“What’s going on?” said Wood, frowning, as he skimmed through the air toward them. “Why’s that first year taking pictures? I don’t like it. He could be a Slytherin spy, trying to find out about our new training program.”
“He’s in Gryffindor,” said Harry quickly.
“And the Slytherins don’t need a spy, Oliver,” said George.
“What makes you say that?” said Wood testily.
“Because they’re here in person,” said George, pointing.
Several people in green robes were walking onto the field, broomsticks in their hands.
“I don’t believe it!” Wood hissed in outrage. “I booked the field for today! We’ll see about this!”
Wood shot toward the ground, landing rather harder than he meant to in his anger, staggering slightly as he dismounted. Harry, Fred, and George followed.
“Flint!” Wood bellowed at the Slytherin Captain. “This is our practice time! We got up specially! You can clear off now!”
Marcus Flint was even larger than Wood. He had a look of trollish cunning on his face as he replied, “Plenty of room for all of us, Wood.”
Angelina, Alicia, and Katie had come over, too. There were no girls on the Slytherin team, who stood shoulder to shoulder, facing the Gryffindors, leering to a man.
“But I booked the field!” said Wood, positively spitting with rage. “I booked it!”
“Ah,” said Flint. “But I’ve got a specially signed note here from Professor Snape. ‘I, Professor S. Snape, give the Slytherin team permission to practice today on the Quidditch field owing to the need to train their new Seeker.’”
“You’ve got a new Seeker?” said Wood, distracted. “Where?”
And from behind the six large figures before them came a seventh, smaller boy, smirking all over his pale, pointed face. It was Draco Malfoy.
“Aren’t you Lucius Malfoy’s son?” said Fred, looking at Malfoy with dislike.
“Funny you should mention Draco’s father,” said Flint as the whole Slytherin team smiled still more broadly. “Let me show you the generous gift he’s made to the Slytherin team.”
All seven of them held out their broomsticks. Seven highly polished, brand-new handles and seven sets of fine gold lettering spelling the words Nimbus Two Thousand and One gleamed under the Gryffindors’ noses in the early morning sun.
“Very latest model. Only came out last month,” said Flint carelessly, flicking a speck of dust from the end of his own. “I believe it outstrips the old Two Thousand series by a considerable amount. As for the old Cleansweeps” — he smiled nastily at Fred and George, who were both clutching Cleansweep Fives — “sweeps the board with them.”
None of the Gryffindor team could think of anything to say for a moment. Malfoy was smirking so broadly his cold eyes were reduced to slits.
“Oh, look,” said Flint. “A field invasion.”
Ron and Hermione were crossing the grass to see what was going on. “What’s happening?” Ron asked Harry. “Why aren’t you playing? And what’s he doing here?”
He was looking at Malfoy, taking in his Slytherin Quidditch robes.
“I’m the new Slytherin Seeker, Weasley,” said Malfoy, smugly. “Everyone’s just been admiring the brooms my father’s bought our team.”
Ron gaped, openmouthed, at the seven superb broomsticks in front of him.
“Good, aren’t they?” said Malfoy smoothly. “But perhaps the Gryffindor team will be able to raise some gold and get new brooms, too. You could raffle off those Cleansweep Fives; I expect a museum would bid for them.”
The Slytherin team howled with laughter.
“At least no one on the Gryffindor team had to buy their way in,” said Hermione sharply. “They got in on pure talent.”
The smug look on Malfoy’s face flickered.
“No one asked your opinion, you filthy little Mudblood,” he spat.
Harry knew at once that Malfoy had said something really bad because there was an instant uproar at his words. Flint had to dive in front of Malfoy to stop Fred and George jumping on him, Alicia shrieked, “How dare you!”, and Ron plunged his hand into his robes, pulled out his wand, yelling, “You’ll pay for that one, Malfoy!” and pointed it furiously under Flint’s arm at Malfoy’s face.
But before he could even move—
Hermione beat him to it.
Except she didn’t go for her wand.
With an eerie kind of calm, she reached into her pocket, pulled out a tiny safety pin, and pricked her fingertip.
A single drop of blood welled up.
Malfoy frowned, thrown off. “What the—”
Hermione stepped forward.
And before anyone could react—before Ron could hex him, before Harry could ask what that word means—
She wiped her bloodied fingertip directly across Malfoy’s cheek.
A horrified gasp swept through the Slytherins.
Malfoy shrieked. “WHAT THE BLOODY HELL—”
Hermione tilted her head, voice sharp as a blade.
“You got mud on your face,” she said smoothly.
Harry choked.
Ron gaped at her like she’d grown another head.
Fred and George exchanged wide-eyed glances, looking between Hermione and Malfoy like Christmas had come early.
Malfoy staggered back, furious, but Hermione wasn’t done.
With deliberate precision, she added, “You big disgrace—somebody ought to put you back in your place.”
Silence.
Pure, deafening silence.
Harry lost it.
Ron whipped his head toward him. “What—what is—what is she doing?!”
Harry was dying, gasping for air between laughs. “I can’t—I can’t explain—”
Meanwhile, Malfoy was still clawing at his face, looking scandalized. “Did she just—DID SHE JUST SMEAR BLOOD ON ME?!”
“Mud. Blood,” Hermione said sweetly. “How fitting.”
The Gryffindors burst into laughter.
Fred actually fell over. George clapped a hand over his mouth, eyes sparkling with glee. Even Wood, normally the most serious of them all, let out a short, incredulous laugh.
The Slytherins, however, were horrified.
Flint was looking at Malfoy like he’d just lost his entire social standing in real time. Another nameless Slytherin on the teamwas gaping. Oliver was still too stunned to react.
And Malfoy—oh, Malfoy looked wrecked.
Hermione dusted her hands off. “Well,” she said brightly. “If we’re done here, we’ll be heading to our practice now.” (Is this grammarly correct)
And with that, she turned on her heel and strode toward the pitch.
The Gryffindors followed, still snickering.
Harry clapped her on the shoulder, grinning. “That,” he said, “was brilliant.”
Hermione smiled. “Thanks, Harry.”
Ron, still bewildered, ran up beside them. “Okay, but what was that?”
Harry just laughed. "Muggle song by Queen reference, they're the best.”
Behind them, Malfoy was still standing there, speechless.
Mic. Drop.