Chapter 342
Gryffindor Wins!
The stands were unusually quiet.
In a far corner of the sparsely populated stadium, Harry Potter and Ron Weasley sat side by side, watching the match below with far more focus than the surrounding crowd. Not far from them, Ginny Weasley stared at the pitch with a frustrated expression, having been dragged by her classmates to sit several rows away.
Ron leaned closer and nudged Harry lightly with his finger.
"Who do you think will win?" he asked in a low voice. "Slytherin or Gryffindor?"
Harry shrugged, eyes never leaving the sky. "Hard to say."
Ron nodded, clearly having thought about it already.
"We all know Draco's level. Gryffindor's Seeker—Stark—is decent, but nothing special."
He paused, then continued thoughtfully, sounding far more analytical than usual.
"You know, the core of Quidditch is the Seeker. If the Seeker is as good as you, Harry, then all the other players need to do is stall the opponents so they don't interfere."
Then he changed tack.
"But Slytherin's other players are only good at bending the rules. Gryffindor, on the other hand, is strong across the board—except for the Seeker. And they're the only team that hasn't stopped training since the start of term."
Ron glanced at the scoreboard.
"Looking at it that way, Gryffindor's got a real chance."
Harry nodded slowly.
He had to admit it—Gryffindor had never played this well before.
After the opening pass to Angelina Johnson was intercepted by Marcus Flint, the Gryffindor Chasers seemed to shift gears entirely. Their passes became lightning-fast, fluid to the point that Lee Jordan barely had time to shout out their names.
One Quaffle after another slipped past Slytherin's defenses.
Cheers erupted.
"YES! Another one through the hoop!" Lee Jordan shouted, leaping to his feet. "That makes it ninety to ten—Gryffindor in the lead!"
Professor McGonagall pressed her lips together, but her eyes gleamed. She said nothing—though her excitement was unmistakable.
"It looks like Slytherin's finished," Ron said, grinning.
Around them, Gryffindors—and even a few Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws—rose from their seats, shouting themselves hoarse.
"No—wait," Harry said suddenly. "Look."
Ron followed Harry's gaze.
High above the pitch, Draco Malfoy had clearly spotted something.
He shot forward like a bolt of silver lightning, weaving sharply through the air. Stark followed close behind, refusing to let him go.
Harry's heart skipped.
"That's dangerous! That's the stands!" he yelled.
Below them, Draco and Stark flew straight toward the stone wall beneath the spectator seats. Students nearby screamed, recoiling instinctively.
Yet something felt wrong.
Harry's eyes narrowed.
Draco was smiling.
A split second later—
BANG!
It was Stark.
His broom jolted violently, and his body was thrown downward, slamming hard into the ground below.
Only Madam Hooch and Professor McGonagall reacted instantly, streaking toward him on their brooms. Most of the Gryffindor team hadn't even noticed.
"ONE HUNDRED AND TWENTY TO TEN!" Lee Jordan shouted moments later. "Brilliant shot, Angelina! Absolutely stunning!"
The game surged forward relentlessly.
"ONE FORTY TO TEN! Gryffindor dominates! And that goal was scored by Alicia Spinnet, a rising star with over a year of official experience!"
The cheers from the Gryffindor stands drowned out everything else.
The worried murmurs about Stark—and the gloating laughter from Slytherin—were all swallowed up in the noise. To the players still in the air, it sounded like nothing more than interference.
On the ground, Stark groaned and shook his head.
After a brief examination, both Madam Hooch and Professor McGonagall relaxed.
No serious injuries.
He had simply overexerted himself.
The match continued uninterrupted.
Stark mounted his broom again, pale but steady. Though he lacked Draco's flexibility, his solid fundamentals had saved both himself and his Nimbus from serious damage.
High above, the Slytherin players exchanged sinister looks.
Each of them wanted to replicate Draco's maneuver.
And in doing so, they missed their last true opportunity.
"ONE SIXTY TO TEN—WAIT! IT'S ONE SEVENTY TO ONE SIXTY!" Lee Jordan shouted in disbelief.
"DRACO MALFOY OF SLYTHERIN HAS CAUGHT THE GOLDEN SNITCH—BUT IT'S USELESS! GRYFFINDOR WINS!"
The ending was so absurd that Lee Jordan repeated himself, just to be sure.
"Malfoy caught the Snitch—but Gryffindor still wins! Merlin's beard, no one saw that coming!"
Poor Stark had barely settled back onto his broom when the match ended.
Ten minutes later, on the path back to the castle, Ron was still shaking his head in amazement.
"I never thought your feint was that good," he said, patting his chest. "You scared Harry and me half to death."
Draco snorted. "Be glad. That loss had very little to do with you."
Then he added coldly, "If Flint had focused on playing properly instead of tricks, things would've gone very differently."
Harry clapped Draco on the back.
"If the team hadn't wasted the second half trying to be clever, the score would never have landed exactly at one seventy to one sixty. You do realize Stark was unconscious for a while, right?"
"Hey—Harry! That tickles!"
Ron frowned. "Didn't anyone on the Gryffindor team notice Stark falling?"
"They didn't," Draco said with a shrug. "But that didn't stop Fred and George from watching me like hawks."
Harry blinked. "Are they really that dangerous?"
"They're basically living Bludgers," Draco replied seriously. "Against Slytherin, they're worse than Slytherin—masters at exploiting loopholes in the rules."
He clenched his fists.
"If I wasn't Ron's friend, I'd never have pulled off that feint."
Harry and Ron exchanged looks.
They had always known Fred and George were terrifyingly good.
Harry had even played against them himself.
But hearing it from a Slytherin Seeker's perspective was something else entirely—something you could never understand from the stands, or from another team.
Ron suddenly brightened.
"Let's talk about something relaxing," he said. "How about checking on Hagrid?"
He pointed toward the edge of the Forbidden Forest, where Hagrid's hut sat quietly.
"Yeah," Harry agreed. "We haven't seen him since he said he was reorganizing the Acromantula colony."
Draco frowned.
"Now that you mention it… I haven't seen him around at all. Even if he's wary of Voldemort, Hagrid wouldn't hide that much."
Harry and Ron's eyes widened.
That uneasy feeling returned.
After all—
The last time Hagrid vanished like this…
was when he secretly raised Norberta.
End of Chapter 342
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