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Ginny and Demelza were already wearing their Quidditch robes and waiting in the changing room.
"Conditions look ideal," said Ginny, ignoring Ron. "And guess what. That Slytherin Chaser Vaisey — he took a Bludger in the head yesterday during their practice, and he's too sore to play! And even better than that — Malfoy's gone off sick too!" "What." said Harry, wheeling around to stare at her. "He's ill. What's wrong with him." "No idea, but it's great for us," said Ginny brightly. "They're playing Harper instead; he's in my year and he's an idiot." Harry smiled back vaguely, but as he pulled on his scarlet robes his mind was far from Quidditch. Malfoy had once before claimed he could not play due to injury, but on that occasion he had made sure the whole match was rescheduled for a time that suited the Slytherins better. Why was he now happy to let a substitute go on. Was he really ill, or was he faking.
"Fishy, isn't it." he said in an undertone to Ron. "Malfoy not playing." "Lucky, I call it," said Ron, looking slightly more animated. "And Vaisey off too, he's their best goal scorer, I didn't fancy — hey!" he said suddenly, freezing halfway through pulling on his Keepers gloves and staring at Harry.
"What." "I... you . . ." Ron had dropped his voice, he looked both scared and excited. "My drink ... my pumpkin juice ... you didn't...." Harry raised his eyebrows, but said nothing except, "We'll be starting in about five minutes, you'd better get your boots on." They walked out onto the pitch to tumultuous roars and boos. One end of the stadium was solid red and gold; the other, a sea of green and silver. Many Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws had taken sides too: Amidst all the yelling and clapping Harry could distinctly hear the roar of Luna Lovegood's famous lion-topped hat.
Harry stepped up to Madam Hooch, the referee, who was stand-ing ready to release the balls from the crate.
"Captains shake hands," she said, and Harry had his hand crushed by the new Slytherin Captain, Urquhart. "Mount your brooms. On the whistle . . . three . . . two . . . one . . ." The whistle sounded, Harry and the others kicked off hard from the frozen ground, and they were away.
Harry soared around the perimeter of the grounds, looking around for the Snitch and keeping one eye on Harper, who was zigzagging far below him. Then a voice that was jarringly different to the usual commentator's started up.
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