The moment Professor Swann announced the Yuletide Brawl, promising not only a unique spectacle of magic but a coveted Christmas gift for the triumphant house, the lawn erupted in a clamor of fierce determination.
Every pair of young wizard eyes was alight with competitive fervor, the academic malaise instantly forgotten. This wasn't merely a snowball fight; this was a formal, magically sanctioned test of skill and teamwork, refereed by the most popular professor in the castle.
Sebastian, maintaining his role as the master strategist and unbiased observer, used a subtle Sonorus Charm to orchestrate the chaos.
He gathered the entire throng and, employing the straightforward logic of his Muggle Studies discipline, divided them into two balanced legions, designated Team A and Team B. Care was taken to ensure that all four houses were represented on both sides, making this truly an all-Hogwarts affair.
With the teams established and separated by a precisely marked twenty-meter gap, Sebastian outlined the rigid, decisive rules:
Charm Restriction: Only the Arcus Nivalis Charm—the Snowball Spell—was permitted. Any other spell, whether defensive (like a Shield Charm) or offensive (like a stunning spell), would result in immediate disqualification and forfeiture of the entire match for the offending player.
Elimination Criteria: A player was eliminated if they were struck by a charmed, self-propelled snowball of regulation size (football-sized or larger), or if they were knocked off their feet and touched the ground while unbalanced or buried by a snowball impact.
The Goal: The game continued until only members of a single team remained standing.
Sebastian surveyed the excited, shivering young witches and wizards. He grinned, reveling in the controlled anarchy he had created.
"The match begins!" he roared, dropping his hand like a flag-man at a Muggle race.
The start was an immediate, overwhelming blizzard of motion. Dozens of small, charmed snowballs popped into existence simultaneously, dropping and immediately beginning their frantic, rolling growth. The air filled with the sounds of muttered incantations, the whooshing of accelerating snow-spheres, and the sickening thud of impact.
The initial volleys were pure, blind chaos. Large snowballs, having grown to the size of oil drums, collided mid-field, exploding into blinding white powder that drastically reduced visibility. Others—the ones whose casters had possessed exceptional concentration—slipped through the melee like massive bowling balls, flattening whole sections of the opposing line.
A chorus of distressed shouts immediately followed. Small wizards found themselves buried up to their necks; others were sent tumbling in comical, flailing arcs.
Sebastian, effortlessly moving among the carnage like a seasoned battlefield medic, swept his wand in quick, precise arcs. He used a modified Ascendio Charm to gently float the buried students out of their snow prisons and lifted the disqualified victims clear of the playing field.
"Professor, I was trying to dodge, but I tripped over a root!" a first-year wailed, hanging mid-air, fluttering his robes.
"I didn't hit the ground, Professor Swann! It was just a tumble!" another protested.
"I'm afraid not," Sebastian stated firmly, adopting the stern, impartial voice of a true referee. "Carelessness is failure. The ground is a hard mistress. You may practice your Arcus Nivalis afterward, but for now, join the spectators."
He flicked his wand again, and a third-year boy, who had been hiding behind an abnormally large, self-created snowball, was whisked away.
"And you, Mr. Finch," Sebastian said with a playful shake of his head, "you were clever to attempt a Snow Shield, but I saw you briefly apply a faint Protego Charm to your creation. A serious foul. Now, remain here and observe the true finesse required to win."
Harry, unfortunately for the Gryffindor camaraderie, found himself placed on Team A, making him an enemy to both Ron and Hermione, who were on Team B.
The chaos of the initial minutes claimed his friends quickly. Hermione's powerful intellect did not translate into immediate battlefield prowess; she was too busy ensuring her charm's rotation was perfect and too slow to notice an incoming, fast-growing snowball from a fourth-year Slytherin. With a soft thump, the snowball knocked her backward, eliminating her. Harry saw her standing on the sidelines, arms crossed, visibly furious at her own lack of agility.
Ron, however, was still in the fight, bellowing challenges and desperately casting his own charming snowballs, clearly determined to avenge Hermione's early defeat.
As the match progressed, the numbers dwindled rapidly. Sebastian observed keenly that the surviving players were not necessarily the strongest casters. Many powerful spells were eliminated when their own casters were struck. The remaining wizards possessed exceptional agility, spatial awareness, and economy of movement. They were the most slippery.
After ten minutes of brutal, accelerating attrition, Harry was breathing heavily, his chest aching from constant exertion. He glanced around: his team, Team A, was severely depleted, reduced to just five players. Team B still boasted eight. The odds were looking grim.
As the open field grew wider, dodging became easier, but simultaneously, targeting became more difficult. The remaining wizards were too skilled at weaving and ducking. The game had reached a strategic stalemate.
Dodging a massive, rogue snowball that rolled past his ear, Harry's mind raced, searching for a solution. He realized the fundamental flaw in their strategy: they were all still fighting individual duels. Everyone was casting solitary, defensive spells, attacking only the opponent who looked most vulnerable at that moment.
This is a team competition. We need focus.
Harry's gaze swept across his remaining teammates—mostly unfamiliar upper-years, apart from one perpetually scowling figure: Draco Malfoy, a Slytherin first-year.
Harry despised Malfoy's arrogance, and their personal enmity was deep. Yet, he desperately wanted to win, and Malfoy was an excellent, precise caster. Hesitation lasted only a split second.
"Malfoy! You want to win?" Harry shouted across the few feet separating them.
Malfoy scowled, dodging a shot from a sixth-year Hufflepuff. "Nonsense! Of course, I want to win! What foolish question is that, Potter?"
"Stop arguing and cooperate, then! We need to focus fire now!" Harry commanded, pointing his wand toward the center of the opposing line, where a highly strategic fifth-year was coordinating the attack.
"Cooperate with you? Don't flatter yourself, Potter!" Malfoy yelled back, the rejection loud but the doubt flickering in his grey eyes. He wanted victory more than pride.
Harry knew words weren't enough. He dropped his wand to his side and, using his body, quickly mimicked a key Quidditch maneuver—the sharp, upward jerk and feint he used to trick the Seeker into thinking he was diving for the Snitch, a move they had studied intensely in their brief shared lessons. It was a signal that said: Attack the core target simultaneously.
Malfoy, a fanatic of the sport and an aspiring Seeker, understood instantly. His eyes widened slightly in grudging recognition of the strategy. Central Target Focus.
Without another word of agreement, Harry raised his wand and fired his Arcus Nivalis toward the fifth-year. Malfoy, simultaneously, fired a second snowball from a slightly different angle, a classic pincer movement.
The targeted fifth-year, caught completely off guard by the first moment of coordination in the entire match, tried to dodge Harry's shot but stepped directly into Malfoy's accelerating projectile. The wizard was eliminated.
The effect was instantaneous and electrifying. Harry's remaining teammates—a Ravenclaw and three older Gryffindors—suddenly understood the new strategic calculus.
"Potter! You choose the target! We'll attack together!" a seventh-year shouted, instantly conceding command to the first-year Seeker.
The opposing team, Team B, panicked, their organized advantage dissolving. Ron, seeing the tactical shift and recognizing Harry as the new commander, shouted in desperation: "Attack Harry! He's the one giving the orders! Take him out first!"
The next few minutes were a blur of defensive brilliance as Harry used his instinctive Quidditch dodging skills, effortlessly sidestepping two waves of simultaneous, targeted fire. His team, meanwhile, coordinated three more successful eliminations, bringing the score to a desperate five-on-five.
The remaining players on Team B abandoned their focus on Harry and scattered, reverting to individual attacks. The fierce battle continued, characterized by rapid spellcasting and desperate agility, until the numbers dwindled to a tense, dramatic final three.
To the astonishment of the watching, frozen crowd, the last three wizards standing were all first-year students: Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy from Team A, versus Ron Weasley from Team B.
Harry was panting heavily, feeling the sharp, cold burn in his lungs, yet deeply satisfied. The last two men on his team were the most unlikely of allies, but their teamwork had been devastating.
Ron, seeing himself hopelessly outnumbered, resorted to a desperate, last-ditch attempt at psychological warfare.
"What's the matter, Malfoy?" Ron taunted, dodging Harry's latest spell with a desperate leap. "You're too scared to take me on one on one? I challenge you! A true duel!"
"Don't be an idiot, Weasley!" Malfoy sneered, his wand raised but his focus laser-sharp on strategy. "This is a team effort, and we have the advantage. If we both fire at once, your charm will never break through, and you can't dodge two different trajectories! Accept your defeat!"
Malfoy fired his Arcus Nivalis instantly, a snowball forming and rolling rapidly toward Ron.
Harry's wand hand hesitated, dropping momentarily. This was Ron, his closest friend. He couldn't consciously team up with Malfoy to humiliate him in this way.
Then, Harry remembered Ron's strategic decision just minutes earlier: "Attack Harry! Take him out first." Ron was playing to win, using any means necessary, including eliminating his best friend when he became a threat.
This is a game, Ron. A war.
With a dull ache of necessity, Harry hardened his heart. He didn't fire at Ron's body. Instead, he calculated the only available escape route Ron had left—a narrow channel between two massive, broken snowball fragments—and pointed his wand directly at the snow on that path.
A second, smaller snowball formed, rolling with surgical precision to cut off the escape route created by Malfoy's advancing projectile.
Ron saw the second, smaller snowball forming, understood the tactical trap, and yelled, betrayed, "Harry! You little—you teamed up with Malfoy and ambushed me?!"
Before he could finish his desperate, wounded cry, the combined force of the two accelerating snow-spheres—one aiming for his right, the other for his left—collided with him. Ron was lifted bodily off his feet and slammed into the ground, buried beneath a massive, thick layer of snow.
Sebastian's voice boomed across the silent lawn: "Ron Weasley is eliminated! Team A wins!"
"Absolutely brilliant teamwork from Potter and Malfoy! They are the MVPs of the winning team!" Sebastian announced, clapping with genuine enthusiasm. "They will both receive a special, enchanted Christmas gift from me!"
The winning teammates—the older Gryffindors and Slytherins—rushed Harry and Malfoy, tossing them into the air in a wild, shouting celebration, the brief, poisoned alliance instantly forgotten in the rush of victory.
Meanwhile, the defeated wizards surrounded Sebastian, their earlier frustration replaced by a burning desire for revenge. "Professor, that's not fair! We demand a rematch! We need to practice the Arcus Nivalis more!"
Sebastian, having achieved his goal of breaking the students' academic tension, happily obliged, allowing them to continue their practice-brawls long into the afternoon.
The field remained a riot of laughter, shouting, and exploding snow until the last weak light of the setting sun forced the wizards, tired and exhilarated, to return to the warmth of the Great Hall.
The cheerful, chaotic atmosphere, full of loud, happy voices and the promise of a rematch, settled over the castle, pointing to only one beautiful truth: Christmas was almost here.
Do you think Malfoy will be able to maintain his cool facade of superiority after experiencing a successful collaboration with Harry, or will this shared victory lead to a shift in their rivalry?