Professor McGonagall lowered her head in thought and sighed.
"Most likely Slytherin will win. Compared to Slytherin, where they're all from pure-blood families, very few of the Gryffindor children have had any prior broom training—let alone anything like Malfoy, who's even had professional coaching from Quidditch players."
Although Professor McGonagall badly wanted her own House to win, she knew, once she analyzed things rationally, that it was almost impossible.
Even if the Gryffindors were all very gifted, without training that talent hadn't been cashed in yet; they were no match for Slytherin kids with years of flying experience.
"Oh, really? I actually think Gryffindor will win." Dumbledore narrowed his eyes slightly, a gentle light flickering within them. "Don't forget Harry. His father James was very talented, and on top of that he's the Savior. I believe a Savior can work miracles!"
McGonagall hadn't expected Dumbledore to have that much confidence in Harry. "But James only became an excellent Seeker after long years of training. Harry may be the Savior, yes, but the prophecy never said anything about him having a gift for Quidditch."
Dumbledore didn't argue. With a faint smile on his face, he turned to look at Professor McGonagall beside him and said softly,
"In that case, let's wait and see, and find out whether Harry can bring us a miracle."
Seeing how confident Dumbledore looked, the calm surface of McGonagall's heart rippled as well, and a hint of expectation rose quietly inside her. "I hope it's as you say. Let's see," she thought.
Up in the sky, Madam Hooch's whistle shrilled, and the players shot forward like arrows loosed from a bow. The match had begun!
Just as McGonagall had expected, as soon as the two sides clashed, the Slytherin children completely overwhelmed the Gryffindors.
It was obvious that the Slytherin kids had all been specially trained for Quidditch and had a solid foundation. The most outstanding of them, Pansy, could even pull off advanced feint-and-breakthrough maneuvers.
They were still rough, of course, but more than enough to deal with the even greener Gryffindors.
Very soon, Slytherin had scored five goals, while Gryffindor had only managed to slip in a single one by chance.
Pansy slammed the Quaffle hard through Gryffindor's hoop, then yanked her broom upward and hovered high beside the goalposts, looking down on the Gryffindors from above.
"Look at the state of you lot. You're like toddlers who've only just learned to walk, and you still dare to challenge Slytherin at Quidditch. I think you'd better learn how to fly before you talk about playing us!"
Her words sparked a wave of indignation among the young Gryffindors. The students watching from below shouted back as loudly as they could, but confronted with the facts on the pitch, their protests sounded weak. The brave little lions were being crushed by the snakes.
Seeing the Gryffindors' reaction, Pansy lifted her chin proudly, but out of the corner of her eye she kept sneaking glances at Harry, hoping to catch his attention.
This left Harry utterly speechless. Yep, that was a little girl for you—actually using this kind of tactic to get the attention of someone she liked.
Still, in Slytherin it had always been all about strength, so it wasn't exactly surprising.
Malfoy had noticed what was happening as well. A sly smile crept over his face as he continued to dog Harry's tail, trying to disrupt his flying and keep him from catching the Golden Snitch.
His original plan had been to catch the Snitch before Harry and end the match early.
But he quickly abandoned that idea. Harry's flying talent was so astonishing that it left his jaw hanging.
At the very start he'd still been a little unfamiliar with flying, but as the minutes ticked by, Harry's technique visibly improved. He weaved through the pitch, darting and diving like a gust of wind.
Malfoy was shaken to the core. He had never imagined anyone could have such outrageous Quidditch talent—it was downright inhuman!
If the professional Quidditch players were geniuses, then Harry was a genius among geniuses.
It made him think of a saying: being a genius is just the entry ticket to stand in front of me—and it fit Harry perfectly.
Damn it, how could anyone be this perfect? Perfect magical talent, perfect personality, perfect looks— and even his Quidditch talent was this flawless. Maybe… maybe not even the Dark Lord had gifts like Harry's.
So this was what a Savior was?
It was terrifying.
At the same time, Harry's performance made Malfoy all the more determined: he had to beat Harry in this match.
He had a feeling that if he lost this time, he might never again have a chance to defeat Harry in his entire life.
The gap between them would not narrow with time—it would only grow wider and wider!
So he simply gave up chasing the Snitch and focused every bit of his attention on Harry.
He clung to Harry like a stubborn wad of chewing gum stuck to the teeth, his broom glued to Harry's side.
Whenever Harry made the slightest move, Malfoy followed immediately—deliberately blocking his line of sight, or nudging his broom into Harry's flight path, doing everything he could to throw off Harry's rhythm so he couldn't calmly hunt for the Snitch.
It was a shameless tactic, but an effective one.
Even professional players would have trouble dealing with it. As long as he stuck to Harry and let the other Slytherins keep scoring, Slytherin would win in the end.
Despicable or not, Slytherins had never been picky about methods. Victory was their only goal!
He could already see it in his mind's eye—himself hailed as the hero of Slytherin, surrounded by housemates celebrating their victory.
But what he wanted to see most of all was the look of unwillingness on Harry's face. He knew there was a huge gulf between them, but he had to beat Harry at least once.
Thinking of this, Malfoy felt rather pleased with himself. As he kept harassing Harry, he grinned and called out, "Potter, I admit you're talented, but you alone can't win a match. All I have to do is tie you up, and victory belongs to Slytherin!"
In the wider multiverse, Harry almost always relied on portals instead of traveling by broom, so he rarely used a broomstick, and had never really combined broom-flying with his telekinesis.
It wasn't until now, during this match, that he took the chance to fuse the two—and he had just reached the final stage.
Hearing Malfoy's words, Harry didn't get angry. In fact, he found Malfoy kind of cute. Once he completely shattered Malfoy's hopes of victory, he and little Pansy would probably cry their eyes out.
Harry's mouth curled into a mischievous grin. "You sure about that? I've just been dragging things out to make the game last a bit longer. Did you really think you could hold me back? Maybe it's about time we ended this boring match."
A bad feeling prickled at the back of Malfoy's mind, but after thinking it over he couldn't see what could go wrong, so he kept talking big. "Quit putting on an act, Harry—you're not getting away from me!"
Harry didn't bother to answer. He chose to prove it instead.
He poured his telekinesis into the broom. The battered old broomstick suddenly surged forward, its speed spiking as it shot away from Malfoy like a loosed arrow, streaking toward a flash of golden afterimage.
Following the trail with his senses, he locked onto the Snitch's position. Bracing his body with one hand, he dove and snatched for it with the other!
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