"Or perhaps," Dylan mused, "there are so few competitive sports among wizards, and Quidditch is the most popular, possibly the only athletic pursuit we have, which is why everyone is so incredibly tolerant of one match?"
Putting himself in the fans' shoes, it actually wasn't that hard to understand.
When Dylan finally arrived at the Quidditch pitch, the atrocious weather severely limited visibility. Yet, despite the wild storm, the place was absolutely packed. Almost every student and teacher from Hogwarts seemed to have gathered around the stands. Some, who hadn't bothered with drying charms, held umbrellas that were instantly ripped away by the wind. Dylan even spotted someone's parchment glove being whipped into the air, fluttering like a broken-winged white bird just above his head.
"Hmm... feels like Madam Pince's," he thought. But how could a glove still on someone's hand get blown away?
As Dylan pondered this, a shout suddenly cut through the din.
"Over here, Dylan!"
Dylan looked up and immediately spotted Neville's soaking wet, round face. Neville was craning his neck out of the dense crowd, waving his wand frantically, trying to show Dylan where they were. Dylan weaved through the throngs, squeezing his way over. With a quick charm, he dried Neville and the seat, then slowly settled down. What a dreadful way to watch a match! He'd rather be doing a few more experiments.
"Oh, thank you – Dylan!" Neville yelled, his voice strained. It was no use. The howling wind and booming thunder blurred all sound. You couldn't hear a thing unless you shouted. Dylan shook his head, saying nothing. Neville then squinted, trying his best to see the Quidditch pitch.
With Dylan there, the invisible umbrella over his head now extended to cover Neville too. As raindrops neared them, they'd hit an invisible barrier, change direction, and slide harmlessly to the ground. Not a single drop touched them.
"Dylan, can you see them? I think I saw Harry and the others entering the pitch!" Neville's voice was still muffled by the storm. The wind and thunder made it impossible to hear the commentator, and the torrential rain obscured everything. The heavy rain was like a thick curtain, forming layered veils before their eyes. Neville squeezed his eyes shut, trying to see more clearly, but could only make out a blur of red figures moving on the field.
Dylan, his eyes covered by magic, had a much clearer view. He nodded. "It's Harry and his team!"
"Oh! I hope they have good luck!" Neville wished.
Dylan looked up at the dark, oppressive sky and let out a chuckle. Good luck indeed. In this weather, without a little bit of cunning, finding or even catching the Golden Snitch would truly be a matter of pure luck.
"Hey, Dylan! Block the rain for us too! Please!" Ron, seated on Neville's other side, had been squinting for ages, finding it hard to see and constantly battling to keep the rain off himself. He turned his head and saw Neville just watching the match, completely unbothered by the rain thanks to Dylan. He couldn't help but holler.
Dylan rolled his eyes, but still raised his wand. He cast the spell on Ron and Seamus and the others. Instantly, they too found themselves immune to the rain.
The match had already begun, but they could barely make out the scoreboard. Still, if you watched long enough, you could see people flying back and forth on the pitch. Ron and the others were reacting as if they saw every detail, occasionally letting out excited shouts. Dylan, for his part, had no idea what they were shouting about.
He gazed out at the stadium. He could clearly see Cedric's tall figure, steadily weaving through the rain. It had to be said, height did give a person an advantage. Even in such heavy rain, Cedric wasn't being buffeted around like the younger students, especially Harry, who kept swaying precariously.
Time passed, bit by bit. The sky grew even darker, further hindering their already poor visibility. Dylan glanced at the scoreboard – even he was struggling to see it now.
It was worth noting, though, that in Quidditch, scoring points didn't seem to be overly important. After all, you needed a considerable number of points to win, and reaching that target by simply scoring goals was incredibly time-consuming. A whole day of playing might not be enough. However, the moment someone caught the Golden Snitch, the game ended instantly. So, in Dylan's mind, Quidditch was really just a race to see which team's Seeker found the Snitch first.
But precisely because Quidditch had this "ultimate weapon" sort of rule, Dylan found it even harder to understand what was so tense or exciting about it. All that happened was a bit of back-and-forth play, and then it came down to which team's Seeker had the best luck and caught the Snitch first.
"Hmm, perhaps my thinking is a bit limited. While the Hogwarts House Cup might be hard to win through goals, maybe the World Cup has more of that possibility?" Dylan smacked his lips. He had a habit, when thinking about something, of offering one opinion, then another, often contradicting his first. It was commonly known as – inner debate. Dylan, however, thought a bit of mental sparring was a good thing. It not only sharpened his mind but also prevented him from being confined to a single perspective, allowing him a broader view and the exploration of more possibilities.
Dylan looked around. People occasionally shouted, but for the most part, they remained silent. Apart from Gryffindors like Ron, who would inexplicably yell whenever anything happened to anyone, students from other houses were trying their best to identify who exactly was zooming back and forth in front of them. This way, they could better judge the situation on the field. But really, no matter how much they tried to differentiate, they mostly just relied on the team uniform colours.
Just then, Neville suddenly gasped. "I think I just saw the Golden Snitch!"
Ron's eyes widened, and he immediately became agitated. "What? The Golden Snitch? Who saw it? Where is it? Has a Seeker already made a move? Which team's Seeker? Quick, give Harry a signal, tell him to go snatch it from the other team!"
Ron's voice was loud, and he didn't just shout; he'd crane his neck, eyes wide, darting back and forth across the pitch while grabbing and badgering those around him. Seamus, sitting right next to Ron, was so annoyed he practically wanted to strangle him. After all, in such an exciting match, surely no one would notice if someone died right in front of them?
But clearly, that was just a thought for Seamus to keep to himself. When Ron grabbed his arm and shook him from side to side yet again, Seamus finally couldn't take it anymore and roared furiously at Ron.
"For Merlin's beard! Now – shut your gob! Just be quiet for a bit!"
Dylan ignored their squabble, turning his gaze to the other side. Something seemed to have happened on the pitch. Then, an extremely sharp whistle pierced the air. The whistle briefly silenced Ron and Seamus.
But Ron's eyes immediately bugged out again. "What? What's happening? What did I miss?"
"Enough! You missed nothing! The match is just paused!" Seamus shook off Ron's hand.
"Huh? The match is paused? Why?"
Seamus: "..." He rubbed his forehead.
Just then, Hermione, sitting a row below Ron, craned her neck forward. She tried to peer through the dense curtain of rain to make out what was happening. In the end, she could only see that the players on the field seemed to have gathered together – the ones in red robes, and the Hufflepuff players too.
Hermione's eyes darted about. "I think perhaps I should go help Harry." She quietly slipped out of the range of Dylan's charm, pulled her rain hood down, and threaded her way through the crowd, heading towards the red-robed players below the stands.
Dylan closed his eyes. At this very moment, a familiar presence was subtly spreading towards them. Slowly opening his eyes, Dylan looked to his left.
"It's little A and little B." And other Dementor presences. It seemed the joy on the Quidditch pitch had attracted the Dementors' attention. And, because the match was being played in such terrible weather, the entire student body and staff seemed even more invigorated than usual.
"Is there a chance to catch a few more Dementors this time?" He hadn't needed to feed little A to G lately. The Ministry of Magic was taking care of his monsters for him. Dylan actually missed little A and the others a bit. After all, while the number of Dementors was fixed, the Ministry wouldn't notice if a few went missing. No one counted Dementors daily. They just needed to know that no Dementors were roaming free, beyond their control. And after Dylan captured Dementors, he'd store them in his own pocket dimension. So, even if the Ministry had a way to sense Dementors, it wouldn't work. Now that he'd released little A to G back into the world... catching some new ones and re-training them... seemed like a rather good idea!
Just as Dylan was contemplating how to avoid the other professors' notice and snag a few new Dementors for his own world, Hermione hurried back. This time, she came directly up to Dylan, her voice a little excited.
"Dylan! That waterproofing charm of yours, the professors didn't teach you that, did they?"
Dylan raised an eyebrow and nodded. "No, it's one of my own innovations. I modified the Water-Repelling Charm and combined it with a bit of the Hover Charm."
Hermione nodded. "When you cast it on me just now, I got an idea. And then I went over to Harry and used a Water-Repelling Charm on his glasses." She paused, then continued, "– It's a good thing I've learned that charm too! It worked wonderfully; Harry can see much clearer now!" In this kind of weather, being able to see clearly meant having a significant advantage, which was why Hermione was so thrilled.
Dylan smiled and nodded. "That's a great little idea – Harry will certainly find it useful. But you should sit down, something's coming."
Hermione froze. "Something? What kind of something?"
Dylan shrugged. "Perhaps a non-being that eats your soul?"
"What?!" Hermione immediately made the connection, her eyes widening in disbelief. "You mean – Dementors?"
Hermione's voice was loud enough for Neville, next to Dylan, to hear. Neville's eyes also went wide, a look of utter disbelief on his face. "How can that be? This is a Quidditch match, and it's at Hogwarts! Headmaster Dumbledore said they weren't allowed inside the school grounds at all!"
Dylan didn't answer right away. The air had already begun to grow cold – a bone-chilling cold, entirely different from the cold brought by the rain. It wasn't a cold that affected the skin, but one that seemed to come from the very depths of the soul, as if to freeze it solid.
Hermione shivered. "This feeling..." She and Neville both looked up. It wasn't just them; many other students around them were also trembling and craning their necks.
"Oh, no!" Neville's heart leaped into his throat.
Above the grey curtain of rain, dozens of dark, cloaked figures were silently approaching. Their black robes billowed and swirled, but there was no sign of wind; they seemed to be agitated by some unseen force. Beneath their hoods were bottomless black holes – like light-devouring whirlpools. As they passed, the cheers died instantly. The stands fell into a deathly silence. In the air, countless tendrils of emotion gathered, finally being sucked into these creatures' mouths.
"How are they here... and daring to feed openly!" Hermione looked bewildered. While these creatures were feeding on the positive emotions radiating from everyone in the stands, rather than directly sucking memories from an individual, it still shouldn't be happening! Suddenly, Hermione thought of Harry.
Wait a moment! Would Harry be affected by these Dementors? She remembered how a Dementor had dared to attack Harry directly on the train. In this situation... it was entirely possible Harry could be in danger!
Hermione quickly turned, looking down towards the stands below.