of the stands were silent or booing as they emerged, but the Slytherin quarter was standing and cheering, waving flags and shooting out sparks of silver and green, and they made up for the hostility and apathy of the other Houses. Professor Snape, looking dour, sat his broom casual as you please near the announcer's booth and watched all his players. Harry, in particular, could feel the weight of the man's gaze. The team took a lap around the pitch, then settled in the air near the Slytherin goal posts and waited for the Puffies' to join them.
A moment later, the other team flew out of their locker room in a swath of yellow. The crowd went wild.
Harry shook his head, watching the Gryffindors trying to out do each other to make sure everyone knew they supported the Hufflepuffs, everything from shooting yellow sparks into the air, to sending up holo-images of badgers going after bright green snakes to stomp and/or choke them to death.
Nice.
Immediately after the Puffies took their lap around the pitch, Madam Hooch called them all in, so the Captains could shake hands before she gave the signal for the game to begin. Flint looked disgusted as he slapped Cedric Diggory's hand away, but Madam Hooch didn't say anything against him.
Snape merely sneered.
'Up you go!' called Madam Hooch, and the game was on.
Seconds after he had risen into the air, Harry caught sight of a long silver beard in the stands. He looked over his shoulder and, sure enough, it was Dumbledore, settled in the faculty box, looking mildly amused. Though he wanted to, Harry did not peer too closely at the others in the box to try and find Quirrell. He just concentrated on finding the . . .
The Snitch! Just behind Snape's billowing black cloak. Harry flew a little distance away from it, to try and lure Diggory into following him. Then he turned abruptly, angled his broom into a steep dive, and flew as fast as he could toward the fluttering golden ball. Between one breath and another, he streaked past Snape in a blur of green and grabbed the Snitch faster than you can say, 'Slytherins Win!'
Those were the next words Harry heard as he came out of his dive, holding the Snitch aloft. His fellow Slytherins darted in to fly around him and congratulate him on a great catch.
'They didn't even score once!' Flint said.
'Neither did we,' pointed out Draco, but Flint scowled at him.
'That's not his fault. You did great, Potter!' said Bletchley. 'I don't think anyone's ever caught the Snitch so fast.'
'Thanks,' was all Harry had time to say before the Slytherins took their obligatory victory lap around the stadium while three quarters of the audience booed them again. It was kind of annoying, actually. But Slytherins never let that sort of thing get to them, at least not in front of anyone else. In private, now . . .
Once they all hit the ground, the rest of the House and some other fans, such as Lucius Malfoy, swarmed the field to congratulate the team. A hand rested on Harry's shoulder briefly, and before he could shake it away, he heard Dumbledore murmur, softly enough no one else could hear, 'Well done. I'm glad to see you haven't been brooding about that mirror . . . been keeping busy . . . excellent.'
A bit confused, Harry watched as Dumbledore slipped away through the press of people, but was then caught up in accepting pats on the back and congratulations from other Slytherins. Lucius Malfoy shook his hand. Even Snape looked a bit less dour and gave him a terse nod. Harry grinned back at him.
An hour or so later, Harry left the locker room alone, to take his Nimbus Two Thousand back to the broomshed. He couldn't ever remember feeling happier. He'd really done something to be proud of now -- no one could say he was just a famous name anymore. The evening air had never smelled so sweet. He walked over the damp grass, reliving the last hour in his head, which was a happy blur: Slytherins running to lift him onto their shoulders; Millie jumping up and down and laughing through a heavy nosebleed, Teddy cheering and pumping his fist into the air.
