Chapter 49: Practices

Next few days went by like a breeze. Firebolt really was the fastest broom. Chris felt it was like flying on a rocket. She and Ginny practised hard with Angelina. 

Other than that, Chris was having a hard time maintaining the Quidditch practice with her studies. Colin and Luna helped her and Ginny for that, even Hermione helped a lot.

In no time at all, Defence Against the Dark Arts became most people's favourite class. Only Draco Malfoy and his gang of Slytherins had anything bad to say about Professor Lupin. 

"Look at the state of his robes," Malfoy would say in a loud whisper as Professor Lupin passed. "He dresses like our old house-elf." 

But no one else cared that Professor Lupin's robes were patched and frayed. His next few lessons were just as interesting as the first. But Potions were getting scarier. Snape was in a particularly vindictive mood these days, he was finding excuses for hating every Gryffindor, and no one was in any doubt why. Hermione had told Chris the reason. It was a story of the Boggart (a shape-shifter, which can take the shape of whatever it thinks will frighten us the most.) taking Snape's shape, and Neville dressing it in his grandmother's clothes. The story had travelled through the school like wildfire. Snape didn't seem to find it funny. His eyes flashed menacingly at the very mention of Professor Lupin's name, and he was bullying Neville worse than ever, even outside the class. Chris was really feeling bad for Neville. Ginny was also feeling bad for him so she started to talk to him frequently. 

Chris also heard, Hagrid's Care of Magical Creatures lessons were going well, Hagrid was still confident and working on his classes greatly, everyone was enjoying it. Most importantly, Draco Malfoy didn't do anything after the first day, he wasn't attentive in any class but also wasn't in the mood of creating troubles for Hagrid. Some thought, he was scared of Chris; some thought he was planning something big against Chris. Nobody knew what's going on and Chris didn't bother about it that much. 

At the second week of October, as the Quidditch season was approaching soon, Oliver Wood, captain of the Gryffindor team, called a meeting one Thursday evening to discuss tactics for the new season. There were seven people on a Quidditch team: three Chasers, whose job it was to score goals by putting the Quaffle (a red, football-sized ball) through one of the fifty-foot-high hoops at each end of the pitch; two Beaters, who were equipped with heavy bats to repel the Bludgers (two heavy black balls which zoomed around trying to attack the players); a Keeper, who defended the goalposts, and the Seeker, who had the hardest job of all, that of catching the Golden Snitch, a tiny, winged, walnut-sized ball, whose capture ended the game and earned the Seeker's team an extra one hundred and fifty points. 

Oliver Wood was a burly seventeen-year-old, now in his seventh and final year at Hogwarts. There was a quiet sort of desperation in his voice as he addressed his six fellow team members in the chilly changing rooms on the edge of the darkening Quidditch pitch. 

"This is our last chance – my last chance – to win the Quidditch Cup," he told them, striding up and down in front of them. "I'll be leaving at the end of this year. I'll never get another shot at it. Gryffindor haven't won for seven years now. OK, so we've had the worst luck in the world – injuries – then the tournament getting called off last year …" Wood swallowed, as though the memory still brought a lump to his throat. "But we also know we've got the best – ruddy – team – in – the – school," he said, punching a fist into his other hand, the old manic glint back in his eye. "We've got three superb Chasers. Though Chris and Ginny are new, they have proven themselves a great deal."

Chris, Ginny and Angelina smiled. Wood smiled back and continued, "We've got two unbeatable Beaters." 

"Stop it, Oliver, you're embarrassing us," said Fred and George Weasley together, pretending to blush. 

"And we've got a Seeker who has never failed to win us a match!" Wood rumbled, glaring at Harry with a kind of furious pride. "And me," he added, as an afterthought. 

"We think you're very good, too, Oliver," said George. 

"Cracking Keeper," said Fred. 

"The point is," Wood went on, resuming his pacing, "the Quidditch Cup should have had our name on it these last two years. Ever since Harry joined the team, I've thought the thing was in the bag. But we haven't got it, and this year's the last chance we'll get to finally see our name on the thing …" Wood spoke so dejectedly that even Fred and George looked sympathetic. 

"Oliver, this year's our year," said Fred. 

"We'll do it, Oliver!" said Angelina. 

"Definitely," said Harry. 

"We will win," said Chris, Ginny and George together. 

Full of determination, the team started training sessions, three evenings a week. The weather was getting colder and wetter, the nights darker, but no amount of mud, wind or rain could tarnish Chris's wonderful vision of winning the huge silver Quidditch Cup.

Chris returned to the Gryffindor common room with others, one evening after Quidditch training, cold and stiff but pleased with the way practice had gone, only to find the room buzzing excitedly. 

"What's going on? Chris asked Hermione, who was sitting by the fireside with Ron. Harry also went towards them. 

"First Hogsmeade weekend," said Hermione, pointing at a notice that had appeared on the battered old noticeboard. "End of October. Hallowe'en." 

"Excellent," said Fred, who had followed Harry through the portrait hole. "I need to visit Zonko's, I'm nearly out of Stink Pellets." 

Harry threw himself into a chair beside Ron, looking sad. 

"Harry, I'm sure you'll be able to go next time," Hermione said. "They're bound to catch Black soon, he's been sighted once already." 

"Black is not fool enough to try anything in Hogsmeade," said Ron. "Ask McGonagall if you can go this time, Harry, the next one might not be for ages —" 

"Ron!" said Hermione. "Harry's supposed to stay in school —" 

"He can't be the only third-year left behind," said Ron. "Ask McGonagall, go on, Harry." 

"What're you three talking about?" Chris asked raising an eyebrow. "Is this the topmost secret of Harry's life? Which he wanted to talk with only you two?" 

"— er —" Ron looked around and then looked at Ginny. 

Ginny rolled her eyes. 

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"Really very subtle Ron." 

"Fine. If you don't want to tell." Chris said crossing her arms. "We're not dying to hear that — but — I don't think Professor McGonagall will allow you to go without the signed permission letter, which you don't have." 

Chris got up and Ginny followed glaring at Ron.