章節 88: Chapter 88: Counterattack
The match on the field remained intense.
Although Nott's team seemed to be down a player, they didn't appear to be at a significant disadvantage.
"Oliver Nott is quite impressive," Luke remarked. "Every decision he makes and every command he gives achieves maximum effectiveness."
Nott was a natural-born commander. If he were in the Muggle world, he would undoubtedly be a sought-after genius.
Unfortunately, in the wizarding world, the population is far too small to implement a militarized system. Positions like Aurors, which are akin to police officers, are already considered the most specialized combatants.
Even so, Luke thought Nott would perform remarkably well in commanding small squads or executing targeted strikes.
What made Luke feel somewhat regretful, however, was that Nott was unlikely to be someone he could recruit for his own purposes.
"He's impressive, sure, but no one's going to enjoy working under him."
Gemma's gaze fell on Nott's teammates: the Chaser working alongside him and the Seeker who was forced to help with defense. They were both battered, their cloaks torn in places, with scratches or bruises visible on their faces.
In stark contrast, Nott himself remained unscathed, looking as composed and dashing as ever.
Taking advantage of Nott catching the ball, Flint quickly closed in, raising his hand high as if preparing to intercept.
Nott, however, remained remarkably calm and immediately passed the ball with a smooth motion.
But Flint didn't seem able to stop his momentum and kept closing the distance. Realizing the danger, Nott tried to move away, but it was too late—Flint's large, plate-like hand slammed squarely into his chest.
Nott winced in pain, his expression showing obvious discomfort.
Flint's eyes were filled with cold indifference and contempt.
"If you pull a stunt like that on the pitch again, the next thing that hurts will be your face"
He hovered next to Nott, and warned coldly.
Nott suppressed the pain and let out a cold laugh. "Do you actually think you have a future as a Quidditch player, Flint?"
He didn't spell out his thoughts, but Flint had no trouble understanding the subtext.
"That's none of your business," Flint retorted sharply. "But as long as I'm captain of this Quidditch team and you're part of it, you'd better watch yourself. This is my turf!"
Nott gave Flint a long, hard look, the cold smile fading from his face. Instead, he offered a faint, indifferent smile, refraining from further words. He simply flew off in pursuit of the ball.
Flint took a deep breath, trying to shake off the unsettling feeling left by Nott's calm yet unnerving smile. Glancing at Luke, who was seated on the stands, Flint shook his head in frustration before charging back into the fray.
After all, this was still a match. And as long as it was a match, there was no room for carelessness or distraction.
On the stands, the spectators, who might not have noticed anything earlier, began to realize that this was no ordinary team match after Flint's heavy-handed move.
The referee hadn't blown the whistle, deeming it a fair collision. But everyone could tell that Flint's strike wasn't aimed at the ball.
On the pitch, the game was indeed heated. Yet, there were moments when some players didn't seem to be fully engaged in the competition.
Malfoy leisurely rode his broom, his gaze shifting between looking up and down. His brow furrowed tightly as he licked his dry lips.
'Where the hell is that Golden Snitch?'
He was very puzzled. Watching the Seekers on other teams, they always seemed to spot the Snitch's glint fairly quickly. But for him, no matter how hard he looked, he hadn't seen a single trace of it.
Doubt crept into his mind. Could Flint have forgotten to release the Snitch? Or perhaps the school's Golden Snitch was so old it had broken down and was stuck somewhere, unable to move?
Scratching his head in frustration, he felt a growing sense of discomfort.
"Move!"
Before he could figure things out, a loud, irritated shout reached his ears.
He instinctively turned toward the source of the voice, only to see a green cloak suddenly fill his entire vision.
The next moment, an enormous force slammed into him, sending him flying.
Still unsure of what had just happened, Malfoy found himself propelled through the air, the wind whistling in his ears. Shouts of surprise erupted from the stands, mingling with the sharp blast of a referee's whistle.
Though he couldn't fully grasp the situation, his instincts kicked in. He clung tightly to his broom with both hands, clamping his legs around it as he desperately tried to regain control of his direction.
The referee, clad in a black cloak, hurriedly sped toward him on their broom to assist.
Fortunately, Malfoy didn't simply let himself fall helplessly. Thanks to his decent flying skills, he managed to stabilize his broom. Apart from feeling a bit dizzy, he suffered no major injuries.
Meanwhile, a Quaffle shot past the goalkeeper's ear, slamming into the goal hoop with terrifying speed and force.
"Woohoo!"
Morton Leach let out an exuberant cheer, a brilliant smile lighting up his face.
However, no one else on the field was smiling.
If the earlier clash between Nott and Flint could be explained as an unintentional and fair collision, Leach's actions had been witnessed by everyone.
It was blatantly clear that he had targeted Malfoy. Leach, cunning as he was, had identified Malfoy as the biggest weak spot on Flint's team and relentlessly exploited it. Sure enough, Malfoy failed to block him and even created an opportunity for Leach to score.
But now, not only was Flint's face grim, even Nott's expression darkened.
Draco Malfoy was the sole heir of the Malfoy family. While some families still had multiple children in this generation, the vast majority of the Sacred Twenty-Eight were down to a single child.
Adding to that, the chaos wrought by Voldemort had left other prominent families in dire straits: the next Crouch heir was rotting in Azkaban; the Black family's successor was also imprisoned there; and the last surviving matriarch of the Lestrange family shared the same fate.
If this continued, many of the Sacred Twenty-Eight could face extinction within a generation.
When that happens, goblins will undoubtedly profit massively from unclaimed estates, and numerous lesser noble families might seize the chance to rise.
But the Malfoy family wasn't likely to fall into such a predicament... ironically, what Voldemort and the Ministry of Magic hadn't managed to accomplish, Morton Leach—a complete fool—had almost succeeded in doing.
He'd come dangerously close to turning the Malfoy family into a relic of history.
Flint, seeing that Malfoy was unharmed, finally let out a sigh of relief before turning his furious gaze toward Nott.
Nott's expression was as sour as if he'd swallowed a fly. He had always known Morton Leach to be a borderline lunatic, extreme to an outrageous degree in his behavior. But he had never imagined that Leach could reach this level of madness.
Disregarding Flint's evident anger, Nott headed straight toward Malfoy. After all, if the Malfoy family came knocking afterward, Leach would merely be seen as a mad dog.
And when it came to mad dogs, the solution was simply a swift end with a heavy stick. The Malfoys, however, wouldn't stop there—they'd inevitably come for the person who unleashed the dog in the first place.
His father had sent him to probe others' attitudes, not to bring trouble upon their family.
Up in the stands, Luke's face carried a faint smile. "The show is about to begin."
Gemma glanced at Luke, perplexed. Taylor, on the other hand, noticed Luke's subtle hand movement and displayed a look of understanding.
This left Gemma feeling slightly annoyed. She wasn't ready to reveal her secrets to Luke and the others, but here they were, openly flaunting their secrets in front of her.
It felt as if two people were sharing a comic book, laughing at its contents while making no effort to hide it, yet deliberately keeping her from seeing what was inside.
Gemma took a deep breath, steadied herself, and waited quietly for the "show" Luke said about.
Luke, catching Gemma's expression and actions out of the corner of his eye, allowed a barely noticeable curve to grace his lips before suppressing it, his gaze returning to the pitch.
Probing? What's the point of probing?
He'd made himself perfectly clear. He didn't feel the need to repeat himself. If someone was plotting against him, they could hardly blame him for retaliating.
Simply reacting to moves as they came? That wasn't his style.
Meanwhile, Nott was fussing over Malfoy with polite inquiries about his well-being, and Malfoy responded with a reserved but respectful tone. Yet there was no hint of flattery or exaggerated gratitude.
"Senior, as nobles, if we can't even control our own people, how can we hope to restore the glory of our ancestors?"
At this, Malfoy shook his head and sighed, the gesture carrying a hint of disappointment. His expression seemed to suggest he was lamenting Nott's shortcomings.
Nott's face darkened slightly at the remark, but Malfoy didn't seem to care.
After all, Malfoy had personally seen Nott's father fawning over his own father, Lucius Malfoy, all for a shop somehow tied to the Avery family.
Later, the Avery representative had also arrived, and the two had argued so fiercely that it nearly cost them their noble dignity. Malfoy no longer remembered the details of the argument, but what stayed with him was Lucius's composed smile and elegant demeanor throughout the exchange.
Compared to those two, his father was undoubtedly worthy of the title "noble."
Unlike the younger Malfoy, Nott had an even clearer grasp of Lucius's influence over the Ministry of Magic. If Nott hoped for a future career there after graduation, antagonizing Lucius would be a grave mistake.
Just as Nott was about to speak a few flatering words, a commotion broke out on the field.
"You filthy Mudblood!"
Leach had grabbed a Beater's bat from the hands of the opposing wizard and swung it violently at him.
The wizard managed to block the blow and retaliated by snatching the bat back and shoving Leach forcefully.
Nott's face turned grim. Malfoy, with a hint of concern, remarked, "You'd better go take a look. Your teammate's started an internal brawl."
Connecting it with the earlier remark about "not being able to control one's own people," Nott found himself angered by how infuriating the situation had become.
Though everything seemed to unfold as per his plan, he had a nagging feeling that things wouldn't be as simple as they appeared.
Before Nott could reach the scene, the two involved had already drawn their wands.
One was a seventh-year and the other a sixth-year, both Slytherin students. Apart from Flint, an outlier, the rest of the team members had generally good grades.
This also meant the two were capable of holding their own in a duel.
The spells flew fast and fierce: a Levicorpus here, a Aguamenti there. The exchange was intense, with neither backing down.
However, they still maintained some restraint—there were no flames roaring or explosions echoing across the field.
But even so, the situation had escalated beyond the point where anyone could simply step in and separate them.
Flint stood on the sidelines, watching coldly, clearly intending to see how Nott would handle this mess.
Sensing trouble, Nott quickly decided to stick to his original plan: say a few words and divert the issue toward Luke. But before he could open his mouth, Leach's angry voice cut through the chaos.
"You filthy Mudbloods! You think you're fit to play alongside me? Filthy, lowly scum!"
Those words instantly turned the crowd hostile. People began closing in on Leach. Yet it seemed like anger had taken full control of him; without hesitation, he fired curses at anyone who approached.
The power of his spells only grew, culminating in dangerous ones like Confringo.
Nott's expression darkened. No matter how things turned out for Luke today, it was clear that Nott himself would not escape punishment.
Just as he was pulling out his wand to put an end to this farce, Leach shouted again, his voice brimming with scorn.
"Ha! Oliver Nott! You're no better! You call yourself one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, but you run around with Mudbloods and half-bloods as if they are your equal! Where's your pure-blood pride, huh?"
"Oh, I get it now! You've fallen for the words of that disgraceful first-year pure-blood, haven't you? You're working with him, aren't you? That's why you set me up today, isn't it? Just to curry favor with him!"
Nott's face froze.
The expressions of everyone around him shifted as well.
Leach might have been a fool, but his words struck a nerve with the audience.
Everyone realized Nott had clearly set up a scheme today. At first, they thought the targets might have been Flint or Malfoy, who'd nearly lost his life earlier.
But now, thanks to Leach's outburst, the realization dawned on them: the target wasn't necessarily anyone on the pitch.
The pure-blood students watching the spectacle reacted differently. Some smirked, entertained by the unfolding drama. Others shook their heads, disapproving.
Especially Flint, after a moment of surprise, recovered quickly. His expression toward Nott shifted to open mockery.
"Can't even find a reliable accomplice, huh, Nott? You're truly hopeless!"
The bad blood between Flint and Nott was no secret. After the earlier incident, their relationship was hanging by a thread, with open conflict just a step away.
Nott, for his part, was momentarily speechless. Setting traps to probe or harm others wasn't inherently frowned upon in their circles. But failing to execute such schemes? That was a disgrace and a direct hit to one's reputation.
It would also lead others to question one's competence.
And Nott was at a critical juncture in his life. To be labelled "hopeless" now could jeopardize his future prospects.
Just as he was preparing a rebuttal, someone from the stands—a person everyone had been keeping an eye on—suddenly stood up.
Luke.
He casually summoned a broomstick and began flying toward the scene.
As Luke's figure grew closer, Nott couldn't shake the instinctive suspicion that Luke was behind all this.
But no matter how he thought about it, it was Leach's uncontrollable rage that had blown the whole thing wide open.
Try as he might, Nott simply couldn't figure out how Luke had managed to sabotage his plan.
*****
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