Dreams Are Falling Short

The morning of the match dawned bright and cold. The Great Hall was filling up fast when we arrived, the talk louder and the mood more exuberant than usual. As we passed the Slytherin table there was an upsurge of noise. I looked around and saw that, in addition to the usual green and silver scarves and hats, every one of them was wearing a silver badge in the shape of what appeared to be a crown. For some reason many of them waved at Ron, laughing uproariously. I tried to see what was written on the badges as I walked by, but I was too concerned to get Ron past their table quickly to linger long enough to read them.

We received a rousing welcome at the Gryffindor table, where everyone was wearing red and gold, but far from raising Ron’s spirits the cheers seemed to sap the last of his morale; he collapsed on the nearest bench looking as though he was facing his final meal.

“I must’ve been mental to do this,” he said in a croaky whisper. “Mental.”

“Don’t be thick,” I said firmly, passing him a choice of cereals, “you’re going to be fine. It’s normal to be nervous.”

“I’m rubbish,” croaked Ron. “I’m lousy. I can’t play to save my life. What was I thinking?”

“Get a grip,” said Harry sternly. “Look at that save you made with your foot the other day, even Fred and George said it was brilliant.”

Ron turned a tortured face to Harry.

“That was an accident,” he whispered miserably. “I didn’t mean to do it – I slipped off my broom when none of you were looking and when I was trying to get back on I kicked the Quaffle by accident.”

“Well,” I said, recovering quicker than Harry from this unpleasant surprise, “a few more accidents like that and the game’s in the bag, isn’t it?”

Hermione and Ginny sat down beside me wearing red and gold scarves, gloves and rosettes.

“How’re you feeling?” Ginny asked Ron, who was now staring into the dregs of milk at the bottom of his empty cereal bowl as though seriously considering attempting to drown himself in them.

“He’s just nervous,” said Harry.

“Well, that’s a good sign, I never feel you perform as well in exams if you’re not a bit nervous,” said Hermione heartily.

“Hello,” said a vague and dreamy voice from behind us. I looked up: Luna Lovegood had drifted over from the Ravenclaw table. Many people were staring at her and a few were openly laughing and pointing; she had managed to procure a hat shaped like a life-sized lion’s head, which was perched precariously on her head.

“I’m supporting Gryffindor,” said Luna, pointing unnecessarily at her hat. “Look what it does...”

She reached up and tapped the hat with her wand. It opened its mouth wide and gave an extremely realistic roar that made everyone in the vicinity jump.

“It’s good, isn’t it?” said Luna happily., “I wanted to have it chewing up a serpent to represent Slytherin, you know, but there wasn’t time. Anyway... good luck, Ronald!”

She drifted away. We had not quite recovered from shock of Luna’s hat before Angelina came hurrying towards us, accompanied by Katie.

“When you’re ready,” she said, “we’re going to go straight down to the pitch, check out conditions and change.”

“We’ll be there in a bit,” I assured her. “Ron’s just got to have some breakfast.”

It became clear after ten minutes, however, that Ron was not capable of eating anything more and Harry and I thought it best to get him down to the changing rooms. As we rose from the table, Hermione got up, too, and taking my arm, she drew me to one side.

“Don’t let Ron see what’s on those Slytherins’ badges,” she whispered urgently.

I looked questioningly at her, but she shook her head warningly; Ron and Harry had just ambled over to us, Ron looking lost and desperate.

“Good luck, Ron,” said Hermione, standing on tiptoes and kissing him on the cheek. “And you two –“
Ron seemed to come to himself slightly as we walked back across the Great Hall. He touched the spot on his face where Hermione had kissed him, looking puzzled, as though he was not quite sure what had just happened. He seemed too distracted to notice much around him, but I cast a curious glance at the crown-shaped badges as we passed the Slytherin table, and this time I made out the words etched on to them:

Weasley is our King

With an unpleasant feeling that this could mean nothing good, I hurried Ron and Harry across the Entrance Hall, down the stone steps and out into the icy air.

The frosty grass crunched under our feet as we hurried down the sloping lawns towards 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 the eyes.

Angelina had changed already and was talking to the rest of the team as we entered. Harry, Ron and I pulled on our robes (Ron attempted to do his up back-to-front for several minutes before Katie took pity on him and went to help), then sat down to listen to the pre-match talk while the babble of voices outside grew steadily louder as the crowd came pouring out of the castle towards the pitch.
“OK, I’ve only just found out the final line-up for Slytherin,” said Angelina, consulting a piece of parchment. “Last year’s Beaters, Derrick and Bole, have left, but it looks as though Montague’s replaced them with the usual gorillas, rather than anyone who can fly particularly well. They’re two blokes called Crabbe and Goyle, I don’t know much about them –“

“We do,” said Harry, Ron and I together.

“Well, they don’t look bright enough to tell one end of a broom from the other,” said Angelina, pocketing her parchment, “but then I was always surprised Derrick and Bole managed to find their way on to the pitch without signposts.”

“Crabbe and Goyle are in the same mould,” I assured her.

We could hear hundreds of footsteps mounting the banked benches of the spectators’ stands. Some people were singing, though I could not make out the words. I was starting to feel nervous, but I knew my butterflies were as nothing compared to Ron’s, who was clutching his stomach and staring straight ahead again, his jaw set and his complexion pale grey.

“It’s time,” said Angelina in a hushed voice, looking at her watch. “C’mon everyone... good luck.”

The team rose, shouldered their brooms and marched in single file our of the changing room (I found myself in my comfortable position behind Fred and in front of George) and into the dazzling sunlight. A roar of sound greeted us in which I could still hear singing, though it was muffled by the cheers and whistles.

They Slytherin team was standing waiting for us. They, too, were wearing those silver crown-shaped badges. The new Captain, Montague, was built along the same lines as Harry’s cousin Dudley, with massive forearms like hairy hams. Behind him lurked Crabbe and Goyle, almost as large, blinking stupidly in the sunlight, swinging their new Beaters’ bats. Draco stood to one side, the sunlight gleaming on his white-blonde head. He caught Harry’s eye and smirked, tapping the crown-shaped badge on his chest, before he caught my eye and sobered up a bit, throwing me a small smile in the form of a twitch of the corner of his lips.

“Captains, shake hands,” ordered the referee Madam Hooch, as Angelina and Montague reached each other. I could tell that Montague was trying to crush Angelina’s gingers, though she did not wince. “Mount your brooms...”

Madam Hooch placed her whistle in her mouth and blew.