After some time, the excitement reached it's peak as the time for a Quidditch match finally arrived.
Classes ended early, and students poured out toward the Quidditch pitch, bundled in scarves and house colours. The air buzzed with anticipation—Gryffindor vs Slytherin, Harry Potter's first match.
The stands around the Quidditch pitch filled quickly, red and green banners waving as students shouted themselves hoarse. High above, the sky was clear—bright, open, and perfect for flying.
Inside one of the Quidditch towers, the Gryffindor team moved as a group as they marched toward the starting gate. They stopped just short of the closed double doors, brooms in hand.
Oliver Wood glanced sideways at Harry Potter.
"Scared, Harry?" he asked lightly.
Harry swallowed. "A little."
"That's all right," Oliver said with a reassuring grin. "I felt exactly the same before my first game."
Harry hesitated. "What happened?"
Oliver blinked. "Er… I don't really remember." He shrugged. "Took a Bludger to the head two minutes in. Woke up in the hospital a week later."
Harry went very still.
The doors began to creak open.
As sunlight and the roar of the crowd flooded in, Harry forced his eyes forward. The team mounted their brooms, one by one, and with a powerful kick, they shot out onto the enormous pitch.
The cheering exploded, rolling over them like a wave as Gryffindor took to the sky.
High above the pitch, in a commentary tower overlooking the stadium, Lee Jordan leaned eagerly over the railing, magic microphone in hand.
"Hello!" his voice boomed across the grounds. "And welcome to Hogwarts' first Quidditch match of the season! Today's game—Slytherin versus Gryffindor!"
Out on the pitch, the players rose into the air, forming a loose circle above the grass. Harry manoeuvred his Nimbus higher than the others, hovering near the top, eyes sweeping over the field below as he tried to steady his nerves.
Lee continued enthusiastically, "The players are taking their positions now, as Madam Hooch steps onto the field to begin the match!"
On the ground, Madam Hooch stood beside the trunks, hands on her hips.
"Now," she called sharply, eyes flicking pointedly toward the Slytherin team, "I want a nice, clean game from all of you."
She kicked open one of the trunks.
Instantly, two Bludgers shot out, whizzing dangerously into the air.
"And the Bludgers are up!" Lee announced. "Followed by the Golden Snitch!"
A tiny flash of gold burst free, darting off across the pitch like a bolt of lightning.
"Remember," Lee added excitedly, "the Snitch is worth one hundred and fifty points! The Seeker who catches it ends the game!"
High above, Harry tightened his grip on his broom.
The match had officially begun.
"Go, Harry! Go—defeat Slytherin and show them why Gryffindor's the best!" Ron shouted, cheering wildly from the stands.
Beside him, Hermione clapped politely. Victor, on the other hand, merely watched the match with mild interest, eyes following the movement in the sky.
For a brief moment, Hermione and Victor exchanged a look.
They were thinking the same thing.
Ron was enthusiastic about everything—as long as it didn't involve studying.
"The Quaffle is released and the game begins!" Lee Jordan shouted from the tower.
Cheers exploded as Gryffindor immediately took possession. Angelina Johnson shot forward, red robes streaming behind her as she weaved cleanly past two Slytherins.
"She's through—look at that speed!" Lee yelled.
"Johnson aims—scores!"
A bright ding rang out as ten points appeared beside Gryffindor's name.
"Ten points to Gryffindor!"
High above, Harry clapped instinctively. "Yes!"
A second later, a Bludger screamed past his head.
"Whoa—!"
The Gryffindor stands erupted.
"Well done!" Rubeus Hagrid roared happily.
"Slytherin has the Quaffle now," Lee continued.
"Bletchley passes to Captain Marcus Flint—"
Flint barrelled forward, dodging one Chaser and lining up a shot. But before he could throw, Oliver Wood surged up and smacked the Quaffle away with his broom.
Wood smirked.
Flint scowled.
Gryffindor regrouped quickly. Johnson and Katie Bell passed the Quaffle back and forth in tight arcs, confusing the Slytherin defence.
Johnson broke free.
"She's going for it again!" Lee shouted.
Another clean throw.
Ding.
"Another ten points to Gryffindor!"
"Yaaay!" Ron and Seamus yelled together.
The score ticked higher—and that was when Slytherin stopped playing fair.
"They're getting rough now," Lee said, his tone darkening. "Very rough."
Flint swerved toward a Beater, yanked a bat from him, and swung hard.
The Bludger rocketed straight into Wood's stomach.
There was a sickening thud.
Wood dropped like a stone.
The entire stadium booed as he hit the ground below, unmoving.
The match dragged on, rough and fast, the score seesawing back and forth as the crowd roared itself hoarse.
High above it all, Harry was still searching.
Then he saw it.
The Golden Snitch flashed near the stands, a streak of gold against the blue sky. Harry leaned forward instinctively, urging his broom onward.
Suddenly, the Nimbus bucked.
Not violently at first—just enough to throw him off balance. Harry gripped tighter, heart pounding, but the broom began to shake harder, jerking unpredictably beneath him.
Gasps rippled through the stands.
Hermione froze.
"That's not normal," she whispered, eyes fixed on Harry as his broom lurched again, tilting dangerously. She quickly raised her binoculars, hands shaking slightly, and scanned the pitch—then the stands—searching for the source.
Then she saw it.
Professor Severus Snape, eyes locked on Harry, lips moving in a steady, silent chant.
Hermione's face drained of colour. "It's Snape!" she cried. "He's jinxing the broom!"
Victor didn't answer immediately.
He calmly took the binoculars from her and adjusted the focus—not on Snape, but just beside him.
Then he saw it.
"No," Victor said quietly. "It's not him. But I know who it is."
Just behind Snape stood Quirinus Quirrell, shoulders hunched, eyes wide and fixed on Harry's broom. His lips trembled as they moved, hands clenched tightly together, never once breaking concentration.
The real culprit—trying to kill Harry under Voldemort's orders.
"We've got to do something!" Ron shouted. "Harry looks like he's about to fall!"
Above them, Harry was barely holding on now, one hand slipping as the broom bucked wildly beneath him.
"I've got it," Victor said.
He raised the binoculars, flicked his wand, and murmured, "Wingardium Leviosa."
The binoculars lifted smoothly from his hands. Victor closed his eyes for half a second, focusing—blocking out the roar of the crowd, the chaos of the match. He locked onto his target.
Then he snapped his wand forward.
The binoculars shot through the air like a missile, spinning end over end, slicing across the stands toward the teachers' section.
A sharp thwack echoed as they struck Quirrell squarely in the side of the head.
Quirrell let out a sharp yelp, his concentration shattering at once. The muttering on his lips cut off mid-syllable. He collided heavily with Snape, knocking him off balance and breaking his own incantation as well.
High above the pitch, Harry's broom steadied.
The bucking stopped.
Harry gasped, dragging himself upright as the Nimbus responded obediently once more.
*****
A/N: 16 CHAPTERS AHEAD ON PATREON
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