Chapter 10: Quidditch Rivalry
The Quidditch pitch was a crucible of chaos, the air sharp with the bite of early November frost and the heady scent of wet grass churned by broomsticks. The stands thrummed with the roar of hundreds of voices, a tidal wave of red and gold Gryffindor banners clashing with the silver and green of Slytherin. The sky was a crisp, cloudless blue, the kind that made every movement on the pitch starkly vivid, every shout from the crowd a piercing arrow. Alex Sterling leaned forward in the stands, his Slytherin robes tucked tightly against the chill, his fingers drumming a restless rhythm on the wooden railing. His breath fogged in the air, a fleeting reminder of the stakes. "This isn't just a game. It's a battlefield, and Harry's the target."
The atmosphere was electric, charged with defiant preparation, the crowd's energy a living thing that pulsed through the stadium. Alex's eyes flicked to Harry Potter, a small figure on his battered Comet 260, weaving through the air with a grace that belied the broom's age. Across the pitch, Draco Malfoy's sleek Nimbus 2000 gleamed like a polished blade, his pale hair catching the sunlight as he circled with predatory arrogance. The Slytherin team moved like a pack, their movements coordinated, their smirks sharp. Alex's gut twisted, his meta-knowledge whispering that this match wasn't just about points—it was a stage for Quirrell's next move.
[Analysis Initiated: Hostile Intent Detection. Target: Slytherin Team. EXP Progress: 18%]
Two days earlier, during a tense practice session, Alex had caught the first hint of sabotage. The Slytherin team had been relentless, Malfoy at their helm, his voice cutting through the chilly air like a whip. "Potter, that broom's a relic! My father could buy the whole Gryffindor team new ones and still have gold to spare. Shame if it… snapped mid-flight." The words dripped with malice, Malfoy's pale eyes glinting as he leaned low on his Nimbus, his fingers twitching as if casting an invisible spell. Alex, perched in the stands with Ron, had felt a cold prickle at the base of his neck, the system flaring with a warning.
[WARNING: Lesser Jinx Probability: High. Target: Harry's Broom. Source: Malfoy/Slytherin Associates]
The threat wasn't idle. Alex had seen the subtle flick of Malfoy's wand, the faint shimmer of magic dissipating into the wind. "He's not bluffing. A jinx on Harry's broom could end him." Ron, beside him, was muttering curses under his breath, his freckled face red with fury. "Bloody Malfoy. Thinks he's king of the pitch. I'd love to hex that smirk off his face."
Alex had forced a grin, his hand slipping into his pocket to grip a small copper coin, its worn surface cool against his palm. "Easy, Ron. Let's not start a war—yet." His voice was light, but his mind was racing. He needed to act fast, without exposing the system. While Ron ranted, Alex ducked behind a stack of crates under the stands, the scent of damp wood and old leather grounding him. His AE was low—5/50 after the sigil's drain—but he had just enough for a quick craft. He whispered, "Stabilize." The coin warmed faintly as he etched a Lesser Stability Rune, its simple spiral glowing briefly before fading. The rune was crude, a stopgap, but its sympathetic properties would bolster Harry's broom against minor jinxes.
[Crafting: Lesser Stability Charm. AE Consumed: 5. AE: 0/50. Regeneration Initiated]
He tossed the coin onto the grass near Harry's flight path, its faint magical hum blending with the pitch's ambient energy. "It's not much, but it'll hold—for now." During practice, when a sudden gust—too precise to be natural—struck Harry's broom, the Comet shivered but steadied, its bristles realigning as Harry executed a sharp turn, leaving Malfoy trailing in a cloud of dust. The charm had worked, but the Slytherin glares that followed promised retribution. Alex adjusted his tie, a nervous tug, and murmured to Ron, "Malfoy's face is a work of art right now. Pity we can't frame it."
Ron snorted, his tension easing. "Bet it'd sell for a Galleon. 'Portrait of a Prat.'" The moment lightened, but Alex's mind was already on the match, where the real danger loomed.
Now, in the stadium, the game was a brutal dance of speed and aggression. Gryffindor's Chasers wove through Slytherin's Beaters, the Quaffle a red blur against the blue sky. Harry darted above, his eyes locked on the Snitch, but Alex's focus was split—half on the game, half on the crowd. Quirrell sat a few rows below, his turban a garish purple stain against the green sea of Slytherin supporters. His lips moved silently, his hands twitching in a way that screamed spellwork. Alex's sigil, tucked in his pocket, vibrated with a low, urgent hum.
[WARNING: Curse Detected! Signature: Hostile/Dark Magic. Target: Harry's Broom. Source: Quirrell. AE Consumed: 15]
Harry's broom bucked violently, jerking sideways as if yanked by an invisible hand. The crowd gasped, a collective inhale that sucked the air from the stands. Harry clung on, his knuckles white, his legs swinging as the Comet spun. "Quirrell's going for the kill. This isn't a jinx—it's a full curse." Alex's heart slammed against his ribs, his hands gripping the railing until the wood creaked. Ron was shouting, his voice hoarse. "What's happening to Harry? He's gonna fall!"
"Stay calm, Ron!" Alex snapped, his voice sharp to cut through the panic. His AE was drained, but the system's alert had burned through his reserves, drawing on the stadium's chaotic energy—hundreds of cheering, screaming voices fueling a desperate countermeasure. Alex focused on the copper coin below, its faint glow pulsing in his mind's eye. He channeled ambient magic, a trick he'd barely mastered, into the Stability Charm, reinforcing its field. His temples throbbed, the Cognitive Strain spiking like a needle in his skull.
[CS Increased: 8%. Cognitive Strain: 43%. AE: 0/50]
The effort was like wrestling a storm, Quirrell's dark magic a heavy, oily pressure pushing back. Alex's vision blurred, sweat stinging his eyes, but he held the connection, his will a taut wire. Harry's broom froze mid-spin, vibrating as if caught between forces, then steadied. The crowd roared, mistaking the struggle for a daring maneuver. Harry, pale but determined, spotted the Snitch—a golden flicker near the Slytherin goalposts. He dove, his body a streak against the sky, and snatched the Snitch just as Malfoy lunged, his fingers closing on empty air.
The stadium erupted, a tidal wave of Gryffindor cheers drowning out Slytherin's groans. "Gryffindor wins! Potter's got the Snitch!" Lee Jordan's voice boomed, amplified by magic, as Harry was hoisted onto his teammates' shoulders, the tiny golden ball glinting in his hand. Alex slumped back, his chest heaving, the system's hum fading to a dull throb. "I did it. He's safe—for now." His hands shook as he wiped sweat from his brow, the cold air a sharp relief against his flushed skin.
Down on the pitch, Harry caught Alex's eye, his glasses crooked but his grin wide. A subtle nod passed between them, a silent thank you that warmed Alex despite his exhaustion. Ron was still yelling, his voice cracking with excitement. "Alex, you saw that! Harry's broom went mental, and then—bam! He's a legend!"
Fred and George Weasley shoved through the crowd, their identical grins gleaming with mischief. Fred clapped Alex on the shoulder, his voice loud over the din. "Mate, Malfoy's face could curdle milk! That scowl's a masterpiece—pure, impotent fury!"
George leaned in, his eyes glinting. "We're calling it the 'Malfoy Scowl Special.' Smells like defeat and overpriced hair potion. You're one of us now, Alex—prankster material!" Their laughter was infectious, a callback to their earlier jabs at Malfoy's ego, and Alex couldn't help but grin, his fatigue momentarily forgotten.
"Let's bottle that scowl and sell it as a hex repellent," Alex quipped, his voice dry but warm. "Next time, we rig the Slytherin hoops to spew skunk spray when they score." The twins hooted, already scribbling ideas on a crumpled parchment, their quills scratching furiously.
As the crowd spilled onto the pitch, the air shifted to joyful unity, the victory a bright spark against the looming threat of Quirrell. Alex joined Ron, Fred, and George, their footsteps crunching on the frosty grass as they headed toward the castle. The twins were already plotting, their voices overlapping in a chaotic symphony. "Chameleon Charm on Filch's robes, Alex—every time he says 'expelled,' they turn pink!" Fred said, elbowing him.
Ron, still buzzing, jumped in. "I'll trip in front of him, scatter my books—total chaos. You handle the charm, Alex, you're the rune guy."
George nodded, his grin wicked. "We'll set off a dungbomb as backup. Filch won't know what hit him."
Alex laughed, the sound genuine, the camaraderie a lifeline after the match's strain. "I'm not alone anymore. They trust me." The alliance was solidifying, each prank a thread weaving him into their circle. But as they reached the castle's stone steps, the sigil in his pocket hummed faintly, a reminder of Quirrell's curse. "He's not done. The Stone's next."
[EXP Gained: Successful Intervention – Quidditch Curse. EXP Toward LVL 2: 25%]
Mechanics Recap: AE at 0/50; CS at 43%; EXP Toward LVL 2.
To supporting Me in Pateron .
Love [ Harry Potter and the Artifact Crafter ]? Unlock More Chapters and Support the Story!
Dive deeper into the world of [ Harry Potter and the Artifact Crafter ] with exclusive access to 35+ chapters on my Patreon, plus new fanfic every week! Your support starting at just $5/month helps me keep crafting the stories you love across epic universes like [Grimm, Teen Wolf ,blacklist,Game Of Throne ,MCU and Arrowverse].
By joining, you're not just getting more chapters—you're helping me bring new worlds, twists, and adventures to life. Every pledge makes a huge difference!
👉 Join now at patreon.com/TheFinex5 and start reading today!