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Hermione wasn't finished.
She raised her wand again, closing one eye to aim like a sniper. The tip of her wand tracked back and forth, following a Slytherin Chaser who was desperately trying to avoid her gaze.
Marcus Flint's eyes widened in horror. What is she up to now?!
He couldn't take it anymore. He banked hard, flying directly to the referee, Madam Hooch, who was hovering near the goalposts.
"Referee!" Marcus screamed over the wind, pointing a shaking finger at the stands. "That's a foul! Look at her! She's waving her wand around! It's glowing green! She's targeting my players!"
Madam Hooch, hovering on her broom with the enthusiasm of a wet sock, glanced down at the stands. Hermione was indeed aiming her wand, but she hadn't cast anything yet.
"What business is it of yours if a spectator takes out their wand?" Madam Hooch deadpanned, her eyes like dead fish. "She hasn't cast a spell. Get back in the game, Flint."
"But she might hex me!" Marcus wailed, hiding behind the referee's broom.
"We'll deal with her later. The Ministry can handle the paperwork," Hooch sighed, checking her watch. "Stop whispering to the referee. People will think I'm biased. Now move!"
Biased?! Marcus roared internally, wanting to cry but having no tears left. She's literally holding a weapon of mass destruction in the front row!
The game continued, a nightmare for Slytherin. One minute, Hermione would levitate a small hammer. The next, she'd juggle a knife. Every time a Slytherin touched the Quaffle, they felt a phantom chill on their spine, expecting a magical sniper shot.
As Gryffindor racked up points, Hermione emptied her pockets.
"Hmm," she muttered, peering into her bottomless backpack. "Is there anything else I can throw…"
"There's nothing left to throw away…" three weak, feeble voices chorused in unison.
Hermione turned her head. Ron, Neville, and Seamus were sitting next to her. They looked utterly defeated, covered in an assortment of alchemical tools, spare wand cores, and enchanted wrenches that she had been handing them to "hold for a second."
"Hey," Hermione frowned. "What's wrong with you guys? You look like you've seen a ghost."
The three boys exchanged a glance, looking at Hermione with the eyes of men who had stared into the abyss and found it holding a screwdriver.
High above the pitch, the game reached its climax. Harry spotted the Golden Snitch fluttering near the cloud layer. He accelerated, his Firebolt screaming. Draco Malfoy was close behind, his Nimbus 2001 pushing to keep up.
Harry reached out, his fingers centimeters from the fluttering gold ball. Victory was within his grasp.
Suddenly, a bone-deep cold washed over him. The rain turned to sleet. Ice crystals bloomed rapidly across his broom handle.
"This is…" Harry's heart hammered. He knew this feeling.
The next second, the storm clouds seemed to curdle. Dark, ragged figures swarmed down from the sky like ink spilled in water.
Dementors. Dozens of them.
Harry's alarm bells rang. He jerked his broom, dodging the first icy hand. But there were too many. He was surrounded.
He came face-to-face with a Dementor. The hood fell back, revealing the rotting, scabbed skin and the gaping hole where a mouth should be.
A chill swept through his body. His blood froze. The screaming started in his head—his mother's voice, pleading. His consciousness faded into a grey fog.
Harry slumped forward, slipping off his broom. He fell.
Malfoy, seeing Harry falter, surged forward and snatched the Snitch. "Yes!" he shouted, the thrill of victory surging through him.
Then he saw Harry plummeting toward the hard, wet ground hundreds of feet below.
"Potter!"
Damn it!
Malfoy's expression twisted. The rivalry, the insults, the hate—it all vanished in the face of imminent death. Without a second thought, he dove. He turned his broom straight down, pushing it into a vertical dive, chasing the falling body.
It was too late. He caught up to Harry just fifty feet from the ground. He grabbed Harry's arm, but the momentum was too great. The impact of the catch pulled Malfoy off his own broom.
It's over, Malfoy thought, his vision going black. He heard the screams from the stands.
"Arresto Momentum!"
The incantation was crisp, loud, and absolute. It cut through the thunder like a whip crack.
An invisible cushion of air caught them. Their terrifying descent slowed instantly, turning a fatal crash into a gentle, controlled landing. They touched down softly on the muddy grass.
The entire stadium looked up. Hermione stood on the railing of the stands, her wand raised, smoke drifting from the tip.
Madam Hooch and Dumbledore rushed onto the field. Malfoy lay on his back, gasping for air, clutching the Golden Snitch in one hand and Harry's unconscious arm in the other. He was shaking, terrified, but alive.
Hermione leaped from the stands, flipping in mid-air to land perfectly on her summoned broom. She zipped down to the field, landing beside the headmaster.
She ignored Dumbledore. She ignored Harry. She marched straight up to Malfoy.
"What just happened?" she demanded, her voice tight.
Malfoy, pale and shaking, held up the struggling Snitch. "Potter… he was about to catch it. Then the Dementors… they swarmed him. I… I caught him."
Hermione stared at the Golden Snitch in Malfoy's hand. The game was over. Slytherin had won.
Her face darkened. A rage, pure and volcanic, erupted behind her eyes.
So all my hard work was for nothing? All the intimidation? The tactical snacking? The psychological warfare? Ruined by a bunch of soul-sucking rags?
She whirled around, her wand pointing straight at the dark, swirling sky.
"Expecto Patronum!"
It wasn't a normal cast. It was a declaration of war.
A dazzling, blinding white light burst from her wand. It didn't form a wisp. It didn't form a single animal. It exploded into a legion.
A dragon roared into existence, its wingspan massive. A phoenix shrieked, trailing silver fire. A tiger, a lion, a bear, a giant serpent—countless corporeal Patronuses surged out of her wand, rushing upward like a reverse waterfall of light.
They surrounded Hogwarts, a spectral zoo of pure, protective fury. Each one was distinct, lifelike, and radiating enough power to burn a Dementor to ash.
Hermione raised her wand, pointing at the retreating shadows in the sky. Her killing intent was palpable.
"GO!" she roared. "Slaughter every single Dementor inside and outside Hogwarts! Leave no one alive!"
The army of light roared in response and scattered, hunting the hunters.
The stadium was deathly silent.
"This… this is a Patronus Charm?" a Ravenclaw student whispered, his voice trembling.
Did she just bring a whole zoo?!
Everyone stared at Hermione. The Patronus Charm was supposed to be unique to the wizard. A reflection of their inner self.
Dumbledore's eyes twinkled with a mix of awe and deep concern. Snape looked like he might faint.
"Hermione," Lupin asked, his voice weak. "Isn't your Patronus an otter?"
He remembered the train. The silver sea otter. That was normal. This… this was madness.
Hermione lowered her wand, the light fading from her eyes. She shrugged, looking annoyed.
"The Patronus changes depending on the wizard's state of mind, Professor," she explained, dusting off her robes. "My feelings are very complicated right now. So it's reasonable for the Patronus to change ten times in a second, right?"
She kicked the mud, muttering resentfully under her breath, "Damn it… those 150 points should have been Gryffindor's…"
The crowd: "…"
So that's why she's so angry!