“You alright?” Gus said, having dived hurriedly after Bixby and pulled up close by. That bloody Moroccan who’d hit the bludger at him amidst the already-unravelling chaos! What was he playing at?

Maybe neither he nor Rufus had had time to see the trajectory from MacFusty’s bludger. Gus had, from some distance, but she had also heard the shrill cries and shouts erupting from the stands and had caught some mutterings as she’d descended.

Her face wore an expression far from her usual grins. “The bludger hit someone in the stands,” she explained in a low tone, “I think it’s bad.” Her heart leapt at the fear that she might’ve known someone in those boxes; she resisted the urge to get back in the air and search from box to box for the faces of her brother and her friends.

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