No sooner had Snape finished his "marvellous" Defence Against the Dark Arts substitute lesson than he strode toward his dungeon office, a trail of sulphur and unspent malice following him.
On the way, he spotted Noctis perched on a windowsill, and he made no effort to conceal the triumphant look on his face.
"Truly wonderful. Quite an eye-opener," Noctis said.
Snape came to a halt.
He slowly turned around, like a venomous snake sensing danger, his icy gaze locking onto the raven.
"Lost, Sagres?" Snape's voice carried undisguised irritation. "Or have you become so bored that you're sending your pet to monitor my movements after class?"
"Not monitoring," Sagres guided the raven to reply. "Merely stopping to admire a genuinely impressive lesson."
That triumphant smile returned to Snape's lips. "Impressive? Hmph. A group of blockheads, unable even to recognise a werewolf, let alone understand the true nature of such dangerous creatures."
"Your discussion of the 'nature of dangerous creatures' was indeed thought-provoking," the raven replied calmly, its tone neutral and unreadable.
Snape sneered. "I am simply fulfilling my duty as a professor, ensuring that these students, who lack judgment, understand the dangers they may face. Unlike some people, who choose to turn a blind eye to certain wolves in sheep's clothing."
The accusation was once again aimed squarely at Lupin and, in Snape's mind, also at Dumbledore, who had "wilfully ignored" the issue.
"Your sense of duty is indeed admirable, but I think the art of deducting points is even more worthy of study," the raven said half-jokingly.
"They deserve it!"
Snape snapped harshly, barely containing his anger. "Am I supposed to applaud their stupidity? Or does Professor Greengrass think I should coax them into learning like Trolls? Hogwarts is not a nursery!"
"Of course not," the raven replied, nodding.
"Hmph!"
Snape stared fixedly into the raven's eyes. "Instead of letting your pet fly around the castle, you'd do better to focus on more important matters. Black is still at large, and you're here criticising my teaching!"
With that, Snape turned sharply, his black robes whipping up a gust of air.
He shoved the classroom door open with a loud bang, and his figure quickly disappeared into the shadows of the corridor.
"Truly spectacular, quite an eye-opener," Noctis remarked again, then spread his wings and flew off.
…
That afternoon, a biting wind swept across the training grounds.
Harry, astride his Nimbus Two Thousand, tried to focus on chasing the erratically darting Golden Snitch.
Oliver Wood shouted instructions, directing his team through tactical manoeuvres.
At the edge of the pitch, Professor Flitwick, whom Professor McGonagall had assigned to "supervise," was huddled in the stands, wrapped tightly in a thick scarf.
He showed little interest in Quidditch tactics, looking more as though he were merely fulfilling an obligatory duty.
Well, at least he was available.
Time quickly advanced to Saturday.
On the day of the match, the sky hung heavy as lead, with thick, dark clouds pressing low over the Quidditch pitch.
Not long after the starting whistle blew, the long-anticipated downpour began.
Raindrops the size of beans hammered against the canopies of the stands, creating a deafening roar, and the pitch was instantly churned into a muddy mess.
Gale-force winds, laden with icy rain, lashed at the players' faces, blurring their vision into a chaotic haze.
Yet none of this diminished the ferocity between the two teams.
Matches between Gryffindor and Slytherin were always fiercely contested.
Bludgers screamed through the rain as Fred and George, like two spirited lions, drove them relentlessly toward the Slytherin players.
Angelina and Katie fought to pass the Quaffle through the curtain of rain, searching for an opening to score.
Wood guarded the goalposts, his rain-soaked hair plastered tightly to his scalp.
High above, Harry and Malfoy were like two falcons locked in combat within the storm.
Harry's Nimbus Two Thousand handled beautifully, but Malfoy's Nimbus Two Thousand and One was no less impressive. They stuck close to each other, every turn and dive carrying the fierce intent to knock the other from his broom.
They shared only one objective—the Golden Snitch, which had yet to reveal itself.
Harry's flying talent was indeed far beyond ordinary, but today he ran into a particularly troublesome problem—the downpour.
The rain was simply too heavy. Icy droplets splattered relentlessly against his glasses, blurring his vision completely. No matter how often he wiped them, it made no difference.
A faint referee's whistle pierced the rain. Wood had called a time-out.
The players landed in a sorry state, all of them soaked through, mud splashed across their robes, while Fred and George panted heavily.
Harry wiped his glasses again and again, but under the pouring rain, the effort was pointless.
"Harry, are you all right?!" Wood rushed over, his face a mixture of rainwater and anxiety, practically shouting.
This was his final year at Hogwarts, and the Quidditch Cup was his dream for graduation. There was no room for mistakes.
"I've got a problem!" Harry said urgently. "The rain's too heavy. I can't see. My glasses are soaked."
"What?!"
Wood's cry nearly vanished beneath the roar of the rain. "No! Harry! You have to be able to see! Think about who we're playing—Slytherin!"
He grabbed Harry's shoulders, his eyes darting about wildly. "If it comes to the worst, go find Professor Greengrass and beg him to stop the rain!"
As he spoke, he glanced toward the stands where the professors were seated, looking as though he was seriously considering charging over to plead with Professor Greengrass himself.
Just then, Hermione dashed onto the pitch like a nimble rabbit, her raincoat flapping as she grabbed Harry just as he was about to speak.
"Harry! Give me your glasses!" Hermione shouted, her voice nearly drowned out by the rain.
"What?" Harry wiped the water from his face, looking at her in confusion.
Hermione snatched the fogged glasses from his face without ceremony, pulled out her wand, and swiftly cast a spell at the lenses.
"Impervius!"
A faint shimmer flashed, and the raindrops on the lenses instantly slid away, leaving them perfectly clear.
"Quick, put them on and try!"
She shoved the glasses back into Harry's hands.
Harry put them on, and the world snapped back into sharp focus.
He shot Hermione a grateful look. She gave him a thumbs-up, then hurried back toward the stands, vanishing into the rain almost at once.
"She's a genius!"
Wood pointed in the direction Hermione had disappeared, shouting excitedly as if he had just been handed a lifeline. "Now, Harry? Any more problems?"
"None!"
Harry's voice rang with renewed confidence and fighting spirit as his eyes swept sharply across the sky. "Not a single problem left!"
The second half began, and the battle grew even more intense.
The score remained close, and every hard-won point set off deafening cheers or frustrated groans from the stands, sounds that even the torrential rain could not fully drown out.
Harry and Malfoy's pursuit also entered its most critical stage.
After a thrilling dive through the goalposts, Harry finally caught sight of a dazzling golden flicker.
The Snitch was darting just below the Slytherin stands.
Harry's heart leapt into his throat. Without a moment's hesitation, he tipped the nose of his broom sharply downward.
"He's seen it! Harry's seen it!" Lee Jordan shouted excitedly into the commentary.
Malfoy's pale face twisted into a grim expression. He reacted just as fast, immediately chasing after him.
The two shot forward like arrows loosed from a bow, racing at terrifying speed only metres above the ground, the force of their passage whipping up winds that nearly knocked spectators at the edge of the stands off their feet.
Wave after wave of roaring erupted from the crowd. The students' passion seemed hot enough to boil the icy rain.
The Golden Snitch appeared startled by the frenzy. It made a sharp, agile turn and suddenly shot upward, heading straight for the thick clouds overhead.
Harry and Malfoy did not hesitate, wrenching their brooms upward and plunging headlong into the oppressive darkness.
At that very moment, a bone-chilling cold swept across the entire pitch without warning.
Dementors.
They had been drawn by the intense life force above the pitch, like vultures sensing carrion, swarming in along the trail of human emotion.
Just as they hungered for a feast, they happened to encounter Harry and Malfoy bursting out of the thick clouds.
Not just one.
Dozens of Dementors, cloaked in tattered robes, emerged silently from the direction of the Forbidden Forest and from within the depths of the dark clouds, like sharks drawn to the scent of blood.
The "gaze" hidden beneath their hoods locked greedily onto their target—Harry Potter, the closest to them, and the one burdened with the most painful memories.
That familiar wave of despair, like icy iron pincers, clamped around Harry's heart in an instant.
Piercing screams, desperate pleas… those long-buried memories surged up like a breached dam, instantly overwhelming his will.
Harry's vision went black. His strength and consciousness collapsed.
His broom spun wildly out of control, and Harry, like a puppet with its strings cut, plunged straight down from the clouds.
________
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