Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix

But the scream of delight came from the Slytherins’ 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.

WEASLEY WILL MAKE SURE WE WIN
WEASLEY IS OUR KING…

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

Harry realised he had been stationary in midair for over a minute, watching the progress of the match without sparing a thought for the whereabouts of the Snitch; horrified, he went into a dive and started circling the pitch again, staring around, trying to ignore the chorus now thundering through the stadium:

WEASLEY IS OUR KING,
WEASLEY IS OUR KING…

There was no sign of the Snitch anywhere he looked; Malfoy was still circling the stadium just as he was. They passed one another midway around the pitch, going in opposite directions, and Harry heard Malfoy singing loudly:

WEASLEY WAS BORN IN A BIN…

“—and it’s Warrington again,” bellowed Lee, “who passes to Pucey, Pucey’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 Warrington drops the Quaffle and Katie Bell—er—drops it, too—so that’s Montague with the Quaffle, Slytherin Captain Montague takes the Quaffle and he’s off up the pitch, come on now, Gryffindor, block him!”

Harry zoomed around the end of the stadium behind the Slytherin goalhoops, willing himself not to look at what was going on at Ron’s end. As he sped past the Slytherin Keeper, he heard Bletchley singing along with the crowd below:

WEASLEY CANNOT SAVE A THING…

“—and Pucey’s dodged Alicia again and he’s heading straight for goal, stop it, Ron!”

Harry 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. Looking down, Harry saw the pug-faced Pansy Parkinson 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, Harry assured himself, bobbing and weaving through the other players in pursuit of something shiny that turned out to be Montague’s watchstrap.

But Ron let in two more goals. There was an edge of panic in Harry’s desire to find the Snitch now. If he could just get it soon and finish the game quickly.

“—and Katie Bell of Gryffindor dodges Pucey, ducks Montague, nice swerve, Katie, and she throws to Johnson, Angelina Johnson takes the Quaffle, she’s past Warrington, she’s heading for goal, come on now, Angelina—GRYFFINDOR SCORE! It’s forty-ten, forty-ten to Slytherin and Pucey has the Quaffle—”

Harry could hear Luna’s ludicrous lion hat roaring amidst the Gryffindor cheers and felt heartened; only thirty points in it, that was nothing, they could pull back easily. Harry ducked a Bludger that Crabbe had sent rocketing in his direction and resumed his frantic scouring of the pitch for the Snitch, keeping one eye on Malfoy in case he showed signs of having spotted it, but Malfoy, like him, was continuing to soar around the stadium, searching fruitlessly…

“—Pucey throws to Warrington, Warrington to Montague, Montague back to Pucey—Johnson intervenes, Johnson takes the Quaffle, Johnson to Bell, this looks good—I mean bad—Bell’s hit by a Bludger from Goyle of Slytherin and it’s Pucey in possession—”

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

But Harry had seen it at last: the tiny fluttering Golden Snitch was hovering feet from the ground at the Slytherin end of the pitch.

He dived…

In a matter of seconds, Malfoy was streaking out of the sky on Harry’s left, a green and silver blur lying flat on his broom…

The Snitch skirted the foot of one of the goalhoops and scooted off towards the other side of the stands; its change of direction suited Malfoy, who was nearer; Harry pulled his Firebolt around, he and Malfoy were now neck and neck…