Harry bit back the retort he was longing to utter: did she imagine for a second that he did not regret his expulsion from the team a hundred times more than she did?
'And what about the Beaters?' he asked, trying to keep his voice even.
'Andrew Kirke,' said Alicia without enthusiasm, 'and Jack Sloper. Neither of them are brilliant, but compared to the rest of the idiots who turned up…'
'Are you coming?' Harry asked Ron, but he shook his head, looking glum.
'I can't come into Hogsmeade at all; Angelina wants a full day's training. Like it's going to help; we're the worst team I've ever seen. You should see Sloper and Kirke, they're pathetic, even worse than I am.' He heaved a great sigh. 'I dunno why Angelina won't just let me resign.'
The very best thing you could say about the match was that it was short;
the Gryffindor spectators had to endure only twenty-two minutes of agony.
It was hard to say what the worst thing was: Harry thought it was a close-run
contest between Ron's fourteenth failed save, Sloper missing the Bludger
but hitting Angelina in the mouth with his bat, and Kirke shrieking and
falling backwards off his broom when Zacharias Smith zoomed at him carrying
the Quaffle. The miracle was that Gryffindor only lost by ten points: Ginny
managed to snatch the Snitch from right under Hufflepuff Seeker Summerby's
nose, so that the final score was two hundred and forty versus two hundred
and thirty.
Harry got into bed, thinking about the match. It had been immensely frustrating
watching from the sidelines. He was quite impressed by Ginny's performance
but he knew if he had been playing he could have caught the Snitch sooner…
there had been a moment when it had been fluttering near Kirke's ankle;
if Ginny hadn't hesitated, she might have been able to scrape a win for
Gryffindor.