A dozen figures simultaneously dashed toward a black ball.
Wood was the fastest. As one of the three Chasers, he reached the ball first, swiftly swinging his broom to send it downward toward a teammate.
His teammate skillfully caught the pass and drove the Quaffle toward Slytherin's goalposts, flanked by the other Chasers flying alongside, ensuring the ball stayed under their control.
Gryffindor had taken the initiative!
The Slytherin players cursed under their breath, quickly turning their brooms to intercept.
Johnson, holding onto the Quaffle, barreled forward, shielding the ball with her body while maneuvering past the opposition. Wood and the others flew close, forming a protective formation to block Slytherin's attempts to break through.
The Weasley twins, as the team's Beaters, were an unstoppable duo. Their coordination was flawless, and they swung their bats with practiced ease, sending Bludgers crashing toward the Slytherin players, forcing them to scatter and disrupting their formations.
The audience roared with excitement, their cheers echoing through the stadium.
Every interception, every near miss, and every player struck by a Bludger sent waves of gasps and shouts through the crowd.
As the players below clashed in an intense battle for control, Harry remained unbothered—his focus was solely on finding the Golden Snitch.
Jordan, the match commentator, was doing an excellent job. His enthusiastic narration heightened the already electric atmosphere, his voice booming across the pitch as he animatedly described every move.
However, despite his skillful commentary, Professor McGonagall had already reprimanded him multiple times.
His bias was painfully obvious—whenever Gryffindor had possession, his excitement was palpable, his voice full of energy. But the moment they lost the ball, he let out exaggerated sighs of disappointment.
In the stands, several Slytherin students were already shouting curses at him across the crowd, but whether it was due to the noise or sheer indifference, Jordan pretended not to hear a thing.
Suddenly, his voice shot up an octave, full of exhilaration.
"AND IT'S IN! GRYFFINDOR SCORES! Could it be that Slytherin isn't performing at their usual level today? Or maybe their skills are slipping? That's the real question!"
McGonagall called his name again in reprimand, but there was no mistaking the pride in her eyes.
In the stands, Gryffindor students erupted into howls of victory, celebrating their lead.
Meanwhile, the Slytherins sat in brooding silence, their expressions dark and stormy.
Harry hovered at the highest point of the pitch, his keen eyes scanning for the elusive Golden Snitch.
On the opposite side, Slytherin's Seeker, Higgins, was also on the lookout.
Noticing Harry watching him, Higgins flashed a sinister grin—a truly menacing one, as his teeth resembled those of a shark.
Harry briefly considered recommending a well-known Muggle dental clinic.
Higgins mouthed something at him: "Get ready to lose, kid."
Harry was furious. He decided not to tell Higgins about the dental clinic anymore.
He was a senior student, yet he was acting even more childish than a first-year.
If Higgins knew what Harry was thinking, he probably would've crashed into him on the spot.
A golden glimmer appeared on the pitch.
Before most of the audience had even noticed, Jordan had already spotted it. His voice boomed across the stadium:
"THE GOLDEN SNITCH! THE SNITCH IS IN PLAY!"
Instantly, the crowd erupted, eyes scanning the field, searching for the tiny ball.
The golden light flickered, hovering in the air, finally revealing its true form— a small golden sphere with two delicate transparent wings, fluttering so rapidly they were almost invisible to the naked eye, emitting a faint buzzing sound.
The entire stadium fell silent.
Not just the spectators— even the players on the field froze, fearing that any sudden movement might scare the Snitch away.
Because if it escaped now, who knew when it would show up again?
Harry had spotted it at the same time as Jordan, but before Higgins did.
At this moment, Harry was already ahead of Higgins, who was desperately trying to catch up but was still trailing behind.
The Golden Snitch hovered calmly in the air, its wings flapping lightly, seemingly unaware of the imminent danger.
Harry drew closer and closer.
The ball grew larger in his vision.
For some reason, an odd thought crossed his mind— the way the Snitch was perched so still reminded him of his little pet curling up on the bed, lazily licking its paws, cleaning its face.
Shaking off that random thought, Harry reached out his gloved right hand, extending his fingers toward the Snitch.
The entire stadium held its breath— was the match about to end right here?
Higgins gritted his teeth, furiously chasing after Harry.
Just as despair was about to set in, he noticed something— and then, an insidious smirk spread across his face.
Harry's entire focus was locked onto the Snitch.
He knew that if he didn't grab it precisely in one swift motion, the Snitch would immediately escape, making it nearly impossible to find again so soon.
So he let his guard down, no longer paying attention to Slytherin's movements.
And that's when it happened.
"BANG!"
It was like a car crash at an intersection— one vehicle driving straight through, only to be T-boned by another at a 90-degree angle.
Slytherin's team captain, Flint, had intentionally slammed into Harry from above!
He thought himself clever— because if he hadn't interfered, Gryffindor would have secured the victory.
And that was something he simply couldn't allow.
As for Harry, caught completely off guard, he was sent flying through the air, spinning five or six times before he finally regained control— barely avoiding a hard crash onto the ground.
After stabilizing himself, he looked up, his eyes cold and piercing, locking onto the culprit.
Flint sat smugly on his broom, grinning down at Harry. He showed zero remorse for nearly injuring him, not even a hint of guilt.
Seeing that Harry didn't say a word, Flint assumed he had successfully intimidated him. Feeling pleased with himself, he turned around and flew back to high-five his teammates in celebration.
A chill crept into Harry's expression.
He narrowed his eyes, watching as Flint mocked him from above.
His lips curled into a cold smile, and he slowly began to ascend back into the sky.
The Entire Stadium Was in Uproar.
Furious shouts erupted from the stands—
"FOUL!"
"HE TRIED TO KILL HARRY!"
"Slytherin is pulling the same dirty tricks again! Last year, Hufflepuff's Wellifin got injured the same way and spent two weeks in St. Mungo's!"
"ABSOLUTELY DESPICABLE!"
Coming from the Muggle world, Dean Thomas jumped up in anger, shouting:
"RED CARD! RED CARD!"
Ron, completely confused, turned to him:
"What's a red card?"
Dean quickly explained how red cards worked in football, to which Ron sighed in disappointment:
"Man, too bad that rule doesn't exist here."
When Hermione saw Harry get knocked out of the air, her heart nearly stopped.
Luckily, he was fine, but her hatred for Flint burned intensely— she wanted nothing more than to turn him into a turtle and kick him off the pitch!
However, when she saw that Madam Hooch merely scolded Flint instead of issuing a harsher punishment, she felt deeply disappointed and frustrated.
But she understood— it wasn't Hooch's fault. The problem was that there simply were no proper rules against such dirty tactics.
A thought suddenly struck her.
She was going to write a letter to the Ministry of Magic, proposing updates to the Quidditch rulebook.
Even if the chances of success were slim, she wanted to try!