On Quidditch

There has been only one occasion during my time at Hogwarts on which I can remember Granger really panicking.

It was during our very first flying lesson. I remember it well - Madame Hooch was giving us the instructions for mounting our brooms for the first time, and I, already confident in my own ability, was looking around the class lazily to gauge the reactions of the others. That's when I noticed it in her eyes: fear. Not just worry, or an attack of the nerves, but real, unadulterated fear.

You see, it wasn't coincidence that both Krum and Diggory, excellent quidditch players, were selected as the champions for their schools - and it wasn't a coincidence that Potter did as well in the tournament as he did. He tried to give everyone some self-deprecating rot afterwards about only getting so far because of Crouch's interference. That was rubbish - everyone in the tournament cheated in some way or other, and he knew that. The protestations were typical Potter, though.

When I caught Granger's eyes during that lesson, I realised that she knew what being able to fly really indicated - something that Potter had clearly not known when I spoke to him in Madame Malkin's Robe Shop - true and natural ability. I don't mean just possessing magic innately, because every wizard does - teach him how to make the most of his powers, and any wizard will be able to get through his O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s without hitch. But by seeing how that wizard fares on a broomstick you can tell how much of that success came from hours spent alone in the library, and frantic charms and transfiguration practise through the early hours of the morning behind drawn drapes up in the dorm room. You can see which wizard got his marks resting on his laurels, and which got his after hours and hours of hard, hard work.

Not everyone's first tries at flying were what I'd expected. Take Longbottom, for instance. You'd have guessed he was a squib, the way he performed in lessons, but on a broomstick his magic was out of control - literally. You see, a broom reacts based on both the magical ability of its flier, and on how attuned the person is to his magic. It was clear that not only was he a very powerful wizard, but that he was hopelessly out of tune with his ability. He had the raw talent, but was either unable or unwilling to tap into it. It wasn't until later that I understood which it was, or why.

Granger was not a 'natural'. I'm not saying this out of jealousy, or out of spite, but because it is true. I don't even mean it as an insult. It didn't make being beaten by her in every single subject any easier to bear - if anything, it made it worse. I knew I had greater ability than she did. It wasn't just that I was 'beaten by a Mudblood!' as my father used to complain; rather, I was beaten by someone who wasn't as naturally good at magic as I was. Are you surprised that I was bitter? Poor Longbottom, who spent most of his Hogwarts career relying on Granger for help, possessed unquantifiably more magical ability than she.

It was when I saw Potter on a broomstick that first time that I knew the hype about him was warranted. 'Youngest Seeker in Hogwarts in over a Century' really means 'most naturally able wizard in Hogwarts in over a century'. He told me, later, that Dumbledore had said that his Mother's love had protected him. That has to be one of the most ridiculous ideas that I've ever heard. Did countless others not really love those that proceeded to be killed in front of them? Or did their love just not match up to that of Lily Potter? No. The reflection of the killing curse, something previously thought impossible, was nothing more and nothing less than the first instance of him using his innate magic.

I knew those years ago, as I know now - no matter how good I was, Potter was better, always would be, and there was nothing that I could do to change it. I wasn't far off, talent wise, you understand, but I could never match the bloody Boy Who Lived.

I challenged him that day, because I thought I might have been wrong. Perhaps I only perceived that flying came more naturally to him than it did to me, perhaps I was better than him, perhaps everyone was wrong about him and he wasn't really the saviour of the wizarding world and it was all a mistake and perhaps I could beat him and I could be the best and I could make Father and Mother proud of me and...

He always beats me, in the end.