When the match began, Harry soared leisurely on his broomstick, his keen eyes scanning the sky for any sign of the Golden Snitch.
"Stay on the side," Wood advised, flying close to him. "Wait until you spot the Snitch before diving in. We don't want you getting targeted too early."
"Got it, Captain," Harry nodded with a grin.
"Brilliant! Gryffindor's Chaser Angelina Johnson is off to a flying start, deftly snatching the Quaffle!" the commentator, Lee Jordan, announced with infectious enthusiasm. "She's executing a breathtaking spiral to dodge the Slytherin defense—and she's left them all in the dust! Oh, what's this? A Slytherin player is grabbing at her robes, but it's futile—Gryffindor scores! Ten points!"
The stands erupted in cheers from three houses, their jubilation clashing with the frustrated roars of the Slytherins.
Galvanized by Gryffindor's first goal, Slytherin retaliated with ferocity.
However, their efforts were repeatedly thwarted by Gryffindor's Keeper, Oliver Wood, whose skill seemed almost impenetrable. Shot after shot failed to make it past him.
"Here comes Gryffindor on the attack again!" Lee's voice rang out. "What a move by Alicia Spinnet—another brilliant recruit scouted by none other than Oliver Wood! She was only a reserve player last year, but—oh no! Slytherin's Captain, Marcus Flint, intercepts the Quaffle! Let's see how Gryffindor responds—wait, incredible! Alicia steals it back with equal flair!"
"Oh, but what's this? Alicia's pass is intercepted by a Slytherin Chaser—Merlin's beard! Just when it looked like Gryffindor was about to fumble, the Quaffle deflects off Angelina's, uh… well-placed chest muscles, and straight into the goal! Another ten points for Gryffindor!"
Professor McGonagall, seated nearby, delivered a sharp smack to the back of Lee's head.
"Stick to the game, Jordan!" she admonished, her eyes narrowing.
Lee muttered an apology, his enthusiasm only slightly dimmed as he resumed his play-by-play.
Meanwhile, Harry hovered above, watching the chaotic match unfold below. Suddenly, Wood's panicked shout reached his ears.
"Harry! Watch out!"
Harry's hand instinctively tapped the layered protective enchantments on his Quidditch robes as Marcus Flint, grinning wickedly, launched a Bludger straight at him. Flint's face lit up with anticipation of Harry's imminent fall.
To everyone's astonishment, a dull thud echoed across the pitch as the Bludger bounced harmlessly off Harry's enchanted armor.
"Harry, you alright?" Fred called out, zooming in and sending the rogue Bludger hurtling back toward Flint with a well-aimed strike.
"I'm fine," Harry assured, brushing off his robes as though nothing had happened.
But just as he spoke, a glint of gold caught his eye—the Snitch!
Harry leaned forward, urging his broomstick into a steep dive. From across the pitch, Slytherin's Seeker, Terence Higgs, spotted the Snitch as well, and the two streaked through the air in hot pursuit. The Chasers momentarily paused, captivated by the high-speed duel.
Harry's superior broomstick and skill quickly gave him the lead, leaving Higgs trailing two lengths behind.
"Harry, look out!" Angelina's warning rang from above.
Harry glanced to the side just in time to see Flint barreling toward him, clearly intending to ram him mid-air. Bracing himself, Harry shifted his elbow subtly.
Thud!
Flint yelped as Harry's well-timed counter sent him tumbling off course, spinning through the air like a discarded rag doll. Harry smirked as he glanced back at Flint, who was now clinging to his broom for dear life.
But Harry's victory was short-lived. His broom suddenly dipped, jerking violently as though rebelling against his control.
What's happening?
He yanked the broom upward, narrowly avoiding a collision with the ground, but it began bucking even more violently.
Someone's jinxing my broom!
Harry's mind raced. Who could it be? Malfoy? No, he's spiteful, but he doesn't have this kind of skill.
Gripping the broom tightly, Harry smacked the handle with his free hand. "Finite!" he commanded, but the broom only thrashed harder in defiance.
"Harry! Look at Harry!" Ron's panicked voice rose from the Gryffindor stands.
Beside him, Hermione seized the binoculars from Neville, her sharp eyes scanning the field.
"This doesn't make sense," Ron muttered, his face pale. "With McGonagall's new broom and Harry's flying skills, this shouldn't be happening!"
"Quiet, Ron!" Hermione snapped. "I'm thinking."
She turned the binoculars toward the staff box, her expression hardening. "I knew it!" she hissed, shoving the binoculars into Ron's hands. "Look—it's Snape! He's muttering something while staring right at Harry! He's cursing the broomstick!"
"But why?" Ron asked, stunned. "I thought he was friends with Harry's parents! Why would he—"
"That doesn't matter now!" Hermione interrupted, her voice edged with urgency. "I'll handle this!"
Without another word, she bolted from the stands, leaving Ron clutching the binoculars in confusion.
High above, Harry continued to battle his rebellious broomstick. His sharp gaze shifted to the staff box, where Dumbledore sat serenely, offering no sign of intervention.
Seriously, Dumbledore? Are you just going to watch?
Despite the chaos, Harry resolved not to land. He would expose whoever was behind this sabotage.
Activating a farsight charm, Harry's vision zoomed in on the staff section—and locked onto Snape, whose lips were moving as his piercing gaze bore into Harry.
Could it really be him?
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Before Harry could react, he noticed Hermione stealthily sneaking toward the teachers' stand.
What was she up to?
Harry's distraction caused him to momentarily forget to cast Finite Incantatem on his broomstick, leading to a violent shake that almost threw him off.
Phew.
The stands erupted in gasps and murmurs of alarm.
"What is Hermione trying to do?" Ron muttered anxiously, peering through a pair of binoculars but failing to locate her.
"I've no clue," Hagrid replied absentmindedly, his massive hands clasped in silent prayer for Harry.
From above, Harry saw Hermione reach the teachers' stand. Before she could do anything, though, he suddenly felt the force that had been tossing his broom vanish.
What was going on? He watched as Hermione lit Snape's robes on fire.
"You're on fire!" shouted someone next to Snape, snapping him out of his trance. Alarmed, Snape quickly stood up, frantically patting down the flames, looking utterly distraught about his singed robes.
Harry was perplexed. What was happening here?
There was no time to ponder, though, as a golden glimmer flashed before his eyes.
The Golden Snitch!
In an instant, Harry leaned forward, dipping his broom into a dive. With one swift motion, his hand shot out, and the Snitch was securely in his grasp.
He raised his arm high, the small golden ball buzzing faintly in his grip.
"Harry Potter has caught the Golden Snitch! Gryffindor earns 150 points!" Lee Jordan's voice boomed with unrestrained excitement. "Gryffindor wins the match 170 to 60!"
Madam Hooch flew over on her broom, blowing her whistle to signal the end of the match.
"Gryffindor wins!"
Harry gracefully landed on the field, where his ecstatic teammates quickly surrounded him, cheering loudly.
"Potter! Potter! Potter!"
The Weasley twins, in perfect unison as always, pumped their fists and chanted as if they were copies of each other.
"Professor McGonagall!" Harry shouted excitedly, holding the Snitch aloft and beaming at her from the crowd. "I caught the Golden Snitch!"
Professor McGonagall approached, her expression transitioning from worry to relief as she asked, "Potter, are you all right? Was there a problem with your broom?"
"No, Professor," Harry replied, choosing to lie. "I think I just lost my grip for a moment—got a little too nervous. My hands were slippery."
"Oh, I see." Professor McGonagall's face lit up with a smile, and she clasped her hands together like an excited schoolgirl. "How wonderful! We won!"
"We won!" Oliver Wood shouted, punching the air triumphantly. "We finally beat Slytherin!"
He had every reason to celebrate—since joining Hogwarts, Gryffindor had never beaten Slytherin in Quidditch.
After some celebratory moments on the pitch, Harry politely declined the invitation to return to the Gryffindor common room with his teammates. Instead, he was pulled aside by Hermione and Ron, who led him to Hagrid's hut.
"It was Snape!" Hermione declared firmly. "Ron and I saw it clearly. He was muttering an incantation while staring at your broom the entire time!"
"Rubbish!" Hagrid interjected. His focus had been entirely on Harry during the match, and he hadn't noticed Snape's actions. "That's impossible!"
"I even cast a fire charm on Snape's robes," Hermione said. "And right after that, Harry's broom stabilized. It's proof that Snape was the one cursing it!"
"Not a chance! Absolutely not!" Hagrid barked, frowning deeply. "Snape's a professor at Hogwarts. He wouldn't do something like that. Even if you think he might've done it to someone else, it's out of the question when it comes to Harry!"
"Why not?" Ron asked in confusion.
"Don't ask me. I won't say anything," Hagrid muttered, clamming up. The complicated history of the previous generation wasn't something he felt comfortable gossiping about, especially since he'd sworn secrecy to both Dumbledore and Snape.
"Hermione," Harry interjected before she could press Hagrid further, steering the conversation elsewhere.
"Yes, Harry?" Hermione turned to him.
"When you climbed the teachers' stand, I saw you," Harry began, speaking quietly. "But before you set Snape's robes on fire, my broom had already stopped shaking. Snape was still chanting, but the broom showed no further signs of disturbance."
"How did you even notice that?" Ron asked incredulously. "Mate, you're wearing glasses!"
"It's a Seeker's instinct," Harry replied casually, offering an irrefutable explanation.
Hermione began pacing the room, her brows furrowed as she muttered to herself. "If that's the case, then who could it be? Are you sure, Harry?"
"I don't think Snape likes me very much," Harry admitted. "But I'm certain he's not the one trying to kill me."
He then shifted the topic to a puzzling question.
"What confuses me most is that Professor Dumbledore was in the stands the whole time. Why didn't he stop my broom from being cursed?"
"Or," he continued thoughtfully, "why did the culprit feel bold enough to cast a curse in front of Dumbledore?"
A sudden thought struck Ron, and he raised a finger. "Wait—could it be that Dumbledore himself—"
Before he could finish, Hermione elbowed him sharply.
"Ronald! Are you insane? Do you think Hogwarts is a Death Eater's headquarters?" she snapped, fuming like a mother lioness defending her cubs.
Ron stuck out his tongue sheepishly. "I know that's not true. I was just joking to lighten the mood."
But the atmosphere turned even more somber.
"Of course, I don't doubt Dumbledore," Harry said resolutely, his fingers drumming lightly on the table. "I'm just questioning why he remained indifferent."
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