The slogan was noble, the ideals were admirable, and the goals were lofty, but reality? Reality was a cruel, unforgiving beast.
The biggest problem facing the Hogwarts students was painfully simple: while they were full of confidence in their team, they were missing a very important ingredient: enough players.
With only fifty students in the entire delegation, how many qualified Quidditch players could there possibly be?
The answer: six.
Yes, six. Fortunately, no one among them overlapped in their positions, which was lucky. But that bit of luck was imdiately drowned out by a bigger issue, they were still one player short.
The team was in a panic. They'd already made bold declarations, issued challenges, and the entire school of Uagadou was expecting a match the next day. Were they really supposed to walk up and say:
"Sorry, we're one player short. Let's call the match off"?
What a joke!
Even if they sohow mustered the courage to say that, and even if Professor McGonagall, by so miracle, agreed to such a humiliating retreat, they knew exactly what would happen.
Actually, scratch that. The odds of McGonagall agreeing to sothing so disgraceful were zero. They were willing to bet their cauldrons on it.
And if, by so insane chance, Professor McGonagall did approve, like a mother dragon falling in love with a Flobberworm-level impossible, how were they supposed to go back to Hogwarts after that?
They could already imagine the barrage of Howlers flooding in the next morning, tearing them apart verbally. British Quidditch hooligans were every bit as savage as football ones, maybe worse.
So people would definitely blow this up into a matter of national magical pride.
rlin help them. But how were they supposed to play when they didn't have enough people?
That's when Hufflepuff's prefect, Albert, suddenly rembered sothing: there was soone else who had participated in Quidditch practice.
That's right: Allen.
To explain his tactical strategies, Allen had joined a few training sessions. While the Hufflepuffs had kept that fact as their "secret weapon" for the final match, now wasn't the ti to hide any cards, this was an ergency!
Losing a match was one thing. Forfeiting before it even began? That was a disgrace no house could live down.
And so, Allen, still in his pajamas, yawning and bleary-eyed, was dragged into the common room.
"Wait, Quidditch?" Allen blinked himself fully awake as everyone nodded at him in unison.
"?" he asked, now completely awake, pointing to his own nose in disbelief.
"Yes, Allen," Charlie said gravely, placing a firm hand on his shoulder. "We're one player short, and you've had team practice. You'll be playing as a Chaser."
As the only current team captain present, Charlie had taken charge of the lineup. No one complained, there was no room for pride or nitpicking right now.
"No, no, no!" Allen shook his head so fast it might've flown off. Was this so kind of joke? He'd never gone through proper training. Even those practice sessions had been strictly to explain strategy, not to actually play. At this point, changing tactics on the fly would only cause confusion and mistakes.
He had no illusions, there had to be soone better than him at flying. Surely?
But Charlie was unmoved. "No, Allen. We need you. Of everyone left, you're the best flyer. And you're the only one with any team experience at all. That makes this your responsibility."
Well, that was that.
Allen gave a deep sigh and muttered, "Guess I don't really have a choice, huh?"
••┈┈┈┈┈༓┈┈┈┈┈•••
The next day, the massive stone stadium at Uagadou was packed to the brim.
It was a colossal arena built into the side of the mountain, with a wide, circular field in the center covered in lush, green grass.
And that grass? It was no ordinary turf. This had once been a barren, rocky wasteland. Only through powerful enchantnts that permanently altered the land into fertile soil, followed by ticulous care, had they cultivated this immaculate pitch.
The entire stadium was made of stone, from the elegant sculpted walls to the tiered seating carved from matching rock. It looked more like a work of art than a sports arena.
Every single student and teacher from Uagadou had shown up. Even those who didn't care for sports couldn't ignore a battle for school pride.
The Hogwarts students had been given pri seats, high up under a shaded canopy that offered a perfect view of the whole field.
But it didn't help. Even before the match began, the pressure was overwhelming. This was Uagadou's ho turf. Sure, they couldn't chant anything too aggressive due to the "cultural exchange" the, but the sheer volu of cheers from the crowd was like a tidal wave crashing down.
By all logic, Allen should have been nervous. He had never participated in a formal match before.
But instead of nerves, he found himself wanting to laugh.
For so reason, the ridiculous thought popped into his head: If a nuke dropped on this place right now, would Uagadou's magical bloodline just go extinct?
"Whoa, what the hell am I thinking?! I'm standing here too!" he snapped back to reality. "Focus! This is serious!"
The players took to the air for broom trials, one lap around the field, starting slow, speeding up, and then slowing down again.
True to their word, Uagadou had provided identical brooms for both sides. There was no foul play here.
As Allen completed his lap, the first-year Uagadou students in the audience finally realized who he was.
Wait a damn minute, this guy was a real Quidditch player?!
They felt completely scamd. He had acted so innocent, so clueless during their practice, and now he was flying with professional-level skill. Even by Uagadou standards, this was enough to qualify for their house team.
He was like a smurf account, an elite player pretending to be a noob just to dominate beginners.
Of course he was showing off, he'd earned the right to!
But by now, it was too late. The match was starting. Even if the first-years wanted to warn their team about the wolf in sheep's clothing, it wasn't going to happen.
The two teams assembled in the center of the field. The referee, a flying instructor, held a Galleon in one hand as the team captains shook hands.
The coin was flipped into the air.
Heads: Uagadou would start with the Quaffle. Hogwarts would choose the field side.
A wave of groans ca from the stands, field choice was usually considered more advantageous than first possession.
Charlie, wasting no ti, chose the side with the sun behind them. It would give their less-coordinated team at least a small edge in visibility.
The players rose into the air and assud their formations.
With a small box opened in the referee's hand, a glimring golden speck shot into the sky—the Golden Snitch.
The match had begun.
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