Daisy's father said, and she herself agreed, that the Weasleys were one peculiar bunch.
They weren't as affluent, sociable, and affable as her other neighbours. They never came to the local kids' birthdays, they never invited the local kids to their...
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THE DAY OF the long awaited Quidditch match finally arrived, and breakfast at the Great Hall was buzzing with tension as well as excitement.
Gryffindor was supposed to play Slytherin, but Malfoy argued that his arm was still injured and their opponent was switched to Hufflepuff, led by their new captain and Seeker, Cedric Diggory.
"It's going to be a tough one," said Oliver Wood, Gryffindor's team Captain, who wasn't eating anything. Fred looked over his shoulder and saw dark grey clouds, painting the sky in opaque color, as big droplets of rain left streaks of water all over the window.
"Stop worrying, Oliver," said Alicia soothingly, "We don't mind a bit of rain."
Oliver didn't reply. Instead, he sauntered off towards Harry and repeated the tips he had been showering the poor boy all week.
"It's his last year," George explained to Hermione and Ron over the ruckus Alicia, Katie, and Angelina made about last minute strategies. "He's dying to finally get the Quidditch Cup."
It was considerably more than a bit of rain, though.
The whole school still turned up to watch the match as usual, but they ran down the lawns toward the Quidditch field with their heads bowed against the ferocious wind and hands clawed tight onto their umbrellas.
The team changed into their scarlet robes and waited for Oliver's prematch pep talk, but it didn't come. He tried to speak several times, made an odd gulping noise, then shook his head hopelessly and beckoned them to follow him out.
Fred looked around at his teammates, who silently replied his gaze. Quidditch match was never this tense nor uneasy as this one.
The Hufflepuffs were approaching from the opposite of the field, wearing canary-yellow robes. He watched as the two Captains shook hands before Madam Hooch's mouth moved as if saying, "Mount your brooms." Fred swung his right foot over his Clean Sweep 5, tightened his grip on the handle of his bat, and felt the world spun in a dangerous slow motion.
George giving him a nod.
Oliver, looking so serious, squatting over his broom.
Harry continuously fixing his glasses.
Madam Hooch raising her whistle then blowing into it —and he was off.
Fred tried to constantly move, eyeing his friends or the flying Bludgers, just so he could keep his mind off the fact that he was soaked to the bone and he was freezing. He couldn't let his bat go, not only because it would be a stupid thing to do, but also his fingers... They were glued in their places. He couldn't feel them.
