When the match began, Harry soared leisurely on his broomstick, his keen eyes scanning the sky for any sign of the Golden Snitch.
“Stay on the side,” Wood advised, flying close to him. “Wait until you spot the Snitch before diving in. We don’t want you getting targeted too early.”
“Got it, Captain,” Harry nodded with a grin.
"Brilliant! Gryffindor's Chaser Angelina Johnson is off to a flying start, deftly snatching the Quaffle!” the comntator, Lee Jordan, announced with infectious enthusiasm. “She’s executing a breathtaking spiral to dodge the Slytherin defense—and she’s left them all in the dust! Oh, what’s this? A Slytherin player is grabbing at her robes, but it’s futile—Gryffindor scores! Ten points!”
The stands erupted in cheers from three houses, their jubilation clashing with the frustrated roars of the Slytherins.
Galvanized by Gryffindor’s first goal, Slytherin retaliated with ferocity.
However, their efforts were repeatedly thwarted by Gryffindor’s Keeper, Oliver Wood, whose skill seed almost impenetrable. Shot after shot failed to make it past him.
"Here cos Gryffindor on the attack again!” Lee’s voice rang out. “What a move by Alicia Spinnet—another brilliant recruit scouted by none other than Oliver Wood! She was only a reserve player last year, but—oh no! Slytherin’s Captain, Marcus Flint, intercepts the Quaffle! Let’s see how Gryffindor responds—wait, incredible! Alicia steals it back with equal flair!”
"Oh, but what’s this? Alicia’s pass is intercepted by a Slytherin Chaser—rlin’s beard! Just when it looked like Gryffindor was about to fumble, the Quaffle deflects off Angelina’s, uh… well-placed chest muscles, and straight into the goal! Another ten points for Gryffindor!”
Professor McGonagall, seated nearby, delivered a sharp smack to the back of Lee’s head.
“Stick to the ga, Jordan!” she admonished, her eyes narrowing.
Lee muttered an apology, his enthusiasm only slightly dimd as he resud his play-by-play.
anwhile, Harry hovered above, watching the chaotic match unfold below. Suddenly, Wood’s panicked shout reached his ears.
“Harry! Watch out!”
Harry’s hand instinctively tapped the layered protective enchantnts on his Quidditch robes as Marcus Flint, grinning wickedly, launched a Bludger straight at him. Flint’s face lit up with anticipation of Harry’s imminent fall.
To everyone’s astonishnt, a dull thud echoed across the pitch as the Bludger bounced harmlessly off Harry’s enchanted armor.
“Harry, you alright?” Fred called out, zooming in and sending the rogue Bludger hurtling back toward Flint with a well-aid strike.
“I’m fine,” Harry assured, brushing off his robes as though nothing had happened.
But just as he spoke, a glint of gold caught his eye—the Snitch!
Harry leaned forward, urging his broomstick into a steep dive. From across the pitch, Slytherin’s Seeker, Terence Higgs, spotted the Snitch as well, and the two streaked through the air in hot pursuit. The Chasers montarily paused, captivated by the high-speed duel.
Harry’s superior broomstick and skill quickly gave him the lead, leaving Higgs trailing two lengths behind.
“Harry, look out!” Angelina’s warning rang from above.
Harry glanced to the side just in ti to see Flint barreling toward him, clearly intending to ram him mid-air. Bracing himself, Harry shifted his elbow subtly.
Thud!
Flint yelped as Harry’s well-tid counter sent him tumbling off course, spinning through the air like a discarded rag doll. Harry smirked as he glanced back at Flint, who was now clinging to his broom for dear life.
But Harry’s victory was short-lived. His broom suddenly dipped, jerking violently as though rebelling against his control.
What’s happening?
He yanked the broom upward, narrowly avoiding a collision with the ground, but it began bucking even more violently.
Soone’s jinxing my broom!
Harry’s mind raced. Who could it be? Malfoy? No, he’s spiteful, but he doesn’t have this kind of skill.
Gripping the broom tightly, Harry smacked the handle with his free hand. “Finite!” he commanded, but the broom only thrashed harder in defiance.
“Harry! Look at Harry!” Ron’s panicked voice rose from the Gryffindor stands.
Beside him, Hermione seized the binoculars from Neville, her sharp eyes scanning the field.
“This doesn’t make sense,” Ron muttered, his face pale. “With McGonagall’s new broom and Harry’s flying skills, this shouldn’t be happening!”
“Quiet, Ron!” Hermione snapped. “I’m thinking.”
She turned the binoculars toward the staff box, her expression hardening. “I knew it!” she hissed, shoving the binoculars into Ron’s hands. “Look—it’s Snape! He’s muttering sothing while staring right at Harry! He’s cursing the broomstick!”
“But why?” Ron asked, stunned. “I thought he was friends with Harry’s parents! Why would he—”
“That doesn’t matter now!” Hermione interrupted, her voice edged with urgency. “I’ll handle this!”
Without another word, she bolted from the stands, leaving Ron clutching the binoculars in confusion.
High above, Harry continued to battle his rebellious broomstick. His sharp gaze shifted to the staff box, where Dumbledore sat serenely, offering no sign of intervention.
Seriously, Dumbledore? Are you just going to watch?
Despite the chaos, Harry resolved not to land. He would expose whoever was behind this sabotage.
Activating a farsight charm, Harry’s vision zood in on the staff section—and locked onto Snape, whose lips were moving as his piercing gaze bore into Harry.
Could it really be him?
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