You Get What You Deserve

In no time at all, Defence Against the Dark Arts had become most people’s favourite class. Only Malfoy and his gang of Slytherins had anything bad to say about Lupin.

“Look at the state of his robes,” Malfoy would say in a loud whisper as Lupin passed. “He dresses like our old house-elf.”

But no one else cared that Lupin’s robes were patched and frayed. His next few lessons were just as interesting as the first. After Boggarts, we studied Red Caps, nasty little goblin-like creatures that lurked wherever there had been bloodshed, in the dungeons of castles and the potholes of deserted battlefields, waiting to to bludgeon those who had got lost. From Red Caps we moved on to Kappas, creepy water-dwellers that looked like scaly monkeys, with webbed hands itching to strangle unwitting waders in their ponds.

I only wished I was as happy with some of my other classes. Worst of all was Potions. Snape was in a particularly vindictive mood these days, and no one was in any doubt why. The story of the Boggart assuming Snape’s shape, and the way that Neville had dressed it in his grandmother’s clothes, had travelled through the school like wildfire. Snape didn’t seem to find it very funny. His eyes flashed menacingly at the very mention of Lupin’s name, and he was bullying Neville worse than ever.

I was also growing to dread the hours I spent in Trelawney’s stifling tower room, deciphering lop-sided shapes and symbols, trying to ignore the way Trelawney’s enormous eyes filled with tears every time she looked at Harry. I couldn’t like Trelawney, even though she was treated with respect bordering on reverence by many of the class. Parvati Patil and Lavender Brown had taken to haunting Trelawney’s tower at lunchtimes, and always returned with annoyingly superior looks on their faces, as though they knew things we didn’t.

Nobody really liked Care of Magical Creatures, which, after the action-packed first class, had become extremely dull. Hagrid seemed to have lost his confidence. We were now spending lesson after lesson learning how to look after Flobberworms, which had to be some of the most boring creatures in existence.

“Why would anyone bother looking after them?” I moaned, after yet another hour of poking shredded lettuce down the Flobberworms’ slimy throats.

At the start of October, I noticed Harry was more excited than normal. The Quidditch season was approaching, and Oliver Wood, captain of the Gryffindor team, called a meeting one Thursday evening to discuss tactics for the new season. I wasn’t on the team, but I normally went and watch practises.

There were seven people on a Quidditch team; three Chasers, whose job it was to score goals by putting the Quaffle (a red, football-sized ball) through one of the fifty-foot-high hoops at each end of the pitch; two Beaters, who were equipped with heavy bats to repel the Bludgers (two heavy black balls which zoomed around trying to attack the players); a Keeper, who defended the goalposts, and the Seeker, who had the hardest job of them all, that of catching the Golden Snitch, a tiny, winged, walnut-sized ball, whose capture ended the game and earned the Seeker’s team an extra one hundred and fifty points.

Oliver Wood was a burly seventeen-year-old, now in his seventh and final year at Hogwarts. There was a quiet sort of desperation in his voice as he addressed his six fellow team members in the chilly changing rooms on the edge of the darkening Quidditch pitch. I sat awkwardly in the corning; not knowing why I was there.

“This is our last chance – my last chance – to win the Quidditch Cup,” he told them, striding up and down in front of them. “I’ll be leaving at the end of this year. I’ll never get another shot at it. Gryffindor haven’t won for seven years now. OK, so we’ve had the worst luck in the world – injuries – then the tournament getting called off last year...” Wood swallowed, as though the memory still brought a lump to his throat.

“But we also know we’ve got the best – ruddy – team – in – the – school,” he said, punching a fist into his other hand, the old manic glint back in his eye.

“We’ve got three superb Chasers.”

Wood pointed at Alicia Spinnet, Angelina Johnson and Katie Bell.
“We’ve got two unbeatable Beaters.”

“Stop it, Oliver, you’re embarrassing us,” said Fred and George together, pretending to blush, and I held back a smile.

“And we’ve got a Seeker who has never failed to win us a match!” Wood rumbled, glaring at Harry with a kind of furious pride. “And me,” he added, as an afterthought.

“We think you’re very good, too, Oliver,” said George.

“Cracking Keeper,” said Fred.
“The point is,” Wood went on, resuming his pacing, “the Quidditch Cup should have had our name on it these last two years. Ever since Harry joined the team, I’ve thought the thing was in the bag. But we haven’t got it, and this year’s the last chance we’ll get to finally see our name on the thing...”

Wood spoke so dejectedly that even the twins looked sympathetic.

“Oliver, this year’s our year,” said Fred.

“We’ll do it, Oliver!” said Angelina.

“Definitely,” said Harry.

“Um, not to burst your guys’ bubble or anything,” I said awkwardly, and everyone turned to look at me, “but; Wood, what am I doing here?”

“Oh – right – Corey,” Oliver said, shaking his head a little. “Come with me, everyone.”

Confused, everyone stood up and followed Oliver to the nearly pitch black Quidditch pitch.

“Right, it’s getting dark, so we’ll have to do this quickly. Okay, Corey, you need to show me how well you can fly and how well you can aim.”

“What?” I said stupidly.

“Get on this broom,” Oliver said, passing me a broom, “and fly it, dodging the Bludgers I’m going to release, and you need to get this,” he handed me a Quaffle, “into one of those goalposts.”

“Yes, yes, yes,” I said impatiently, “but why?”

“What do you mean why?” Oliver said, looking at me as if I was mad. “Do you want to be on the team or not?”

“I – of course but – you already have three Chasers – and how did you even know I wanted to –“ I shut my mouth, not wanting to make a bigger fool of myself than I already had.

“Just get up there and show us what you can do,” Wood said, reassuringly. “You two, make sure she doesn’t get it.”

I swung my leg over the broomstick and, feeling a sudden burst of excitement, pushed off from the ground; shooting forward. I swirled around a bit, getting used to flying the with Quaffle under my arm.

“I’m letting the Bludger out now!” Wood called, after about a minute or two of me fly around.
I saw the ball zooming towards me, and I quickly shot forward, not wanting to get hit. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw two bright orange dots fly up and coming to stay around me; of course, Fred and George were the Beaters.

I paid no attention to them, however, and went for the goal, avoiding the Bludger a couple of times, using a series or swirls and rolls. I reached the goal, and didn’t bother to slow down as I reached my arm back and pushed it forward with all my might.

Even though it was really dark, I could clearly, and easily, see the red ball fly through the middle goalpost, while I beamed happily at my achievement.