Sirius's son

Kreacher

On the morning of the Quidditch match against Hufflepuff, Harry and Rigel dropped in on the hospital wing before heading down to the pitch. Ron was very agitated; Madam Pomfrey would not let him go down to watch the match, feeling it would overexcite him.

"So how's McLaggen shaping up?" he asked Harry nervously, apparently forgetting that he had already asked the same question twice.

"I've told you," said Harry patiently, "he could be world-class and I wouldn't want to keep him. He keeps trying to tell everyone what to do, he thinks he could play every position better than the rest of us. I can't wait to be shot of him."

"Oh, and speaking of getting shot of people," Rigel added, getting to his feet and picking up his Firebolt, "will you stop pretending to be asleep when Lavender comes to see you? She's driving us mad as well."

"Oh," said Ron, looking sheepish. "Yeah. All right."

"If you don't want to go out with her anymore, just tell her," said Harry.

Yeah . . . well . . . it's not that easy, is it?" said Ron. He paused."Hermione going to look in before the match?" he added casually.

"No, she's already gone down to the pitch with Ginny."

"Oh," said Ron, looking rather glum. "Right. Well, good luck. Hope you hammer McLag — I mean, Smith."

"We'll try," said Harry, shouldering his broom. "See you after the match."

"Later mate," said Rigel.

The two hurried down through the deserted corridor; the whole school was outside, either already seated in the stadium or heading down toward it. They were looking out of the windows they passed, trying to gauge how much wind they were facing, when a noise ahead made him glance up and he saw Malfoy walking toward him, accompanied by two girls, both of whom looked sulky and resentful.

Malfoy stopped short at the sight of them, then gave a short, humorless laugh and continued walking.

"Where're you going?" Harry demanded.

"Yeah, I'm really going to tell you, because it's your business, Potter," sneered Malfoy. "You'd better hurry up, they'll be waiting for the Chosen Captain-the Boy Who Scored-whatever they call you these days."

One of the girls gave an unwilling giggle. Harry stared at her. She blushed. Malfoy pushed past Harry and Rigel. She and her friend followed at a trot, turning the corner and vanishing from view.

"Where have you been?" demanded Ginny, as Harry and Rigel sprinted into the changing rooms. The whole team was changed and ready; Coote and Peakes, the Beaters, were both hitting their clubs nervously against their legs.

"We met Malfoy," Harry told her quietly, as he pulled his scarlet robes over his head.

"So?" Ginny said as Rigel chucked on his basilisk boots.

"So I wanted to know how come he's up at the castle with a couple of girlfriends while everyone else is down here..."

"Does it matter right now?"

"Well, I'm not likely to find out, am I?" said Harry, seizing his Firebolt and pushing his glasses straight. "Come on then!"

And without another word, Harry marched out onto the pitch to deafening cheers and boos, followed right behind was Rigel.

There was little wind; the clouds were patchy; every now and then there were dazzling flashes of bright sunlight.

"Tricky conditions!" McLaggen said bracingly to the team. "Coote, Peakes, you'll want to fly out of the sun, so they don't see you coming -"