💎 WEEKLY POWER GOALS 💎
🔥 30→2ch | 60→5ch | 100→8ch | 200→15ch | 400→25ch
⏰ Resets Monday!
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With a whistle blast, the match began. Red and green uniforms darted across the field. Several balls flew back and forth before Anthony's eyes. Hagrid loudly explained beside him, making it completely impossible to hear what Jordan was saying from the commentary box.
"See that ball? That's the Quaffle. Ah, Angelina, good girl, fly! Fly fast, Angelina! Oh—" Hagrid roared. "Pass! See that, Henry? Pass!"
Anthony discreetly rubbed his ear and agreed, "Right, pass!"
"Harry's flying so high!" Hagrid held up large binoculars, gazing far into the sky. "Look how well he flies!"
Anthony squinted upward. Under the brilliant sunshine, he could only see a very small human form floating quietly in the sky, as if unrelated to this match.
The pitch suddenly echoed with cheers. He withdrew his gaze and discovered Gryffindor had already scored.
Anthony asked the bearded commentator beside him, "What happened?"
"Don't know! I was watching Harry!" Hagrid clapped vigorously. "Good! Gryffindor!"
Anthony shrugged, clapping and turning to ask Ron, "What just happened?"
"Angelina scored!" Ron shouted, straining his voice over Hagrid's excited yells. "She's a Chaser. Just threw the Quaffle through Slytherin's goal posts!"
"Which side are Slytherin's goal posts?" Anthony asked. He found Ron explained much more clearly than Hagrid.
Hagrid slapped Anthony's back hard. "Quick, look! What a great somersault Harry did! He's like he's grown into the broom!"
"The Snitch!" Ron shouted. "Ah, Slytherin too—Harry's faster!" He nervously gripped the railing, half his body leaning out.
A large figure from the Slytherin team suddenly charged out, violently knocking Harry's broomstick off course. Ron jerked back his upper body as if he'd been hit too. He let out an angry, frustrated roar.
All the Gryffindors around Anthony were shouting. Hagrid's voice was loud as thunder. Anthony's ears filled with his angry yells.
"Despicable! Shameless!" Hagrid thundered, his large hand slamming on the back of the front row seat, startling a Gryffindor who was stamping and chanting.
The child who'd initially held the sheet shouted indignantly, "Red card! Referee! Send him off!"
Muggle Studies Professor Anthony gave him another look. What he'd shouted was exactly what Anthony's Muggle brain was thinking.
Madam Hooch blew her whistle angrily and said something to both teams' players.
Anthony couldn't understand again. "What's happening?"
"Don't know," the Gryffindor who'd shouted about red cards said angrily. "Anyway, not the punishment they deserve."
Ron absentmindedly explained to him and Anthony what a penalty was. His gaze searched the field, trying to help Harry find the vanished Golden Snitch.
"What's Harry doing?" Hagrid muttered, frowning in confusion, following that broom hovering outside the field with his binoculars. Anthony looked over too. Harry was rising higher and higher, dangerously high...
"Is this some advanced Quidditch maneuver?" Anthony asked doubtfully, taking Hagrid's binoculars. "No, something's wrong..."
Harry desperately clung to the broom, hands white-knuckled, teeth gritted as he glared at his broom, struggling to press it downward. The broom stubbornly rose higher, twisting and rolling, desperately trying to throw him off. He seemed to be breaking a horse in midair.
Now everyone noticed something was wrong. People in the stands stood up one after another, pointing at Harry and discussing. Lee Jordan's voice drowned in the audience's chatter. No one was watching the match anymore.
The field descended into chaos. Slytherin took the opportunity to throw in several Quaffles.
"Stop the match!" Anthony shouted at Madam Hooch. "Sonorus! Stop the match!"
Madam Hooch was at the other end of the pitch and seemed not to hear him. She just watched Harry in midair nervously, wand already drawn but held in midair without moving.
"The captain hasn't signaled a timeout! Good heavens, Harry!" Hagrid gasped. Now he really sounded like a commentator.
"What's Madam Hooch doing?" Anthony asked.
"She's waiting for the right moment," Hermione said nervously, speaking as fast as reciting from memory. "If serious fouls or emergencies occur on the pitch, the referee can intervene in the match."
"This is definitely an emergency!" Ron shouted.
Hermione said anxiously, "I know, but she needs to aim! Harry's broom is shaking too violently!"
"Good heavens, good heavens, good heavens," Hagrid murmured. "We need World Cup pitch protection measures."
Harry's broom shook violently. The stands let out a cry of alarm. Harry was thrown off. Now he clung to the broomstick with only one hand, dangling and swaying in midair.
Anthony looked around and grabbed the sheet from Ron's hands. "Engorgio!"
The enormous sheet floated in midair, blocking half the stands. He shouted upward, "Jump, Potter!"
Harry's entire being focused on fighting the broom. He hung from the broom through gritted teeth, trying to flip back on.
Neville squeezed his toad, producing a croak.
Anthony couldn't wait anymore. He raised his wand and shouted loudly, "Accio Harry Potter's jersey!" (Note 1)
As if someone had suddenly pressed pause, the red-jerseyed player in the air and his broom both froze, then Harry flew uncontrollably straight toward Anthony—thank goodness he'd risen high enough not to worry about avoiding goal posts while flying over—still firmly gripping that broom.
Even with the sheet acting as a cushion net in advance, Harry still crashed into the stands like a cannonball.
He rushed into the sheet and collided hard with Anthony. The broom scraped a long trail on the ground, sweeping up a small tuft of dust. Just as a good broom should.
Harry somersaulted and sat up, struggling to emerge from the sheet. One leg of his glasses hung on his ear, the other leg stuck in his messy hair. "Potter for Victory" wrapped messily around him, flashing brilliant colors. The Gryffindor lion beneath the banner was crumpled. His broom lay docilely on the ground.
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