At this moment, the Beater's bat in Theodore's hands spun with incredible speed—strike after strike after strike.
Each hit sent the Bludger screaming through the air, whipping up violent gusts, tearing the sky into ragged lanes of wind.
To the Slytherins, it felt as if the Bludger was everywhere at once.
Every time they tried to block Gryffindor's advance, Theodore's Bludger would appear—almost like it could read their intentions—cutting them off at precisely the wrong moment.
The shriek of it was enough to make skin crawl before it even came close.
None of them wanted to find out what it felt like to be hit.
And so Slytherin's whole formation fell apart.
Their attacks were interrupted. Their defence was punched full of holes. Even their Keeper kept flinching, forced to spare attention for the rogue ball.
If there was a way to make a match feel like a one-sided exhibition, this was it.
And Gryffindor already had the stronger side today.
Angelina, Alicia, and Katie danced through the air in perfect rhythm, goal after goal snapping through the hoops. Even Oliver Wood—Oliver Wood—abandoned his post once, surged forward, caught a pass from Angelina, and actually scored.
The stands went feral.
Gryffindor's points climbed like a runaway meter:
Fifty. Sixty. Seventy—
Lee Jordan's commentary barely took a breath.
"A relentless offence, fluid teamwork—Gryffindor are putting on a scoring performance like I've never seen!"
"Merlin's beard—this is practically a Chaser exhibition match!"
"But if you ask me, the most mind-blowing part of this match is Gryffindor Beater Theodore Ashbourne! This is Quidditch World Cup final–level Beater play!"
"Under his bat, the Bludger behaves like a pet. He's everywhere at once—driving Gryffindor's offence and strangling Slytherin's every move."
"Even though he hasn't scored, if I had to name an MVP right now, it's Ashbourne!"
"But the gap hasn't hit one hundred and fifty yet, so there's still suspense. If Slytherin catch the Snitch before it widens, they can still turn it around."
"But if Harry gets it first—it's all over!"
High above the pitch, Malfoy was drenched in sweat, circling anxiously as his eyes hunted for the flicker of gold.
At the same time, he barked orders down at his team.
"Stall them!"
"No more attacks when you've got the Quaffle—just pass it around! Don't give them a chance to widen the lead! I'm going for the Snitch!"
Slytherin switched tactics at once, ignoring the booing that thundered from the stands. Every time they got the Quaffle, they simply passed it around and around, shamelessly bleeding time.
Malfoy's gaze swept across the pitch—and snagged on Theodore.
A deep helplessness rose in his chest.
Ashbourne… was a monster.
But Malfoy clenched his fists anyway, forcing the feeling down.
Only one play remained.
He had to catch the Snitch first.
Weeks of brutal training flashed behind his eyes as he locked onto Harry.
"Potter," he muttered, teeth bared, "this time… I won't lose."
Harry had ground just as hard. Whatever Theodore had been putting them through lately, it had carved his flying into something sharper, faster, cleaner.
Hearing Malfoy's words, Harry's face set.
His teammates had played brilliantly. They'd built the lead. Now it was his job to finish it.
He couldn't let Slytherin steal a last-second win.
More than that—
This match, he was playing it for his mum and dad, watching from somewhere beyond the clouds.
He had a reason—one he couldn't afford to lose.
With that thought, Harry dove and climbed through the pitch, searching.
Theodore's peripheral vision flicked to Malfoy—then away again.
He didn't "take care of" the Slytherin players anymore. He didn't even bother sending the Bludger to harass Malfoy's line.
He'd already done more than enough.
There was no point in picking on schoolmates.
His attention was fully, coldly locked on the man in the front row of the teachers' stand.
Professor Quirrell.
By now, there wasn't a single patch of Quirrell's body that hadn't been "looked after" by a Bludger.
Every one of Theodore's savage strikes traced a maddening, erratic arc—suppressing the Slytherin team, menacing the pitch—
—and then, as if guided by fate itself, slamming into Quirrell from an angle no one could predict.
Even with Quirrell on high alert, the Bludgers—wrapped in a vicious killing intent—had battered him black and blue.
Lee Jordan, watching Quirrell's miserable state, still found the energy to sound impressed.
"That was the thirty-seventh time the Bludger has gone after Professor Quirrell!"
"Ashbourne must be pouring every ounce of strength into those hits. Anyone who's played Quidditch knows how demanding that is—and he's still going!"
"And Professor Quirrell is still standing!"
"I think I understand now… why he's right in the front row… why the Bludgers keep flying his way…"
"It must be that the Professor is using his unique magic to lure the Bludgers toward himself—so they don't hurt any students in the stands!"
"He'd rather take the hits himself than let students get injured—what a noble heart!"
"This might be the most unforgettable match I've ever seen! Let's give Ashbourne a round of applause—and a round of applause for Professor Quirrell! All right, and a little applause for the desperate Slytherin team too!"
Thunderous applause erupted.
To Quirrell, it sounded like mockery made physical.
He coughed up blood.
"Are you kidding me?!" he wheezed through clenched teeth. "Who in their right mind would want to be hit by a Bludger?!"
He didn't even know how many bones had cracked.
And Theodore's tempo was climbing—faster and faster, as if he'd decided this match needed to end with a corpse.
Quirrell didn't have time to cast a Healing Charm.
He was holding himself together by sheer will.
But he was reaching the edge.
At this rate, the Bludger might actually kill him.
Bloodshot eyes fixed on Theodore's broom, unwillingness boiling in his gut.
Why was it like this?
Winning for Slytherin… killing Ashbourne… Those two beautiful things should have happened today!
So why had it turned into this?!
Quirrell clenched his jaw and stared at the Nimbus Two Thousand.
He had already cast who-knew-how-many hexes on it—
—and still he hadn't seen the slightest sign of malfunction.
Should he give up?
"I…" he rasped, voice trembling. "I won't accept this!"
In the next moment, Quirrell reached inward and awakened the presence sleeping at the back of his skull—spent from earlier, irritated at being dragged out again.
"Master," Quirrell pleaded, "this is the best chance to kill Theodore Ashbourne and Harry Potter. One curse—one—and they'll fall to their deaths!"
Voldemort woke grumpily, ready to flay him with words—
Then he felt Quirrell's condition, and even he went still.
"Wait."
He tasted the pain. The fractures. The blood.
"You went to watch Quidditch," Voldemort said slowly, "and you're nearly dead?"
Just then, another Bludger screamed through the air.
Sensing the vicious aura wrapped around it, Voldemort's eyes widened.
"Quidditch is this dangerous now?!"
He had meant to reprimand Quirrell.
Instead, he actually nodded, grim and approving.
"Quirrell… I can see you truly did your best to create an opportunity."
"Fine. I'll forgive you this once."
Then his tone sharpened—cold, precise.
"Watch closely. This is how you use the Shield Charm."
In an instant, Voldemort flicked the wand.
A Shield Charm far beyond Quirrell's level erupted—thick, invisible armour of magic.
The Bludger hit.
The shield held.
Barely.
Voldemort's gaze snapped to Theodore's Nimbus Two Thousand, and his eyes flashed with murder.
A curse—stronger than any he'd used so far—surged forth and struck the broom again.
In that moment, Theodore's System interface lit up with lines of black-and-red text…
◇ BONUS & SUPPORT ◇
◇ 1 bonus chapter for every 10 reviews — drop a comment!
◇ 1 bonus chapter for every 100 Power Stones.
◇ Read 60 chapters ahead on P@treon → patreon.com/StrawHatStudios