A Certain Magical Hogwarts

As Madam Hooch blew her silver whistle, fifteen broomsticks shot up into the air, soaring high into the sky.

Lee Jordan, the commentator, immediately began his excited narration.

"The Quaffle is snatched by Angelina Johnson from Gryffindor—what an excellent Chaser, and might I add, she's stunningly gorgeous.

"No, this is not a confession, just my subconscious thoughts slipping out. Of course, if she'd like to go on a date with me—"

"Jordan!"

"Sorry, Professor."

Lee quickly resumed a professional tone, though it didn't take long before he drifted back into cheeky commentary.

His narration wasn't without consequence; several players were distracted, especially Fred, who nearly swung a Bludger straight at the commentator's box.

"Hey, Fred, keep it together!" George shouted from his broomstick, trying to calm him down. "I know Lee just insulted me, but save it for after the match!"

Fred, however, paid no attention, his eyes fixed firmly on Angelina and—more precisely—the Quaffle in her hands.

Angelina's skills had improved since last year. With a swift offensive, she scored two goals in quick succession, securing Gryffindor twenty points.

The crowd roared in applause, but Slytherin wasn't far behind. Strategy and coordination, honed from years of winning the Quidditch Cup, shone through their relentless and strategic fouls.

Without Charlie Weasley's guidance, Oliver Wood's performance as captain was less than ideal, allowing Slytherin to quickly close the gap.

William observed the match closely, evaluating the strengths of both teams.

Gryffindor's strategy this time was entirely new, designed to accommodate Harry Potter.

Harry didn't engage in team plays. Instead, he hovered at the highest altitude, concentrating solely on spotting the Golden Snitch.

This tactic had its pros and cons.

Quidditch was a seven-player game, and Seekers were also part of the strategy, not just gold-seeking drones. When Charlie was on the team, he would not only chase the Snitch but also block Chasers and disrupt passes.

Such methods created opportunities for interceptions.

Frankly, Harry's inexperience was apparent, though his flying talent was undeniable. Tactically, however, he was still lacking.

Not that it mattered, nobody was born knowing how to play Quidditch.

As the match reached its midpoint, Gryffindor had gained a slight lead.

But then, Harry's broom started behaving erratically.

The Nimbus shot into sudden convulsions, twisting and jerking uncontrollably as it ascended higher and higher, spiraling away from the field.

"What is he doing, then? Reckon he's chasing the Snitch into the clouds?" Hagrid muttered, squinting through his binoculars.

It was unclear if the Snitch was in the clouds, but Harry was close to brushing shoulders with the sun.

"If I didn't know better, I'd say his broom's out of control—but that's impossible…"

Soon, it became evident to everyone that Harry's broomstick was indeed malfunctioning.

"Could it have broken when Flint rammed into him earlier?" Ron whispered.

"No way," Cho replied, shaking her head. "Game brooms go through rigorous vibration tests before matches."

"Exactly. Only powerful Dark Magic could interfere with a broomstick. Simple collisions couldn't possibly cause a Nimbus 1700 to malfunction," Cedric analyzed with authority.

Harry's broom, after all, was a Nimbus 1700, part of the standard school-provided equipment. 

Oliver Wood had once proposed upgrading Harry's broom to a Nimbus 2000, but Professor McGonagall declined.

The school saw no reason for unnecessary expenses; the twins had already purchased two Nimbus 2000s with their own savings, which sufficed for the team.

If the broom was bad, Professor McGonagall might've considered buying a new one, but that wasn't the case at all right now.

Hermione, holding William's binoculars, didn't focus on Harry in the sky. Instead, she scanned the crowd anxiously.

"William, you were right. Professor Snape is innocent!" she exclaimed breathlessly. "It's Quirrell—look!"

Hermione handed the binoculars to William. In the middle of the stands, Professor Quirrell sat muttering silently, his gaze locked on Harry.

"He's cursing the broomstick!" Ron declared after taking the binoculars from Hagrid.

Guided by William, both Ron and Hermione focused their attention on Quirrell.

"William, can you cast a spell to disrupt Quirrell's curse?" Hermione asked.

"Someone's already doing it. If not, Harry would've fallen off by now."

Through the binoculars, William saw Snape muttering counter-curses, his eyes fixed on Harry.

Love her, love her son, huh? William mused.

"There's no need to worry," he reassured. "With so many professors here, they'll use a Levitation Charm if Harry falls."

Realistically, Oliver should've called for a timeout, and Madam Hooch should've intervened instead of letting Harry endure a sky-high "broomquake."

This incident highlighted Madam Hooch's lack of ability in handling emergencies.

"What do we do?" Ron looked pale. "If this continues, Gryffindor will lose."

"Leave it to me," Hermione said before slipping away.

Meanwhile, Marcus Flint from Slytherin took advantage of the chaos to score five goals with the Quaffle, unnoticed by anyone.

As the game carried on chaotically, Professor Trelawney, who rarely left her tower, had decided to attend the match for once. Occupying two seats by herself, she peered into her crystal ball and muttered:

"Ah, I sense darkness…drawing nearer and nearer…a terrifying presence… The future is murky… Someone is going to fall—it's the boy in the sky, isn't it…"

Dodging through the crowd, Hermione accidentally bumped into Trelawney, sending her tumbling down a row of seats. As Trelawney hit the ground, she cursed loudly: "I knew I shouldn't have left my tower today!"

Hermione finally reached Quirrell, crouched down, and pulled out her wand. 

Whispering an incantation, she conjured bright blue flames that leapt onto the end of Quirrell's absurdly long scarf.

It took Quirrell thirty seconds to notice he was on fire. By then, the flames were creeping dangerously close to the back of his head.

Panic-stricken, Quirrell dared not remove the scarf and instead tried to pat out the flames with his hands.

"Fire! Someone put out the fire!"

Many spectators swung their robes at Quirrell's head, hitting him with great enthusiasm.

Snape stopped chanting and stared at Quirrell, bewildered by his spontaneous combustion.

With a flick of his wand, Snape sent a jet of water dousing Quirrell's head.

The flames extinguished quickly, but Quirrell, still wrapped in his singed scarf, bolted toward the castle.

Harry's broom regained stability. 

He dove toward the ground, covering his mouth as if about to vomit. Landing, he pulled a gleaming golden object from his mouth.

"I caught the Snitch!" he exclaimed, holding it aloft. 

Amid the chaos, the match ended.

"He didn't catch it—he nearly swallowed it," Flint protested bitterly as if he wasn't the one who sneaked the Quaffle into the frame.

Lee Jordan happily announced the final score: Gryffindor won 220–100.

But William paid no mind to the result. Peering through his binoculars, he watched Quirrell retreat toward the castle, interested in whatever lay beneath that oversized scarf of his.

join my patreon for 95+ advanced chapters: patreon.com/HyppoTL\