𝐁𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐞 𝐀𝐦𝐞 | 𝐇.𝐏.

𝐲𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝟐 - 𝟑

Potter had just left the breakfast table for his first Quidditch practice of the season, and Hermione, Weasley and I were heading to the courtyard to catch up on some homework. It was a breezy Saturday morning, with unnaturally shaped clouds and a picture-perfect blue sky.

We sat on one of the stone benches, pouring over our notes. Then, from across the yard, I heard, "The Gryffindors booked the Quidditch pitch especially for today."

And then another voice saying, "Easy, Wood. We've got a note."

"I smell trouble," Weasley mumbled, and we immediately walked over to the little group of red and green.

Oliver Wood finished reading the signed note from Professor Snape, and then looked to Marcus Flint, the captain of the Slytherin team, with raised eyebrows.

"You have a new Seeker?" He asked. "Who?"

The Slytherin team separated to reveal none other than Draco, holding a brand new broom and wearing an awful smirk on his face.

"Malfoy?" Potter asked.

"That's right," he said smugly. "And that's not all that's new this year." He switched the handle of his broom from one shoulder to the other.

"Those are Nimbus 2001s!" Weasley exclaimed in astonishment and jealousy. "How did you get those?"

"A gift from Draco's father," Flint responded.

I narrowed my eyes at Draco. I had no idea of any of this.

"You see, Weasley," Draco continued. "Unlike some, my father can afford the best."

"At least no one on the Gryffindor team had to buy their way in," I said without thinking. 

"They got in on pure talent," Hermione finished for me.

Ignoring me, Draco turned to Hermione. "No one asked your opinion. You filthy little Mudblood."

I gasped. The entire Gryffindor team's expressions, besides Potter, who looked a bit confused, turned furious. Weasley pulled out his wand.

"You'll pay for that one, Malfoy," he said. "Eat slugs!" And he whipped his wand at Draco. But the wand, being as broken as it was, completely backfired. Weasley was sent sprawling backwards onto the grass.

Everyone in the Gryffindor team, including Hermione and I, ran over to him. We knelt down, only to see his pale, sickly-looking face. 

"Are you okay, Ron?" Hermione asked frantically.

In response, he rolled over onto his stomach and gagged. For a moment I thought he had gotten sick, until a slug fell out of his mouth. Everyone around made noises of disgust.

From behind, there was a familiar flash; that Creevey kid. 

"Wow! Can you turn him around, Harry?" He asked in his squeaky little voice.

"No, Colin. Get out of the way," Potter replied in frustration. Him and I both picked up one of Weasley's arms and heaved him to his feet. 

"Let's take him to Hagrid's," Potter decided. "He'll know what to do."

"Right," I agreed, sniffing in displeasure when another slug came up from Weasley's mouth. 

Hermione led the way, the howling Slytherins were left to their victory. When we reached the hut, Hagrid opened the door immediately.

"I saw you comin' from a ways away. Ron didn't look too good," Hagrid said.

"Not in any sense, no," I confirmed.