November arrived the next morning, and with it, the frost. The Slytherin common room was a little chillier than normal, but still warm enough. The Quidditch season had begun, so the team were out practising as much as they can. Marcus Flint, their team captain, had heard a rumour that Harry Potter was the Gryffindor's new seeker.
"So that's why he had the broomstick," gaped Orla. "'Special circumstances'. Breaking the rules more like," she seethed.
"Saint Potter, the teachers's pet," grumbled Draco.
"Look, I'm sure it will work out alright," soothed Pansy. "I mean, he's never played before has he? So we will beat them no problem." This cheered Draco up. Tomorrow was the first match of the season, Slytherin versus Gryffindor, and they were determined to beat Gryffindor, moreso because a win would secure current second place for the House Cup for Gryffindor.
Match day arrived, and Orla made her way up to breakfast with Daphne. Both were wrapped up warm in their house scarves, with muggle jeans, jumpers and boots. Both teams were dressed in their basic kit already, with their protective gear waiting for them in their dressing rooms.
"Don't worry Potter, we'll put plenty of mattresses on the pitch for you," laughed one of the older Slytherin boys, causing all the Slytherin first years to laugh too. Orla tucked into her plate of sausage, fried egg, and beans, followed by a nice, milky cup of tea, then linked arms with Daphne again and made their way down to the pitch. They joined Draco, Crabbe, and Goyle in the front row of one of the stands and took their seats, grinning.
"Now, I want a nice, fair game, all of you," Madam Hooch said, as she stood in the middle of the pitch. "Captains, shake hands." Marcus Flint sauntered over to the centre of the pitch, as did the Gryffindor Captain; Oliver Wood. "Mount your brooms, please." They did as they were told, and as Madam Hooch gave a loud blast on her whistle, she threw the quaffle into the air, and 14 brooms rose up with it.
Orla loved Quiddich. Her favourite team was the Vratsa Vultures, from Bulgaria. They were the ones who invented the long goal, in which a goal is made from outside the scoring area. There are seven people on each team; one seeker, one goal keeper, two beaters and three chasers. The chasers throw and catch the quaffle, a large red ball with one flat side, and use it to score goals. Then there are the bludgers - two small but heavy balls, enchanted to knock players off of their brooms. The beaters follow these around and knock them away from their team mates. The Weasley twins were beaters for Gryffindor, and no-one really knew who was who, especially in the middle of a game. The goal keeper, well, he or she guarded the three goalposts - three long poles with a circular hole, different sizes, on top. The seeker was the most precious of these players. He or she had to find the tiny golden snitch. A tiny little ball with wings, which was so fast, it was damn near impossible to see. Though if you were to catch it, it was worth 150 points. Slytherin's seeker was a seventh year by the name of Terence Higgs. He had the bulk, so he wouldn't be knocked off his broom easily, but Potter had the advantage in that sense, by being alot smaller, therefore he could zip about more.
"And they're off!" shouted the announcer, a third year by the name of Lee Jordan. Orla recognised him as the boy with tarantula on platform 9 3/4. "And the quaffle is immediately taken by Angelina Johnson of Gryffindor - what an excellent Chaser that girl is, and rather attractive too -"
"JORDAN," shouted McGonagall, next to him. Orla watched as the players flew around the pitch, the quaffle going from Slytherin, to Gryffindor, back to Slytherin and then......
"GOAL! Gryffindor have scored," yelled Jordan. The crowd cheered. Orla groaned. Bletchley had missed, and let the quaffle through. Again the quaffle went back and forth, the bludgers almost unseating Flint a couple of times. Daphne spotted a commotion near the end of the pitch, and nudged Orla. Potter and Higgs seemed to be heading towards the snitch, each gaining on it as equally fast as the other. WHAM. Orla and Draco cheered, as Flint purposefully whacked into Potter, to try and unbalance him.
"Foul!" cried Wood, as Madam Hooch called the players back down. She yelled at Flint, then ordered a free goal to the Gryffindors.
"Missed!" cheered Daphne, as Crabbe and Goyle laughed.
"So - after that obvious and disgusting bit of cheating - "
"Jordan," growled McGonagall.
"I mean, after that open and revolting foul - "
"Jordan I'm warning you."
"Alright, alright. Flint nearly kills the Gryffindor Seeker, which could happen to anyone, I'm sure. So it's a penalty to Gryffindor, taken by Spinnet who aww, who misses, so we continue play. And Slytherin are in possession." Moments later, Orla saw as the Gryffindors in the crowd seemed to be whispering about something and pointing up to the air. She looked up to see Potter flinging himself from side to side, up and down, almost falling off his broom.
"I thought Quidditch players were supposed to be able to actually use a broom," she laughed, as Daphne let out a howl of laughter. Potter's broom was now rolling over and over, and then he was just hanging on by his hand. Before Orla could say anything else, a scream came from the Teachers's stand, and flames were shooting from Snape's robes.
"Merlin's beard," cried Draco, hoping his favourite teacher would be ok. Thankfully the flames were put out pretty quickly, so no one was harmed. But in all the commotion, they had all failed to miss Potter get back onto his broomstick, which was now behaving. He seemed to have spotted something glinting in the sunlight, however, as once he was on his broom again, he flew off, as fast as he could. He reached out to catch it, but it was just too far away. No-one could have expected what was to come next. Orla watched, open mouthed, as Potter stood up on his broom, still flying low above the ground, trying so desperately to reach it. She willed him not to, so hard, that she didn't realise she was gripping Daphne's hand until Daphne pulled away.
"Sorry," she smiled. Potter stepped further forwards on his broom, reaching out with his finger tips until.......
"Ha ha ha," laughed Draco. Potter had fallen off his broom, face first into the ground and rolled over and over. He sat up, unharmed. The crowd held their collective breath.
"He's going to be sick," Orla heard Hagrid shout. Sure enough, Potter looked as though he was gagging. Then, out popped the snitch from his mouth, into his hands. The crowd went wild, shouting, cheering, clapping. All except for the Slytherins, who were booing and groaning.
Twenty minutes later, as Orla and her friends were leaving the pitch to go and get warm in the castle, they pased Flint howling at Madam Hooch.
"But he didn't catch it, he nearly swallowed it."
"Tough," said Madam Hooch. "Potter didn't break any rules, they won, fair and square." Flint stomped off back to the changing room, looking like an angry troll.
They all tried to avoid him for the rest of the day in the common room. Which was pretty easy, seeing as he just sat there by the window, growling to himself, watching the Black Lake as it began to freeze over in the cold weather.
"Surely that isn't fair," Orla whispered to Daphne and Pansy once they were back in their dorm rooms, getting changed into warmer clothes.
"No it bloody well isn't," huffed Pansy. "But it's not up to us is it. Favouritism, that's what it is." They spent the rest of the day bitching out Gryffindor, Potter in particular. It didn't make the situation any better, but it certainly helped them feel better!
