Harry Potter and The Order of the Phoenix - Rowling Joanne Kathleen - Страница 75

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Harry zoomed around the end of the stadium behind the Slytherin goalhoops, willing himself not to look at what was going on at Ron's end. As he sped past the Slytherin Keeper, he heard Bletchley singing along with the crowd below:

'WEASLEY CANNOT SAVE A THING . . . '

' — and Pucey's dodged Alicia again and he's heading straight for goal, stop it, Ron!'

Harry did not have to look to see what had happened: there was a terrible groan from the Gryffindor end, coupled with fresh screams and applause from the Slytherins. Looking down, Harry saw the pug-faced Pansy Parkinson right at the front of the stands, her back to the pitch as she conducted the Slytherin supporters who were roaring:

'THAT 'S WHY SLYTHERINS ALL SING

WEASLEY IS OUR KING. '

But twenty-nil was nothing, there was still time for Gryffindor to catch up or catch the Snitch. A few goals and they would be in the lead as usual, Harry assured himself, bobbing and weaving through the other players in pursuit of something shiny that turned out to be Montague's watchstrap.

But Ron let in two more goals. There was an edge of panic in Harry's desire to find the Snitch now. If he could just get it soon and finish the game quickly.

' — and Katie Bell of Gryffindor dodges Pucey, ducks Montague, nice swerve, Katie, and she throws to Johnson, Angelina Johnson takes the Quaffle, she's past Warrington, she's heading for goal, come on now, Angelina — GRYFFINDOR SCORE! It's forty-ten, forty-ten to Slytherin and Pucey has the Quaffle . . .'

Harry could hear Luna's ludicrous lion hat roaring amidst the Gryffindor cheers and felt heartened; only thirty points in it, that was nothing, they could pull back easily. Harry ducked a Bludger that Crabbe had sent rocketing in his direction and resumed his frantic scouring of the pitch for the Snitch, keeping one eye on Malfoy in case he showed signs of having spotted it, but Malfoy, like him, was continuing to soar around the stadium, searching fruitlessly . . .

' — Pucey throws to Warrington, Warrington to Montague, Montague back to Pucey —Johnson intervenes, Johnson takes the Quaffle, Johnson to Bell, this looks good — I mean bad — Bell's hit by a Bludger from Goyle of Slytherin and it's Pucey in possession again . . .'

'WEASLEY WAS BORN IN A BIN

HE ALWAYS LETS THE QUAFFLE IN

WEASLEY WILL MAKE SURE WE WIN . . . '

But Harry had seen it at last: the tiny fluttering Golden Snitch was hovering feet from the ground at the Slytherin end of the pitch.

He dived . . .

In a matter of seconds, Malfoy was streaking out of the sky on Harry's left, a green and silver blur lying flat on his broom . . .

The Snitch skirted the foot of one of the goalhoops and scooted off towards the other side of the stands; its change of direction suited Malfoy, who was nearer; Harry pulled his Firebolt around, he and Malfoy were now neck and neck . . .

Feet from the ground, Harry lifted his right hand from his broom, stretching towards the Snitch . . . to his right, Malfoy's arm extended too, was reaching, groping . . .

It was over in two breathless, desperate, windswept seconds — Harry's fingers closed around the tiny, struggling ball — Malfoy's fingernails scrabbled the back of Harry's hand hopelessly — Harry pulled his broom upwards, holding the struggling ball in his hand and the Gryffindor spectators screamed their approval . . .

They were saved, it did not matter that Ron had let in those goals, nobody would remember as long as Gryffindor had won —

WHAM.

A Bludger hit Harry squarely in the small of the back and he flew forwards off his broom. Luckily he was only five or six feet above the ground, having dived so low to catch the Snitch, but he was winded all the same as he landed flat on his back on the frozen pitch. He heard Madam Hooch's shrill whistle, an uproar in the stands compounded of catcalls, angry yells and jeering, a thud, then Angelina's frantic voice.

'Are you all right?'

'Course I am,' said Harry grimly, taking her hand and allowing her to pull him to his feet. Madam Hooch was zooming towards one of the Slytherin players above him, though he could not see who it was from this angle.

'It was that thug Crabbe,' said Angelina angrily, 'he whacked the Bludger at you the moment he saw you'd got the Snitch — but we won, Harry, we won!'

Harry heard a snort from behind him and turned around, still holding the Snitch tightly in his hand: Draco Malfoy had landed close by. White-faced with fury, he was still managing to sneer.

'Saved Weasley's neck, haven't you?' he said to Harry. 'I've never seen a worse Keeper . . . but then he was born in a bin . . . did you like my lyrics, Potter?'

Harry didn't answer. He turned away to meet the rest of the team who were now landing one by one, yelling and punching the air in triumph; all except Ron, who had dismounted from his broom over by the goalposts and seemed to be making his way slowly back to the changing rooms alone.

'We wanted to write another couple of verses!' Malfoy called, as Katie and Alicia hugged Harry. 'But we couldn't find rhymes for fat and ugly — we wanted to sing about his mother, see — '

'Talk about sour grapes,' said Angelina, casting Malfoy a disgusted look.

' — we couldn't fit in useless loser either — for his father, you know — '

Fred and George had realised what Malfoy was talking about. Halfway through shaking Harry's hand, they stiffened, looking round at Malfoy.

'Leave it!' said Angelina at once, taking Fred by the arm. 'Leave it, Fred, let him yell, he's just sore he lost, the jumped-up little —

' — but you like the Weasleys, don't you, Potter?' said Malfoy, sneering. 'Spend holidays there and everything, don't you? Can't see how you stand the stink, but I suppose when you've been dragged up by Muggles, even the Weasleys' hovel smells OK — '

Harry grabbed hold of George. Meanwhile, it was taking the combined efforts of Angelina, Alicia and Katie to stop Fred leaping on Malfoy, who was laughing openly. Harry looked around for Madam Hooch, but she was still berating Crabbe for his illegal Bludger attack.

'Or perhaps,' said Malfoy, leering as he backed away, 'you can remember what your mother's house stank like, Potter, and Weasley's pigsty reminds you of it — '

Harry was not aware of releasing George, all he knew was that a second later both of them were sprinting towards Malfoy. He had completely forgotten that all the teachers were watching: all he wanted to do was cause Malfoy as much pain as possible; with no time to draw out his wand, he merely drew back the fist clutching the Snitch and sank it as hard as he could into Malfoy's stomach —

'Harry! HARRY! GEORGE! NO! '

He could hear girls' voices screaming, Malfoy yelling, George swearing, a whistle blowing and the bellowing of the crowd around him, but he did not care. Not until somebody in the vicinity yelled 'Impedimenta! ' and he was knocked over backwards by the force of the spell, did he abandon the attempt to punch every inch of Malfoy he could reach.

'What do you think you're doing?' screamed Madam Hooch, as Harry leapt to his feet. It seemed to have been her who had hit him with the Impediment Jinx; she was holding her whistle in one hand and a wand in the other; her broom lay abandoned several feet away. Malfoy was curled up on the ground, whimpering and moaning, his nose bloody; George was sporting a swollen lip; Fred was still being forcibly restrained by the three Chasers, and Crabbe was cackling in the background. 'I've never seen behaviour like it — back up to the castle, both of you, and straight to your Head of House's office! Go! Now.'

Harry and George turned on their heels and marched off the pitch, both panting, neither saying a word to the other. The howling and jeering of the crowd grew fainter and fainter until they reached the Entrance Hall, where they could hear nothing except the sound of their own footsteps. Harry became aware that something was still struggling in his right hand, the knuckles of which he had bruised against Malfoy's jaw. Looking down, he saw the Snitch's silver wings protruding from between his fingers, struggling for release.

They had barely reached the door of Professor McGonagalls office when she came marching along the corridor behind them. She was wearing a Gryffindor scarf, but tore it from her throat with shaking hands as she strode towards them, looking livid.

'In!' she said furiously, pointing to the door. Harry and George entered. She strode around behind her desk and faced them, quivering with rage as she threw the Gryffindor scarf aside on to the floor.

'Well? ' she said. 'I have never seen such a disgraceful exhibition. Two on one! Explain yourselves!'

'Malfoy provoked us,' said Harry stiffly.

'Provoked you?' shouted Professor McGonagall, slamming a fist on to her desk so that her tartan tin slid sideways off it and burst open, littering the floor with Ginger Newts. 'He'd just lost, hadn't he? Of course he wanted to provoke you! But what on earth he can have said that justified what you two — '

'He insulted my parents,' snarled George. 'And Harry's mother.'

'But instead of leaving it to Madam Hooch to sort out, you two decided to give an exhibition of Muggle duelling, did you?' bellowed Professor McGonagall. 'Have you any idea what you've — ?'

'Hem, hem. '

Harry and George both wheeled round. Dolores Umbridge was standing in the doorway wrapped in a green tweed cloak that greatly enhanced her resemblance to a giant toad, and was smiling in the horrible, sickly, ominous way that Harry had come to associate with imminent misery.

'May I help, Professor McGonagall?' asked Professor Umbridge in her most poisonously sweet voice.

Blood rushed into Professor McGonagall's face.

'Help?' she repeated, in a constricted voice. 'What do you mean, help?'

Professor Umbridge moved forwards into the office, still smiling her sickly smile.

'Why, I thought you might be grateful for a little extra authority.'

Harry would not have been surprised to see sparks fly from Professor McGonagall's nostrils.

'You thought wrong,' she said, turning her back on Umbridge.

'Now, you two had better listen closely. I do not care what provocation Malfoy offered you, I do not care if he insulted every family member you possess, your behaviour was disgusting and I am giving each of you a week's worth of detentions! Do not look at me like that, Potter, you deserve it! And if either of you ever — '

'Hem, hem. '

Professor McGonagall closed her eyes as though praying for patience as she turned her face towards Professor Umbridge again.

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