The sky was clear, white clouds drifting lazily across the blue.
The Quidditch pitch—usually quiet—was packed to bursting. The stands of all four Houses were filled with bobbing heads and excited chatter.
As Vaughan and his teammates entered the pitch, the Slytherin stands erupted in cheers. Several older students conjured a serpent-shaped firework that hissed and coiled through the air above them.
Even Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw had plenty of supporters waving banners embroidered with shimmering gold letters:
VAUGHAN WILL WIN!
From afar, Vaughan spotted Cedric Diggory, along with a few familiar Ravenclaw girls. He smiled and waved back.
The response was another surge of cheering.
"Good afternoon, everyone! This is Lee Jordan bringing you live commentary, with our beloved Minerva McGonagall supervising—now entering the pitch, the Slytherin team! And look at that—Vaughan Weasley, the handsome devil who's driving half the witches in the stands absolutely mad—"
"Ahem!"
"Sorry, Professor! And now… the Gryffindor team!"
Once both teams had taken their places, Madam Hooch strode to the center of the pitch, broom in hand.
"I expect a fair and honest match," she said briskly. "Good sportsmanship at all times—"
Her eyes flicked toward Slytherin. Flint grinned at her, baring his protruding teeth in what could only be described as an idiotic smile.
Madam Hooch immediately turned away and began listing forbidden maneuvers.
Vaughan glanced at Harry Potter across the pitch and gave him a quick wink. Harry returned it with a sharp, competitive grin.
Poor kid, Vaughan thought. You have no idea what's about to happen.
"All right—mount your brooms!"
She raised her silver whistle.
Tweet!
Fifteen brooms shot into the air.
The match had begun.
The red Quaffle was thrown high, and both teams surged forward.
Lee Jordan's magically amplified voice rang across the stadium.
"And they're off! Intense opening scramble—wait, what's this? Harry Potter isn't joining the offense. He's flying higher—looks like Oliver Wood has set up a custom tactic, giving him maximum visibility—"
"Meanwhile, Vaughan Weasley is harassing his own brothers—Fred and George! He's zigzagging in front of them like a lightning bolt—oh no! Fred tries to send a Bludger at Vaughan, but Vaughan redirects it straight into Angelina Johnson's attack lane! She was closest to the Quaffle—Slytherin steals it! That's absolutely shame—"
"Jordan!"
"—I mean, absolutely brilliant tactics! Vaughan is fully exploiting his speed advantage—OH! Goal! Slytherin takes the lead, ten to zero!"
The wind howled. Robes snapped violently.
Wearing his wind goggles, Vaughan glanced back and held up one finger toward the twins.
Fred and George scowled in frustration.
High above, Harry watched anxiously. Falling behind so early made his chest tighten—but there was no sign of the Golden Snitch.
He wanted to dive down and help—attack, defend, do something.
But Wood's hand signals ordered him to stick to the plan.
Harry was too small. Too light. He wouldn't survive a direct clash.
Below him, Vaughan continued weaving through the chaos.
Balanced low on his broom, knees bent, cloak whipping behind him, he streaked past Angelina Johnson.
A black Bludger locked onto him, accelerating viciously.
At the last second, Vaughan twisted aside. The Bludger missed—and immediately threatened Angelina instead.
Forced to break off her attack, she shouted furiously at the twins:
"What are you doing?! Knock that Bludger away!"
"—This is… disgraceful—I mean, masterful! Vaughan is dragging a Bludger straight through Gryffindor's formation! Total chaos! Still no sign of the Snitch—Harry Potter is holding position, and Gryffindor just can't win these exchanges! Is Wood's strategy really working?!"
No one knew the answer.
Vaughan pushed his Nimbus Two Thousand to its limit. The Bludger was practically his toy now, chasing him helplessly as he dismantled Gryffindor's rhythm.
Before long, the score had ballooned to 90–20.
Harry grew increasingly frantic. He'd spotted flashes of gold several times—but each vanished before he could track its movement.
Then—another glint.
This time, Harry couldn't hold back.
He pitched his broom forward and dived.
Vaughan noticed instantly.
From a distance, he signaled Marcus Flint and Adrian Pucey.
Lee Jordan's voice shot up an octave.
"What's this?! Has Harry spotted the Snitch? He's diving—oh no! Flint and Pucey have broken formation—what are they doing?! MERLIN, they're accelerating straight toward Harry—those two filthy, despicable—"
"Jordan!"
"—sorry! Luckily, they didn't actually hit him, but Harry's been completely blocked!"
"That's a foul!" someone screamed from the Gryffindor stands.
"Red card! Send them off!"
"Dean," muttered Seamus Finnigan, "this isn't football. That's a legal block in Quidditch."
Even so, the Gryffindors were terrified.
Flint—built like a troll—and the towering Pucey boxed Harry in, sweeping past him again and again, disrupting his broom.
Slytherin knew their dirty tricks well—masking impacts as "high-speed turbulence," repeatedly clipping Harry's broom tail so he couldn't accelerate.
"Oh—poor Harry! He looks like a puppet dangling in midair, getting slapped around by two gorillas—where's the referee?! REF! Flint's broom just smacked Harry in the face—didn't you see that?!"
For once, Professor McGonagall didn't stop Lee Jordan.
Even she was getting angry.
Unfortunately, Madam Hooch was focused on a fresh Quaffle struggle and missed it.
Harry's face stung. His glasses nearly flew off.
He was furious—but helpless.
Two sixth-years were simply too strong.
Fred and George tried to rush to his aid—only to be intercepted again by Vaughan.
Every time, Vaughan lured a Bludger over, dodged it effortlessly, and left the twins scrambling amid the chaos.
In the stands, Ron Weasley clenched his fists, heart in his throat.
Awkwardly, he didn't know who to cheer for.
Neither did Hermione Granger, standing nearby.
Only when Harry narrowly avoided another collision—and Fred finally slipped past Vaughan to intervene—did they both breathe again.
"This is too much!" Ron snapped. "Is Vaughan trying to kill Harry?!"
Before Hermione could respond, a booming voice spoke behind them:
"Vaughan's not the captain. He's just following the plan."
They turned.
"Hagrid? When did you get here?"
"Oh, just arrived," Rubeus Hagrid said cheerfully. "Fancy some rock cakes?"
Remembering the last time they'd nearly cracked their teeth, both Ron and Hermione declined immediately.
(End of Chapter)
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