On Saturday morning, Hodge Blackthorn woke up in his four-poster bed and, as usual, checked the Marauder's Map. Everything seemed normal. Last night, he'd spotted a few ink dots representing Ministry of Magic personnel lingering on the Quidditch pitch, but they were gone now. After scanning the map, he found them near the greenhouses.
On the map, the dots for Tonks and Moody were close together. Moody's dot barely moved, while Tonks's circled restlessly. Hodge guessed they were training, but had Mad-Eye Moody's paranoia driven him to follow Ministry training all the way to Hogwarts? Amused, he watched for a bit before getting up to wash.
Outside, the weather was clear, the sun shining brightly.
By eleven o'clock, the dormitory group set off for the Quidditch pitch. "So many people," Terry said excitedly, scanning the stands. They were packed, the crowd a buzzing wall around the field. Hodge's first thought was that this would be a perfect chance for mischief, but thankfully, he had the Marauder's Map and could sneak a glance during a lull in the match.
"Everyone wants to see the power of the seven Nimbus 2001s. Next week, it's our turn," Michael said knowingly. Hodge led the group up the wooden stairs to the top of the massive stands, where the Ravenclaw team sat in a neat row, each clutching a small notebook. Michael waved at them from a distance.
"Hello," Captain Casper Wilcox said without looking up.
"Useful?" Hodge asked, taking a seat behind him and peering over his shoulder. Casper's notebook held a simple sketch of the pitch, with seven stick figures on each side.
"Hopefully," Casper muttered, scribbling notes. "Weather… clear… sunny… glaring… wind…" He licked his finger and raised it to the air. "Practically none… Stay sharp, don't miss a thing," he told the other players.
The crowd buzzed with excitement, lively chatter filling the air. Hodge glanced around, wondering if Dobby the house-elf was hiding nearby, but his hopes faded when a group of adult wizards appeared in the stands. It was Dumbledore, of all people, come to watch the match, alongside Minister Fudge. Trailing them were a gaggle of professors and Ministry staff: Tonks, Kingsley, Dawlish, and… Umbridge.
Hodge's eyes narrowed dangerously.
To him, Umbridge seemed unusually subdued this time—no trace of her garish pink. She wore plain brown robes, blending into the crowd, a stark contrast to Lockhart, who sat to Hodge's left, preening like a peacock. Hodge even spotted a photographer lugging a camera.
His gaze swept the stands but found no sign of Moody—probably staying out of sight to avoid scaring people.
Dumbledore and Fudge's arrival hushed the crowd for a few seconds before the excitement surged even louder. Even Casper, Ravenclaw's captain, looked up toward the headmaster's box. Hodge caught faint murmurs of "Black" and "stationed."
When the teams took the field, the stands erupted in cheers. The hype around "the first team with cutting-edge broomsticks" briefly overshadowed the Minister of Magic's presence. With a sharp whistle, the match began. Gryffindor and Slytherin players kicked off the ground, soaring into the air.
The crowd held its breath.
The contrast was striking—Slytherin's takeoff speed outstripped Gryffindor's in an instant. Some spectators, like Ravenclaw's captain, looked uneasy. Casper's mouth hung open, his quill dropping to the ground. Within minutes, Slytherin scored three goals, each one hitting Casper like a punch to the face.
Hodge noticed Fudge talking to Dumbledore, pointing at Draco Malfoy with a pleased expression—probably boasting about the Malfoy family's donations to the Ministry. But Harry's skill shone brighter. When Malfoy repeatedly swooped in to taunt him, Harry led him on a chase around the pitch.
The crowd gasped suddenly. Harry made a sharp move, diving toward the stands, casting a long shadow across the dull sky. Malfoy followed, the two weaving through the wooden framework beneath the stands. The students held their breath. Seconds later, Harry shot out the other side, pulling his broom into a steep climb, his eyes darting around.
"What happened?" Terry asked, confused.
"He faked him out," Casper said, his tone seasoned.
Moments later, Malfoy reappeared, looking worse for wear. His sleek green robes were torn, his face sweaty. He guided his broom upward, keeping his distance from Harry.
"Brilliant!" commentator Lee Jordan bellowed. "Gryffindor's Seeker outsmarted Slytherin's, but Slytherin still leads by forty points!"
Hodge stole a glance at the Marauder's Map. Aside from learning the photographer's name—Brewster Chipman—he found nothing useful.
"What're you looking at?" Terry asked curiously.
"It's getting windy," Hodge murmured. Terry's attention shifted, and he glanced at the graying sky, holding out a hand. "More than that," he added. "It's going to rain."
Not a good sign, especially for Lockhart. The wind picked up on the pitch. Lockhart had been biding his time, waiting for the crowd's focus on the new brooms' speed and Harry's outmaneuvering of Malfoy to die down. He wanted a dramatic moment to steal the spotlight, but with rain looming, he couldn't wait any longer.
He stood up in the stands, making a show of looking around as if his view was blocked, searching for a better angle. Then, with a theatrical air, he gave a slight bow toward Dumbledore and Fudge, drew his wand, and pointed it at himself. In the next moment, he was airborne.
Gasps and exclamations rippled around Lockhart. Even Dumbledore and Fudge paused their quiet conversation to look over. Tonks let out a shout, her mouth agape as she stared at Lockhart. Their reactions spurred others, and some students—especially a lot of girls—let out delighted squeals rivaling the cheers at the match's start.
Lockhart looked impossibly dashing.
Whatever he'd done to his glossy brown suit last night, it gleamed even under the overcast sky, perfectly complementing his golden curls. The breeze tousled his hair and robes, and from the side, Hodge could see his dazzling smile and gleaming teeth. Still unsatisfied, Lockhart placed a hand on his chest, as if apologizing for the stir he'd unintentionally caused, and floated higher.
On the pitch, Harry was laser-focused on spotting the Golden Snitch, occasionally fending off Malfoy's venomous taunts. Both were flying high, their words lost to the crowd. Then, a shimmering brown object caught Harry's eye, glinting in the distance. Instinctively, he turned his broom, then gaped.
He stared at Lockhart in disbelief. They were nearly at the same height, and even Harry had to grudgingly admit Lockhart's new look was impressive. Standing almost upright in the air, Lockhart smiled with effortless charm, gazing down at the pitch with an expression of amused interest.
Harry seriously wondered if he was still dreaming.
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