Chapter 99
Most of Hogwarts' third-year students had expected this day to be perfect.
During the day, they would visit Hogsmeade, exploring the only all-magical village in Britain. Upper-year students had long since filled their heads with stories—Honeydukes for those with a sweet tooth, Zonko's Joke Shop for mischief-makers like the Weasley twins, and dozens of other shops catering to nearly every desire imaginable.
That evening, the school hosted a Halloween feast.
Hundreds of jack-o'-lanterns floated through the Great Hall, glowing warmly. Bats flitted beneath the enchanted ceiling, while long orange streamers spat sparks of flame as they drifted lazily through the air like fiery serpents. It was a celebration in every sense. Even students who had already stuffed themselves with sweets found their appetites stirred all over again.
All of this would have been perfect—
If they had been allowed to sleep peacefully that night.
---
Not long after the feast ended, chaos erupted.
To put it simply, Sirius Black had somehow infiltrated Hogwarts—but had been stopped at Gryffindor Tower by the Fat Lady's password. Enraged, he slashed the portrait to ribbons. The Fat Lady fled in terror.
Every student was herded into the Great Hall while the professors searched the castle from top to bottom. Only once the grounds were declared safe would anyone be allowed back to their dormitories.
Rows of sleeping bags lined the floor.
The students inside them, however, were anything but quiet.
Still buzzing from the festivities, they whispered excitedly, speculating about the escaped murderer.
"How did he get in?" Pansy whispered. She'd missed the feast entirely—still suffering the consequences of yesterday—and had been dragged from bed half-asleep.
"His target isn't you," Malfoy replied quietly. "Sleep."
Overhead, Dementors glided silently through the air. Several prefects patrolled the aisles, trying to maintain order.
"Listen carefully," one of the older students warned, voice low and severe. "Tonight, we're dealing with a dangerous murderer—a dark wizard who's been under the influence of Dementors for over a decade. Don't expect him to be rational. So stop whispering. Maybe he hunts by sound."
That did it.
The Great Hall fell silent almost instantly.
That night, every student at Hogwarts fell asleep staring up at the star-strewn ceiling.
---
By morning, the shredded portrait of the Fat Lady had been removed. In its place hung Sir Cadogan and his fat grey pony.
No one was pleased.
Sir Cadogan spent half his time issuing challenges and demanding duels, and the other half obsessing over absurdly complex passwords. He changed them at least twice a day.
Some students complained, but none of the other portraits were willing to take the job.
They were all terrified.
After Black's intrusion—coincidentally or not—the weather worsened steadily. Wind and rain battered the grounds without pause.
This was very bad news.
The first Quidditch match of the season was scheduled for the following Saturday.
---
"They'll face the same wind, the same rain, the same conditions as we do," Oliver Wood shouted over the roaring wind before practice. "Tell me—will Gryffindor be afraid when the match is fair?"
"No!" the team roared back.
At the same time, Angelina Johnson sent a Bludger flying cleanly through a hoop.
Harry's emotions churned—excitement, anticipation, and a thin thread of fear.
Wood had reminded him countless times how crucial he was to the team. That pressure lingered, making Harry worry he'd fail at the critical moment, just as he had during some recent practices.
But when he looked into Wood's fierce, determined eyes—and imagined lifting the Quidditch Cup with his own hands—he forced himself to steady his breathing.
A flash of gold streaked past.
Harry reacted instantly.
Inherited instinct took over. He leaned forward on his Nimbus 2000, shifting his weight, accelerating sharply. The Golden Snitch glittered ahead—closer, closer—
"Well done, Harry!" Wood shouted, flying alongside him. "That's it! Keep that feeling, and I promise this match won't last three minutes!"
Harry caught the Snitch effortlessly, confidence surging.
"This is just practice!" he shouted back, his voice barely cutting through the wind. "Everyone out here is on our side!"
"It won't matter whether Slytherin's Seeker shows up or not," Wood replied fiercely. "Have you forgotten last time? Didn't you end it in minutes?"
"What if Malfoy plays?" Harry asked carefully.
The moment the words left his mouth, he regretted them.
Wood's expression darkened instantly.
"…Everyone, down," Wood said, raising a clenched fist—the signal to halt training.
One by one, the Gryffindor players descended.
"We'll talk in the common room," Wood said hoarsely.
---
The warmth of the fireplace was a sharp contrast to the cold wind outside. The coals glowed red, filling the room with heat.
Before Wood could even begin, objections erupted.
"I disagree," Angelina said at once. "There's no reason to fear someone who's never played an official match. We're short on time—we can't waste it on what-ifs."
"I agree," Fred and George said together.
No jokes. No grins.
Their words reignited Wood's fire. He slammed his fist into his palm.
"Do you think we're afraid of him?" Wood demanded. "No matter what happens, we're winning this! We have nothing to fear!"
The room echoed with determination.
And the coming match loomed closer than ever.