Chapter 24
The morning of the next day started off with mocking glances from Slytherin and a hearty breakfast. In some ways, you could understand them: even though people knew that we—or rather, Regulus—could fly, it definitely wasn't for nothing that teams tried to put the sturdiest possible player in the Keeper's spot. The main reason was to be able to catch a Quaffle thrown as hard as possible, often at an accelerated speed. To be honest, we ourselves were almost certain that the male half of our team would be thoroughly exhausted by the end of the game, but we were also sure that today Slytherin wouldn't score a single point.
"Harry, you need to eat something, just look at Regulus," we heard Hermione's worried voice as she pointed to us, unconcerned, happily eating sausages.
"...I'm not hungry," Harry said with just a fleeting glance in our direction.
"You know, Harry, if you lose to Malfoy because you fainted from hunger mid-match, no one will understand," Andromeda noted. "Food is your fuel, like diesel for a car—without fuel a car stalls. It's the same with the human body."
"Haaaah," Harry sighed heavily but gave in to our words. He speared a sausage on his fork, clearly forcing himself, but after the first bite, his appetite seemed to return and he started eating eagerly.
"Potter," a voice came from behind us—it belonged to someone we personally hadn't expected to see for a while, at least not approaching our group.
"Malfoy?" Harry turned around, sounding as surprised as we felt.
"Today we'll see who's the better flyer," the boy said, sounding a bit uncertain when he met our gaze. However, he managed to put on a mask of cool composure and strutted back to the Slytherin table.
"Harry, crush him," Ron said, looking seriously at his friend.
"Definitely," the recent nervousness on Harry's face was replaced by determination and a faint smile.
By eleven o'clock the stadium was packed. We, Harry, and the rest of the Gryffindor team—except for the captain, who was still stuck in the hospital wing—sat in the locker room ready to walk onto the field, while our female half was up in the stands with Hermione and Ron.
The girls were clearly not in the mood: starting the season without their captain was not how they wanted to begin. But the atmosphere was lightened by the Weasley twins, who, climbing up onto the bench, coughed loudly to get everyone's attention.
"Since today our much respected..."
"...and incomparable captain Wood..."
"...is absent, we'll be giving his speech," they began, taking turns.
"Clowns," Angelina snorted, but she was smiling despite her frown.
"So, gentlemen..." Fred began.
"And, of course, ladies," George added.
"The time has come."
"The great time."
"The moment we've all been waiting for."
"We haven't had such a strong lineup in years."
"Our Seeker is none other than Harry Potter, compared to whom Slytherin's Seeker is a nobody."
"And in goal we're being replaced by our new star, Regulus Black."
"Our charming Chasers could give any Hunter at Hogwarts a run for their money," at these words, the mentioned Chasers blushed a bit.
"And the Beaters—the incomparable Weasley twins."
"We're going to win!"
"Now let's crush Slytherin!" the twins finished in unison.
"Yes!" came the loud, united reply, after which we headed for the exit, and Fred went out as acting captain.
Honestly, just watching his handshake with Marcus Flint looked painful, but Weasley handled it with honor and everyone got ready for the start.
"All right, I want a nice, clean game from each and every one of you," said Madam Hooch, who was refereeing the match.
"Please mount your brooms."
"The rest I leave to you," Andromeda said to the Gryffindors sitting nearby, and then we focused all our attention on Regulus.
"Whistle!"—as soon as Madam Hooch blew her whistle, all the players shot up into the air. We, as the Keeper, took our position and watched the game closely.
"Today's match is extremely interesting," Lee Jordan was commentating. "For the first time in centuries we have so many first-years participating in a single game. Even with Dumbledore's recent rule relaxation, nobody expected three first-years would play in one match."
Gryffindor took possession of the Quaffle first, and soon Alicia Spinnet opened the scoring, sending the first goal into Slytherin's hoops—whose Keeper, to be honest, wasn't very good. Slytherin immediately started playing dirty.
"Katie Bell's got the ball, she brilliantly dodges Slytherin captain Flint and—oh my god, she was nearly unseated, what an awful—"
"Jordan!" Professor McGonagall snapped from beside him.
"Sorry, the ball is now with Slytherin. Marcus Flint is diving toward the Gryffindor hoops like an eagle..."
We saw it in slow motion, Flint flying towards us. His nasty smirk clearly showed how sure he was that we wouldn't be able to block his attempt, and perhaps his confidence was boosted by the Bludger that was currently being sent to the spot where, theoretically, we'd need to fly to intercept the shot. Honestly, it actually seemed like a good strategy—only, unfortunately for him, it would work just on an ordinary Keeper. Regulus dove for the spot at the last moment, flying above the ball, then twisting around his broom, catching the Quaffle and hugging it close, letting the Bludger sail by harmlessly.
"And Regulus Black, pulling off a truly incredible maneuver, intercepts the Quaffle and passes it to Angelina Johnson. Gryffindor's got the ball again."
The next five minutes saw our team dominate: the girls managed to score three more goals before Slytherin went into full dirty play. Katie Bell, who had the ball, was boxed in on both sides by two Slytherin Chasers and ended up crashing into the stands, losing consciousness and falling off her broom. Only the teachers' quick reflexes saved her from turning into a bloody pancake.
"And so, after what was obviously a deliberate and deeply unfair—"
"Jordan!" roared Professor McGonagall.
"I meant," Jordan corrected himself, "after that blatant and disgusting foul—"
"Jordan, you're on thin ice…" the Professor's hand reached for his microphone.
"Okay, okay. Right—so Flint nearly killed Gryffindor's Chaser, Katie Bell, but hey, who doesn't have near-death experiences? " There was undiluted irony in Jordan's words, but there wasn't much Professor McGonagall could do. "Gryffindor is awarded a penalty. Alicia Spinnet's got the ball and—YES! She scores, it's 50–0 to Gryffindor! But it's going to get tough for Gryffindor now: with just two Chasers, they have slim chances to score again. Which means—wait, is that the Snitch?!" The commentator cried out, and we saw Harry suddenly dart after it, with Malfoy right behind. They were neck and neck, both stretching out their hands, but Harry was closer. Just a bit more and the game would be over...
Bam! Suddenly, Flint crashed into Harry at full speed, sending him flying off his broom and hurtling toward the ground. Watching him fall, we had a horrifying vision for a moment of his mangled corpse lying on the ground—but the illusion passed quickly, and Regulus shot like a Comet toward the falling boy, barely catching him just above the ground. Slowing down, we softly landed.
Harry's face was pale, his whole body shook, and he gasped for air.
"Are you all right?" we asked, gently patting him on the back, well aware just how much of a shock his close brush with death must have been.
"That's not just a foul, that bastard tried to—wait, Professor, I promise I won't anymore—" pleaded Jordan, whose microphone was being wrestled away, judging by the sound.
At that moment, Madam Hooch came down to us, holding Harry's broom, followed by the rest of our team, who had of course seen the Seeker's condition.
"Are you able to continue, Mr. Potter?" the referee asked, eyeing Harry's face closely.
"If not, you really don't have to," Angelina chimed in, seeing Harry hesitate. After such trauma, it would have been no surprise if he didn't want to play anymore. But he surprised everyone.
"I'll play," Potter declared resolutely, still pale but determined.
"Excellent. In that case, back in the air," Madam Hooch nodded.
"Wait! Can we have a quick time-out?" Regulus asked.
"You have a minute," Madam Hooch agreed and gestured to the commentator.
"So, Gryffindor calls a time-out. Looks like the lions are planning a change in strategy."
"Got a plan, Regulus?" Alicia looked at us.
"Yes," Regulus nodded. "You all remember how fast I can fly, right?"
"Not likely to forget that," Angelina snorted. "You crushed us all solo."
"Wait…" the others caught on. "Don't tell me you mean—"
"If we always have the ball, we don't need a Keeper, right?" Regulus grinned wickedly.
"All right. Here's the plan: Alicia takes the penalty, then Slytherin gets the ball for the last time, and Regulus intercepts it at the hoops. Then let the humiliation begin," Fred said, lips curling in anticipation.
"Harry," George addressed the Chosen One, "try to block them from getting the Snitch, but if you get the chance, don't hesitate to catch it. Slytherin's defeat today should be spectacular after all they've done."
"Right," Harry agreed, his fighting spirit reignited, a bright flame of vengeance lighting in his eyes.
"The game continues with a penalty. And once again, Alicia Spinnet has the Quaffle, let's see if she scores another—likely last—goal for Gryffindor today. And...yes! As always, brilliant play from Gryffindor's Chaser. 60–0 to the lions."
"Slytherin's got the ball again, the captain is speeding toward the opposing hoops, the Chasers are being blocked—what are the Weasley twins up to?" Lee Jordan wondered aloud, as neither seemed to show much interest in stopping the Slytherin Chaser's progress—until Regulus once again snatched the ball.
"And another fantastic save from Regulus Black! Wait, what's this? The Keeper's left the hoops?!"
As planned, with the Quaffle now in our hands, instead of passing to one of the girls, we suddenly shot off, circled around Flint, and made for Slytherin's hoops at top speed. With the girls and Weasleys busy blocking Slytherin's other players, the flight was practically a walk in the park, and in moments, the ball sailed through their hoops—past the startled Keeper.
Needless to say, the rest of the game quickly became a one-sided mockery.
"150–0 to Gryffindor. Even if Slytherin's Seeker catches the Snitch now, it will only end in a draw for them."
"Speaking of Seekers, I think Potter's spotted something!" And indeed, Harry and Malfoy were neck and neck again, a replay of earlier, but this time the Weasley twins were circling close by, determined to let no one interfere, while we, taking advantage of Slytherin's looser defense, scored another goal.
But the real sabotage came where no one expected: suddenly Potter's broom went wild, jerking him back and forth, knocking him out of the race for the Snitch. Even the slowest mind could see something was up, but just as we managed another easy goal, an uncontested Malfoy caught the Snitch.
"Slytherin's caught the Snitch, the match is over, and Gryffindor wins 180–150! An unprecedented result, even if it's obvious Slytherin can't even lose honestly anymore! Someone help Potter already!" Lee Jordan finished in a panic, seeing Potter barely clinging to his berserk broom—which a second later, suddenly stilled. Relieved, Harry slowly drifted back down to the grass.
Back in the locker room, everyone was visibly disappointed at how it all ended, especially Harry. If he'd caught the Snitch, the match nearly guaranteed us the Cup this year, with Slytherin all but at the bottom—yet no one blamed Harry. All of us were furious at Slytherin, unequivocally responsible for how things played out. And because of the score, Slytherin was almost even with Gryffindor now, which was doubly unpleasant. In fact, the only one not present at the moment was Fred, who was still arguing with Madam Hooch over the Snitch catch, insisting it was completely out of line.
"Well, at least now everyone in the school will despise Slytherin," Alicia sighed.
"As if they didn't already," Angelina snorted.
"Hey, guys, good news!" Fred burst in.
"They're going to annul their Snitch catch?" George asked hopefully.
"No," Fred grimaced. "But we're getting five penalty shots. Alicia, we're counting on you."
"Brilliant!" the girl grinned, hurrying out of the dressing room with everyone else on her heels.
Out of five penalties, she scored four. The only save came from Marcus Flint, who'd suddenly subbed in as Keeper.
So the game ended 220–150, and we were greeted in the common room with a hero's welcome and thunderous applause.