This palm strike split the cheek, fracturing the skull, shattering the nose bridge, and breaking the front teeth. His two eyes bulged out like a frog's.
As this one also tumbled from his broom, the crowd roared with approval.
Madam Hooch was secretly impressed. Though Harry's methods were harsh, it was satisfying. That's what you get for playing dirty!
She looked at Flint. "Does Slytherin have any substitutes?"
"Of course!" Flint shouted, unwilling to concede. "But, Madam Hooch, wasn't Potter a bit too rough?"
"They all agreed to that! What could I do?" Hooch waved him off. "Go get your substitutes."
A moment later, the game restarted.
Flint was about to grab the Quaffle, but Wood suddenly twisted his arm and buried a fist in his gut. Flint saw stars, his ears ringing, unable to breathe.
Alieya, Angelina, and the others, seeing their chance, also flew in with "shadowless kicks" and "heart-punching fists" to get revenge for Harry.
Draco saw the chaos and tried to flee. He'd only flown a few meters when he heard a terrible wind behind him. He looked back to see Fred and George descending on him like the black and white "Impermanence" spirits coming to collect his soul.
"Wait! I didn't do anything!"
"I'm innocent!"
"Get away from me!"
The match was no longer Quidditch. The Gryffindors were just punching and kicking, making life miserable for Slytherin.
Flint and the others, enraged, started fighting back.
The two teams became a swirling melee of fists, feet, and brooms. Shouts and curses echoed through the stadium.
But Wood's team, having trained their bodies with Harry, were stronger and had more stamina. They were a cut above. After a few exchanges, the Slytherin team was bruised and battered, their formation broken, able only to defend, not attack.
Madam Hooch wanted to call a foul, but she hesitated. If I call it, I'll have to send off all fourteen players! What kind of match is that?
As she dithered, Lee Jordan suddenly roared, "THE GOLDEN SNITCH HAS BEEN CAUGHT! GRYFFINDOR!"
She looked, saw Harry holding the Snitch, and blew her whistle with all her might.
"Fweee—GRYFFINDOR WINS!"
The stadium erupted. Colin Creevey was jumping up and down with his camera. "Harry! Look here! Let me get a few more! My roommate wants a picture of you by his bed!"
As the saying goes: One sees the victor's smile, but not the loser's tears. All eyes were on Harry. Who cared about Draco?
Malfoy landed, grabbed his broom, and, ignoring the blood streaming from his nose, shoved his way through the crowd and ran to his dormitory.
He slammed the door, his rage boiling. He tore his bed apart, swept everything off his desk, and smashed it all to the floor.
That damned Scarhead! Not one good thing has happened since I met him!
As he seethed, the corner of his eye caught the black diary, lying open on the floor.
Seeing the dark artifact, Draco panicked, fearing someone would see it.
He bent to pick it up, but a few drops of his blood splashed onto the page. Like water on dry earth, the blood vanished instantly.
Draco froze. This diary... drinks blood?
As he stared, a few more drops fell, and they too disappeared.
He scrambled to close the book, but suddenly, on the blank page, a line of bloody text appeared:
"Hello. Are you injured?"
(The story splits here.)
In the days that followed the match, Harry's nickname, "Scarred-Face Chieftain," spread through all four houses, thanks entirely to Colin. The boy ran through the halls showing his "moving" pictures, telling everyone of Harry's deeds. Even the ghosts heard of him.
Gryffindor's house ghost, Nearly Headless Nick, decided to invite him as a guest of honor.
"Harry, this Halloween is my 500th Deathday. Would you be interested in attending?"
Harry thought: This one has seen many a birthday party for the living, but never a 'deathday' for the dead. I must broaden my horizons.
He cupped his hands. "Brother, it is kind of you to ask. How could this one refuse?"
Ron and Hermione immediately clamored to go.
"Wonderful! And... if you happen to see a group of ghosts without their heads, could you perhaps mention to them that I am very frightening?"
"This is no trouble. Brother, rest assured!"
On Halloween night, the trio went to the dungeons. The room was packed with ghosts.
Nick greeted them. "My dear living guests! You're a bit late. Let me find you a seat."
Harry pointed to the end of a long table. "Why look? Is that ghost not sitting all alone?"
Nick looked and saw a gaunt ghost with empty eyes, wearing chains, his clothes stained with silver blood.
Nick paled. "Hush! Harry, don't you know who that is?"
"The Bloody Baron of Slytherin! No one dares cross him!"
"He's the only one who can control Peeves!"
Harry was curious. "What 'Bloody Baron'? With all those chains, he looks like a common criminal."
"All I can say, Harry, is that for hundreds of years, no one has known where that blood came from, and no one has dared to ask."
Nick led them to another spot, next to a beautiful female ghost. "Lady Grey, may these three youngsters sit with you?"
"Oh, of course." The Grey Lady smiled. "Please, sit, Mr. Potter."
"I heard you defeated Slytherin in Quidditch."
"Sadly, I was not there to witness your heroic posture, or Slytherin's disgrace."
Harry saw she was well-spoken and elegant, clearly a noblewoman in life. Hearing she also despised Slytherin, he felt a desire to befriend her.
He cupped his hands. "This humble one is Harry James Potter. And what might be this esteemed sister's name?"
"Helena," the Grey Lady smiled. "Helena Ravenclaw."
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