"Captains, shake hands!"
Madam Hooch shouted.
"Mount your brooms. On my whistle… three… two… one…"
The whistle blew. Both teams kicked hard off the frozen, rock-solid ground, and fifteen brooms shot up into the air almost at the same time.
"…And they're off. I imagine everyone's quite surprised by the team Potter's managed to cobble together this term."
On the commentary platform stood a tall, skinny boy with blond hair and a flat nose, chattering nonstop into the enchanted microphone.
Zacharias Smith, a fifth-year Hufflepuff, was serving as the temporary commentator for the match.
It was common knowledge that Mr. Smith bore a lingering grudge against Harry Potter—mainly because, over a year ago, his best friend had met a tragic end right beside Mr. Potter…
As a result, his commentary was blatantly biased toward Slytherin. "Gryffindor's new Keeper is Cormac McLaggen, not Ron Weasley, who performed so well last term. That alone is cause for concern… and the Keeper position may very well become Gryffindor's biggest weakness…"
"Slytherin's first attack on goal—Urquhart streaking across the pitch—" Zacharias shouted.
"Oh, that's an awful save! McLaggen completely misjudged the direction… just as I predicted, the Keeper position is likely to be Slytherin's breakthrough point… Urquhart scores! Ten–nil, and Slytherin takes the lead!"
...
In the staff box, Gryffindor's Head of House, Professor Minerva McGonagall, watched the match with mounting anxiety, her eyes locked on the pitch.
She looked tense. The flow of the match was clearly unfavorable for Gryffindor—
Keeper Cormac McLaggen seemed as though he'd been cursed. Half an hour into the game, he still hadn't made a single successful save… while behind him, Slytherin's Chasers had broken through eleven times.
Despite Gryffindor's Chasers fighting hard—Ginny Weasley alone had scored four goals—they were still trailing 60 to 110.
Compared to Professor McGonagall, Headmaster Albus Dumbledore, also a Gryffindor supporter, appeared almost relaxed.
He opened the box of Whomping Whiglets Professor McGonagall had placed in front of him. After sampling a few, he seemed lost in thought, only occasionally glancing up at the scoreboard.
"…Urquhart again—splendid work… 120 to 60, Slytherin's lead is growing enormous," Zacharias Smith exclaimed excitedly from the commentary box. "McLaggen's performance today has been nothing short of abysmal. It must be said, Potter has paid a heavy price for choosing the wrong Keeper…"
"…Look there—Potter's searching desperately for the Golden Snitch. He seems intent on ending the match all by himself… That may be Gryffindor's only way to win… but the weather today is terribly overcast. These aren't conditions that make spotting the Snitch easy…"
Zacharias's outrageously biased commentary had already earned him a furious glare from Professor McGonagall, though he remained completely oblivious.
Unlike Professor McGonagall, who was wholly absorbed in the match, Severus Snape, Head of Slytherin House, seemed to have noticed something unusual about the Headmaster.
While the other professors in the staff box were focused on the game, Snape quietly moved closer to Dumbledore.
"Dumbledore?" Snape asked in a low voice.
"Oh, Severus… what is it?" Dumbledore replied softly, lifting his eyebrows slightly.
"Your right arm…" Snape glanced at it with a grave expression and sighed under his breath. "It's quite serious, isn't it? Given your abilities, for you to be injured like this… the situation must be severe."
Albus Dumbledore paused for a moment, then nodded calmly. "It was somewhat beyond my expectations, though not quite as dire as you make it sound…"
"At least, it won't take my life within the next few months," he added, offering Snape a small smile. "And what I was thinking about just now wasn't that."
"Oh?" Snape looked up, clearly surprised.
"I noticed that Slytherin's Seeker, Mr. Draco Malfoy, isn't playing in this match," Dumbledore said, as if mentioning it in passing.
"Draco…" Snape gave a soft snort. "Still carrying out his 'terrible' plan, I imagine. I've been getting close to him lately, trying to learn the Dark Lord's true orders and methods. He's nearly been persuaded—several times now, he's almost told me everything. Stopping him wouldn't be difficult."
"Stopping him?" Dumbledore shook his head. "Severus, I believe you should help him… truly help him."
"Help?" Snape cast him a skeptical look. "You haven't forgotten what the Dark Lord intends to use him for, have you?"
"Of course not. He wants my life," Dumbledore said with a faint smile. "Trust me, Severus…"
Suddenly, an eruption of ecstatic cheers rose from the surrounding stands.
Snape nodded solemnly to Dumbledore, then slipped away without drawing attention.
...
"…What a shame…" Zacharias Smith cried from the commentary box, his voice thick with disappointment. "Harry Potter has caught the Golden Snitch…"
He couldn't hide his dejection as he continued weakly, "…Which means Slytherin, who were leading 210 to 70, will lose this match—this near-certain victory—by 210 to 220… Let's hear it for the winners, Gryffindor… ow—"
A Gryffindor player who failed to brake in time slammed straight into the commentary box. Buried in the wreckage, Zacharias let out a piercing scream.
At the same time, the entire Quidditch pitch was engulfed in thunderous cheers, a roaring sea of red and gold.
"What a marvelous match, wouldn't you say?" Albus Dumbledore applauded from the staff box, calling out cheerfully.
He looked genuinely delighted.