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AS THE FIRST QUIDDITCH MATCH OF THE SEASON, Gryffindor versus Slytherin drew nearer, Atlas insisted on almost daily practices. The fact that the Quidditch Cup had not been held for so long added considerably to the interest and excitement surrounding the forthcoming game. The Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs were taking a lively interest in the outcome, for they, of course, would be playing both teams over the coming year; and the Heads of House of the competing teams, though they attempted to disguise it under a decent pretense of sportsmanship, were determined to see their side's victory. Snape was very enthusiastic. He had booked the Quidditch pitch for Slytherin practice so often that the Gryffindors had difficulty getting on it to play. He was also turning a deaf ear to the many reports of Slytherin attempts to hex Gryffindor players in the corridors. When Alicia Spinnet turned up in the hospital wing with her eyebrows growing so thick and fast that they obscured her vision and obstructed her mouth, Snape insisted that she must have attempted a Hair-Thickening Charm on herself and refused to listen to the fourteen eyewitnesses who insisted that they had seen Blaise Zabini, hit her from behind with a jinx while she worked in the library.

Este was beyond excited, she and Atlas were sure to give the Weasley twins a run for their money. The Black cousins were like a pair of Buldgers themselves. They were perfectly in sync, and in every practice, they had no trouble with their beater's bats and buldgers. And the Slytherins were being extra crude these days; When Slytherins, some of them seventh years and considerably larger than he was, muttered as they passed in the corridors, "Got your bed booked in the hospital wing, Weasley?" he did not laugh but turned a delicate shade of green. When Draco Malfoy imitated Ron dropping the Quaffle (which he did whenever they were within sight of each other), Ron's ears glowed red and his hands shook so badly that he was likely to drop whatever he was holding at the time too.

Este hadn't spoken to Harry or Sirius. She was busy being swept up in school and Quidditch, though, she had not faltered on spending her Christmas with Sirius and the order. Though she had assured Atlas if anything went wrong, she would go straight to the Swiss Alps where he would be staying.

October extinguished itself in a rush of howling winds and driving rain and November arrived, cold as frozen iron, with hard frosts every morning and icy draft that bit at exposed hands and faces. The skies and the ceiling of the Great Hall turned a pale, pearly gray, the mountains around Hogwarts became snowcapped, and the temperature in the castle dropped so far that many students wore their thick protective dragon skin gloves in the corridors between lessons.

The morning of the match dawned bright and cold. Este woke up quite early and was in high spirits that day. The Great Hall was filling up fast when they arrived, the talk louder and the mood more exuberant than usual. As they passed the Slytherin table there was an upsurge of noise; Este looked around and saw that nearly everyone there was wearing, in addition to the usual green-and-silver scarves and hats, silver badges in the shape of what seemed to be crowned.

Este smiled almost fondly as she sat down beside Atlas, who seemed calm but Este noticed he wasn't usually himself. "Eating porridge?" Este questioned.

"I know, I'm spoiling myself," Atlas grumbled. Atlas was a bit of a bore when it came to his palette. He only ever ate plain toast for breakfast and porridge if he felt like shit.

Este snorted, "You've got me this match, don't worry, Ati." She scooped herself a bit of sausage, eggs, and tomatoes. The rest of the Quidditch team slowly filed in, Draco sat down in front of Este, a scowl deep on his face. "You look worse than Atlas."

Mattheo snorted beside her.

"Shut the fuck up, Estele."

Este made an ooing sound, "No need to be nasty, dear cousin." She loved it when Draco was in a bad mood and she was in a good one, it was always a switch in roles. Harry Potter and Ron Weasley entered, as they passed the Slytherin table there was an upsurge of noise and for some reason many of them waved at Ron, laughing uproariously. "What's happening?" Este asked, Draco, for the first time that morning grinned.

"This," he said, handing her a pin.

Este frowned at the pin, "Oh." Weasley's King.

After the Slytherin team ate their breakfasts, Atlas rose slowly with an air of power. The hall fell silent, and even the teachers stopped speaking to one another. Atlas' face remained stony as he made his way out of the hall, his teammates trailing behind him as the hall was silenced.

They hurried across the entrance hall, down the stone steps, and out into the icy air. The frosty grass crunched under their feet as they hurried down the sloping lawns toward 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 on the eyes.

They entered the tents and hurriedly pulled on their robes, and Atlas began to speak. "We know the lineups the same, but that's the thing. Us Slytherins have an almost completely different lineup and they're sticking with the same old. So we know what their moves are, we know their tricks. And they've got a pathetic excuse for a keeper, so I expect our chances will be quite high this year." He stopped and turned to give Draco a look to which he nodded.

They could hear hundreds of footsteps mounting the banked benches of the spectators' stands now. Some people were singing, though Este could not make out the words. She was starting to feel nervous, but it was a good way.

"It's time," said Atlas in a hushed voice, looking at his watch. "C'mon everyone . . . good luck." The team rose, shouldered their brooms, and marched in single file out of the changing room and into the dazzling sunlight. A roar of sound greeted them in which Este could still hear singing, though it was muffled by the cheers and whistles.

They waited for a few moments before the Gryffindors arrived. "Captains shake hands," ordered the umpire, Madam Hooch, as Angelina and Atlas reached each other. It was a firm shake as Atlas and Angelina exchanged a sportsmanship-like nod. "Mount your brooms. . . ."

Madam Hooch placed her whistle in her mouth and blew. The balls were released and the fourteen players shot upward; Este was the first person to hit a buldger during the match. She aimed for Harry but he dodged it narrowly. "And it's Johnson, Johnson with the Quaffle, what a player that girl is, I've been saying it for years but she still won't go out with me —"

"JORDAN!" yelled Professor McGonagall.

"Just a fun fact, Professor, adds a bit of interest — and she's ducked Nott, she's passed Riddle, she's — ouch — been hit from behind by a Bludger from He-Black. . . . Riddle catches the Quaffle, Riddle heading back up the pitch and — nice Bludger there from George Weasley, that's a Bludger to the head for Riddle, he drops the Quaffle, caught by Katie Bell, Katie Bell of Gryffindor reverse passes to Alicia Spinnet and Spinnet's away —"

Este said nothing as she whacked her bat at a buldger and aimed for Spinnet.

"— dodges Warrington, avoids a Bludger from She-Black whose an absolute monster with the bat — close call, Alicia — and the crowd are loving this, just listen to them, what's that they're singing?" And as Lee paused to listen the song rose loud and clear from the sea of green and silver in the Slytherin section of the stands:

Weasley cannot save a thing, He cannot block a single ring, That's why Slytherins all sing: Weasley is our King. Weasley was born in a bin, He always lets the Quaffle in, Weasley will make sure we win, Weasley is our King.

"— and Alicia passes back to Angelina!" Lee shouted, and Este swerved, swinging at Angelina. "Come on now, Angelina — looks like she's got just the Keeper to beat! — SHE SHOOTS — SHE — aaaah . . ." Blaise had saved the goal; he threw the Quaffle to Mattheo who sped off with it, zigzagging in between Alicia and Katie; the singing from below grew louder and louder as he drew nearer and nearer Ron —

Weasley is our King, Weasley is our King, He always lets the Quaffle in, Weasley is our King.

Abandoning his search for the Snitch, Harry turned his Firebolt toward Ron, a lone figure at the far end of the pitch, hovering before the three goal hoops while Mattheo pelted toward him . . . "— and it's Warrington with the Quaffle, Riddle's heading for goal, he's out of Bludger range with just the Keeper ahead —" A great swell of song rose from the Slytherin stands below:

Weasley cannot save a thing, He cannot block a single ring . . .

"— so it's the first test for the new Gryffindor Keeper, Weasley, brother of Beaters, Fred, and George, and a promising new talent on the team — come on, Ron!"

But the scream of delight came from the Slytherin 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. W

WEASLEY WILL MAKE SURE WE WIN, WEASLEY IS OUR KING . . .

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

Este grinned as she whacked another buldger toward Katie.

"Blimey, she's a bloody menace!" George yelled in desperation as he and Fred Weasley tried to go against the Black cousins.

"— and it's Nott again," bellowed Lee, "who passes to Duncan, Duncan'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 Nott drops the Quaffle and Katie Bell — er — drops it too — so that's Riddle with the Quaffle, Mattheo Riddle takes the Quaffle, and he's off up the pitch, come on now Gryffindor, block him!"

Este followed Mattheo, holding up her bat as she made sure to keep any Buldger away from Mattheo.

WEASLEY CANNOT SAVE A THING . . .

"— and Riddle's dodged Alicia again, and he's heading straight for goal, stop it, Ron!"

Este 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. Pansy was 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, Este said, trying to keep her edge as she whacked the Buldger toward the Gryffindors.

But Ron let in two more goals. She was beggining to feel at ease.

"— and Katie Bell of Gryffindor dodges Pucey, ducks Riddle, nice swerve, Katie, and she throws to Johnson, Angelina Johnson takes the Quaffle, she's past Nott, she's heading for goal, come on now Angelina, OUCH! Johnson hit by a buldger from She-Black, she hasn't dropped it yet— GRYFFINDOR SCORE! It's forty-ten, forty ten to Slytherin and Duncan has the Quaffle. . . ."

"—Duncan throws to Riddle, Riddle to Nott, Nott back to Duncan — Johnson intervenes, Johnson takes the Quaffle, Johnson to Bell, this looks good — I mean bad — Bell's hit by a Bludger from He-Black of Slytherin and it's Nott in possession again . . ."

WEASLEY WAS BORN IN A BIN, HE ALWAYS LETS THE QUAFFLE IN, WEASLEY WILL MAKE SURE WE WIN —

Este stopped as even she spotted the Golden Snitch. The Snitch skirted the foot of one of the goal hoops and scooted off toward the other side of the stands; its change of direction suited Draco, who was nearer. Harry pulled his Firebolt around, he and Draco were now neck and neck . . . Feet from the ground, Harry lifted his right hand from his broom, stretching toward the Snitch . . . to his right, Draco's arm extended too, reaching, groping . . . It was over in two breathless, desperate, windswept seconds — Harry's fingers closed around the tiny, struggling ball — Draco's fingernails scrabbled the back of Harry's hand hopelessly — Draco pulled his broom upward, 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 — Este screamed, finally letting one last bit of her anger release as she whacked the buldger.

She had always had a terrible temper, but so did Draco. And it always struck her as odd because whenever she lost her temper, everyone called her bratty, overly emotional, hysterical. But Draco had always had a shorter temper than her and yet he was tolerated. It was confusing because Este was delicate, sure. But Draco was never labeled delicate, or fragile.

It had hit him square in the head. He flew forward 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.

Este scowled as Madam Hooch berated her. She drowned Madam Hooch out as her eyes trailed to the field. Este didn't give a flying fuck. Este could not make out what Draco was saying but it must've been bad because, in a swift moment, Harry grabbed hold of George; meanwhile, it was taking the combined efforts of Angelina, Alicia, and Katie to stop Fred from leaping on Draco, who was laughing openly.

Harry looked to Madam Hooch, but she was still berating Este for her illegal Bludger attack, Este and Harry locked eyes and he gave her a silent plea and she nodded. "Ma'am," she said very carefully, snapping Madam Hooch from her rampage.

"What, Miss Black?"

"I believe there's something going on in the field," Este pointed at the field and she was startled at the change.

A second later, George and Harry were sprinting at Draco. With no time to draw out his wand, he merely drew back the fist clutching the Snitch and sank it as hard as he could into Draco's stomach — "Harry! HARRY! GEORGE! NO !"

"Good heavens!" Madam Hooch cursed, she shot down toward the field as Este followed behind. Madam Hooch intervened, "IMPEDIMENTA!" and Harry was knocked over backward by the force of the spell. Madam Hooch's anger for Este extinguished almost immediately as she turned to Harry and George, "What do you think you're doing?" screamed Madam Hooch, as Harry leaped to his feet again.

She was holding her whistle in one hand and a wand in the other, her broom lay abandoned several feet away. Draco was curled up on the ground, whimpering and moaning, his nose bloody; George was sporting a swollen lip; Fred was still being forcibly restrained by the three Chasers. "I've never seen behavior like it — back up to the castle, both of you, and straight to your Head of House's office! Go! Now!"George and Harry marched off the pitch, Harry was clutching the back of his head in pain and Este felt guilt wash over her.