Fred and George Weasley were back on defense, swinging their bats in unison to intercept the Bludger hurtling toward Draco Malfoy in the distance. But as Draco yanked his broom handle to swerve away, the Bludger ignored all logic, reversing course and slamming into Harry once more.
Someone had tampered with it using magic—clear as day.
Vizette shot to his feet, slipping to a quiet corner of the stands and pulling out the Marauder's Map. "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good," he murmured. The parchment unfolded its secrets in a rush of ink.
His Obscurus core surged with Ancient Magic, which he funneled into the map while scanning the pitch for the rogue Bludger's path. With a flick of his wand, he intoned, "Flashback Charm! Reveal Tracks!"
The spells he'd picked up from a forbidden-section tome in The Standard Book of Spells were proving handy—combining the Flashback and Tracking Charms through the map. Channeling Ancient Magic let him lock onto enchanted objects with a glance, tracing their magic back to the source. It was finicky, with strict conditions, but perfect for this mess.
Down on the pitch, the Bludger kept hounding Harry like a heat-seeking missile, ignoring physics entirely. Harry had no shot at spotting the Snitch; his Nimbus 2000's speed was all that kept him one step ahead, dodging brutal hits in the growing storm.
Whispers rippled through the stands—anyone paying attention could see the Bludger's unnatural frenzy. Madam Hooch hadn't called it yet, so the crowd held its breath, tension thick as the clouds overhead.
"My eyes can track that thing easy enough," Vizette muttered, "but the map needs a minute to lock on..."
Fate had other plans: the sky cracked open, unleashing fat raindrops that plastered his hair. Luna's voice cut through the downpour. "Impervius!"
The water beaded off Vizette's robes, sliding harmlessly away. Luna cast it on herself too. "Don't worry—I've got you covered!" she said cheerfully, the rain parting around her like a shimmering veil, turning her into some ethereal sprite amid the gloom.
Vizette grinned, nodding his thanks. Her smile lit up brighter than any Lumos, chasing away the dreariness.
The deluge worsened, and Oliver Wood signaled for a timeout. Both teams huddled on the soaked grass. As Harry's boots hit the turf, the Bludger's aggression eased—just enough. Vizette seized the moment, his map finally latching onto the enchantment.
Two faint black lines etched across the parchment where the Bludger hovered: one snaking off-pitch, likely to Malfoy Manor or wherever the tampering started; the other lingering on the field, twisting toward the stands.
"Gotcha," Vizette whispered. He fished out Dumbledore's enchanted bookmark and scribbled: Headmaster, the Bludger's bewitched. Suspect's at the base of the West Stand.
Note-taking was a habit that paid off now—quick and precise. Dumbledore's reply shimmered back almost instantly: "Understood. Sending a house-elf to investigate."
Vizette conjured a broad parchment umbrella with a wave, shielding Luna from the torrent. "Close your eyes," he said softly.
She obeyed, lashes fluttering. He tapped her eyelids gently. "Night Vision Charm!"
The spell heightened senses, turning the body into a radar for surroundings—ideal for rain-lashed chaos, not just midnight shadows. He knew Luna loved Quidditch; this would make it unforgettable.
"Feel any different?" he asked.
Luna reached out, tracing the rain's edge where it curved away. Her eyes sparkled with delight. "Crystal clear—like I'm an eagle soaring through it all!"
Vizette chuckled. "Then we're both eagles."
She beamed. "That's why you're always so sharp."
Madam Hooch's whistle pierced the roar soon after. Players remounted, kicking off into the sheets of rain. The Quaffle soared skyward, and play resumed—along with the Bludger's assault.
Harry zigzagged like a bolt of lightning, but the thing clung to him relentlessly. Fred and George focused on standard defense, ignoring the anomaly, and Gryffindor eked out a shaky goal for ten points.
The black line on the map hadn't budged—Dumbledore must not have cornered the culprit yet. It darted erratically: north stands one moment, south the next, a ghost in the crowd.
Vizette checked the bookmark again. New words appeared: It's a house-elf—not Hogwarts. Under orders, hasn't fled. Elves can Apparate past wards.
House-elves' magic bypassed Hogwarts' anti-Apparition jinxes, letting them pop around freely. Tricky to pin down, but if it was following commands, it might stick around. Danger seemed low—no malice from the elf itself.
Vizette frowned, mind racing for a counter. At least they had a lead. The match teetered on, rain blurring the lines between chaos and competition, but the real game was unfolding off the pitch.
…
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