Since third year, this was the first ti in a year that the two sides faced off again.
Slytherin versus Gryffindor.
These two fated rival Houses, like their founders of old, stood in stark contrast—red against green.
Montague led the team out of the locker room, and there had been significant changes to their lineup.
In addition to a change in captain, there were new Beaters as well.
Goyle and Crabbe were playing as Beaters for the first ti.
Harry was busy comforting Ron.
Slytherin's two Beaters were also first-tirs—they would be nervous, maybe even scared.
They might fly in the wrong direction, accidentally hit their own teammates with the Bludgers.
They were dumb. With their level of brainpower, they'd probably have trouble rembering which goalpost was theirs.
At least, that's what the Gryffindors were thinking.
In reality, while the two were indeed nervous, they weren't as terrified as expected.
On the contrary, they felt incredibly honored.
To represent Slytherin in such a fated match—what could be more glorious?
Malfoy gave each of the two big guys a kick from behind, then said with pride and malice, "Aim for Potter's head. Got it?"
The two hulking boys nodded furiously, while Montague led the team in warm-up exercises.
They'd learned this from Malfoy, who'd heard it ca from Muggles. Doing this helped warm up the body and supposedly reduced the risk of injury from collisions during the match.
They honored it as a miraculous Muggle thod.
Gryffindor's team also walked out. Malfoy cast an arrogant and disdainful glance at Potter.
When his eyes shifted to their new Keeper, Ron Weasley, Malfoy made a throwing motion, and Crabbe knowingly mimicked missing a save with an exaggerated lunge.
Ron's face turned green, then purple with anger. Harry nudged him from behind and said, "Ignore them. Let the ga do the talking."
The nervous Ron nodded. He'd never had much confidence in himself.
He tried not to look over at the Slytherin side—but in the end, he couldn't resist.
He saw Goyle and Crabbe, those two towering figures, slam into each other like bulls, then flash him a nacing grin.
Ron quickly turned his head away, feeling like he was about to be crushed.
He'd completely forgotten that he was the Keeper, and the Beaters wouldn't even be aiming at him.
…
The Quidditch match, resud after a year's break, filled the entire stadium.
Whistles, shouting, singing… a cacophony of noises roared like a massive, chaotic sound system.
Both teams lined up on either side of Madam Hooch.
Madam Hooch looked as brisk and sharp as ever. Angelina and Montague shook hands.
The two captains 'cordially' squeezed with all their strength during the handshake.
Tension crackled in the air.
Harry noticed that the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, Professor Oz Hilled, was also in the stands—seated right next to Professor McGonagall.
Lee Jordan was once again the match comntator, though this ti he wasn't quite as unfiltered as before.
That was because Ernie Macmillan was watching his mic like a hawk, and Snape was death-staring holes into his back.
Harry thought that if he were Lee Jordan, he'd probably never want to comntate again.
"Mount your brooms," said Madam Hooch, raising her whistle to her mouth.
With a sharp blast of the whistle, fourteen players shot into the air.
Angelina shouted, "Watch their scoring ability!"
Facing Slytherin, who had better equipnt, Gryffindor needed to stay alert on defense.
The Bludgers flew wildly around the pitch, while Harry and Malfoy soared to the highest point, their eyes scanning in all directions.
Angelina took the lead, seizing the Quaffle first.
But very soon, Crabbe swung his bat and slamd a Bludger straight into Angelina, causing her to lose possession of the Quaffle.
Montague swooped in to catch the dropped Quaffle and tead up with his fellow player Warrington for a passing maneuver.
The two passed the Quaffle back and forth like twin daggers slicing through Gryffindor's defense.
A Bludger whizzed past Montague's scalp—he dodged hastily, nearly falling off his broom.
A Gryffindor Chaser seized the opportunity to snatch the Quaffle back. Just as a smile spread across his face, Warrington ca charging in from behind and slamd into him, knocking the Quaffle loose again.
Angelina rushed to grab it, but Montague had already recovered and, taking advantage of his broom's superior performance, snatched it away a split second earlier.
George aid at Montague and struck a Bludger his way.
Just as it was about to hit, Goyle barreled in front of Montague and knocked it aside with brute force.
Montague, looking fierce and aggressive, charged toward the goal—where only Ron was left standing all alone.
His Nimbus 2001 surged ahead, leaving everyone behind. He took aim and threw.
And... swoosh!
The Quaffle went in!
Ron visibly paled. Montague pumped his right fist in the air, breaking the tie and taking the lead.
Harry had been so nervous for his best mate that he didn't even realize he'd been zoning out in the air for a whole minute.
Angelina's roar brought him back to his senses. He hurriedly began scanning for the golden Snitch—just in ti to see Malfoy suddenly dive.
Harry instinctively dove after him—both of them riding Firebolts with vastly superior performance, their speed like twin bolts of lightning.
Harry's eyes scanned the air nonstop, desperately trying to spot the golden Snitch.
"Maybe Malfoy's faking it..." The thought flashed through Harry's mind, a sliver of doubt forming when he didn't see the Snitch.
But Malfoy continued charging forward recklessly, and Harry had no choice but to follow.
The two of them looped around the pitch once, then Malfoy dived again. Harry stayed close behind.
They were practically plumting toward the ground. Just as they were about to make contact, Malfoy yanked his broom upward with both arms.
Only then did Harry realize—there was nothing ahead.
It was a Wronski Feint!
Too late to brake, Harry struggled to pull his broom up. His feet still scraped the ground.
Two long skid marks were left in the turf before he finally pulled up.
At that mont, a Bludger slamd into his broom, throwing him off balance—he nearly crashed straight into the Ravenclaw stands.
He even caught a glimpse of Luna in the crowd, wearing that lion's-head hat the size of a real lion, and that serpent scarf that looked like a real snake.
He finally regained control, and glared furiously at Crabbe, who'd hit that shot.
Crabbe smirked mockingly, while Goyle swung his bat around with exaggerated bravado.
"Slytherin scores, seventy to ten."
Lee Jordan's voice sent a chill down Harry's spine as he realized Slytherin was employing a brutal new tactic.
Montague, Warrington, and Pucey—the three Chasers—charged at the Gryffindor side like a three-pronged trident.
anwhile, the two Beaters locked onto the Bludgers, seizing every opportunity to send them hurtling toward Harry, giving the Weasley twins no opening to strike back.
Harry was hounded constantly by both Bludgers, flailing about midair in an uncharacteristically chaotic fashion.
And on top of that, he still had to keep an eye out for the Golden Snitch—and for Malfoy.
Under pressure from all three fronts, Gryffindor's supposed ace, Harry, was now left floundering.
"Slytherin scores again, one hundred to twenty." Lee Jordan's voice rang out, heavy with frustration.
Angelina had no answer to the Trident Formation. Due to their gear disparity, one-on-one marking was impossible.
They had no choice but to assign two players to deal with the most troubleso of the bunch—Montague, whose savage plays had already caused their Keeper to fumble several tis.
"Potter!" Malfoy called to Harry, diving again.
Harry hesitated for one second. He wasn't sure if this was another Wronski Feint.
But then—within that one second—his hawk-like reflexes caught a glint of gold.
The Snitch!
Harry imdiately gave chase. But with equal broom models, in a straight-line sprint, the one who started first had the edge.
Malfoy flew ahead, Harry giving chase right behind him.
The two of them closed in steadily as the Golden Snitch darted up, down, left, and right.
Harry shouted inwardly, pushing his speed even higher.
Malfoy, sensing the presence drawing closer behind him, let a smirk curl on his lips.
The two of them surged toward the Snitch—Practically shoulder to shoulder.
Malfoy veered in sharply, delivering a body check to Harry's side, making his shoulder throb with pain.
These kinds of minor fouls were notoriously hard to catch, even with a referee present.
The struggle grew more intense, and the Golden Snitch dipped lower again, prompting both of them to dive.
"Oh no—oh rlin—Slytherin scores! One hundred and twenty to twenty!"
Harry heard the announcent and knew—if he didn't catch the Snitch now, he'd be repeating the sa loss as last ti.
"The Golden Snitch is mine!"
Accelerating again, Harry felt like his Firebolt was about to catch fire, growling as he pushed forward.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Malfoy mirroring his move—arm outstretched in the sa posture.
His gaze dropped slightly, catching sight of the badge hanging on Malfoy's chest, reflecting the light.
Just that one glance dazzled Harry's eyes.
The two of them collided mid-air.
________
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