meant to be (2)

16

"Now listen here you lot" Oliver said "we should have won the Quiditch Cup last year. We're easily
the best team. But unfortunately, owing to circumans beyond our control..."

I shifted guiltily in my seat. Harry and I had been unconscious in the hospital wing for the final match of the previous year meaning that Gryffindor had been two players short and had suffered our worst defeat in three hundred years.

Wood took a moment to regain control of himself. Our last defeat was clearly still torturing him.

"So, this year, we train harder than ever before... Ok let's go and put our new theories into practice" Wood shouted, seizing his broomstick and leading the way our of the changing rooms. Stiff-legged and still yawning, his team followed.

We had been in the changing room so long that the sun was up properly now, although remnants of mist hung over the grass in the stadium. As I walked onto the pitch, I saw Ron and Hermione sitting in the stands.

"Aren't you finished yet?" called Ron incredulously.

"Haven't even started." said Harry, while I pointed at Wood, indicating he's gone mad with my fingers. "Wood's been teaching us new moves!"

I mounted my broomstick and kicked at the ground, soaring up into the air. The cool morning air whipped my face, waking me far more effectively than Wood's long talk.

It felt wonderful to be back on the Quidditch pitch. I soared right around the stadium at full speed, racing Harry. But we didn't finish our race.

"What's that funny clicking noise?" called Fred, as we hurtled around the corner. I looked into the stands. Colin was sitting in one of the highest seats, his camera raised, taking picture after picture, the sound strangely magnified in the deserted stadium.

"Look this way, Harry! This way!" he cried shrilly.

"Who's that?" asked Fred.

"No idea." Harry lied, putting on a spurt of speed that took him as far away as possible from Colin.

"What's going on?" said Wood, frowning, as he skimmed through the air towards them. "Why's that first-year taking pictures? I don't like it. He could be a Slytherin spy, trying to find out about our new training programme!"

"Wood, nobody cares about your stupid new training programme" I said, still angry about being up so early.

"He's in Gryffindor." said Harry quickly while flying next to me, as he noticed my growing rage.

"And the Slytherins don't need a spy, Oliver." said George.

"What makes you say that?" said Wood testily, ignoring my bad mood.

"Because they're here in person" said George, pointing. Several people in green robes were walking onto the pitch, broomsticks in their hands.

"I don't believe it!" Wood hissed in outrage. "I booked the pitch for today! We'll see about this!"

Wood shot towards the ground, landing rather harder than he meant to in his anger, staggering slightly as he dismounted.

Harry, Fred, George and I followed.

"Flint!" Wood bellowed at the Slytherin captain. "This is our practice time! We got up specially! You can clear off now!"

Marcus Flint was even larger than Wood. He had a look of trollish cunning on his face as he replied: "Plenty of room for all of us, Wood!"

Angelina and Katie had come over, too. There were no girls on the Slytherin team - who stood, shoulder to shoulder, facing the Gryffindors, leering to a man.

"But I booked the pitch!" said Wood, positively spitting with rage. "I booked it!"

I shuffled closer to Harry. I've never seen Oliver this angry and it kind of scared me.

"Ah" said Flint, "but I've got a specially signed note here from Professor Snape. I, Professor S. Snape, give the Slytherin team permission to practise today on the Quidditch pitch, owing to the need to train their new Seeker!"

"You've got a new Seeker?" said Wood, distracted. "Where?"

And from behind the six large figures before them came a seventh, smaller boy, smirking all over his pale, pointed face.

It was Draco Malfoy.

"Aren't you Lucius Malfoy's son?" said Fred, looking at Malfoy with dislike.

"Funny you should mention Draco's father" said Flint, as the whole Slytherin team smiled still more broadly. "Let me show you the generous gift he's made to the Slytherin team!"

All seven of them held out their broomsticks. Seven highly polished, brand-new handles and seven sets of fine gold lettering spelling the words Nimbus Two Thousand and One' gleamed under the Gryffindors' noses in the early-morning sun.

"Very latest model. Only came out last month"
said Flint carelessly, flicking a speck of dust from the end of his own. "I believe it outstrips the old Two Thousand series by an aconsiderable amount. As for the old Cleansweeps" he smiled nastily at Fred and George, who were both clutching Clean-sweep Fives, sweeps the board with them.

None of the Gryffindor team could think of anything to say for a moment. Malfoy was smirking so broadly his cold eyes were reduced to slits.

"Oh look" said Flint. "A pitch invasion!"

Ron and Hermione were crossing the grass to see what was going on.

"What's happening?" Ron asked Harry and me. "Why aren't you playing? And what's he doing here?"

He was looking at Malfoy, taking in his Slytherin Quidditch robes.

"I'm the new Slytherin Seeker, Weasley" said Malfoy, smugly. "Everyone's just been admiring the brooms my father's bought our team."

Ron gaped, open-mouthed, at the seven super broomsticks in front of him.

"Good, aren't they?" said Malfoy smoothly. "But perhaps the Gryffindor team will be able to raise some gold and get new brooms, too. You could raffle off those Cleansweep Fives, I expect a museum would bid for them."

The Slytherin team howled with laughter.

"At least no one on the Gryffindor team had to buy their way in" said Hermione sharply. "They got in on pure talent!"

The smug look on Malfoy's face flickered.

"No one asked your opinion, you filthy little Mudblood" he spat.

"You filthy rat!" I screamed.

Flint had to dive in front of Malfoy to stop Fred and George jumping on him, Katie shrieked: "How dare you" and Ron plunged his hand into his robes, pulled out his wand, yelling,

"You'll pay for that one, Malfoy" he said and pointed his wand furiously under Flints arm at Malfoy's face.

A loud bang echoed around the stadium and a jet of green light shot out of the wrong end of Ron's wand, hitting him in the stomach and sending him reeling backwards onto the grass.

"Ron! Ron! Are you all right?" squealed Hermione.

"Oh no" I said, kneeling down next to him.

Ron opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. Instead he gave an almighty belch and several slugs dribbled out of his mouth onto his lap.

The Slytherin team were paralysed with laughter. Flint was doubled up, hanging on to his new broomstick for support.

Malfoy was on all fours, banging the ground with his fist. The Gryffindors were gathered around Ron, who kept belching large, glistening slugs. Nobody seemed to want to touch him.

"We'd better get him to Hagrid's, it's nearest."  I said and Harry and Hermione pulled Ron up by the arms.

"What happened, Harry? What happened? Is he ill? But you can cure him, can't you?" Colin had run down from his seat and was now dancing alongside them as they left the pitch. Ron gave a huge heave and more slugs dribbled down his front.