At the center of the Quidditch pitch, wizards dressed in red and green faced off—clearly, they were the Gryffindor and Slytherin teams.
Off to the side, a young wizard was holding a Muggle camera, seemingly trying to capture the moment unfolding before him...
Thud, thud, thud!
Draco's arrival drew everyone's attention. The two sides, who had been locked in a heated argument, immediately turned to look at him. The Slytherin players wasted no time and moved straight over to where Draco stood.
"Captain!"
"Draco!"
"Malfoy!"
The voices came from the Slytherin team members, a few students from other years who were there to try out, and, of course, Goyle and Crabbe—who followed Draco everywhere. It seemed that, thanks to Draco, even Goyle and Crabbe had decided they wanted a spot on the team.
But something felt off. Their expressions weren't what Draco expected—none of them looked pleased. In fact, they looked downright irritated, as if something had seriously annoyed them.
Still, there was a more pressing question in Draco's mind...
"What's going on? Why is Gryffindor here?"
He glanced over at the Gryffindor side, then turned a confused gaze toward Goyle and the rest of his team.
"Yeah, Draco got permission from Professor Snape to use the pitch. No other teams are supposed to be here today. Didn't you tell them to leave?"
Pansy stepped forward, waving a parchment signed with Snape's magical authorization.
With that parchment in hand, there was no doubt—Slytherin had the rightful claim to the pitch today.
However, rather than showing any relief or satisfaction, Goyle and the others only looked more bewildered. Their confusion made Draco realize that this situation wasn't as straightforward as it seemed...
And what happened next confirmed his instincts.
"Draco, actually—"
"Draco Malfoy! Why are the Slytherin players on this pitch?"
Cutting Goyle off was Oliver Wood, Gryffindor's team captain, striding over with his teammates behind him. His question was identical to Draco's.
That made Draco's eyes narrow in suspicion.
It was beginning to feel like someone had set them both up…
…
Just as Draco was scanning the Gryffindor side, Pansy, assuming they were here to stir up trouble, was the first to step forward.
"Of course it's for training. What else would it be!"
Her pretty face was now cold and composed, showing none of the silly expression she'd worn earlier in front of Draco. Her commanding aura came out in full force, pressing down on the Gryffindors without restraint.
"On the contrary, why are you here?"
Her confident stance made it hard for Harry Potter—standing behind Oliver Wood—to look away. In fact, it wasn't just Harry. Many others around the pitch were equally captivated by Pansy's presence and poise.
Oliver Wood didn't answer right away. Instead, frowning, he pulled out a parchment identical to the one Pansy was holding and handed it to Draco.
"Training? But we reserved the pitch for today. Are you sure you didn't mix up the dates?"
"Mix up the dates?"
With a nod from Draco, Pansy accepted the parchment from Wood, then walked over to Draco without hesitation. She leaned in naturally to look at it with him, the icy attitude from moments ago gone, replaced with an almost sweet and obedient air.
Her sudden switch left the Gryffindor players exchanging strange looks, though the Slytherins didn't bat an eye—they were long used to Pansy's mercurial nature.
As the seconds ticked by, Pansy's expression grew more and more stunned, and Draco's confusion deepened.
Because the document was indeed an official pitch reservation—with Professor McGonagall's signature at the bottom.
"…It's real. Unless someone dared to forge a professor's signature."
"They wouldn't do that. No way."
Sure, Gryffindor students were known for breaking rules like it was sport, but disrespecting a professor like that was a different matter entirely—and a serious one. Draco dismissed the idea immediately.
Once it was clear both forms were legitimate, Draco signaled to Pansy to show theirs as well.
"What's this?"
"The official authorization for the pitch. Ours."
"…"
Oliver Wood stared at the parchment—identical in every way except for the signature—and fell silent after a moment of stunned hesitation.
This was the first time he'd encountered something like this, and it clearly threw him off. He couldn't understand how this had happened. A scheduling error like this shouldn't be possible at Hogwarts.
As for forgery? He and Draco were in complete agreement—it was out of the question.
Each professor's signature was created with a unique magical imprint. Faking it was impossible...
As the awkward silence dragged on, Ron Weasley—whether he'd come with Harry or was hoping to try out for the team himself—piped up from the crowd, his voice dripping with sarcasm.
"Maybe it's fake. Looks to me like you lot are just trying to mess with our training."
"Who's spouting nonsense? Even if we didn't, Draco could wipe the floor with you lot!"
"Hah? And who exactly are you looking down on? This year's Quidditch Cup is ours—Gryffindor's!"
"Oh? Sounds like the pitiful howl of a sore loser."
"You wanna fight?!"
Ron's comment turned the already tense standoff into something explosive.
If not for the captains remaining silent—and the fact that both Draco and Oliver Wood held enough authority to keep their teams in check—the next moment could've easily erupted into a full-on brawl, with fists flying in every direction.
And as tensions teetered on the edge, Ron Weasley, clearly satisfied with the chaos he'd stirred, quietly slipped back with a smug grin.
Unaware that from the sidelines, Hermione—brows furrowed tightly—had seen everything.