Several times, thanks to the big black dog's warnings, Harry had successfully avoided being caught by Filch. Whenever Filch's figure appeared at the far end of the corridor, Blacky would give an early signal—either by gently nudging Harry's leg with his nose or giving a low bark to alert him.
One day, Harry and Hermione were sitting in a corner of the library, discussing the origins of Blacky.
Hermione stroked Crookshanks in her arms, pondering aloud. "Maybe he has the blood of some magical creature, like Crookshanks does. You see, Crookshanks often shows a stronger sense of perception than ordinary cats."
Harry wasn't concerned about that at all. What mattered to him was how kind the big black dog was to him—it warmed his heart.
While they were talking, Ron suddenly got up from his seat in a huff and left the library without a word, leaving Harry and Hermione staring at each other in confusion.
"What's wrong with him?" Hermione frowned, clearly displeased.
Harry sighed and explained, "Scabbers has been missing for days. Ron's really worried. Maybe Scabbers is just too old… it's already rare for a rat to live over ten years."
"Crookshanks, you didn't eat Scabbers, did you?" Hermione quickly pried open Crookshanks's mouth to check, afraid the cat had done something unthinkable. "You can't eat rats—they're disgusting."
Crookshanks nimbly slipped from Hermione's hands and leapt onto Sirius's back, meowing insistently—"Meow~ meow~"—as if to explain: I would never eat such a disgusting rat!
Hermione looked at Crookshanks, feeling as though she actually understood what the cat meant. Then she glanced at the time and stood up. "I've got to get to class. Harry, I'm leaving Crookshanks with you."
Without another word, she rushed off, leaving Harry with Sirius and Crookshanks.
Hermione had signed up for every single elective available this year and was constantly busy, spinning around like a top.
If Professor McGonagall hadn't applied to the Ministry for a Time-Turner for her, she'd never have managed to complete all her classes—no matter how much she exhausted herself.
Harry crouched down and gently touched Sirius's protruding ribs. "You're still too skinny. You need to eat more."
The dog's face lit up with a happy grin, and he rubbed his wet nose against Harry's hand, looking as content as if he had the whole world.
Crookshanks, on the other hand, turned away disdainfully, not bothering to acknowledge the "silly dog."
---
"Harry's just so kind… just like Lily…" In Wes Elwin's office, Sirius was going on and on, singing Harry's praises.
Wes's ears were bombarded with "Harry this" and "Harry that" to the point of mental exhaustion.
"Not even a steak could shut you up, could it?"
Sirius shrugged, about to reply—only for Wes to cut him off before he could speak. Finally, Wes could enjoy a moment of silence, reading his book in peace.
...
Time flew quickly, and soon the long-anticipated Quidditch match day arrived. However, it seemed the weather had decided to throw in some trouble for the event—early in the morning, a light drizzle began to fall.
The rain gradually intensified, the sky darkened, and soon small puddles began to form on the ground.
But this sudden downpour didn't dampen the students' burning enthusiasm. They were well-prepared—colorful umbrellas in hand, raincoats of all kinds on their backs, hearts brimming with excitement—as they hurried to the Quidditch pitch.
They found their seats in the stands, chatting excitedly about the upcoming match.
Today's game was Gryffindor versus Hufflepuff, a matchup that had always drawn a lot of attention.
Both sides had raised enormous banners, and the supporters' creativity was endless—some even set off fireworks that exploded in the sky, forming the crests of their respective Houses.
Even before the match began, the supporters on both sides were already battling it out in the stands, their shouts echoing back and forth.
Gryffindor's Quidditch captain, Oliver Wood, had Quidditch in his bones and was famously strict with his teammates. Every move, every tactic had to be executed perfectly—and he demanded the same from himself.
"We haven't won a trophy in eight years. This is my last chance." Wood's face was grim, as if he were preparing not for a sporting match but for a life-or-death duel.
His eyes fixed intently on his players, especially Harry.
"Harry!!" Wood's voice suddenly boomed. The moment Harry heard his name, he flinched, a nervous jolt running through him.
"Even if it kills you, you must catch the Golden Snitch." Wood's intensity was overwhelming, and Harry swallowed hard, feeling the pressure rise until even breathing seemed heavy.
"That's over the top," the other teammates muttered, thinking the captain's demands were far too harsh. After all, anything could happen in a match—you couldn't pin all your hopes on one player.
The Weasley twins, Fred and George, quickly reassured Harry. "Don't listen to Wood—he's just too nervous."
Harry finally let out a breath, his tension easing slightly.
Meanwhile, Dumbledore had also come to watch the match, a rare occurrence. He boasted to Wes, who was sitting beside him, "When I was young, I was quite the player myself. If I hadn't become a teacher, I might have gone pro."
It turned out Dumbledore was a passionate Quidditch fan, his love for the sport rivaling anyone's.
Wes, however, had no interest in Quidditch. In his view, a rainy day was best spent in his office with a steaming cup of tea, lounging in a comfortable chair.
If not for Dumbledore's strong invitation, Wes would never have come. Now, he just sat there wishing the game would end quickly.
When the match began, the roar of the crowd was deafening, echoing across the whole of Hogwarts.
The game was fierce, with both teams displaying an impressive level of skill as they raced through the rain.
Gryffindor's players worked in perfect sync—their passes and shots showed true team unity.
Hufflepuff wasn't about to be outdone. Their defense was tight, their counterattacks quick, putting heavy pressure on the Gryffindor side.
The rain kept falling, but it did nothing to dampen the players' spirits.
Still, as the downpour worsened, visibility became a serious problem. Several collisions occurred during the game, making the spectators wince in worry.
Fortunately, no one was hurt, and the players fought on in the rain, the crowd's cheers growing louder and louder.
But no one noticed that the Dementors stationed around Hogwarts had begun to drift slowly toward the Quidditch pitch. Their dark, shadowy forms flickered in and out of view through the rain, like ghosts.
°°°
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