“Excuse me?” said Harry.

“Excuse me?” said Harry.

“You heard me. I saw you. You just tipped something into Ron's drink. You've got the bottle in your hand right now!”

“I dont know what you're talking about,” said Harry, stowing the little bottle hastily in his pocket.

“Ron, I warn you, don't drink it!” Hermione said again, alarmed, but Ron picked up the glass, drained it in one gulp, and said, “Stop bossing me around, Hermione.”

She looked scandalized. Bending low so that only Harry could hear her, she hissed, “You should be expelled for that. I'd never have believed it of you, Harry!”

“Look who's talking,” he whispered back. “Confunded anyone lately?”

She stormed up the table away from them. Harry watched her go without regret. Hermione had never really understood what a serious business Quidditch was. He then looked

around at Ron, who was smacking his lips.

“Nearly time,” said Harry blithely.

The frosty grass crunched underfoot as they strode down to the stadium.

“Pretty lucky the weathers this good, eh?” Harry asked Ron.

“Yeah,” said Ron, who was pale and sick-looking.

Ginny and Demelza were already wearing their Quidditch robes and waiting in the changing room.

“Conditions look ideal,” said Ginny, ignoring Ron. “And guess what? That Slytherin Chaser Vaisey — he took a Bludger in the head yesterday during their practice,

and he's too sore to play! And even better than that—Malfoy's gone off sick too!”

“What?” said Harry, wheeling around to stare at her. “He's ill? What's wrong with him?”

“No idea, but it's great for us,” said Ginny brightly. “They're playing Harper instead; he's in my year and he's an idiot.”

Harry smiled back vaguely, but as he pulled on his scarlet robes his mind was far from Quidditch. Malfoy had once before claimed he could not play due to injury, but on

that occasion he had made sure the whole match was rescheduled for a time that suited the Slytherins better. Why was he now happy to let a substitute go on? Was he

really ill, or was he faking?

“Fishy, isn't it?” he said in an undertone to Ron. “Malfoy not playing?”

“Lucky, I call it,” said Ron, looking slightly more animated. “And Vaisey off too, he's their best goal scorer, I didn't fancy—hey!” he said suddenly, freezing

halfway through pulling on his Keepers gloves and staring at Harry.

“What?”

“I... you...” Ron had dropped his voice, he looked both scared and excited. “My drink ... my pumpkin juice ... you didn't...?”

Harry raised his eyebrows, but said nothing except, “We'll be starting in about five minutes, you'd better get your boots on.”