Harry let out a grumpy little growl that sounded suspiciously like Madam Anna when she was chewing someone out in the Hospital Wing.
The Great Hall had been buzzing for days. First Quidditch match of the season: Slytherin versus Gryffindor. The whole school was hyped.
Eleven o'clock rolled closer, and everybody started heading down to the pitch. It was one of those gross, muggy days where the air felt thick and thunder kept rumbling in the distance.
"Good luck, mate," Justin called as Harry disappeared into the locker room.
Pretty much the entire castle had shown up—even Sean, mostly because he hadn't been able to track down Dumbledore anywhere else.
And there was the headmaster, up in the stands winking at him, sandwiched between a sour-faced Snape and a McGonagall who looked like she'd swallowed a lemon.
Inside the Gryffindor locker room, Oliver Wood was in full motivational-screaming mode—loud enough that Sean and the others outside could hear every word.
"Slytherin's got better brooms, no denying it. But we've got better people on ours. We've trained harder, flown in every kind of weather—"
The door was cracked open, so the whole corridor got the rest of the speech.
"—and we're gonna make them regret ever letting that slimy little daddy's-boy Malfoy buy his way onto the team!"
Wood spun toward Harry, chest heaving. "Harry, you're the key here. You show Malfoy that a Seeker needs more than a rich father. You catch that Snitch before he does—or you die out there, Harry—because we have to win today!"
Ron's jaw dropped. "Did he just tell Harry to die on the pitch?!"
"It's just an expression," Hermione muttered, though she looked worried.
Only Sean quietly stared at his wand. He remembered this match. Dobby was supposed to "save" Harry today—by nearly killing him with a rogue Bludger.
If the basilisk was already taken care of and Dobby still managed to put Harry in the hospital wing anyway… well, that'd be peak Scottish comedy.
Up in the stands the noise was insane. Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff were both screaming for Slytherin blood, while the Slytherin section booed loud enough to rattle teeth.
Madam Hooch had Flint and Wood shake hands. They tried to crush each other's fingers while death-glaring.
"Sean, what're you looking at?" Justin asked, popping open an umbrella the second the rain started.
Lee Jordan's voice boomed across the stadium thanks to a Sonorus charm. Justin lifted his omnioculars and immediately figured it out.
"Slytherin's up sixty to nothing! Gotta say, this Bludger is in a mood today—must be picking up on my heartbreak that Angelina still won't give me the time of day—"
"JORDAN!"
"Sorry, Professor! Whoa—Bludger almost took Harry's head clean off!"
Down on the pitch, Wood was yelling. "What's going on?!"
The Gryffindor team huddled up while Slytherins jeered from all sides.
"We're getting slaughtered out there! Fred, George—where were you when that Bludger stopped Angelina scoring?"
"We were twenty feet above Harry trying to keep the other Bludger from killing him!" Fred snapped.
"Someone tampered with this one," George growled. "It's only going after Harry. Won't touch anyone else. Slytherin definitely hexed it."
Harry wiped rain out of his eyes. "Listen—if you two keep babysitting me, I've got no chance of catching the Snitch unless it flies up my sleeve. Go back to the rest of the team. I'll handle the crazy Bludger myself."
"Are you mental? It'll smash your skull!" Fred protested.
"We stop playing now and we forfeit!" Harry shouted back, soaked hair plastered to his forehead.
George rounded on Wood and elbowed him hard. "This is your fault—'catch the Snitch or die trying'? You've lost it!"
"Problem, boys?" Madam Hooch called, blowing her whistle.
Wood grabbed Harry's hand like they were about to arm-wrestle. "Fred, George—you heard Harry. Leave him alone, let him deal with the Bludger. We're good!"
While they argued, Slytherin scored again. The crowd went wild.
"That Bludger is definitely cursed!" Hermione yelled over the rain, clutching her raincoat.
"Is Harry actually gonna die out there?" Ron squeaked.
"He'll be fine," Sean said calmly.
The rain was coming down in sheets now, smacking Harry's glasses like tiny bullets.
"Doing ballet, Potter?" Malfoy taunted as Harry spun wildly to dodge another attack.
Harry banked hard, looked back—and the Bludger was three feet away, rocketing straight at him.
Then it just… stopped. Like it had slammed into an invisible wall.
Harry's head whipped toward the stands. Through the curtain of rain he spotted a familiar figure with his wand raised.
"Sean!" he whooped, grinning like a lunatic, and shot off in a new direction.
Malfoy's smirk vanished. Harry was barreling straight at him now—he thought Harry was trying to ram him off his broom.
Up in the Gryffindor section, Hermione let out a huge breath. "What just happened to the Bludger?"
Sean lowered his wand, silent as ever.
"I'm guessing… a misunderstanding," Justin said with a sly little smile.
"What kind of misunderstanding?" Ron asked, totally lost.
On the pitch, Harry and Malfoy were racing for the Snitch.
Under the stands, Sean was locked in a secret magical tug-of-war with a certain overenthusiastic house-elf.
Every time the Bludger lined up to smash Harry's skull, Sean hit it with a wordless Impedimenta. Dobby kept trying to yank control back, but a master-level Impediment Jinx is no joke—even for house-elf magic.
When Sean switched tactics and tried to take direct control of the Bludger with sheer willpower, he could feel something pushing back. Hard.
At first he was losing ground. Then his will slammed forward like a dragon breaking its chains.
That's when the panel description finally clicked:
You possess an indomitable will.
Yeah. No kidding.
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