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But the scream of delight came from the Slytherins’ end: Ron had dived wildly, his arms wide, and the Quaffle had soared between them straight through Ron’s central hoop.

“Slytherin score!” came Lee’s voice amid the cheering and booing from the crowds below, “so that’s ten-nil to Slytherin—bad luck, Ron.”

The Slytherins sang even louder:

WEASLEY WAS BORN IN A BIN
HE ALWAYS LETS THE QUAFFLE IN…

“—and Gryffindor back in possession and it’s Katie Bell tanking up the pitch—” cried Lee valiantly, though the singing was now so deafening that he could hardly make himself heard above it.

WEASLEY WILL MAKE SURE WE WIN
WEASLEY IS OUR KING…

“Harry, WHAT ARE YOU DOING?” screamed Angelina, soaring past him to keep up with Katie. “GET GOING!”

Harry realised he had been stationary in midair for over a minute, watching the progress of the match without sparing a thought for the whereabouts of the Snitch; horrified, he went into a dive and started circling the pitch again, staring around, trying to ignore the chorus now thundering through the stadium:

WEASLEY IS OUR KING,
WEASLEY IS OUR KING…

There was no sign of the Snitch anywhere he looked; Malfoy was still circling the stadium just as he was. They passed one another midway around the pitch, going in opposite directions, and Harry heard Malfoy singing loudly:

WEASLEY WAS BORN IN A BIN…

“—and it’s Warrington again,” bellowed Lee, “who passes to Pucey, Pucey’s off past Spinnet, come on now, Angelina, you can take him—turns out you can’t—but nice Bludger from Fred Weasley, I mean, George Weasley, oh, who cares, one of them, anyway, and Warrington drops the Quaffle and Katie Bell—er—drops it, too—so that’s Montague with the Quaffle, Slytherin Captain Montague takes the Quaffle and he’s off up the pitch, come on now, Gryffindor, block him!”

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.

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