The farce at Slytherin's New King Coronation Ceremony swept through the entire castle like a gust of wind laden with damp from the lakebed.
When the news reached the Gryffindor Common Room, it immediately sparked a grand party of undisguised mockery.
"Seven Dragon Pearls, ha! They only found six!"
"They say Warrington's face was darker than the bottom of Professor Snape's cauldron!"
"What about the seventh?"
"Who knows? Maybe Professor Holmes turned it into a slug and hid it up a first-year's nostril!"
Fred and George seized the opportunity to turn the internal selection tournament into a carnival for Gryffindor.
They conjured an enormous Odds Board with constantly scrolling updates and hung it above the fireplace.
Each contestant's name was followed by a string of bizarre titles and constantly shifting numbers.
"Impulsive Weasley versus Sleepy Creevey! Place your bets, no changes after that!"
Ron charged enthusiastically onto the makeshift dueling platform.
His fighting style, much like Ron himself, was simple, direct, and even a little reckless.
There were no intricate calculations or flashy spells.
Just sheer drive and a handful of spells he had practiced until he knew them inside out.
"Expelliarmus!"
"Impedimenta!"
Like a Fire Crab charging wildly about, he won several matches through the purest form of magical suppression.
Until he faced a seventh-year girl.
The older girl fought like she was performing an elegant dance.
She never blocked Ron's spells head-on, simply neutralizing them with clever sidesteps and Transfiguration Spells.
Ron's magic was like stones hurled into cotton, its force finding no purchase.
Finally, one of his lunges missed, leaving his body momentarily rigid.
The older girl gave her wand a gentle flick.
A vine burst up through the floor and wound precisely around his ankle.
Ron crashed heavily onto the platform.
Hermione had not signed up.