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As the first Quidditch match of the season, Gryffindor versus Slytherin, drew nearer, their D.A. meetings were put on hold because Angelina insisted on almost daily practices. The fact that the Quidditch Cup had not been held for so long added considerably to the interest and excitement surrounding the forthcoming game.
The Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs were taking a lively interest in the outcome, for they, of course, would be playing both teams over the coming year; and the Heads of House of the competing teams, though they attempted to disguise it under a decent pretense of sportsmanship, were determined to see their side's victory.
Harry felt optimistic about Gryffindor's chances; they had, after all, never lost to Malfoy's team. Admittedly Rosalie had not been on the team up until now, and Harry knew that she was a force to be reckoned with.
In fact, she was the first female on the team since Harry could remember. He knew today's match would be tough considering Slytherin's current line up. . . but as long as he caught the snitch he'd be fine right?
The Great Hall was filling up fast when they arrived, the talk louder and the mood more exuberant than usual. As they passed the Slytherin table there was an upsurge of noise; Harry looked around and saw that nearly everyone there was wearing, their usual green-and-silver scarves, hats and silver badges.
They were all looking in the direction of the entrance, which Harry turned towards upon this upsurge of noise to see the entire Quidditch team, with Rosalie, Draco and Montague in front when they entered the Great Hall.
The frosty grass crunched under their feet as they hurried down the sloping lawns toward the stadium. There was no wind at all and the sky was a uniform pearly white, which meant that visibility would be good without the drawback of direct sunlight in their eyes.
They could hear hundreds of footsteps mounting the banked benches of the spectators' stands now. Some people were singing, though Rosalie could not make out the words. She was starting to feel nervous, but she knew her butterflies would disappear the minute they started playing.
Montague gave his final instructions before they flew into the stadium. "It's time," He remarked in a hushed voice, looking at his watch. "C'mon everyone . . . let's go crush those Gryffindor's."
The team rose, shouldered their brooms, and marched in single file out of the changing room and into the dazzling sunlight. A roar of sound greeted them in which Rosalie could still hear singing, though now it was no longer muffled by the cheers and whistles.
