"Professor Lockhart?"
At that critical moment, Harry couldn't help but glance at Malfoy, curious to see his reaction. The mocking expression that had been plastered on Malfoy's face since the match began finally shifted. He nearly fell off his broom, his gray eyes bulging in shock.
"Don't worry about me, keep playing!" Lockhart called out with flamboyant confidence, waving grandly from a distance. Suddenly, his eyes widened. Harry followed his gaze and realized why—the Golden Snitch! It was hovering just below Malfoy's arm, which was now sporting a nasty gash. Harry didn't hesitate; he shot forward.
Malfoy, caught off guard, yanked his broom into a midair somersault, watching helplessly as Harry zoomed past. On the sidelines, the commentator Lee Jordan clutched his microphone and bellowed, "Gryffindor's Seeker is on the move again! Is it the Snitch, or another feint? Look, Slytherin's Seeker is hot on his tail! Professor Lockhart looks stunned—though, frankly, he's the one who just gave us the biggest surprise…"
The crowd surged to their feet, craning their necks to catch a glimpse of the action. They saw a blurry golden flicker dart by, then vanish. Harry chased it relentlessly—it was like a replay of earlier. He dove into the stands, Malfoy right behind him, both disappearing behind the wooden framework's drapes.
"It's real this time! I saw the Golden Snitch!" Lee Jordan's shout reached the crowd as both Seekers vanished into the circular stands. The air was so still you could hear a pin drop. Everyone held their breath, waiting. Then Harry burst out from the other side of the stands, slowing his broom to circle the pitch, his arm raised triumphantly, clutching a tiny winged object.
"It's the Golden Snitch! Harry's caught it! Gryffindor wins, 170 to 50!" Lee Jordan roared. "The match is over! Let's hear it for an incredible performance!" The stands erupted in cheers, and even Hodge Blackthorn joined the excited crowd in applause.
The rain began to pour harder, but it did nothing to dampen the students' enthusiasm. Many rushed onto the field, shouting and hugging the Gryffindor team. The Ravenclaw captain scribbled furiously in a notebook.
"Turning… agility…"
"Oh, Casper, don't be so stiff. The next match is ages away," Cho Chang said gleefully, bouncing on her toes. "At least this time, Potter proved the fanciest broom isn't unbeatable, right?"
"Correction: the next match is in one week," Casper Velacox said pointedly, though he broke into a grin. "But you're right. I could kiss Potter for this." He set down his notebook and hurried down from the stands.
"He's not serious, is he?" Terry muttered under his breath.
"Who cares!" Michael clapped enthusiastically, then let out a cheerful whistle. Fudge and Dumbledore had made their way onto the field, posing with the Gryffindor team for the photographer. Hodge noticed Harry talking to Madam Hooch off to the side, out of the camera's frame.
Madam Hooch promptly mounted her broom and flew into the stands. Moments later, she emerged with a limping Malfoy, who was surrounded by his Slytherin teammates. His face was ghostly pale, his pale blond hair soaked by the rain, and his robes caked in mud. From the cautious movements of those around him, it was clear he'd broken an arm.
Malfoy shot Harry a venomous glare, especially when Fudge slung an arm around Harry's shoulders with exaggerated familiarity. From his vantage point, Hodge conjured a transparent umbrella with a flick of his wand, taking in the scene. Suddenly, a figure appeared from the sidelines—Lockhart, who seemed to have hurried back from outside the pitch. Hodge recalled that when Harry had been circling the field, a gust of wind had blown Lockhart away, prompting a few girls to shriek, though their cries were drowned out by louder cheers.
Hodge watched closely as Lockhart arrived on the scene, hesitating for a split second between the photographer and Malfoy before striding toward the Slytherin players. "Make way, please—clear a path—someone needs healing!" he called out, pushing through the crowd. Astonishingly, by the time he reached Malfoy, his disheveled hair and clothes were pristine again. He must've cast a few quick grooming charms—Lockhart was definitely good at those.
From Hodge's perspective, he saw Lockhart say something to Malfoy, who instinctively hid his injured arm behind his back. But Lockhart boomed, "Oh, don't worry, I'm about to fix that arm of yours! Just a simple spell."
His words caught the attention of the nearby photographer, who instinctively swung the camera toward them.
Lockhart adjusted his stance for maximum visibility and raised his wand. A flash of white light. Hodge squeezed his eyes shut. He couldn't bear to watch—technically, he and Malfoy were distant relatives. A collective gasp and commotion followed, then Malfoy's terrified scream, the click of the camera shutter, chaotic footsteps, and someone faintly calling for Madam Pomfrey. From sound alone, Hodge could sense the despair rippling through the crowd.
Suddenly, Hodge felt something strange—an almost instinctive awareness of everyone's emotions, as if he'd mastered Legilimency without trying. The ability to peer into others' thoughts was the counterpart to his natural talent for Occlumency. In some, Legilimency went beyond thoughts, allowing an almost intuitive grasp of emotions.
Then, the mood on the field shifted.
Hodge opened his eyes. Dumbledore and Fudge were now huddled around Malfoy, pointing at his arm. It hung limply, no longer resembling an arm but rather a thick, fleshy rubber glove. Malfoy leaned back in horror, as if trying to distance himself from the grotesque thing attached to him. Lockhart, in an unnaturally breezy tone, said, "Ah, yes, well, these things happen sometimes. The important thing is, the bones are… reconnected. Right, Draco, off you go to the hospital wing—your teammates can take you—Madam Pomfrey can, er, tidy it up."
The field was deathly quiet, so quiet that Hodge could hear Malfoy's stifled sobs from afar.
Then, a sickly sweet, grating voice broke the silence. "Benjy? What are you standing around for? Doesn't the Ministry pay you?"
The camera's flash lit up Lockhart's pale face in the rain.
————
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