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THE STORY OF FRED AND GEORGE's flight to freedom was retold so often over the next few days that Este could tell it would soon become the stuff of Hogwarts legend. Within a week, even those who had been eyewitnesses were half-convinced that they had seen the twins dive-bomb Umbridge on their brooms, pelting her with Dungbombs before zooming out of the doors. In the immediate aftermath of their departure, there was a great wave of talk about copying them, so that Este frequently heard students saying things like, "Honestly, some days I just feel like jumping on my broom and leaving this place," or else, "One more lesson like that and I might just do a Weasley. . . ."

Fred and George had made sure that nobody was likely to forget them very soon. For one thing, they had not left instructions on how to remove the swamp that now filled the corridor on the fifth floor of the east wing. Umbridge and Filch had been observed trying different means of removing it but without success. Eventually, the area was roped off and Filch, gnashing his teeth furiously, was given the task of punting students across it to their classrooms. Este was certain that teachers like McGonagall or Flitwick could have removed the swamp in an instant, but just as in the case of Fred and George's Wildfire Whiz-Bangs, they seemed to prefer to watch Umbridge struggle.

Then there were the two large broom-shaped holes in Umbridge's office door, through which Fred and George's Cleansweeps had smashed to rejoin their masters. Filch fitted a new door and removed Harry's Firebolt to the dungeons where it was rumored, Umbridge had set an armed security troll to guard it. However, her troubles were far from over. Inspired by Fred and George's example, a great number of students were now vying for the newly vacant positions of Troublemakers-in-Chief.

In spite of the new door, somebody managed to slip a hairy snouted niffler into Umbridge's office, which promptly tore the place apart in its search for shiny objects, leaped on Umbridge on her reentrance, and tried to gnaw the rings off her stubby fingers. Dungbombs and Stinkpellets were dropped so frequently in the corridors that it became the new fashion for students to perform Bubble-Head Charms on themselves before leaving lessons, which ensured them a supply of fresh clean air, even though it gave them all the peculiar appearance of wearing upside-down goldfish bowls on their heads.

Filch prowled the corridors with a horsewhip ready in his hands, desperate to catch miscreants, but the problem was that there were now so many of them that he did not know which way to turn. The Inquisitorial Squad was attempting to help him (Este wasn't much help, but the rest were alright), and odd things kept happening to its members. Warrington of the Slytherin Quidditch team reported to the hospital wing with a horrible skin complaint that made him look as though he had been coated in cornflakes. Pansy Parkinson missed all her lessons the following day, as she had sprouted antlers. Meanwhile, it became clear just how many Skiving Snackboxes Fred and George had managed to sell before leaving Hogwarts.

Umbridge only had to enter her classroom for the students assembled there to faint, vomit, develop dangerous fevers, or else spout blood from both nostrils. Shrieking with rage and frustration she attempted to trace the mysterious symptoms to their source, but the students told her stubbornly they were suffering "Umbridge-itis." After putting four successive classes in detention and failing to discover their secret she was forced to give up and allow the bleeding, swooning, sweating, and vomiting students to leave her classes in droves.

But not even the users of the Snackboxes could compete with that master of chaos, Peeves, who seemed to have taken Fred's parting words deeply to heart. Cackling madly, he soared through the school, upending tables, bursting out of blackboards, and toppling statues and vases. Twice he shut Mrs. Norris inside suits of armor, from which she was rescued, yowling loudly, by the furious caretaker.

He smashed lanterns and snuffed out candles, juggled burning torches over the heads of screaming students, caused neatly stacked piles of parchment to topple into fires or out of windows, flooded the second floor when he pulled off all the taps in the bathrooms, dropped a bag of tarantulas in the middle of the Great Hall during breakfast and, whenever he fancied a break, spent hours at a time floating along after Umbridge and blowing loud raspberries every time she spoke.

None of the staff but Filch seemed to be stirring themselves to help her. Indeed, a week after Fred and George's departure Este witnessed Professor McGonagall walking right past Peeves, who was determinedly loosening a crystal chandelier, and could have sworn he heard her tell the poltergeist out of the corner of her mouth, "It unscrews the other way."

To cap matters, Montague had still not recovered from his sojourn in the toilet. He remained confused and disorientated and his parents were to be observed one Tuesday morning striding up the front drive, looking extremely angry. "Should we say something?" drawled Este, resting her head on her hand and watching Mr. and Mrs. Montague marching inside. They were in Charms class. "About what happened to him? In case it helps Madam Pomfrey cure him?"

" 'Course not, he'll recover," said Theodore indifferently.

"Anyway, more trouble for Umbridge, isn't it?" said Mattheo in a satisfied voice.

He and Theodore both tapped the teacups they were supposed to be charming with their wands. Mattheos spouted four very short legs that would not reach the desk and wriggled pointlessly in midair. Theodore grew four very thin spindly legs that hoisted the cup off the desk with great difficulty, trembled for a few seconds, then folded, causing the cup to crack into two.

"Reparo!" said Este, mending Theodore's cup with a wave of her wand. "That's all very well, but what if Montague's permanently injured?"

"Who cares?" said Theodore irritably, while his teacup stood drunkenly again, trembling violently at the knees.

Atlas chimed in, "Montague shouldn't have tried to take all those points from Gryffindor. It was rather stupid, picking a bone with the Weasley Twins of all people."

♰

The final match of the Quidditch season, Gryffindor versus Slytherin, was to take place on the last weekend of May. Although Ravenclaw had been narrowly defeated by Hufflepuff in their last match, Slytherin was daring to hope for victory, due mainly to Ron's abysmal goalkeeping record. But Este was wary, "I mean, he can't get any worse, can he?" she told her friends grimly over breakfast on the morning of the match. "Nothing to lose now, is there?" The two cousins got up, "You know," she continued, as she and Atlas walked down to the pitch, "I think Ron might do better without Fred and George around. They never exactly gave him a lot of confidence. . . ." After changing the teams emerged──It was a fine, clear day, Este could not wish for better.

They walked out onto the field to a tidal wave of noise. Three-quarters of the crowd was wearing scarlet rosettes, waving scarlet flags with the Gryffindor lion upon them, or brandishing banners with slogans like "GO GRYFFINDOR!" and "LIONS FOR THE CUP" Behind the Slytherin goalposts, however, two hundred people were wearing green; the silver serpent of Slytherin glittered on their flags, and Professor Snape sat in the very front row, wearing green like everyone else, and a very grim smile.

"And here are the Gryffindors!" yelled Lee Jordan, who was acting as a commentator as usual. "Weasley, Weasley, Bell, Johnson, Spinnet, Kirke, and Sloper. And here comes the Slytherin team, led by Captain Black. It's his dream team! Riddle, Nott, Malfoy, Duncan, Zabini, and Black."

"Captains, shake hands!" said Madam Hooch. Atlas and Angelina approached each other and grasped each other's hands very tightly; it looked as though each was trying to break the other's fingers. "Mount your brooms!" said Madam Hooch. "Three...two...one..."

The sound of her whistle was lost in the roar of the crowd as fourteen brooms rose into the air. Este felt her hair fly back off; her nerves left her in the thrill of the flight, her bat feeling like an extension of her arm.

"And it's Slytherin in possession, Mattheo Riddle of Slytherin with the Quaffle, heading straight for the Gryffindor goalposts. Yes! ── Quaffle intercepted by Alicia Spinnet, Alicia of Gryffindor tearing UP the field ── WHAM! ── nice Bludger work there by Black, Alicia drops the Quaffle, it's caught by ── Nott, Slytherin back in possession, come on, Angelina gets the ── nice swerve around Katie ── Get it, Angie, that's a Bludger! THEODORE NOTT SCORES! TEN-ZERO TO SLYTHERIN!" Theodore punched the air as he soared around the end of the field; the sea of green below was screaming its delight

"OUCH!" Theodore was nearly thrown from his broom as Andrew Kirke smashed a Buldger at him.

"Sorry!" said Kirke as the crowd below booed. "Sorry, didn't see her!"

A moment later, Este Black chucked her Beater's club at the back of Kirke's head. Kirke's nose smashed into the handle of his broom and began to bleed. Jack Sloper glared at Este and hit a buldger her way, Este, momentarily distracted, would've fallen off of her broom but Atlas had intercepted the Buldger, sending it away.

"That will do!" shrieked Madame Hooch, zooming between them. "Penalty shot to Slytherin for an unprovoked attack on their Chaser! Penalty shot to Gryffindor for deliberate damage to their Beater!"

"Come off it, Ma'am!" howled Este, but Madam Hooch blew her whistle and Alicia flew forward to take the penalty.

"Come on, Alicia!" yelled Lee into the silence that had descended on the crowd. "YES! SHE'S BEATEN THE KEEPER! TEN-TEN!"

Este turned her broom sharply to watch Mattheo, flying forward to take the Slytherin penalty. Ron was hovering in front of the Gryffindor goalposts, his jaw clenched. "'Go Ron!" Lee Jordan told the crowd as Mattheo waited for Madam Hooch's whistle. "Oh! Bad luck, Riddle scores! twenty-ten!"

Relieved, Este zoomed away, gazing around for the Snitch, but still making sure she caught every word of Lee's commentary.

"Gryffindor in possession, no, Slytherin in possession ── no! Gryffindor is back in possession and it's Katie Bell, Katie Bell for Gryffindor with the Quaffle, she's streaking up the field ── THAT WAS DELIBERATE!" Duncan, a Slytherin Chaser, had swerved in front of Katie, and instead of seizing the Quaffle had grabbed her head. Katie cart-wheeled in the air and managed to stay on her broom but dropped the Quaffle.

Madam Hooch's whistle rang out again as she soared over to Montague and began shouting at him. A minute later, Katie had put another penalty past Blaise. "TWENTY-TWENTY! TAKE THAT, YOU DIRTY, CHEATING ──"

"Jordan, if you can't commentate in an unbiased way──"

"I'm telling it like it is, Professor!"

Este felt a huge jolt of excitement. She had seen the Snitch ── it was shimmering at the foot of one of the Gryffindor goalposts and so had Draco. Faking a look of sudden concentration, Draco pulled his broom around and sped off toward the Slytherin end ── it worked. Ginny went haring after him, clearly thinking he had seen the Snitch there... WHOOSH. One of the Bludgers came streaking past Ginny's right ear, hit by Atlas. Then again... WHOOSH.

The second Bludger grazed Ginny's elbow. Este was closing in. Draco grinned and quickly turned and made a run for the Gryffindor goalposts, sliding under Ginny who was preoccupied with the two beaters. Ginny had a fleeting glimpse of Atlas and Este zooming toward her, clubs raised ── She turned her broom upward at the last second, and Atlas and Este swerved out of the way.

"Ha ha!" yelled Lee Jordan as the Slytherin Beaters continued to tail Ginny, "And it's Gryffindor in possession again, as Johnson takes the Quaffle ──Duncan alongside her ── poke him in the eye, Angelina! ── it was a joke, Professor, it was a joke ── oh no ── Duncan in possession, Duncan passes to Riddle. Riddle flying toward the Gryffindor goalposts, come on now, Ron, save──!"

But Mattheo had scored again; there was an eruption of cheers from the Slytherin end, and Lee swore so badly that Professor McGonagall tried to tug the magical megaphone away from him. "Sorry, Professor, sorry! Won't happen again! So, Slytherin in the lead, thirty points to twenty, and Gryffindor in possession──"

It was turning into the dirtiest game Este had ever played in. Enraged that Gryffindor had taken such an early lead, the Slytherins were rapidly resorting to any means to take the Quaffle. Este hit Alicia with her club and tried to say she'd thought she was a Bludger. Andrew Kirke elbowed Este in the face in retaliation. Madam Hooch awarded both teams penalties where only Slytherin scored, forty to thirty.

The Snitch had disappeared again. Draco was still keeping close to Ginny as she soared over the match, looking around for it once Slytherin was fifty points ahead──Theodore scored. fifty-thirty. Este and Atlas were swooping around him, clubs raised, in case any of the Slytherins were thinking of revenge. Andrew Kirke and Jack Slope took advantage of Este and Atlas' absence to aim both Bludgers at Blaise; they caught him in the stomach, one after the other, and he rolled over in the air, clutching his broom, completely winded.

Madam Hooch was beside herself── "YOU DO NOT ATTACK THE KEEPER UNLESS THE QUAFFLE IS WITHIN THE SCORING AREA!" she shrieked "Slytherin penalty!"

And Angelina scored. fifty-forty. Moments later, Este pelted a Bludger at Katie, knocking the Quaffle out of her hands; Mattheo seized it and put it almost put it through the Gryffindor Post, sixty-forty. The Slytherin crowd below was screaming itself hoarse ──Slytherin was twenty points in the lead, and if Pheobe caught the Snitch now, the Cup was Slytherins. Hundreds of eyes followed Ginny and Draco as they soared around the field, high above the rest of the game, speeding along with one another.

And then Este saw it. The Snitch was sparkling twenty feet above her. Draco put on a huge burst of speed; the wind was roaring; Ginny stretched out her hand, but suddenly, Draco used his body to shove Ginny who was momentarily confused, slowing the broom, Draco seized his chance and continued to zoom forward. Ginny continued to chase after Draco.

The Gryffindor team was losing concentration and the Slytherins, delighted by Draco's near catch of the snitch were being spurred on to greater heights.

"Slytherin in possession, Slytherin heading for goal ── Nott scores ──" Lee groaned. "Seventy-Forty to Gryffindor..."

Ginny was now marking Draco so closely their knees kept hitting each other. "Get out of it Weaslette!" Draco yelled in frustration as he tried to turn and found Ginny blocking him. Draco glared at her and bumped shoulders with Ginny before zooming past.

"Angelina Johnson gets the Quaffle for Gryffindor, come on, Angelina, COME ON!"

Every single Slytherin player apart from Draco was streaking up the pitch toward Angelina, including Blaise ── they were all going to block her ── Ginny wheeled the Firebolt around, bent so low she was lying flat along the handle, and kicked it forward. Like a bullet, she shot toward the Slytherins.

"AAAAAAARRRGH!"

They scattered as the broom zoomed toward them; Angelina's way was clear.

"SHE SCORES! SHE SCORES! Gryffindor catches up by seventy points to fifty!"

Ginny, who had almost pelted headlong into the stands, skidded to a halt in midair, reversed, and zoomed back into the middle of the field. And then she saw something to make her heart stand still. Draco was diving, a look of triumph on his face ── there, a few feet above the grass below, was a tiny, golden glimmer ──

Ginny urged her broom, but Draco was miles ahead and Ginny flattened herself to the broom handle as Atlas sent a Bludger at her ── Ginny was at her ankles Draco threw herself forward and so did Ginny, both seekers taking flying off of their brooms. Este sent a buldger their way and this time, Ginny had been hit, groaning in pain, she skidded off to the side.

"YES!" Draco pulled out of his dive, his hand in the air, and the stadium exploded. Draco soared above the crowd, an odd ringing in his ears. The tiny golden ball was held tight in his fist, beating its wings hopelessly against his fingers. The Slytherin team was speeding toward him, "We've won the Cup! We've won the Cup!" Tangled together in a many-armed hug, the Slytherin team sank, yelling hoarsely, back to earth. Wave upon wave of emerald supporters was pouring over the barriers onto the field.