The Quidditch pitch was located in the upper-left corner of Hogwarts, not too far away—a thirty-minute walk at most. By the time Dudley and Hermione arrived, the stands were already filling up with young witches and wizards.
There was still an hour to go before the match started.
Even though Wizarding Cards were all the rage, Quidditch remained a beloved tradition in the wizarding world. Plenty of people enjoyed both, and there was no rule saying you had to pick one over the other.
Dudley glanced up at the sky. Thick, dark clouds blotted out the sun, and gusts of chilly wind swept through the air. Strictly speaking, this weather was awful—hardly ideal for a Quidditch match. But "not ideal" didn't mean "impossible." Unless a typhoon hit, Quidditch matches rarely got canceled.
England's weather was notoriously fickle—sunny one moment, pouring rain the next, then clear again. But even by those standards, today's relentless gloom, with no hint of sunlight, was unusual.
"Ever since those blasted things showed up at Hogwarts, we haven't had a single clear day!" one of the Hogwarts players grumbled loudly from the pitch. "I'm starting to forget what sunshine even looks like!"
Everyone knew who he meant by "those blasted things."
With half an hour left before the match, the light drizzle turned into a torrential downpour. Howling winds tore through the pitch, and thunder rumbled in the oppressive, dark clouds.
Dudley raised his wand and flicked it. The rain parted just above their heads, sliding harmlessly to the sides. The young wizards nearby could only watch enviously, struggling to keep their umbrellas from being ripped away by the wind.
"The match is about to start," Dudley said, spotting Harry in the stands. Harry sat with a blank expression next to the new Quidditch commentator.
Oh, right—the new commentator. Lee Jordan had been sacked for his biased, less-than-objective commentary. The new commentator, a Hufflepuff student, was fair and impartial, sticking strictly to the facts, even when their own house was playing.
Harry, who hadn't touched Quidditch in three years, knew next to nothing about the rules. His only experience with a broomstick came from Flying lessons. As a "special guest," he was limited to commenting on physical scuffles—mostly stuff Dudley had taught him about fighting.
"That elbow was a miss," Harry remarked. "Should've aimed two centimeters higher, right at the stomach. That'd take them out."
"No scratching—sharp nails only cause surface wounds. You should do this, then that…"
"Slam the Bludger hard! Knock them off their broom!"
"Or aim for the head—knock them out cold."
The students in the stands exchanged looks. That's Harry Potter for you. Ruthless.
If Harry had his way, he'd probably wipe out the entire opposing team—physically—in ten minutes flat.
The rain poured harder, soaking the players in the air. The wind made their bodies stiff, and the downpour blurred their vision. Forget spotting the Golden Snitch—they could barely see their own teammates.
The spectators below were just as frustrated. Their view was even worse, leaving them clueless about the state of the match.
"Caught it! They caught the Snitch!" a cheer rang out from above.
"Who caught it? Gryffindor or Hufflepuff?" the students shouted, eager for an answer.
But before the players could respond, a bone-chilling wave swept over the pitch, spreading with terrifying speed. The wind and rain seemed to freeze in place.
A flash of lightning cracked across the sky, illuminating the scene above.
The students gasped. Dementors. A swarm of them—black, cloaked figures floating in a massive, oppressive cloud.
Just like that night at the feast.
No, worse. There were at least a hundred of them this time.
They surrounded the Quidditch players, who trembled like frightened quail. Gryffindor or Hufflepuff, it didn't matter—everyone was petrified.
The Dementors had been drawn by the joy of the Quidditch match. They fed on happiness, and the pitch was brimming with it. Starved for so long, they'd come to feast.
"Get out of here!" Oliver Wood roared, standing protectively in front of his team, shaking his fist.
Drenched and shivering from the Dementors' chilling presence, his teammates were barely holding it together. Wood's lips were purple from the cold, but he refused to back down. He was a captain who took his role seriously.
Unfortunately, his defiance meant nothing to the Dementors. They didn't answer to him. Barred from entering Hogwarts, they'd been starved of happiness for too long. Now, with so much joy concentrated on the pitch, they couldn't resist.
These creatures—barely even spirits—had no regard for the Ministry's rules. They just wanted to feed.
Beneath their cloaks, the dark voids that passed for mouths or eyes gleamed with greed.
The Dementors closed in on the players, who huddled together, trapped with nowhere to run. In moments, the rotting creatures would be close enough to touch them.
As the Dementors drew nearer, Wood and his team felt their minds go numb, drowned in a flood of painful memories.
Screams erupted from the stands. The scene was horrifying.
"Get away!" a voice bellowed.
A silver light exploded into the sky, accompanied by a furious roar. It drove back the nearest ring of Dementors circling Wood's team.
A Patronus Charm.
Not a fully-formed one, but its sheer power was overwhelming. The silver light morphed into a whip, lashing out and sending Dementors flying.
"You've crossed a line!" Dudley shouted, his wand raised high, its tip blazing with silver light. He glared up at the swarm.
The students in the stands stared at him in awe, like he was a hero come to save the world.
"Who gave you the nerve? Fudge? The Ministry?" Dudley's voice was steady but scathing. "I seem to recall you were only allowed at Hogwarts to hunt Sirius Black, nothing more."
"So what are you doing now? Disrupting Hogwarts' order and attacking underage wizards?"
The silver light from his wand intensified, painting the sky a brilliant white. The dark clouds parted, revealing a clear patch of sky centered above the Quidditch pitch.
"I declare you guilty," Dudley said, his voice ringing out across the field with unshakable authority.