“There was a pause in which Harry glared at her, and her eyes filled slowly with tears. “You didn’t mean that,” said Harry quietly. “No . . . well . . . all right . . . I didn’t,” she said, wiping her eyes angrily. “But why does he have to make life so difficult for himself — for us?” “I dunno —” Weasley is our King, Weasley is our King, He didn’t let the Quaffle in, Weasley is our King . . . “And I wish they’d stop singing that stupid song,” said Hermione miserably, “haven’t they gloated enough?” A great tide of students was moving up the sloping lawns from the pitch. “Oh, let’s get in before we have to meet the Slytherins,” said Hermione. Weasley can save anything, He never leaves a single ring, That’s why Gryffindors all sing: Weasley is our King. “Hermione . . .” said Harry slowly. The song was growing louder, but it was issuing not from a crowd of green-and-silver-clad Slytherins, but from a mass of red and gold moving slowly toward the castle, which was bearing a solitary figure upon its many shoulders. . . . Weasley is our King, Weasley is our King, He didn’t let the Quaffle in, Weasley is our King . . . “No!” said Hermione in a hushed voice. “YES!” said Harry loudly. “HARRY! HERMIONE!” yelled Ron, waving the silver Quidditch Cup in the air and looking quite beside himself. “WE DID IT! WE”