"I despise this weather," Albert stated flatly, stripping off his heavy, waterlogged winter cloak. The locker room was a scene of controlled chaos—exhausted, injured seniors mingling with wide-eyed, frantic substitutes. He accepted the damp, crimson Quidditch uniform from Charlie and pulled it on, already applying a warming charm to the fabric beneath his breath.
Fred and George, newly designated Beaters, were beside themselves with feverish excitement, swinging their bats and circling each other like prize fighters. "This is it, brother! Glory or eternal detention!" Fred crowed, flexing his muscles under the uniform.
Irene, still looking furious but now bandaged, approached Albert. "That uniform fits you perfectly, Albert. You'll be taking Mark's broom—the Sweep Six Stars. It's the fastest flier we have. You need that speed."
Mark, leaning against a bench and wincing as he clutched his bruised ribs, offered his prized broom with a genuine, trusting smile. "Don't worry about the others. Just grab that Snitch. End this disaster."
"Consider it done." Albert felt the cool wood of the Sweep Six Stars in his hands. He glanced at his mental task panel—it had updated precisely as expected:
A Belated Victory
This Quidditch game has devolved into a physical brawl. Catch the Golden Snitch and secure the victory for Gryffindor.
Reward: 500 Experience.
Charlie clapped his hands to gain the substitutes' attention. "Listen up. Tactics are simple now. We are down a man, Slytherin is down a man. The goal isn't to score—it's to survive until Albert finishes it. Kyle, just try to keep your goal line intact. Fred, George—your priority is simple: protect Albert! Don't worry about the Bludgers, worry about anything that gets near him. Albert, you ascend immediately. Ignore everything else. We need to end this before the field turns into a swamp."
"You're placing an awful lot of faith in my ability to find a tiny, flying gold ball in this downpour," Albert observed, the pressure of a House's expectations settling on him like a heavy mantle.
"What other choice do we have?" Charlie shot back, his eyes intense. "We know how you operate, Albert. When you focus, you deliver. You are the ace up our mud-stained sleeve. Now go get us those points!"
Albert smiled faintly. Logic prevailed. He took his wand and cast an enhanced Impervius Charm on the sleek, black goggles Charlie handed him, combining it with a subtle Fire and Water Invulnerability Charm for that crucial layer of heat and visibility. He pulled the goggles over his eyes.
Stepping back onto the pitch, the change in atmosphere was palpable. The veterans were gone, replaced by a nervous, wet, but determined reserve team.
"Unbelievable!" the commentator's voice boomed. "Half of Gryffindor's new lineup are first-year students! Has the Lion given up? Or is this a calculated risk? A secret weapon?"
In the Slytherin stands, the mood was one of mocking disdain. They clearly believed Gryffindor was fielding a weak, cobbled-together team of rejects.
Albert ignored the noise. The rush of blood, the roar of the crowd, the icy rain—it all coalesced into a sharp, singular focus as he gripped the Sweep Six Stars. It felt fundamentally different from watching the match; this was active participation, a pulse-pounding convergence of planning and execution.
The referee's whistle shrieked its command. Albert did not hesitate. He launched the Sweep Six Stars skyward, accelerating immediately to gain altitude above the thickest part of the sleet and the melee below.
The air up high was slightly clearer but still blurred by the driving rain. He adjusted his goggles, the charms doing their job, offering a fractional edge in visibility. The field looked like a chaotic canvas of flashing red and green shapes far beneath him. He was supposed to be hunting a Snitch the size of a walnut.
The new Slytherin Seeker, an older student named Davies, was already climbing, matching Albert's altitude but keeping a respectful distance. Their eyes met briefly—a quick acknowledgment, a nod of professional rivalry, not malice. Davies had none of the aggressive temperament of the previous players. Good, Albert thought. One less threat to process.
"Don't get distracted!" George yelled from below, his voice slightly muffled but urgent. He swung his bat and redirected a stray Bludger, sending it rocketing towards Davies as a clear warning, but holding back from a deliberate hit. The Weasley twins were true to their word: they were flying a defensive formation around him.
Minute after minute crawled by. The cold rain seeped through every layer Albert wore, but the internal warmth of the charm kept the bone-deep chill at bay. He scanned methodically, a hunter waiting for the slightest movement, the tiniest irregularity in the gray monotony.
Suddenly, a brilliant golden flicker—a flash of light near the Slytherin scoring hoops, close to the outer edge of the stadium—caught his peripheral vision.
Instinct versus logic. Logic said it could be a drop of rain catching the light, or an artifact of the blurry conditions. Instinct, honed by hours of simulation and observation, screamed, It's the Snitch!
There was no time for hesitation. Albert shifted his weight, tilted the Sweep Six Stars forward, and pushed the broom's speed to its screaming limit. He dropped into a steep dive, the air pressure changing violently around him.
The commentator, startled by the sudden, reckless acceleration, shrieked into the mic: "The young Gryffindor Seeker is diving! He's spotted it! Is this the end? Slytherin's Seeker, Davies, is miles behind! After seventy-two minutes of brutal fighting, is Gryffindor about to claim victory with a first-year student?!"
Below, the Slytherin players reacted with frantic aggression. The remaining Chasers and the new Keeper saw their final chance to intervene.
"The Slytherin Keeper is trying to intercept! Two Chasers are moving in for a double team! Gryffindor's Seeker is in extreme danger! Slytherin is resorting to their despicable tactics to prevent the win!"
The Slytherin Keeper, a hulking student named Bletchley, shot out from his hoops like a green missile, aiming for a mid-air tackle. As the two brooms hurtled toward collision, Albert executed a micro-adjustment, tilting his body violently to the side, turning the dive into a tight, oblique pass. He avoided Bletchley's flailing fist by a hair's breadth.
Simultaneously, Albert's elbow snapped up—a small, precise movement—connecting with Bletchley's chin as he zoomed past. The crack was sickeningly audible over the wind, and Bletchley was instantly knocked off balance, losing control of his broom and spitting out several teeth.
Albert pressed on, his eyes locked on the target: the Golden Snitch was zipping excitedly around the far hoop.
"He dodged him! The young Seeker, cool as ice, dispatched the Slytherin Keeper with a clean counter-strike! He truly is a marvel!"
Just as Albert's hand stretched out, another threat materialized. He heard a whoosh—not the wind, but a solid object cutting the air—from his blind spot. A baseball bat, thrown with lethal force, was flying directly at his head.
It was a blatant, desperate foul from one of the remaining Slytherin Chasers.
Hearing the proximity of the projectile, Albert instinctively yanked the broom's handle, simultaneously rolling his body over the side of the Sweep Six Stars like a sloth clinging to a branch. The bat sliced past the empty space where his head had been, narrowly missing the broom, and spun into the tumultuous crowd below.
Unflinching, Albert swung his body back onto the broom, his momentum barely affected. He had lost only a fraction of a second.
"It's close! It's right there!" Albert leaned out, his fingers inches from the tiny, fluttering wings. He reached, his entire body tense, and felt the smooth, warm metal of the Snitch clench in his palm.
The instant the Snitch was secured, Albert violently yanked up on the broom, pulling the Sweep Six Stars into a near-vertical, 90-degree climb. He cleared the audience stands by mere centimeters.
"We have won!"
Albert stared at the Snitch—warm, buzzing, and still—in his hand. A slow, deeply satisfied smile spread across his face. The pressure was gone. The reward was secure.
Below, the chaos reached its peak. The Slytherin Seeker, Davies, had been so focused on closing the distance that he failed to pull up in time. His broom crashed directly into the audience seating area, resulting in a horrific, sickening crunch of wood and bone.
As Albert descended through the heavy rain, he spotted Professor Snape standing at the edge of the pitch, his face a mask of incandescent fury, framed by the chaos of the crash. Albert, with a flair for the dramatic, raised the Golden Snitch high above his head, not just for the crowd, but directing the triumphant, golden flash directly at the House Head of Slytherin.
"He caught it!" the commentator screamed, his voice dissolving into ecstatic delirium. "Gryffindor wins! The score is 230 to 40! The youngest Seeker in the match, Albert, caught the Snitch in just under twelve minutes! The Lion triumphs!" He couldn't resist one final jab: "And Slytherin? Well, I hope the Healers have plenty of Skele-Gro on hand after that last maneuver!"
The noise was instantaneous and overwhelming—a wall of crimson-robed students roaring their approval.
Before Albert's feet touched the muddy ground, he was engulfed. Fred and George hit him first, followed by Danny, Kyle, and the rest of the substitutes, all descending in a celebratory deluge. Charlie and the bruised veterans burst out of the locker room, joining the throng.
Albert found himself hoisted onto shoulders, the feeling of floating through the air now being accompanied by the jarring, uncoordinated cheers of his entire House. It was an uncomfortable, yet exhilarating experience—a complete sensory overload that was utterly alien to his nature, yet undeniably earned.
The incredible victory secured Gryffindor 150 points, propelling them past Hufflepuff and closing the gap on Ravenclaw in the House Cup standings.
That was an absolutely brutal match, but you handled the Seeker role perfectly! The quick win secured the points we needed. Would you like to check in on how the injured players are doing, or maybe start plotting our next move in the House Cup competition?