Dawn broke crisp and cold over Hogwarts, the rising sun painting the castle walls in gold.
It was the first Quidditch match of the season, and the Ravenclaw team marched toward the pitch with a mix of nerves and determination.
Gilderoy held his head high, but inside, his stomach twisted into tight knots. The closer they got, the louder the roar of the crowd—students waving house banners, chanting, and stamping their feet in excitement.
In the changing room, Adrian Chambers, their captain, gathered them into a circle.
"Gentlemen—" he began, his voice steady.
"—And women," Pandora cut in with a smirk.
"And woman," Adrian corrected smoothly, flashing her a nod. "We want Ravenclaw to take the Cup this year. Everyone do your best. We can do this."
The team followed him out into the blinding morning light. Madam Hooch waited at the centre circle, sharp-eyed as ever, broom in hand. From the opposite tunnel, the Slytherin team strode in with their usual swagger.
To Gilderoy's surprise, the Slytherin captain shook Adrian's hand politely before mounting his broom—a rare display of sportsmanship from that house.
Moments later, both teams rose into the air, forming tense semicircles around the pitch. The air vibrated with cheers. Blue flags and scarves rippled in the stands—Ravenclaw clearly had the crowd's favour.
Gilderoy mused silently, scanning the sea of students. Looks like no one's rooting for the snakes.
Madam Hooch throws the Quaffle high in the air. At the same time, the other staff member released the Bludgers and the Snitch.
Her whistle cut the air.
"And the match begins!" boomed an eccentric voice over the loudspeaker.
Startled, Gilderoy glanced up. At the top box, Xenophilius Lovegood grinned ear to ear, clutching a magically amplified microphone.
Pandora Leonis darted forward, snatching the Quaffle. She streaked toward the Slytherin hoops, the keeper lunging to intercept—but Pandora passed it at the last second.
Cedric Clearwater caught the ball and slammed it neatly through an undefended hoop.
"Really, I must say, it's incredible having such a talented—and yes, quite stunning fiancée, who happens to be on the Ravenclaw team!"
"And look at Cedric, weaving through defenders and slamming the Quaffle neatly through an undefended hoop—sharp as a Kneazle chasing a golden Snidget!" Xeno's commentary rang out.
"Mr. Lovegood," came Professor McGonagall's clipped voice, "stop turning this match into a circus and broadcasting personal life titbits at a Quidditch match."
"Sorry, Professor," Xenophilius mumbled sheepishly, then continued as if nothing had happened.
High above the Quidditch pitch, Gilderoy let his eyes wander while scanning for the Snitch. His gaze soon settled on the opposing Seeker.
The boy was tall and pale, with sharp, aristocratic features framed by dark hair that fell neatly around his face. His cold gray eyes held a piercing quality, every glance calculated, every movement precise.
Even hovering on a broomstick, his posture was immaculate—straight-backed, assured, as though carrying the weight of an ancient legacy.
He frowned slightly. Wait… 1979. Didn't the Rowling's Half-Blood Prince mention who was Slytherin's captain and Seeker that year?
The realization dawned on him. Regulus Arcturus Black.
So this was him—the younger brother of Sirius Black. He would pledge himself to Voldemort only to regret it bitterly and meet his end in obscurity, his sacrifice unknown for decades.
Gilderoy's stomach knotted, though he kept his expression smooth.
It was strange, staring across at someone the world would never properly remember, someone destined to be reduced to a mere footnote in Harry Potter's tale.
Yet here Regulus was, alive and brimming with youth, eyes fixed on the sky as though nothing could touch him.
And for the moment, nothing else mattered. They were two Seekers, circling high above the roaring crowd, both searching for the same flash of gold.
Gilderoy edged his broom a little closer, his voice carrying just enough to be heard over the wind.
"Hey, I've heard you're a great seeker."
Regulus smirked, his voice smooth as ice. "Well, I'm better than you, Lockhart."
Gilderoy's grin didn't waver. "Well, Black, I, Gilderoy Lockhart, will beat you today."
The game raged on. Ravenclaw's Chasers played with flawless coordination, Pandora weaving dazzling passes while Miriam and Cedric scored again and again.
Frustrated, the Slytherins turned dirty. Beaters aimed dangerously, swinging their bats at anyone daring to pass too close, and their Chasers yanked at broom handles, nearly knocking Cedric from the sky.
"Outrageous! That's completely unfair!" Xenophilius shouted, his voice sharp with anger. "Magnus Avery, Corvinus Burke—trying to strike players with your bats? Dangerous and foul! And your Chasers—brazenly yanking at broom handles? This is beyond sportsmanship!"
"Mr. Lovegood!" McGonagall barked, clearly irritated. "Control yourself! This is a match, not a platform for outbursts!"
Xenophilius huffed, still visibly fuming, but lowered his volume, muttering under his breath about the Slytherins' audacity.
"Uh… yes, Professor," he replied, then quickly added, his excitement returning, "And watch Catriona Ashcombe—she's a blur, deflecting Bludgers with the precision of a Niffler guarding treasure!"
Madam Hooch's whistle shrilled across the pitch, sharp and commanding. A penalty had been called against Slytherin.
Immediately, the Ravenclaw Chasers surged forward, eyes fixed on the goal, while the Slytherin Keeper readied himself to defend, the rest of the Slytherin team forced to hang back.
Pandora darted ahead, eyes sharp on the Slytherin Keeper. Cedric positioned himself perfectly, ready to receive her pass. With a deft flick, Pandora sent the Quaffle flying, Cedric angled his broom, and the ball sailed through the hoop, uncontested. The crowd erupted.
Gilderoy grinned, feeling the rush of adrenaline and the thrill of seeing his team capitalize on the penalty. The whistle faded into the background as the game pressed on, each player more determined than ever to take advantage of the moment.
The scoreboard ticked up: Ravenclaw 160 – Slytherin 70.
Then Gilderoy saw it—the faint glimmer of gold darting near the commentator's box. At the same instant, Regulus had also spotted it.
The stadium hushed. All eyes turned upward as both seekers tore through the air, side by side. Bludgers were forgotten, Quaffles abandoned. Every broom slowed, every player craned their necks to watch the duel in the sky.
Lockhart leaned forward, hand outstretched as he felt the Snitch's wings brush his fingertips —
—but it slipped free. In the same heartbeat, Regulus lunged, closing his fist around it.
The roar was deafening.
"Slytherin takes the match! Final score: Slytherin 220, Ravenclaw 160!" Madam Hooch's voice carried across the pitch.
Cheers erupted from the green-draped stands. Regulus circled back, cool and composed, before offering his hand. "You're good, Gilderoy."
Breathless, Gilderoy clasped it. "You too, Black. Great match."
When they landed, the Ravenclaw team surrounded him. "You were brilliant out there, Lockhart! We don't blame you," one called.
Pandora chimed in warmly, "Regulus has been playing Seeker since fourth year. He's the best in Hogwarts after James Potter. The fact you went toe-to-toe with him—that's talent."
Even with everyone consoling him, Gilderoy felt a flush of embarrassment—he'd nearly caught the Snitch, and it had slipped right through his fingers.
Adrian's voice cut through the chatter, firm and certain. "We'll not lose another match. Mark my words—we'll train harder than ever."
The team raised their fists in unison. "Yeah!"
Despite the sting of defeat, their spirits blazed brighter. The season had only begun, and Ravenclaw's resolve had hardened.