As Christmas passed and spring drew nearer, all of Hogwarts' attention gradually turned toward the upcoming Gryffindor versus Ravenclaw match.
On the morning of the Gryffindor–Ravenclaw game, Harry appeared in the Great Hall accompanied by a large number of guards. There had been rumors for some time, and it seemed they were true. Harry had apparently obtained the Firebolt, the latest and most advanced broom on the market.
When Harry entered, excited whispers rose even from the tables of the other houses. Captain Oliver Wood, seemingly basking in reflected glory, placed the Firebolt in the middle of the table and turned it into a small exhibition.
As for us, the rival Slytherin team.
"This can't be real…"
"Why is this happening…?!"
Everyone looked as though they had been struck by lightning, and Draco wore an expression that clearly said, "I can't believe it."
(This is bad…)
I could feel the change in the atmosphere on my skin.
There was no way we could win against something like the Firebolt.
That was the general mood. A careless, defeatist air hung over us, as though people were already preparing excuses for a loss before the match had even begun.
To be honest, in terms of raw individual ability, the Slytherin team was not particularly strong.
I had heard that the Gryffindor team practiced as much as sixteen hours a week. In our case, we practiced for one and a half hours each on Mondays, Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Fridays, plus four hours on Saturday mornings, for a total of ten hours. Compared directly, that meant Gryffindor trained more than one and a half times as much as we did.
The reason Slytherin's practice hours were lower was simple. More practice would interfere with our studies. For example, our captain, Marcus Flint, was preparing for his graduation exams, and to avoid failing, he had his classmates, including Gemma Farley, help him study.
Of course, we completed our practices properly, but practice time was basically never extended. The focus was always on balance, following a menu and schedule built around being as efficient as possible within the allotted time.
Beyond that, our style was to push ahead using superior broom performance, leveraging the financial power that came with having many students from affluent families. Increasing practice volume excessively or relying on sheer grit and mental toughness was actually more characteristic of Hufflepuff or Gryffindor.
Because of this, in truth, our team's strength was not as impressive as it might appear based solely on player skill. Our tendency to emphasize physicality also stemmed from the fact that we had relatively little time to polish technique. Rather than expecting dramatic technical improvement, the strategy was to overwhelm opponents with superior base physical stats.
By contrast, Gryffindor had resolved their former handicap in broom quality, turning them into an even stronger team than before.
"So, Potter, do you really think you can handle that broom?"
Draco Malfoy's cold, affected tone was less arrogance than a reflection of his unease.
"It's got all sorts of special features, doesn't it? Too bad it doesn't come with a parachute. That would be useful if a Dementor came close."
Behind his maliciously gleaming eyes, there was a faint trace of fear.
If the advantages granted by parental influence, ancestral bloodlines, and family status were to disappear, and those once considered inferior were to become equals or even surpass them.
What would remain of oneself then?
That kind of anxiety made it impossible not to lash out at those who were different.
**
Once the match began, Lee Jordan's commentary started right away.
"Now then, today's match. The biggest highlight has to be Gryffindor Seeker Harry Potter's Firebolt. According to Choosing Your Broom Wisely, the Firebolt is set to become the official broom of this year's World Championship national teams…"
"Jordan, could you please comment on what is actually happening in the match?"
"Right away, Professor. By the way, the Firebolt comes equipped with an automatic braking system, and also—"
"Jordan!"
As the familiar back-and-forth of the commentary unfolded, Harry showed off the Firebolt's performance to the fullest. In response, Ravenclaw's Cho changed tactics to focus on marking Harry.
In the Chaser battle, Gryffindor had taken an eighty-point lead, but Ravenclaw was fighting back desperately.
That was when it happened.
"Stop that at once!"
A loud voice rang out behind us, and there stood Astoria, accompanied by the Carrow sisters, blocking Malfoy, who was with Flint, Crabbe, and Goyle.
Draco and the others were holding a large black robe, and with expressions that clearly said, "What a pain," they opened their mouths.
"Move aside, Astoria."
"If you leave that robe behind, I'll clear the way immediately."
Honestly, Astoria placed a hand on her hip and shook her head.
"You may have legitimate grievances against Potter, but trying to stir up trouble in such a foolish way…"
Only then did I realize that Draco and the others were planning to impersonate Dementors to interfere with Harry.
Well, I could understand being frightened by the Firebolt and wanting to do something about it, but trying to trip someone up with such underhanded methods felt childish.
Even as I thought that, Malfoy and Astoria refused to back down, both growing increasingly confrontational.
"This is between me and Potter. It has nothing to do with you, Astoria."
"No, it does concern me. I am also a member of the proud and traditional House of Slytherin. Even if you are my senior, I cannot overlook actions that degrade its dignity."
At Astoria's stiff, model-student-like declaration, Malfoy sneered.
"What's this? Don't tell me you've got a thing for Potter, Astoria?"
Crabbe and Goyle, and even Flint, followed suit with mocking grins.
"Uh oh…"
Daphne, who was standing beside me without my noticing, saw this and covered her mouth.
Before she could stop her, Astoria spoke, her expression completely drained of emotion.
"Courtesy is manners."
Her voice was quiet and calm, yet it carried a pressure that held everyone present spellbound.
"It is something one makes."
At Astoria's beautiful yet terrifying expression, Draco and the others tried to step back, but their legs would not move.
"A wizard is a mage."
When Astoria stepped right up in front of them, Draco and the others suddenly seemed to regain feeling in their legs, staggering backward in panic.
"D-Don't come any closer!"
"Oh my, so you raise your wand against an unarmed lady?"
Astoria smiled provocatively at Draco Malfoy, who, flustered and acting on instinct, had pulled out his wand.
"Even so, I have no intention of losing if this turns into a duel."
As Astoria stepped in even closer, Draco Malfoy's ears flushed red. With an expression that seemed to say, "How cheeky for someone younger than me," he raised his wand.
"Locomotor Mor—"
In the next instant, moving faster than the eye could follow, Astoria swiftly drew a small glass bottle from within her robe and hurled it at Draco's hand, knocking his wand away.
"Accio, wand. Come!"
As Draco hurriedly tried to retrieve it, the wand flew straight into Astoria's hand right before his eyes, and Draco Malfoy lost his balance and tumbled to the ground.
"You bastard!"
At the same time, Astoria tugged the hem of Captain Flint's robe as he reached for her shoulder, hooked his leg, and sent him sprawling to the ground with movements reminiscent of Eastern martial arts.
Goyle hastily raised his fist, but Astoria was faster, snapping her wand into her hand.
"Glisseo, slip!"
Goyle lost his footing and flipped over, crashing down onto Flint, who had been trying to get back up. Meanwhile, from behind Astoria, Crabbe crept closer, grabbing her robe and reaching out to restrain her from behind.
However, Astoria deftly twisted her body, slipped out of the robe in one smooth motion, and instead cast, "Ferula, bind!" Wrapping Crabbe up in the robe, she then kicked his legs out from under him, sending the now-immobilized Crabbe to the ground.
"…What the heck…"
No matter how talented she was, it was hard to believe Astoria was only a first-year, given how effortlessly she wielded her spells.
While everyone nearby stood dumbfounded, Astoria herself calmly walked up to Draco.
"I still owe you for last time, so I will not inflict harm beyond legitimate self-defense. However, if there is a next time, I will show no mercy."
With that, she returned the wand to the stunned Draco Malfoy and turned her gaze toward the pitch.
"Oh my, it seems Gryffindor has caught the Snitch."
"Huh…?"
When we looked toward the pitch as well, sure enough, Harry had just caught the Snitch.
"Well then, since the match is over, could I trouble you to take your friends to Madam Pomfrey?"
"Y-Yeah…"
Astoria gave a graceful nod to the vacant-faced Draco and, with a line straight out of an aristocrat's handbook, "Do take care," she flicked her hair back and walked away.
Behind her, the twin Carrow sisters followed, squealing excitedly, and the surrounding students naturally parted before them like the sea before Moses.
As the Slytherin students stood there in stunned silence, watching Astoria's retreating figure, a tall girl with glossy black hair swaying as she walked approached. It was Prefect Gemma Farley.
"Alright, alright, this isn't a sideshow. Let's keep the embarrassing black history of the Four Idiot Quartet locked in our hearts and disperse before the professors notice."
She clapped her hands lightly to send the students away, then administered first aid to the three injured boys besides Malfoy with the spell, "Episkey, heal."
"Honestly, all four of you should be grateful to that girl. Dressing up as Dementors to interfere. If McGonagall had caught you, you'd probably have lost about fifty points. And besides, well… hehe."
Looking at the four of them sprawled miserably on the ground in Dementor-like robes, Farley finally couldn't hold it in any longer and burst out laughing.
"I mean, don't you all look ridiculous? Especially you, Marcus. At your age, and you've got the mentality of a third-year!"
"I get it already! Laugh all you want!"
As Flint made an awkward face, Farley laughed merrily and, without missing a beat, incinerated the incriminating robes in an instant to cover up the evidence.
After she finished laughing, Farley spoke again, this time in a slightly gentler voice.
"Listen. Marcus, Draco, you're both dumber than you look, so don't go thinking up sly tricks like using Dementors."
"Hey, I feel like I just got insulted twice there."
"There's only one thing I, and the rest of Slytherin, expect from you two."
Farley thrust her fist forward.
"Take on Gryffindor and the Firebolt head-on and crush them. Don't chicken out. You're men, aren't you?"
Faced with the beaming smile of the beautiful senior, Flint and Draco glanced at each other.
"Crap, I think I just fell for her all over again."
"You've got good taste, Captain."
After Draco and the others left like that, Daphne and I also made our way out of the stands.
"I'm nervous about the next match…"
"But maybe she's right," Daphne said breezily.
"It's not like we're going to die in a match. I think it's better to stop overthinking and just enjoy it."
She was probably right. If you think about it calmly, Quidditch rules are full of holes anyway. Maybe it's healthier, in a roundabout way, to just clear your mind and chase the Quaffle in front of you.
"Still, Astoria was amazing. Has she always been like that?"
"She's always been like that, yeah."
Daphne puffed out her chest proudly and explained that Astoria had already asked her parents to let her start practicing spells before she even enrolled.
"With her personality, Astoria's always clashing with guys like Draco. She works extra hard so she won't be looked down on just because she's a younger student."
"Well, more often than not, romance starts between a boy and a girl whose first impression of each other is terrible."
"I don't think I'd cheer that on, though."
The laughter of the two beautiful girls as they chatted idly faded away, unheard by anyone else, dissolving into the clear blue sky of spring.
(End of chapter)
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