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—”

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—”

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<== попередня сторінка	\|	наступна сторінка ==>
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.	\|	Fred and George had realised what Malfoy was talking about. Halfway through shaking Harry’s hand, they stiffened, looking round at Malfoy.

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