Saturday brought a rare stretch of clear November sky—cloudless and brilliantly blue, like the petals of a forget-me-not.
The Quidditch pitch was packed from early morning. All four towering stands overflowed with excited spectators.
The students were unusually energetic. The tension and gloom that had hung over the castle because of the monthly exams had been swept away by the crisp, refreshing wind.
The Gryffindor and Slytherin stands were especially lively. Red-and-gold and green-and-silver banners surged like two opposing seas. Students waved enormous bed-sheet flags painted with lions or serpents, their cheers rising louder and louder.
Wrapped in his dark-blue robes, William climbed the Ravenclaw stands, heading straight to the top row.
There, Professor Flitwick sat atop a tall stack of Standard Book of Spells volumes to gain a better view.
Beside him sat Ravenclaw prefect Robert Hilliard, who quickly moved aside to make room when William approached. William nodded politely and sat down beside Flitwick without ceremony.
"Lovely weather, isn't it?" Flitwick rubbed his hands excitedly while looking at the pitch below. "It reminds me of your school days, William."
"I remember you played Chaser for the Ravenclaw team. Sharp, aggressive style too—and you became captain in your fifth year… though later…"
He trailed off tactfully.
William knew exactly what he meant. After exchanging spells with Sirius Black in a corridor duel, both had received a year of detention. The punishment and missed training forced William to step down as captain.
"That's ancient history, Filius," William said with a nostalgic smile. "I haven't touched a broom in years. Sitting in an office all day… I wonder if I could still fly properly. I might slide right off at takeoff."
Flitwick chuckled. "You'd be fine. You're still in your prime. But when you reach my age—and if you put on a bit of weight, it may become rather difficult."
As they joked, the Ravenclaw students around them gradually fell silent. Though their eyes were fixed on the pitch, they leaned subtly backward, clearly eavesdropping on stories about their Defence Against the Dark Arts professor's student days.
William noticed, of course. A ring of silent students sitting stiffly like statues was hard to ignore. He merely smiled and continued chatting.
Soon, Madam Hooch blew her silver whistle. The players soared into the air, red and green figures weaving together as the match began.
William quickly noticed something about the Gryffindor team—three redheads.
Charlie Weasley was the Seeker and captain. The two who crashed around like Bludgers were Fred and George, serving as Beaters.
"The Weasley family…" William muttered thoughtfully, wondering if Quidditch talent ran in their blood.
Lee Jordan's enthusiastic commentary rang out across the stadium.
"Angelina Johnson of Gryffindor takes the Quaffle! She flies like an eagle—no, a lioness across midfield! What a feint! She's past Pu—OUCH! That's a foul! Flint nearly snapped her broom in half! Referee, are you watching ants crawl?"
The stands erupted in boos.
"Slytherin penalty… and they score. Ten–nil," Lee muttered. "Dirty tactics—but within the rules. I mean… typical Slytherin cunning."
Slytherin's stand exploded with cheers and waving green banners.
Gryffindor quickly fought back, the score climbing on both sides. Then Lee suddenly shouted:
"Wait! Is that the Golden Snitch? Charlie Weasley's seen it! He's diving!"
All eyes turned skyward.
Charlie shot downward like a red meteor, the Slytherin Seeker chasing close behind.
Charlie's dive was far more reckless.
Just feet above the ground, he pulled up sharply, raising a glittering golden ball.
"He's caught it! Charlie Weasley catches the Snitch! Gryffindor wins!"
A tidal wave of cheers nearly drowned the stadium.
William leaned toward Flitwick, shouting over the roar, "Charlie Weasley is exceptional! That dive was professional level!"
Flitwick pointed excitedly toward the Gryffindor stand. Professor McGonagall, usually stern, was waving her tartan hat wildly—more excited than the students.
"Minerva always believed Charlie could make the England national team," Flitwick shouted. "She even imagined him winning the World Cup!"
William nodded thoughtfully as he watched Charlie laughing in the arms of his teammates.
...
That evening, Gryffindor Tower held a grand celebration.
The Fat Lady's portrait opened repeatedly to admit students carrying supplies. The common room buzzed with life. Red banners and streamers hung from the ceiling. Cakes and pies piled into mountains, likely smuggled from the kitchens. Several older boys lugged in crates of Butterbeer purchased during their last Hogsmeade visit and hidden under their beds.
In a corner, Fred and George huddled together.
"This isn't lively enough," Fred said, shaking his head at the decorations. "We need something more explosive."
"Fireworks?"
"Exactly."
George lowered his voice. "Last weekend I saw Ravenclaw's Harold Dingle smuggle in a crate of Weasleys' Wildfire Whiz-bangs from Hogsmeade. I bet he still has some left."
"Dingle? Perfect," Fred grinned. "We can get some from him."
George glanced toward the door. "First we need to sneak them past Filch and his horrible cat… and get them safely back here."
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