Quidditch matches are rarely rescheduled.
This is because, whether it rains, snows, or hails, the game goes on.
Some even consider learning to adapt to the weather as one of the essential qualities of a great Quidditch player.
One might ask, with so many wizards gathered, what does the weather matter? But surprisingly, spells that alter the weather are considered extremely difficult.
Magic that can change the meteorological conditions of an entire area is regarded as even more challenging than advanced mind-magic like the notoriously difficult Legilimency. It was likely a feat only wizards like Professor Dumbledore or Aisen could perform.
In any case, looking up at the gloomy sky, Harry could sense that today's match would not be an easy one.
Standing in the center of the pitch, his gaze shifting between the opposing players and the sky, Harry sighed and muttered to himself.
"Today's forecast is cloudy, with more clouds. It's definitely going to rain, so all players should try to use a Warming Charm."
Hearing his muttering, Fred let out a chuckle.
"Ha, Harry. Then you'll just have to catch the Snitch and end the game before it starts raining."
Harry smiled back and nodded, but then a sense of unease made him ask, "Huh. By the way, where's George? Why are you the only one answering?"
Glancing at George, Harry looked puzzled. George, who would normally have finished Fred's sentence, was looking downcast and morose.
"The shame of all pranksters… how could this happen…"
George was muttering incomprehensibly, looking utterly dejected. He stayed that way until Wood, unable to watch any longer, came over and slapped him on the back, asking why he had a face like death before a match.
Fred gave a bitter smile and explained.
"Well, it's just that a while ago, he made a mistake and Filch confiscated our treasure. He's been in shock ever since."
"Your treasure? You mean the one you offered to trade for the Laughter Bell that time?"
"Ah, yeah. That's the one. It's not like we really need it anymore, but… for someone who aims to be a great prankster, making a mistake and getting caught by a mere caretaker is a matter of shame."
It seemed Fred wasn't too bothered by it, perhaps because it wasn't his fault.
*A mistake.* The word stuck with Harry. He asked Fred, "George made a mistake and you lost your treasure, but you're not mad at him?"
Fred burst out laughing.
"You little devil. Are you trying to drive a wedge between us with just that? A mistake is just a mistake, Harry. No one blames the other person for it."
Harry fell silent, mulling over those words.
Fred gave Harry a wink and said, "Well, that's not important right now, let's talk later. Any more chatter and Wood will eat us alive."
As if he'd heard Fred, Wood roared, his temper flaring.
"Is everyone's head in the game? It's Slytherin! Our opponent is Slytherin! If we lose here, we lose the Quidditch Cup again this year! We were robbed of the cup last year because of that unfortunate incident, we can't let it happen again this year! Everyone, get focused! This is a game where mistakes will not be tolerated, got it?"
Looking at Wood, Harry spoke to Fred with a dubious expression.
"Fred."
"Yeah?"
"You said a mistake is just a mistake, right?"
"Right."
"I don't think Wood agrees."
"Wood is a Quidditch machine in a human suit. It's best to consider him an exception."
"Aha, that's our Fred-hyung for you."
"Of course."
They expressionlessly bumped fists. Moments later, at the sound of Madam Hooch's whistle, they mounted their brooms, kicked off the ground, and soared into the air.
Looking toward the distant stands, Harry could see the faces of those who had come to cheer him on. Aisen, Ron, Hermione. Come to think of it, Hermione seemed to have been holed up in the library lately, but it looked like she had come to watch the match after all. He had to play his best, if only to repay the people who came to support him.
*WHOOSH!*
Harry shot forward, overwhelmingly faster than the other Gryffindor players. An incredible sonic boom, one you wouldn't think could come from a mere broomstick, erupted around him.
Harry soared straight up into the sky. Unlike the other players who had to score with the Quaffle, Harry, as the Seeker, only needed to find the Snitch.
One player followed him up. Dressed in a green uniform, it was the new Slytherin Seeker, Draco Malfoy.
With his signature platinum-blond hair slicked back, Malfoy flew up beside Harry and sneered.
"Well, Harry. I heard you got a pretty impressive broom. Its majesty is quite a contrast to the old junk the other Gryffindor players are riding."
It was a backhanded compliment, subtly mocking the other Gryffindor players.
Harry's eyebrow twitched at his words.
Although the Malfoy family had become a bit more subdued since the Chamber of Secrets incident, his talent for getting under people's skin was still very much intact.
Harry retorted with a deadpan expression, "My broom is pretty incredible, isn't it, Malfoy? Sorry to say, but I don't think your Nimbus series can keep up."
The broom Malfoy was riding was a Nimbus 2001. Objectively, it was a step, no, two steps behind the Firebolt.
Malfoy clicked his tongue at that and shut his mouth.
"So, what are you doing up here? Trying to distract me during the match? Not a chance. Or are you planning to just follow me when I find the Snitch?"
"Hah, don't you worry, I'll find the Snitch myself. …Though, I guess your first point isn't entirely wrong."
Harry turned to look at Malfoy, surprised by his unexpected agreement.
Malfoy spoke with a sullen expression, not his usual arrogant one.
"Tsk, the Slytherin upperclassmen are planning something, so be careful. Or… you can just think I'm lying to distract you."
"…Why are you telling me this?"
As if physically incapable of letting a kind word leave his mouth, Malfoy scratched his arm aggressively and said, "Damn it, I'm not completely shameless, you know. Consider last year's debt paid with this."
The moment he finished speaking, Malfoy shot away like an arrow.
Down below, the commentator was shouting something about Malfoy having spotted the Snitch, but Harry, knowing he was just trying to get away, remained where he was, dumbfounded.
*What's gotten into him?* After a moment's thought, Harry let out a hollow laugh.
"Heh, now that I think about it, what a cheapskate… I saved his life, and he thinks he can pay me back with just this."
Still, he had given him information, and for that, Harry was genuinely, if silently, grateful.
*But what kind of trick are they planning to pull on a Quidditch pitch?*
Three main possibilities came to Harry's mind.
First, they could tamper with the Quaffle or Bludgers. However, the professors always inspected the official balls before a match, so they would need the skill to bypass a professor's magic.
Next, they could lynch a player by ganging up on them.
This could hardly be called a dirty trick. As long as it wasn't too excessive, it wasn't even a foul but a part of strategy.
Fred and George, legendary Beaters, could probably handle that much on their own.
Lastly, considering Malfoy had come to him specifically, there was the possibility they were planning something against him. In fact, this was a scenario Harry rather welcomed.
He was confident he could crush any threat that came his way. Unless a Slytherin player went mad and brought Voldemort onto the pitch, it would be a piece of cake.
If it wasn't any of these… hmm. What kind of trick were they planning?
As he wracked his brain, trying to come up with the most malicious plan possible, a flash of gold caught his eye.
Harry grinned.
"Right, whatever strange plan they've cooked up, what can they do once the game is over? Time to end this."
He instinctively leaned forward, hugged the shaft of the Firebolt with one arm in a low-slung posture, and readied his other arm to snatch the Snitch.
And then, he dived.
Like a sharp-eyed hawk targeting its prey, Harry plummeted toward the golden Snitch at a terrifying speed.
*FWOOOOSH—*
The sound of him tearing through the air made even the players throwing the Quaffle turn their heads. *Good, just a little more and I'll grab the Snitch…*
*Thump.*
Just then, he felt something collide with his side.
Frowning, Harry turned his head to see Malfoy sneering at him with a smug look.
"The debt is one thing, but we still have to play a proper match, don't we?"
"Tsk, of all the times for you to suddenly have your head on straight."
After a moment of grumbling, Harry twisted his broom in a near-acrobatic maneuver, spinning around and deflecting the path of Malfoy, who had attempted a body check.
"W-woooah!"
With Malfoy's scream fading into the distance, he was caught in the turbulence created by Harry's flight. He wobbled like a plane hitting a rough patch of air and was sent spinning away.
*—Oh, Potter—!! What incredible flying skill—!*
He could hear the commentator, Lee Jordan, shouting in amazement and the crowd cheering, but Harry just clicked his tongue softly.
Malfoy hadn't been much of an obstacle, but in that short time, the Snitch had already vanished.
*Damn it.* He had wanted to end the game quickly before they could pull their trick. This was getting annoying.
As Harry slowed down to look for the Snitch again, Wood flew over and yelled, "Harry! That was brilliant! Keep it up!"
High on adrenaline, Harry grinned back and replied, "Wood, if you don't score 100 points before I catch the Snitch, I'm taking your captain's armband!"
"Hahaha! I'd like to see you try!"
Although he hadn't caught the Snitch, the incredibly high-level flying Harry had just displayed had buoyed the Gryffindors' spirits, creating a cheerful atmosphere.
On the Slytherin side, however, the mood was completely different. Malfoy, who had just been sent flying by Harry, could be seen cowering as he was reprimanded by their captain, Marcus Flint.
If they were going to pull a trick, now was the perfect time.
Harry watched the Slytherins' hand signals carefully.
After two years of inter-house matches, he had a rough grasp of their signals.
If a signal he didn't recognize appeared now, that would be the start of their scheme.
*'Come on, come on, whatever it is, just get it over with.'*
As if they had heard Harry's muttering, a new hand signal finally came from Flint.
A closed fist with only the index and ring fingers extended, pointing downwards.
As Harry tensed, a sudden chill, like a winter wind, swept across the pitch.
"Wh-what was that?"
Just as a Gryffindor player voiced his confusion, a strange sound was heard.
An ominous sound, like the wind howling through the bare branches of a tree.
*—Whoooooooosh—!*
And finally, realizing what the Slytherins' gambit was, Harry's face went slack with disbelief as he muttered, "No way… have I ever seen such complete lunatics…"
All three of his theories had been wrong.
Dementors were invading the pitch.
***