[Third Person Pov]
Upon hearing Gwyneth insult Malloy, Goyle reacted instantly and without thought. His face twisted with anger as he lunged forward, grabbing her roughly by the front of her robe. The sudden yank forced a startled yelp out of her, her shoes scraping against the floor as she stumbled. Goyle raised his fist high, shadows cutting across his face, and Gwyneth squeezed her eyes shut, bracing for the impact she was certain was coming.
Arthur and Lance's eyes shrank into dangerous pinpoints. They moved in perfect unspoken synchrony—so fast it was as if instinct had taken over. Arthur seized Goyle's raised fist mid-air, fingers clamping like iron around the bully's wrist, while Lance latched onto the hand gripping Gwyneth's robe, ripping it away from her with force.
In a single, fluid motion, both Arthur and Lance shoved down on Goyle's shoulders while twisting his arms back at brutal angles. The motion was efficient, precise, and almost too smooth—far more coordinated than anyone in the crowd expected two students to be.
The surrounding crowd froze, stunned into silence. What terrified them wasn't just the speed, but the look on Arthur and Lance's faces—the cold, razor-sharp focus, the sort of expression one only saw moments before someone did something they couldn't take back.
Goyle's pained, high-pitched cries finally shattered the stunned silence. Arthur leaned forward, his voice dropping into a low, dangerous growl. "Raise your hand at her one more time—"
"—And you'll lose the privilege of raising any hand at anyone," Lance finished, his tone cold enough to chill bone.
Together, they tightened their grip, applying even more pressure to drive the message home. "Have we made ourselves clear?" they said in unison, their voices carrying through the area with frightening finality.
"Let go of him!" Crabbe barked, face red with anger as he charged forward with a raised fist aimed at Arthur. Before he could even get close, Neville—trembling but determined—threw himself at Crabbe, tackling him sideways in a clumsy but earnest attempt at protection.
"I—I won't let you hurt him!" Neville stammered, fear thick in his voice yet refusing to back down.
"Whoa! Look at you go, Neville!" Ron shouted, equal parts shocked and impressed. He sprinted forward to join the chaos but accidentally rammed into Draco, setting off a chain reaction as the two boys instantly fell into a furious scrabble of shoves and angry shouting.
"Okay! Okay! I'm sorry!" Goyle sobbed, tears gathering in the corners of his eyes as the pain became too much for him to bear.
Arthur and Lance exchanged a glance, then looked toward Gwyneth. She was blushing faintly as she smoothed down her robe, trying—unsuccessfully—to hide how shaken she was. "I'm fine, you two… Promise" she murmured.
Satisfied, the boys released Goyle. He sagged forward with a pitiful whimper, rolling his shoulders and hissing through his teeth.
Then, without warning, Arthur and Lance each raised a hand and brought it down hard on Goyle's shoulders.
"ARGHH!" Goyle shrieked as his knees buckled. His eyes rolled back, and he crumpled toward the floor as consciousness slipped away from him.
But the boys didn't linger. The moment Goyle went down, Arthur spun toward Crabbe—still wrestling with Neville—while Lance zeroed in on Draco, cracking his knuckles and stepping forward with purpose.
Meanwhile, Hermione and Merlin simply stared at each other, completely resigned. They both let out long, unified sighs. The Quidditch match between Gryffindor and Hufflepuff had not only begun—it was well underway. During the commotion, Snape had apparently awarded Hufflepuff a penalty because George Weasley had smacked a Bludger in Snape's direction.
Hermione, sitting with all her fingers tightly crossed in her lap—almost painfully so—tore her focus away from the battle and back toward the pitch. Her worried gaze locked onto Harry, who was circling high above the field with the intensity of a hunting hawk, desperately scanning for the Snitch.
Then, without warning, Harry suddenly folded into a steep, breathtaking dive. Gasps rippled through the stands, followed by a roar of excited cheers. Hermione shot to her feet, her still-crossed fingers flying to her mouth as Harry streaked downward like a flaming comet, tearing through the air with terrifying speed.
Meanwhile, Arthur and Lance had successfully kicked the three Slytherin stooges away from their side of the bleachers. The boys brushed off their robes and dusted their hands as though they had just completed a minor chore rather than a mini-battle.
"My father will hear about this!" Draco snarled through a wince, one hand clutching his stomach while Crabbe awkwardly supported the dead-weight, unconscious Goyle slung between them.
"Yeah, go on and tell him how you got your butt kicked and lost a fight," Neville piped up unexpectedly, stepping forward with a courage that made Arthur do a subtle double-take. "Let's see how proud he is of you then."
Lance fixed the trio with a cold, unblinking stare—sharp enough to make even Draco look away. "Just leave," he said, voice flat with warning. "You've already embarrassed yourselves enough as it is. Don't make it worse."
Draco opened his mouth, thought better of it, and turned away sharply. The three of them limped off—one unconscious, one staggering, and one fuming.
Once they were gone, everyone gradually returned to their seats as though a passing storm had finally blown over. Lance and Arthur settled down on either side of Gwyneth, who sat between them with an enormous, bashful grin spreading across her face. She lifted her house-colored flags to hide her mouth, though her muffled giggling slipped through anyway.
Seeing the two boys staring at her in mild confusion only made her giggle harder. Gwyneth suddenly leaned forward, reaching over their shoulders and yanking them both into a tight, enthusiastic hug. "Hahaha! Thank you for jumping in to defend me, you two. You were amazing!"
Lance sighed and rolled his eyes, though the corners of his mouth twitched. "Just don't make a habit of picking fights—"
"Mwah! Mwah!" Gwyneth cut him off, planting a big kiss on each of their cheeks. She pulled away with a triumphant grin as two perfect black-and-yellow face-paint marks smeared across their skin.
Lance's cheeks flushed instantly, his mouth snapping shut. Arthur groaned, scrubbing at his cheek as if it were burning. "That better come off," he muttered.
Merlin watched them quietly from the end of the row, her fingers curling around the edge of the bleacher. Her gaze flicked between Gwyneth—laughing sweetly—and Arthur wiping at the paint on his face. Merlin's expression didn't change; still, unblinking, unreadable. She gave nothing away.
Up above, Snape jerked his broom in the air just in time to see a streak of scarlet blur past him. It shot by so close he nearly dropped his wand. A heartbeat later, Harry pulled out of his dive with breathtaking control, his arm stretched triumphantly upward. The glint of gold in his hand caught the light—the Snitch.
The stands detonated into cheers. Hermione shrieked and grabbed Ron by the front of his robes, shaking him wildly as she jumped up and down. The entire Gryffindor section erupted, pouring down the stands toward the field in a red-and-gold wave of victory.
Through it all, Merlin merely exhaled, shaking her head with a quiet, unreadable sigh.
Lance arched a brow at Gwyneth, who was still beaming as if her team had just won instead of lost. "Should you really be smiling like that? Didn't your house just lose?"
"Hehehe, maybe," Gwyneth said, waving her hand dismissively. "If this were before, I probably would've been upset."
"But now?" Arthur asked, watching as the remaining students filtered out of the bleachers.
"Now," she said with a brilliant smile, "I just found out I have friends who are willing to jump to my defense when it matters. My house might have lost, and Gryffindor might have won—but today I'm the real winner."
Lance made a face as he finally managed to wipe the kiss mark off his cheek. "How can you say that with a straight face and not die of embarrassment?"
"Yeah," Arthur added, rolling up his sleeve and dramatically rubbing his arm. "Just hearing it is giving me second-hand embarrassment. Look, I think I'm getting goosebumps."
"Oh, shut up, both of you," Gwyneth huffed, though her smile didn't falter as she hopped to her feet and planted her hands on her hips. "You clearly like me, and nothing you say is gonna ruin this moment."
"Midget."
"Dwarf."
"...I seriously hate you both sometimes."
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