[Note: Read up to Chapter - 132 on P patron at: p-atreon.com/Knockturn_Alley]
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"We've got a solid shot at winning. Want to know why?"
Aris' calm words pulled Harry and Ron's attention straight off their nerves.
Even Seamus perked up, and across the table, the Weasley twins leaned in with interest.
"It's pretty simple, really," Aris shrugged. He'd originally wanted to say because Harry's the protagonist, but of course, no one would take that seriously before the match had even started.
So instead, he went with something that sounded a bit more grounded.
"Slytherin's won the Cup several years on the trot, yeah? But even if you go by basic probability, it's about time another house took the title."
"But doesn't winning year after year just mean they're strong?" Harry asked, frowning slightly.
"Strong, sure—but unbeaten forever? Not likely." Aris raised an eyebrow.
"Have you ever seen a team that always takes the trophy, year after year, no exceptions?"
"No..." Harry muttered, admitting the point.
Even the top football clubs in the Muggle world had their off seasons. And Quidditch—well, that was a game filled with chaos and wild turns.
You never really knew what might happen.
Harry recalled what Oliver Wood had told him before:
Gryffindor hadn't lost because of poor flying or weak players—they simply hadn't had a proper Seeker in years.
And in a game like Quidditch, the Seeker's role was absolutely vital.
They didn't just end the match—they could singlehandedly win it.
One good catch, and you bagged 150 points on the spot.
It didn't matter if you were lagging behind—snatch the Snitch, and you flipped the whole match.
To put it bluntly, in Quidditch, a good Seeker can practically control the whole game.
That's why most Quidditch stars are Seekers—take Viktor Krum, for example. Still in school and already the pride of the Bulgarian national team.
"No team wins forever," Aris said, clapping Harry lightly on the shoulder.
"And this year, your lot's got a proper reason to take it home, haven't you?"
"Well said!" the Weasley twins chimed in at once.
"We have to win this year—even if it's just for Wood!" George declared, pumping a fist.
"He's graduating next year, and he's been trampled on by Slytherin for too long. We're fuming, mate!"
"Aye, the rage's been simmering for years!" Fred added, slinging an arm around his brother's shoulder and flexing theatrically.
George: "Today's the day we let it all out!"
Fred: "Harry, d'you believe in yourself?"
George and Fred (together): "Doesn't matter if you don't—you're the Potter!"
George: "You've taken on the Dark Lord—how hard can a match be?"
Fred: "So go on, light that fire and storm the pitch!"
Their dramatic pep talk was as ridiculous as ever, but oddly enough, it worked.
Harry's cheeks flushed, and a spark returned to his eyes.
Ron clapped him on the back. "Go on, mate—you've got this!"
"Yeah," Harry nodded, his grin widening. The nervous tension melted off his face, replaced by a familiar expression—the same pure, determined smile he wore the first time he mounted a broom.
Noticed that, did Hermione.
Leaning over to Cho, she whispered gleefully,
"Told you—let Aris talk to him, and it'd work like a charm!"
With Aris around to smooth things over, the dynamic between the two girls had shifted noticeably.
So much so that whenever Hermione was present, Cho's best mate Marietta found herself gently edged out.
"He's got this odd charm about him," Cho said with a soft smile.
"Like, you just naturally trust him… and feel safe."
Watching that smile, Hermione suddenly felt a strange pang in her chest.
She couldn't quite place the feeling—something tight, something uneasy.
Maybe she hadn't realised it yet, but as she grew older, the possessiveness she kept tucked away would only grow stronger.
…
Quidditch Pitch.
As the minutes ticked by, players from both Gryffindor and Slytherin began arriving in full kit, ready for battle.
Among them, Harry Potter soared across the pitch on his Nimbus 2000—immediately stealing the spotlight.
Not surprising, really.
His broom looked miles flashier than the clunky old Cleansweeps the others were flying.
It was like someone tearing down the road in a convertible sports car while the rest were puttering along in family saloons.
And with a high-stakes match about to kick off, all eyes were bound to be on the flashiest ride out there.
"The game begins!"
Madam Hooch hurled the Quaffle into the air, and the match exploded into motion.
Players darted through the sky like streaks of colour, weaving, diving, and spinning at dizzying speeds.
Gryffindor snatched the first possession.
The Quaffle zipped between their chasers—hands to hands, left to right—fluid as a dance.
Within seconds, Angelina Johnson launched it clean through the Slytherin hoops.
"Ten–nil, Gryffindor!"
"Nice one!"
"Let's go, Gryffindor! Smash 'em!"
"Angelina's the best — proper legend, that one!"
"Go on, Lions! Give those Slytherin lot a proper walloping!"
Cheers erupted from the Gryffindor stands, echoing around the stadium.
With the first goal in the bag, the atmosphere had well and truly ignited.
The energy on the pitch was no different. Both teams were fired up now, their movements sharper, faster.
Second play — Slytherin snapped up the Quaffle.
In the commentator's booth, Lee Jordan kicked off in his usual rapid-fire style:
"Slytherin's got possession — nice passing work there — it's with Flint now, their captain. He's soaring like a hawk, heading straight for the hoops—"
"Looks like a sure goal!"
"But wait — no! Wood's swept in outta nowhere, brilliant read! Used the broom's momentum to knock the Quaffle clean away — textbook defending!"
"Gryffindor's got it back — Katie Bell now with the ball, and she's charging down the pitch like a bullet!"
"She's dodging Slytherin like it's a game of tag — slick flying, Katie — now she's right in front of the rings—"
"Jordan!"
Professor McGonagall's sharp tone rang out, a warning about his one-sided commentary.
"Right, sorry, Professor!" Lee Jordan coughed, then carried on:
"Anyway! Looks like Katie's lining up a shot, but no — she fakes it! Passes it off mid-air to Angelina, who's flying in from behind — and boom! Right through the hoop! Another ten points to Gryffindor!"
"She's absolutely on fire today… and, erm… very easy on the eyes, too—"
"Jordan!"
McGonagall's voice cracked like a whip.
"Sorry, Professor..." Jordan muttered sheepishly before pausing once again.
"Woooaaahhh!!!"
The stadium erupted in cheers.
Gryffindor's little lions were practically bouncing out of their seats with excitement.
Angelina had just scored another goal — another ten points in the bag for Gryffindor!
"That puts Gryffindor twenty points ahead!" Jordan announced, trying to sound composed.
"Still no sign of the Golden Snitch, though — looks like this one's going to be a proper nail-biter!"
The match continued with relentless energy, and Jordan's running commentary — half sportscast, half stand-up comedy — didn't let up for a second.
In the Ravenclaw stands, Aris lounged at the end of the row, looking far more relaxed than most.
Just ahead of him was Cho. She, like the rest of the crowd, had already leapt to her feet — caught up in the adrenaline of the match.
With the nonstop cheering and Jordan's voice booming across the pitch, even Aris couldn't ignore the game anymore.
And to be fair, Jordan's commentary really was something else — a bit like a stand-up routine mixed with a Quidditch match.
If anyone deserved "Man of the Match" so far, it might just be him.
"Aris, have you seen the Snitch?"
Cho suddenly turned round and dropped into the seat beside him.
A soft, floral scent — something faintly sweet and distinctly her — drifted up as she sat close.
Aris glanced at the field and scanned the skies briefly.
Then he shook his head.
"Nah. Too far away, and the Snitch is tiny. Can't see a bloody thing from here."
"Even for players on the pitch, it's tricky. That's why some matches can drag on for months. Still..."
She clenched her fist with quiet determination.
"I've got to spot that little golden bugger during a match — I need the edge."
"If I can catch a glimpse of it from here, I'll have a much better shot at catching it in play!"
"Well, that's a cracking idea!" Aris nodded with a smile.
"So, did you spot that little golden fella?"
"Nope." Cho huffed and pouted in disappointment.
"Don't worry. Maybe try shifting your mindset — calm yourself a bit," Aris suggested thoughtfully.
"I've noticed that when people are more relaxed, they tend to catch the finer details more easily."
"Really?" Cho sat up straighter, eyebrows raised in curiosity.
She gave it a go, trying to quiet her thoughts despite the noise all around. The stadium was still roaring, but she focused in, letting her eyes scan every corner of the pitch, tracing the players' movements like a hawk.
As the seconds ticked by, her expression sharpened, her gaze laser-focused. Aris watched her with a soft smile.
They say girls look cutest when they're serious — guess that internet saying's not wrong after all.
Suddenly, Cho jolted upright, her eyes shining with excitement.
"I see it!" she squealed, gripping Aris's arm and pointing feverishly towards the pitch.
"There! Near Harry — the Golden Snitch!"
Aris followed her line of sight, squinting slightly.
Sure enough, a tiny golden blur zipped about near where she'd pointed, darting and shimmering like mad.
"Cho, that's brilliant!" Aris said, genuinely impressed.
"You spotted it from this far back? That's no easy feat!"
He had to admit, he hadn't expected her to pull it off — not from this distance. That tiny golden thing was tough to catch with the naked eye even up close.
At that moment, Harry seemed to notice it too. He yanked his broom upwards and shot after it like a firework.
"Harry Potter's seen the Snitch too!"
Cho didn't even have time to bask in Aris's praise — she tugged on his arm, practically dragging him to his feet.
"This is going to be good!" she said excitedly.
Aris folded his arms, tapping his chin thoughtfully.
He had a faint memory — this was the point where Quirrell started muttering an interference spell, sending Harry's broom completely haywire.
Sure enough, just as Harry dodged a Bludger and tried to stay on the Snitch's tail, his broom suddenly began to shudder violently in mid-air.
Aris, who'd been keeping a close eye on him the entire time, noticed it straight away.
"Showtime..." he murmured.
His gaze dropped from the sky to the professor's stands.
The tower.
He already knew where Snape and Quirrell were seated — hadn't taken his eyes off them since the match began.
Borrowing Terry's binoculars, Aris zoomed in and spotted them immediately.
Both Snape and Quirrell had their eyes locked on Harry, lips moving fast — clearly muttering spells.
Typical.
Back when he read the original book, Aris had always found this part a bit daft.
Harry's broom was clearly going bonkers in front of the entire crowd, and yet, somehow, only Hermione and Ron clocked it?
Oh, right — and Hagrid too.
But the big oaf was just flailing his arms in worry, doing absolutely nothing useful.
Which raised a rather obvious question.
Where the hell was Dumbledore?
Dumbledore, who was always fussing over Harry like a hawk with a favourite chick — what was he up to during all this?
And not just him — McGonagall and the rest of the staff (aside from Snape) all seemed completely oblivious. Not a single reaction.
Strange, that…
Harry Potter was on the Hogwarts Quidditch pitch, and someone had clearly cursed him — his broom had gone rogue, spinning out of control for a solid thirty seconds, maybe even a full minute.
That wasn't just bad luck — it was bloody outrageous.
Aris turned the telescope back toward the stands where Dumbledore had been sitting, determined to get to the bottom of this strange little mystery.
But when he found the stand, his eyes widened in surprise.
The silver-haired wizard in the trademark silver-white robes... was gone.
"Where's Dumbledore?"
Aris frowned.
He wasn't there during the moment Harry started having trouble?
Bit too convenient, wasn't it?
He scanned the area around the headmaster's stand and quickly noticed that a few Ministry officials — who had shown up to spectate — were also nowhere to be seen.
Don't tell me… Dumbledore was called away by them?
Aris's brow furrowed as he pieced it together.
No wonder, he thought. In the original timeline, Dumbledore appeared on the pitch after everything had already kicked off — but he never stepped in while Harry was struggling.
It all makes sense now.
Still… even if Dumbledore was gone, surely McGonagall and the others weren't just going to sit there and twiddle their thumbs?
Aris swung the telescope around again, this time focusing on the professor's stands.
Sure enough, he saw Professor McGonagall waving her wand, clearly trying to help — most likely attempting to force Harry's broom down.
But whatever she was trying, it clearly wasn't working.
Flitwick was up in the stands too, anxiously watching Harry's broom spin out of control. He'd already tried several spells — you could tell from the way his wand was flicking — but none of them seemed to be doing the trick.
It looked like the only thing keeping Harry even remotely balanced up there was the counter-curse Snape was casting.
Without that, there's no way Harry would've managed to stay on his broom under the effects of such a powerful interference charm.
"So that's how it is..." Aris muttered, a flicker of understanding passing across his face.
He remembered reading up on broomsticks before.
They were the wizarding world's go-to for getting around — and each one came with its own hefty layer of protective enchantments. That's how witches and wizards didn't go flying off every time they hit a gust of bad magic.
The more expensive the broom, the stronger the safeguards.
But even so, nothing was foolproof. No amount of gold-plated charms work could make a broom completely immune to every kind of interference.
And there were always exceptions — like dark magic.
If the spell messing with Harry's broom was from that end of the spectrum, then it made sense why McGonagall and Flitwick couldn't fix it. Brilliant as they were, neither of them specialised in the Dark Arts.
And with Dumbledore absent, that left only one person with the knowledge to even try reversing it — Snape.
Which explained a lot.
Harry had been hanging up there for what felt like ages, and still, no one had managed to get him down safely.
Because, truth be told — no one else could.
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Drop power Powerstonessssssssss!
[Note: Read up to Chapter - 132 on P patron at: p-atreon.com/Knockturn_Alley]