Fred and George threw aside their drumsticks and embraced. George's arm was wrapped around Fred's neck, and Fred's face had gone bright red—whether from being choked or from excitement, no one could tell.
Angelina jumped off her broom, dropped to her knees on the grass, covered her face with both hands, and trembled.
Harry held the Golden Snitch high in his clenched hand, then turned to look toward the referee's stand. Severus Snape rose from his chair, lowering his hands from where they had been folded over his chest to hang at his sides. He wore a smile, the corners of his mouth tilted upward to reveal several teeth.
It was not the cold sneer he wore in Potions when Harry blew up a cauldron, nor was it the gloating smile he showed when he saw Malfoy mocking Harry in the corridors.
It was a more complicated smile, mingling a sigh of just as I thought with the satisfaction of you fell into the trap. His eyes were still black—not the black of something without light, but the kind of black where light went in and never came back out. He looked at Harry, and Harry looked at him. Their gazes collided beneath the gray sky, then slipped apart. Snape turned and descended from the referee's stand, the hem of his robes dragging silently over the steps.
Harry did not celebrate with his teammates. He went around Wood's outstretched arms, ducked Fred's hand as it came down toward his back, slipped beneath the broom George held out, and headed toward the Hufflepuff side of the pitch. Cedric stood there, one hand on his broom and the other tucked into his pocket.
His hair had been tousled by the wind, several dark brown strands falling over his forehead and curling above