ALOHOMORA | CEDRIC DIGGORY

7〝seven〞

"WHY DIDN'T YOU LET ME at him?" bellowed Anthony Rickett the Beater.

"Because," said Sansa sternly, "knowing Flint, he'll report you to Snape and you'll probably get suspended from the team!"

"Or just have his new Seeker hex you," Chaser Cersei Lannister butted in.

Despite her matter-of-fact tone, Cedric could tell that his best friend's sister was worried. Moreover, her statement had varying effects on the rest of the team: Anthony Rickett's expression was now somber with the reminder of what could have been. Heidi Macavoy and Maxine O'Flaherty—third-years who just joined the team at the beginning of the term as Chaser and Beater respectively—looked considerably alarmed. Even Malcolm Preece who, like Cedric, didn't truly believe all of the rumors flying about the school seemed slightly paler than usual. Cedric, however, couldn't quite make up his mind what to feel. Sansa, notably, was outraged.

"Exactly! Either way, I don't want to have to play McManus against Gryffindor! He's an absolute menace!"

"C'mon, Sansa," said Cedric mildly, "don't you think you're being a little harsh?"

"Don't you start on me, Diggory," she snapped at the Seeker. "You may have forgiven him but I'll never forget how McMenace screwed us so hard last year we lost the Championship right under our noses!"

Against this Cedric found no argument; the match in question had been an unqualified disaster.

"Well, if you put it that way..."

"I DO!"

The Hufflepuff Captain had yelled so loudly that Heidi and Maxine both jumped, dropping their brooms in the process.

"I think you need to cool down," said Cersei, wrapping an arm around her best friend and steering the fellow seventh-year to a nearby bench.

"Yeah, get some air," Cedric suggested. "Why don't we all go take a walk by the lake? I think the weather's holding up okay. We'll come back after lunch and get started then."

Everyone nodded—except Sansa, who sat quite still with an unreadable expression on her face.

"No," she said stiffly, straightening up, "you're right—"

Very suddenly, Sansa sprang to her feet. Her expression had shifted completely. Cersei made a face of sheer disapproval; Anthony, Cedric, and Malcolm exchanged gazes that plainly meant: not again. It was Sansa's I-Have-a-Great-Idea look—in which "great" was really "crazy."

"I should get some air. We should all"—Sansa began pacing up and down the changing room—"get some air. Let's go sit in the stands. We'll watch their training session. I want everyone"—she gestured to each member of her team frantically—"to watch your opposite. We'll see what they're up to and learn how to beat them! They think Hufflepuffs're such pushovers. We'll show them what we've got!"

All this had been said in an incredible breath and Sansa was now panting to make up for it. But her pacing didn't stop, and she rubbed her palms together, her eyes glinting with excitement.

"Yes, yes," she said eagerly (though more to herself than anyone else), "that's what we'll do. Come on, now. Put down your things, all of you, and let's go. Pip pip!"

And she was shipping Heidi and Maxine out into the meek morning sun, herding the boys behind them, and dragging Cersei along last of all.

"Won't it be unfair," said Cedric, as they climbed roughly halfway up, "if we spied on their training?"

"We're not spying," dismissed Sansa. "Students are allowed to watch training sessions. They just don't because it's not as entertaining as the real thing. We're not breaking any rules. They're welcome to watch ours—" ("Yeah, right," sneered Cersei, "like that's not beneath them at all.") "—and it's not like we don't watch them on matchdays. This would be like a prelude."

Cedric opened his mouth but was unable to raise any objection; his Captain was right. He conceded—to her, and his curiosity.

Finally the team clambered into their seats, the sight of seven greenish streaks bolting from end to end of the pitch greeting them. Either the Hufflepuffs had forgotten just how swift Nimbus Two Thousand and Ones could be, or the Slytherins were speeding around much faster than they did during their game against Gryffindor, for it was now almost impossible to differentiate any of the emerald-clad players. Yet, it was the mark of every Hufflepuff's dedication that all of them were squinting, fighting to spot their opposites.

Ultimately, Cedric had the easiest job—she was the only blonde on the field.

His eyes tracked the smallest of green blurs: It zoomed lengthwise across the pitch a few times with the others, as if doing laps. Minutes later, they all flew in what looked like the Hawkshead Attacking Formation, but with all seven players (instead of just the Chasers) arranging themselves into the renowned arrowhead pattern—Cedric's opposite was the winger closest to him. After several rounds of circling the pitch as such, the Slytherins split up; their new Seeker was paired with Flint on the left-hand side of the field. She nodded at something he said and he jetted off to hover above the center line.

Then she was a blur again: it shot up vertically into the air, rising rapidly—twenty, forty, sixty feet; at the very peak it appeared to freeze for a moment, then, tipped upside-down, it was spiraling downwards as if out of control before launching into a vertical and downwards figure-of-eight, followed by a couple of vertical and downwards loop-the-loops, and culminating in a short headlong dive towards the ground that, at the sound of a whistle, was pulled straight and abruptly to a halt at which it all began.

Claps emanating from individual Slytherin players grouped near the goal posts on the right crackled haphazardly throughout the deserted arena. Cedric saw her hand something to her Captain. It shimmered, and Cedric, if possible, sank deeper into shock—it was the Golden Snitch.

"I'd never take my eyes of her if I were you, Ced," came an astounded voice that was Sansa's. "You're going to have to beat that."

Cedric didn't really need telling—to both accounts no less. But, deciding he would give his eyes some rest now with "her" apparently doing the same, he glanced lazily at the rest of his team and did a double take: there sat his peers, looking as though they had all been Stunned—jaws dropped, eyes wide, and backs slumped. Cedric felt safe to assume that they, too, bore witness to the acrobat that was to be his direct opponent at the end of the school year when the two teams were scheduled to meet in the tournament—the months remaining for him to catch up to "that" being a rare bit of consolation.

He faced back to the pitch: she was now amongst four fuzzy figures zigzagging through a constant stream of Bludgers—there were four instead of the usual two, which the Slytherin Beaters (stationed afloat at either ends of the field) were batting in turn so that the heavy metal balls boomeranged around the stadium. Based on what Cedric observed, the result was that each flyer almost always had either two Bludgers whipping at them from the front, or two stripping towards them from the rear—all of which she dodged with remarkable ease (the others struggled to bathe in similar success with Quaffles tucked under one arm).

"How'd they get a first-year on their team anyway?" asked Anthony, rather disgruntled.

"Must have played the Potter card," said Sansa crossly.

"Always knew that boy would be trouble," muttered Cersei.

"But aren't they...scared?" Heidi sounded terrified herself.

"I think they're betting that we are," replied Sansa. "What with all the rumors about her being related to Gellert Grindelwald? And that she's the Heir of Slytherin? No one in their right minds will dare to foul her. And a Seeker who's not going to be fouled is a Seeker who's going to catch the Snitch."

"A Seeker who flies like that is a Seeker who's going to catch the Snitch," said Malcolm, slapping Cedric on the back, "so, no pressure, dude."

Cedric returned a weak smile, thinking: She already did.