

was soon surrounded by a mob of people congratulating him. What with trying to shake off the Creevey brothers, who wanted a blow-by-blow match analysis, and the large

group of girls that encircled him, laughing at his least amusing comments and batting their eyelids, it was some time before he could try and find Ron. At last, he

extricated himself from Romilda Vane, who was hinting heavily that she would like to go to Slughorn's Christmas party with him. As he was ducking toward the drinks

table, he walked straight into Ginny, Arnold the Pygmy Puff riding on her shoulder and Crookshanks mewing hopefully at her heels.

“Looking for Ron?” she asked, smirking. “He's over there, the filthy hypocrite.”

Harry looked into the corner she was indicating. There, in full view of the whole room, stood Ron wrapped so closely around Lavender Brown it was hard to tell whose

hands were whose.

“It looks like he's eating her face, doesn't it?” said Ginny dispassionately. “But I suppose he's got to refine his technique somehow. Good game, Harry.”

She patted him on the arm; Harry felt a swooping sensation in his stomach, but then she walked off to help herself to more Butterbeer. Crookshanks trotted after her,

his yellow eyes fixed upon Arnold.

Harry turned away from Ron, who did not look like he would be surfacing soon, just as the portrait hole was closing. With a sinking feeling, he thought he saw a mane of

bushy brown hair whipping out of sight.

He darted forward, sidestepped Romilda Vane again, and pushed open the portrait of the Fat Lady. The corridor outside, seemed to be deserted.

“Hermione?”

He found her in the first unlocked classroom he tried. She was sitting on the teacher's desk, alone except for a small ring of twittering yellow birds circling her

head, which she had clearly just conjured out of midair. Harry could not help admiring her spell-work at a time like this.

“Oh, hello, Harry,” she said in a brittle voice. “I was just practicing.”

“Yeah... they're—er — really good...” said Harry.

He had no idea what to say to her. He was just wondering whether there was any chance that she had not noticed Ron, that she had merely left the room because the party

was a little too rowdy, when she said, in an unnaturally high-pitched voice, “Ron seems to be enjoying the celebrations.”

“Er... does he?” said Harry.

“Don't pretend you didn't see him,” said Hermione. “He wasn't exactly hiding it, was—?”

The door behind them burst open. To Harry's horror, Ron came in, laughing, pulling Lavender by the hand.

“Oh,” he said, drawing up short at the sight of Harry and Hermione.

“Oops!” said Lavender, and she backed out of the room, giggling. The door swung shut behind her.

There was a horrible, swelling, billowing silence. Hermione was staring at Ron, who refused to look at her, but said with an odd mixture of bravado and awkwardness,

“Hi, Harry! Wondered where you'd got to!”

Hermione slid off the desk. The little flock of golden birds continued to twitter in circles around her head so that she looked like a strange, feathery model of the

solar system.

“You shouldn't leave Lavender waiting outside,” she said quietly. “She'll wonder where you've gone.”

She walked very slowly and erectly toward the door. Harry glanced at Ron, who was looking relieved that nothing worse had happened.

“Oppugno!” came a shriek from the doorway.

Harry spun around to see Hermione pointing her wand at Ron, her expression wild: the little flock of birds was speeding like a hail of fat golden bullets toward Ron,

who yelped and covered his face with his hands, but the birds attacked, pecking and clawing at every bit of flesh they could reach.

“Gerremoffme!” he yelled, but with one last look of vindictive fury, Hermione wrenched open the door and disappeared through it. Harry thought he heard a sob before

it slammed.

第二天早上哈利的第一堂课是草药课。为了防止被人听到，早餐的时候他没有告诉罗恩和赫敏昨天邓布利多上课的内容，不过他在穿过菜地走向温室的时候告诉了他们。周末的狂风终于停止了

；可是古怪的迷雾又重新归来，这令他们多花了一些时间才找到正确的温室。

 

　　“哇，想了都可怕，少年神秘人，”罗恩轻声说，他们正围着一棵长满瘤子的那加卢树桩，开始戴上防护手套。“但我还是不知道邓布利多为什么要告诉你所有这些。我的意思是，这些都

很有趣，也极为重要，但目的是什么？”

 

　　“不知道，”哈利戴上了一个橡胶护脸罩。“可是他说这个事关重大，会帮助我活下来。”

 

　　“我觉得这真让人着迷，”赫敏认真地说。“尽可能多地了解伏地魔是绝对有意义的。不然你怎么才能找出他的弱点呢？”

 

　　“那斯拉霍恩最近的聚会怎么样？”哈利透过橡胶护脸罩用厚重的声音说。

 

　　“哦，相当有趣，真的，”赫敏把护目镜戴到头上。“我是说，他是有点儿爱唠叨自己从前的学生，而且他绝对是在拍麦克拉根的马屁，因为他家里有那么多显贵，不过他给我们吃了许多

非常棒的东西，还把我们介绍给了格文诺·琼斯。”

 

　　“格文诺·琼斯？”罗恩护目镜后面的眼睛瞪大了。“就是那个格文诺·琼斯？霍利黑德哈比队的队长？”

 

　　“没错，”赫敏说。“就我个人而言，我觉得她有一点自大，不过——”

 

　　“这儿聊够了吧！”斯普劳特教授急匆匆地走过来，一脸严厉的表情。“你们落后了，其他所有人都已经开始了，而纳威都已经摘到了第一个树囊！”

 

　　“他们看了看了四周；果然，坐在那边的纳威嘴唇上全是血，脸上还有几道肮脏的抓痕，可是手上却抓着一个柚子大小的绿色物体，还在恶心地搏动。

 

　　“好的，教授，我们这就开始！“罗恩说，一等她走开，就轻声地补充道，“早知道就用悄声细语了，哈利。”

 

　　“不，我们不该用！”赫敏马上说，看上去她还在一如既往地激烈反对着混血王子和他的咒语。“那么，来吧……我们最好开始做……”

 

　　她担忧地看了两人一眼；他们深吸了一口气，扑进了那个长满瘤子的树桩。

 

　　它突然活动了起来；树桩顶上伸出了细长多刺、看起来像荆棘一样的藤条，在空中挥舞着。其中一根缠到了赫敏的头发上，罗恩用一把大钳子把它打了回去；哈利成功地骗过了几根藤条，

把它们捆到了一起；这些触须一样的藤条之间出现了一个缺口；赫敏勇敢地把手伸了进去，可它就像个陷阱一样收回来把赫敏的手肘给包住了；哈利和罗恩一起奋力扳开那些藤条，让赫敏拔出

了自己的手，她手上抓着一个和纳威的那个很像的树囊。带刺的藤条立即收了回去，那个长满瘤子的树桩又变成了一截无害的、没有生命的木头。

 

　　“我说，等我有了房子才不会在园子里种这些东西，”罗恩把护目镜推到额头上，擦了擦脸上的汗。

 

　　“递给我一个碗，”赫敏远远地握着那个搏动的树囊；哈利递过去了一个碗，她把树囊扔到里面，一脸作呕的表情。

 

　　“别那么神经质，把它们的汁挤出来，它们新鲜的时候最有用了！”斯普劳特教授大声说。

 

　　“总之，”赫敏继续着他们被中断的对话，仿佛刚才没有被一截木头攻击，“斯拉霍恩准备举办一个圣诞聚会，哈利，这次你没法逃了，因为他竟然让我去查你哪天晚上有空，所以他肯定

能把聚会安排在一个你没事儿的晚上。”

 

　　哈利呻吟了一声。而罗恩则把两只手都放到树囊上试图将它弄破，站起身子用尽全身的力气挤压它，他生气地说，“这又是一个仅仅只有斯拉霍恩喜欢的学生才能参加的聚会，是不是？”

 

　　“只有蛞蝓俱乐部的人，是的，”赫敏说。

 

　　树囊从罗恩的两手之间飞了出去，撞到温室的玻璃上，又反弹到斯普劳特教授的后脑勺，把她打满补丁的旧帽子给撞了下来。哈利跑过去捡起树囊；回来的时候他听到赫敏说，“‘蛞蝓俱

乐部’这个名字又不是我起的——”

 

　　“‘蛞蝓俱乐部’，”罗恩重复道，他像马尔福那样冷笑了一声。“真可怜。那么，我希望你在聚会上玩得愉快。如果你试试和麦克拉根搭上腔，说不定斯拉霍恩会让你们俩做蛞蝓大王和

蛞蝓王后——”

 

　　“我们可以带上客人，”赫敏的脸变成了一种滚烫的鲜红色，“本来我准备邀请你的，可是如果你觉得那很愚蠢的话，我就不打搅你了！”

 

　　哈利突然间希望树囊能被抛得更远一些，这样此刻他就不必和他们俩坐在一起了。他偷偷把装着树囊的碗拉到自己这边，开始尝试用自己能想到的最吵和最用力的方法弄开它；不幸的是，

他还是能听见他们说的每一个字。

 

　　“你准备邀请我？”罗恩完全换了个口吻。

 

　　“是的，”赫敏生气地说。“可显然如果你更愿意让我去和麦克拉根搭腔——”

 

　　两人沉默了一阵子，哈利还在用铲子捣那个充满弹性的树囊。

 

　　“不，我不愿意，”罗恩用很小的声音说。

 

　　哈利一下子没捣在树囊上，碗碎了。

 

　　“恢复如初，”他赶紧用魔杖指着碎片说，碗又重新拼合了起来。然而这个撞击声似乎让罗恩和赫敏意识到了哈利的存在。赫敏看上去有些慌张，她开始手忙脚乱地翻起《世界食肉植物》

来寻找榨出那加卢树囊汁液的正确方法；而罗恩看上去也有些害羞，不过还是很得意。

 

　　“把那个递给我，哈利，”赫敏仓促地说，“书上说我们应该用尖东西刺破……”

 

　　哈利把装着树囊的碗递了过去，他和罗恩都把护目镜重新戴到眼睛上，又一次扑向了树桩。

 

　　这并不让他真的感到惊讶，哈利在和一根决意要勒死他的刺藤搏斗时想。他隐约觉得这个迟早都有可能发生。可是他不太确定自己对此怎么看……他和秋现在连对视都觉得尴尬，更别提说

话了；要是罗恩和赫敏开始恋爱，结果又分手了怎么办？他们的友谊能幸免吗？哈利想起了三年级时他们冷战的那几个星期；他不喜欢在其中牵线搭桥。可要是他们不分手呢？要是他们变得像

比尔和芙蓉一样，要是夹在他们中间变成了折磨人的尴尬事儿，以至于他被永远地排除在外了呢？

 

　　“抓到你了！”罗恩大叫一声，从树桩里拔出了又一个树囊，而这时赫敏刚好弄破了第一个，于是碗里就装满了块茎，看上去就像正在蠕动的浅绿色虫子。

 

　　这节课剩下的时间里他们没有再提斯拉霍恩的聚会。尽管哈利在接下来的几天里更加密切地关注了他的两个朋友，罗恩和赫敏却除了对彼此更礼貌了一点儿之外，似乎没有什么不同。哈利

猜想他只能等到圣诞聚会的那天，在斯拉霍恩昏暗的小房间里，看看在黄油啤酒的影响下会有什么事情发生了。然而与此同时，他有更多紧迫的烦恼。

 

　　凯蒂·贝尔仍然在圣芒戈医院，回归无望，这意味着势头正旺的格兰芬多队缺少了一个追球手，而哈利从九月份就开始精心地训练这只球队了。他一直不想找人代替凯蒂，希望她能归队，

但是他们和斯莱特林的比赛已经迫在眉睫，最终哈利只能接受她无法及时回来参赛的事实。

 

　　哈利不认为他能再忍受一次全学院的选拔。一天变形课后他堵住了迪安·托马斯，哈利情绪不高，可是这和魁地奇比赛没有什么关系。班上的大多数人都已经走了，不过屋里还有几只黄色

的小鸟在唧唧喳喳地盘旋，它们都是赫敏变出来的；除了她再也没人能成功从空气中召唤出比羽毛更复杂的东西了。

 

　　“你还有兴趣做追球手吗？”

 

　　“什么……？对，当然啦！”迪安兴奋地说。哈利越过迪安的肩膀看到西莫·斐尼甘重重地把书塞进书包，看上去酸溜溜的。哈利原本不想让迪安加入的原因之一，就是他知道西莫会不高

兴。另一方面，他又必须做对球队最有利的事，而迪安在选拔时比西莫飞得要好。

 

　　“那么，你进球队了，”哈利说。“今晚有一次训练，七点钟。”

 

　　“好的，”迪安说。“万岁，哈利！天哪，我都等不及要告诉金妮了！”

 

　　他飞奔出了教室，留下了哈利和西莫两个，赫敏的金丝雀飕飕地绕着他们飞，突然一只鸟落到了西莫的脑袋上，这令现场的气氛更加的不自在了。

 

　　西莫不是唯一一个对凯蒂替补的选择感到不满的人。如今公共休息室里充斥着关于哈利选了两个同班同学进入球队的议论。由于哈利在学校里经受过更糟糕的议论，所以他并不觉得特别困

扰，但是哈利必须在与斯莱特林的比赛中奉献一场胜利，所以压力仍然在增大。如果格兰芬多赢了，哈利知道整个学院都会忘记曾经批评过他，还会发誓说他们一直认为这是一支伟大的球队。

如果他们输了……那么，哈利苦笑着想，他就会忍受更多的非议……

 

　　那天晚上哈利看到迪安飞过之后，就找不到后悔的理由了；迪安与金妮、德梅尔扎两人配合得很好。击球手皮克斯和库特也一直在进步。唯一的问题就是罗恩。

 

　　哈利一直知道罗恩的发挥很不稳定，他不仅容易紧张，还缺乏自信，不幸的是，赛季揭幕战的临近把他的老毛病全带出来了。在把半打球漏进球门之后——大多数是金妮射入的——他的技

术变得越来越混乱了，最后他一拳打在了迎面飞来的德梅尔扎·罗宾斯的嘴巴上。

 

　　“这是个意外，对不起，德梅尔扎，真对不起！”罗恩在她身后喊道，她拐着弯回到地面，一路上血滴得到处都是。“我只是——”

 

　　“慌什么，”金妮恼怒地说，她在德梅尔扎身边着了地，查看着她肥大的嘴唇。“你是个窝囊废，罗恩，你看她的样子！”

 

　　“我能治好那个，”哈利说，落在两个女孩身边，用魔杖指着德梅尔扎的嘴，念了一句“消痛止血”。“另外金妮，别叫罗恩窝囊废，你不是队长——”

 

　　“不过，你看起来太忙了，我认为应该有个人去叫他窝囊废——”

 

　　哈利强忍住笑。

 

　　“回到空中，每个人，来吧……”

 

　　总的来说这是他们本学期最糟糕的一次训练，可比赛已如此迫近，哈利觉得诚实并不是上策。

 

　　“干得不错，各位，我想斯莱特林会被我们踏平的，”他鼓励地说，追球手和击球手们离开更衣室时看上去都挺满意。

 

　　“我打得就像一坨龙粪，”金妮走出门之后，罗恩用空洞的声音说。

 

　　“你没有，”哈利坚定地说。“你是我选出的最好的守门员，罗恩。你唯一的问题就是紧张。”

 

　　在回城堡的路上他不断地鼓励着罗恩，他们到三楼的时候，罗恩看上去或多或少有一点儿高兴了。哈利和往常一样推开了挂毯走进通往格兰芬多塔楼的捷径，可是他们却发现迪安和金妮紧

紧拥抱在一起狂热地接吻，就像用胶水粘到了一块儿。

 

　　哈利的胃里仿佛突然冒出了一只长着鳞片的巨大怪物，抓着他的五脏六腑；似乎热血已经涌上脑门，让他失去了一切理智，取而代之的是一股想把迪安咒成果冻的残暴欲望。他在和这股突

如其来的疯狂劲儿挣扎的同时，听到罗恩的声音仿佛从很远的地方传了过来。

 

　　“噢！”

 

　　迪安和金妮彼此分开了，他们俩朝四处张望。

 

　　“什么？”金妮说。

 

　　“我不想看到自己的妹妹在大庭广众之下和别人接吻！”

 

　　“这本来是一条没人的走廊，就在你们插进来管闲事儿之前还是！”金妮说。

 

　　迪安看上去很尴尬。他诡异地朝哈利咧嘴笑了笑，哈利却没有回应，好像那只刚刚诞生的怪物正在他耳边吼着要把迪安立刻驱逐出队。

 

　　“呃……走吧，金妮，”迪安说，“我们回公共休息室吧……”

 

　　“你走吧！”金妮说。“我要和亲爱的哥哥谈一谈！”

 

　　迪安走了，看上去似乎并不留恋此地。

 

　　“好，”金妮说，拨开她脸上长长的红发，对罗恩怒目而视，“直截了当地说吧，我和谁谈恋爱，和他们做什么都与你没关系，罗恩——”

 

　　“是啊，没关系！”罗恩也一样生气。“你以为我会想要别人说我的妹妹是个——”

 

　　“一个什么？”金妮大叫一声，抽出了魔杖。“一个什么，说清楚？”

 

　　“他没想说什么，金妮——”哈利不由自主地说，可是那只怪物却在心里咆哮着赞成罗恩说的话。

 

　　“哦，不，他想！”她突然对哈利发起火来。“就因为他从来没有和别人接过吻，就因为他得到的最好的一个吻来自于我们的穆丽尔婶婶——”

 

　　“闭上你的嘴！”罗恩吼道，脸从红色变成了栗色。

 

　　“不，我不！”金妮发狂地大叫。“我见过你跟着‘浮脓’，每次见到她都巴不得她能吻你的脸蛋，真可怜！如果你自己也去谈恋爱、和别人接吻，就不会如此介意别人这么做了！”

 

　　罗恩也抽出了他的魔杖，哈利迅速挡在他们中间。

 

　　“你都不知道自己在说些什么！”罗恩吼道，试图绕过哈利瞄准金妮，而哈利正伸开双手挡着金妮。“就因为我没在大庭广众之下接吻——！”

 

　　金妮嘲弄般地尖声笑了起来，试图推开哈利。

 

　　“吻过小猪，是不是？或者在枕头下面藏了穆丽尔婶婶的照片？”

 

　　“你——”

 

　　一道橙色的光从哈利的左臂下面穿过，只差几英寸就打中了金妮；哈利一把将罗恩顶到了墙上。

 

　　“别傻了——”

 

　　“哈利吻了秋·张！”金妮大喊，听上去就快要哭了。“赫敏吻了威克多尔·克鲁姆，只有你反感它，罗恩，因为你的经验还停留在12岁！”

 

　　说完那些，她一阵风似的跑开了。哈利松开了罗恩；他脸上的表情像是要杀人。他们俩都站在那儿，重重地喘息着，直到费尔奇的猫洛丽斯夫人出现在墙角，才打破了紧张的局面。

 

　　“走吧，”哈利说，费尔奇拖拖沓沓的脚步声已传到了他们耳边。

 

　　他们匆匆上了楼梯，沿着八楼的走廊飞奔。“噢，别挡着道！”罗恩对一个小女孩咆哮着，小女孩吓得跳了起来，手中的一瓶蟾蜍卵也掉了。

 

　　哈利几乎没有注意到碎玻璃的声音；他感到头晕目眩；仿佛被一道闪电击中了。这只是因为她是罗恩的妹妹，他告诉自己。你不想看到她吻迪安只不过是因为她是罗恩的妹妹……

 

　　但他的脑海里突然闯入了一幅画面，他在同一条偏僻的走廊里吻着金妮……他胸中的那个怪物咕噜咕噜地叫了起来……但是随后他看到罗恩撕开了挂毯，拿魔杖指着哈利，冲他喊着诸如“

辜负了信任”……“还以为是我的朋友”之类的话。

 

　　“你觉得赫敏吻了克鲁姆吗？”他们走到胖夫人画像的时候，罗恩突然问。哈利做贼心虚地惊醒过来，他把自己从想象之中硬拉了回来，不去憧憬一条没有罗恩闯入的走廊，一条他和金妮

独处的走廊——

 

　　“什么？”他困惑地说。“哦……呃……”

 

　　最诚实的回答是“对”，但他不想那么说。然而，罗恩似乎从哈利脸上的表情推断出了最坏的答案。

 

　　“滴沥汤，”他阴沉地对胖夫人说，然后两人从肖像洞爬进了公共休息室。

 

　　他们俩都没有再提起金妮和赫敏；事实上，那一晚他们几乎没有说什么话，而是沉默地上床睡觉了，两个人都陷入各自的沉思之中。

 

　　哈利醒着躺了很久，盯着四柱床的顶棚，试图让自己相信对金妮的感觉完全是一个哥哥应该有的。他们像兄妹一样一起度过了整个暑假，玩魁地奇，揶揄罗恩，拿比尔和芙蓉说笑，不是吗

？他认识金妮好几年了……他想保护她也是很正常的……想要把迪安肢解了，就因为他吻了她……不……他要控制住这种特殊的兄妹之情……

 

　　罗恩响亮地打了一声呼噜。

 

　　她是罗恩的妹妹，哈利坚定地告诉自己。罗恩的妹妹。她不在选择的范围内。他不会为了任何事拿自己和罗恩的友谊去冒险，他把枕头压成一个更舒适的形状等待睡意袭来，竭尽全力地不

让自己的思绪再漂泊到金妮那儿。

 

　　哈利第二天早上起床的时候有些头昏脑涨，他昨晚做了一系列的梦，梦里罗恩拿着击球手的球棒追打他。不过中午的时候他很高兴地见到了真正的罗恩，后者不仅对金妮和迪安态度冷淡，

还对赫敏冷嘲热讽，这使她感到莫名其妙，同时也很伤心。而且，罗恩一夜之间变得和炸尾螺一样暴躁、易怒。哈利整个白天都在徒劳地维持罗恩和赫敏之间的和平；最后，赫敏非常恼怒地去

睡觉了，罗恩气愤地骂了几个盯着他看的一年级学生后，怒气冲冲回到了男生寝室。

 

　　令哈利感到沮丧的是，接下来的几天里罗恩的敌对心理并没有逐渐消失。更糟的是，它又进一步影响了罗恩的守门技术，而这让他更加暴躁，以至于在周六比赛之前的最后一次训练中，他

没能守住追球手射向他的每一个球，却对着每个人都大喊大叫，还把德梅尔扎弄哭了。

 

　　“你闭上嘴，让她一个人待一会儿！”皮克斯叫道，他只有罗恩三分之二的身高，可是手里却拿着一只沉重的球棒。

 

　　“够了！”哈利吼道，他看见金妮正冲着罗恩的方向怒目而视，想起了她高超的蝙蝠精魔咒，哈利在事情失去控制之前冲了过去。“皮克斯，去把游走球收好。德梅尔扎，振作起来，你今

天打得很好。罗恩……”他等其他队员都走远之后说，“你是我最好的伙伴，但你要是一直这样对待其他人，我就得把你踢出球队。”

 

　　有那么一会儿他觉得罗恩想要打他，但是更糟的事情发生了：罗恩跌坐到飞天扫帚上，所有的斗志都消失了，他说，“我退出。我是个可怜虫。”

 

　　“你不是个可怜虫，也不能退出！”哈利激烈地说，一把抓住了罗恩的前襟。“你状态好的时候可以守住任何一个球，你是心理上出了问题！”

 

　　“你是说我疯了？”

 

　　“对，也许是的！”

 

　　他们互相瞪了一会儿，然后罗恩疲倦地摇了摇头。

 

　　“我知道你没时间找新守门员了，所以明天我会参加比赛，不过如果我们输了——我们肯定会的——我就自动离队。”

 

　　哈利说的话没有改变什么。吃晚餐时他一直在试图让罗恩提高自信，但是罗恩却在忙着粗暴地对待赫敏。哈利在公共休息室里坚持了一晚，但是其余队员却挤在一个远远的角落里，大声地

抱怨着罗恩并向他投来了厌恶的眼神，这破坏了哈利宣称球队不能没有罗恩的论断。最后哈利又假装生气了，希望能激起罗恩的逆反心理来守好门，但这个策略看来并不比鼓励更奏效；罗恩既

沮丧又绝望地睡觉去了。

 

　　哈利在黑暗之中醒着躺了很久。他不想输了明天的比赛；不仅因为这是他作为队长的第一场比赛，也是因为即便他不能证实自己对德拉科·马尔福的怀疑，也一定要在魁地奇比赛上击败他

。然而如果罗恩打得像最近的几次训练一样，他们赢的机会就非常渺茫……

 

　　要是他能让罗恩振作起来，让他在最佳的状态下打球……有什么东西能确保罗恩拥有非常幸运的一天……

 

　　哈利突然灵机一动，想出了答案。

 

　　第二天的早餐时间和从前一样令人兴奋；斯莱特林的人在每一名格兰芬多队球员走进礼堂的时候都要发出一片嘘声。哈利瞥了一眼天花板上浅蓝色的晴朗天空：这是个好兆头。

 

　　格兰芬多的餐桌上挤满了身着红色和金色衣服的学生，哈利和罗恩走过来时他们欢呼了起来。哈利咧开嘴笑着挥手致意；罗恩扮了个苦脸，摇了摇头。

 

　　“打起精神，罗恩！”拉文德朝他喊道。“我知道你会很出色的！”

 

　　罗恩没有理她。

 

　　“来点儿茶？”哈利问他。“咖啡？南瓜汁？”

 

　　“什么都行，”罗恩闷闷不乐地说，咬了一口烤面包。

 

　　几分钟后赫敏——她厌倦了