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❝I hope you choke on it, Romilda.❞
✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧*:･ﾟ✧
"Conditions look ideal," said Ginny in the changing rooms. "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 and Y/N. "Malfoy not playing?"
"Lucky, I call it," said Ron. "Or maybe he's scared that Rigel would crack his skull open now that he's not his favourite cousin anymore. Speaking of, do you think Rigel will go easy on us with the Bludgers? Since we're sort of friends now?"
"The opposite, if anything," said Y/N. "He'll be more aggressive, to not give you any reason to call him talentless or something. But who knows?"
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.
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 serenely different to the usual commentator's started up.
"It's Thomas with the Quaffle," said a mild voice. "He then passes to Y/N Diggory. Y/N reverse passes to Thomas again. . . I've heard they're best friends, maybe it's a clever trick to pass to your best friends. The Quaffle is back in the hands of Y/N. I like her very much, she's very nice. . ."
Harry stared down at the commentator's podium. Surely nobody in their right mind would have let Luna Lovegood commentate? But even from above there was no mistaking that long, dirty-blonde hair, nor the necklace of butterbeer corks. . . . Beside Luna, Professor McGonagall was looking slightly uncomfortable, as though she was indeed having second thoughts about this appointment.
