I will always find you

OOTP 21

The final match of the Quidditch season, Gryffindor versus Ravenclaw, was to take place on the last weekend of May. Although Slytherin had been narrowly defeated by Hufflepuff in their last match, Gryffindor was not daring to hope for victory, due mainly (though of course nobody said it to him) to Ron’s abysmal goalkeeping record. He, however, seemed to have found a new optimism.

“I mean, I can’t get any worse, can I?” he told Ella, Harry and Hermione grimly over breakfast on the morning of the match. “Nothing to lose now, is there?”

“You know,” said Hermione, as she, Ella and Harry walked down to the pitch a little later in the midst of a very excitable crowd, “I think Ron might do better without Fred and George around. They never exactly gave him a lot of confidence. . . .” Luna Lovegood overtook them with what appeared to be a live eagle perched on top of her head. “Oh gosh, I forgot!” said Hermione, watching the eagle flapping its wings as Luna walked serenely past a group of cackling and pointing Slytherins. “Cho will be playing, won’t she?” Harry, who had not forgotten this, merely grunted. They found seats in the topmost row of the stands. It was a fine, clear day. Ron could not wish for better, and Harry found himself hoping against hope that Ron would not give the Slytherins cause for more rousing choruses of “Weasley Is Our King.” Lee Jordan, who had been very dispirited since Fred and George had left, was commentating as usual. As the teams zoomed out onto the pitches he named the players with something less than his usual gusto.

“. . . Bradley . . . Davies . . . Chang,” he said. “And they’re off!” said Lee. “And Davies takes the Quaffle immediately, Ravenclaw Captain Davies with the Quaffle, he dodges Johnson, he dodges Bell, he dodges Spinnet as well. . . . He’s going straight for goal! He’s going to shoot — and — and —” Lee swore very loudly. “And he’s scored.” Ella, Harry and Hermione groaned with the rest of the Gryffindors. Predictably, horribly, the Slytherins on the other side of the stands began to sing: Weasley cannot save a thing, He cannot block a single ring . . .

“Harry,” said a hoarse voice "Ella, Hermione . . .” Ella looked around and saw Hagrid’s enormous bearded face sticking between the seats; apparently he had squeezed his way all along the row behind, for the first and second years he had just passed had a ruffled, flattened look about them. For some reason, Hagrid was bent double as though anxious not to be seen, though he was still at least four feet taller than everybody else. “Listen,” he whispered, “can yeh come with me? Now? While ev’ryone’s watchin’ the match?”

“Er . . . can’t it wait, Hagrid?” asked Harry. “Till the match is over?

“No,” said Hagrid. “No, Harry, it’s gotta be now . . . while ev’ryone’s lookin’ the other way. . . . Please?” Hagrid’s nose was gently dripping blood. His eyes were both blackened. Ella had not seen him this close up since his return to the school; he looked utterly woebegone.

"Of course we'll come Hagrid" Ella answered looking at him with a smile. They edged back along their row of seats, causing much grumbling among the students who had to stand up for them. The people in Hagrid’s row were not complaining, merely attempting to make themselves as small as possible.

“I ’ppreciate this, you three, I really do,” said Hagrid as they reached the stairs. He kept looking around nervously as they descended toward the lawn below. “I jus’ hope she doesn’ notice us goin’. . . .”

“You mean Umbridge?” said Harry. “She won’t, she’s got her whole Inquisitorial Squad sitting with her, didn’t you see? She must be expecting trouble at the match.”

“Yeah, well, a bit o’ trouble wouldn’ hurt,” said Hagrid, pausing to peer around the edge of the stands to make sure the stretch of lawn between there and his cabin was deserted. “Give us more time . . .”