The Big Dipper

The Animagus

The school talked of nothing but Sirius Black for the next few days. The theories about how he had entered the castle became wilder and wilder; Dennis Moon spent all of their next Herbology class trying to convince Lewis Carter that Black was actually a ghost. Lewis just sighed and jokingly asked if Dennis had been smoking anything recently.

It had rained steadily all week, but to Ursula's disappointment, there had yet to be any lightning accompanying it, which meant she was still hurrying up the stairs every morning and evening to place her wand over her heart and recite the incantation. The Slytherin team practised every day for their match on Saturday, but midweek Flint gathered the team in the changing room with a nasty smile.

"We're not playing this weekend," he announced, to general shouts of dismay.

Ursula waited until some of the anger from the others had died down before asking in as calm of a voice as she could manage, "Why not?"

"Two reasons," said Flint. "One, playing in this weather will damage our chances, I won't pretend. But more importantly, we want to beat Gryffindor, don't we? And what better way to hurt their chances than throwing them off their game at the last minute?"

"What will you tell Wood?" asked Adrian.

"That our seeker's still injured," said Flint, his nasty smile growing even nastier. "Play up the injury tomorrow, Malfoy. And Higgs, say you're ill. We don't want Gryffindor suggesting we use you instead."

Now that the other Slytherins had had a moment to think about it, they agreed that it was a smart move. Shady, underhanded, and devious, but smart. They all promised not to say a word to the Gryffindors before Flint did, but most of the team left the changing room smirking considerably more than they had when they entered it.

It was late Thursday evening when Fred and George cornered Ursula in the library, just before her prefect patrol was supposed to start. She was finishing up a long, arduus Potions essay when they arrived, sopping wet and muddy.

"Why didn't you tell us you're not playing on Saturday?" demanded Fred.

Ursula pulled back her nearly two-foot essay so the Weasleys wouldn't drip on the drying ink. She was still writing as she talked.

"Why... why would I do that?" she asked slowly, scanning her essay for errors.

"Why are you snakes really not playing?" said George.

"The other Slytherins and I can't play because Draco's injury is acting up and Terence is ill," said Ursula innocently. She cast a drying spell on the ink. "We can't play without a seeker."

"Wood says this is a plot to avoid playing in the rain," said Fred.

"I can't pretend it isn't a relief not to play in the storm," replied Ursula. "But that's as good of an explanation as you're going to get, Weasley."

Ursula rolled up her completed essay and shoved it into her bag with her quill and ink.

"Watch out," she said, glancing over their shoulders.

"Mud in the library?" screeched Madam Pince, appearing suddenly from between the shelves like a vulture diving towards prey.

"Disgraceful, isn't it?" agreed Ursula. Fred and George gaped at them. "I was just telling them the same thing. I'll take care of them, if you don't mind, Madam Pince." She lowered her voice and leaned forward. "The students in aisle seven have food with them."

"Well," said Madam Pince irritably, looking much more eager to act on Ursula's tip. "If they leave with you right now, then I suppose —"

"Glad to be of assistance, Madam Pince," said Ursula, sweeping up the main aisle with Fred and George on her heels. "I'll take them straight to Professor Snape. I'd hate to see a book ruined on my watch, after all."