Bole and Derrick, the two Beaters, weren't messing around. Each gripped a bat, hammering the Bludgers toward Harry's back with relentless force.
One Bludger zipped past Harry's arm, smashing into the stands far behind him, sending a shower of dust and splinters from the shuddering wooden boards.
Bole's bat swung so close it nearly clipped Harry's broom handle.
Malfoy was hot on his tail, just a body's length behind.
But Harry, in a flash, pressed down hard on his broom.
The Firebolt responded like it had a mind of its own, its front end shooting upward, almost vertical to the ground, rocketing Harry straight into the sky.
The move was so sudden that Bole couldn't pull back, and Derrick couldn't brake in time.
Their bats clashed with a loud clang, sparks flying.
Bole yelped in pain, clutching his arm as he stumbled mid-air.
Derrick, knocked half off his broom, nearly plummeted, barely grabbing the handle to save himself. His hat flew off, revealing the shiny back of his head.
Malfoy, unable to dodge, smacked his chin on Bole's broom, his eyes watering from the sting.
"Ha—hahaha!"
Lee Jordan's laughter nearly blew out the megaphone. "Oh, Merlin's beard! What was that? Talk about shooting themselves in the foot! Lads, with reflexes like that, you think you can keep up with a Firebolt? Maybe wake up two hours early tomorrow and practice sprints with the Hippogriffs in the Forbidden Forest!"
The Gryffindor stands erupted in laughter, students doubled over.
Even the Hufflepuffs were slapping their thighs.
A few Ravenclaw girls hid their giggles behind their hands, eyes sparkling with amusement.
Next to Dylan, Luna swayed her head slightly.
Her lion hat roared faintly, mimicking Lee's laughter.
The sound was still majestic, as if it had been holding back for too long.
Finally, it could let loose.
Lee Jordan's commentary lost all restraint.
He leaned into the microphone, gleefully calling out every dirty trick Slytherin pulled, his words sharp and biting.
Even their silver-and-green uniforms got a few jabs.
Professor McGonagall, standing near the commentary box, twitched with every word.
She reached for the megaphone more than once.
"Mr. Jordan!" Her voice was icy enough to freeze a lake. "If you cannot remain impartial—"
"Sorry, Professor! Really, I'm sorry!" Lee's tone softened instantly, tinged with a pleading quiver, though it sounded like he was stifling a laugh. "I swear, I'll keep it professional from now on, no exaggerating!"
He toned it down a bit, but the excitement in his voice was impossible to hide.
"Score update: Gryffindor thirty, Slytherin ten! Warrington just scored for Slytherin—they're not giving up yet."
But the match was getting uglier by the second.
Tempers flared like ignited dragon powder, ready to explode.
Slytherin, trailing by two goals, got bolder with their fouls, their collisions carrying a vicious edge.
Bole charged with his bat, aiming for a Bludger but "accidentally" swinging half a foot off, smacking Alicia's arm hard.
Alicia grunted in pain, nearly losing her grip on her broom.
Bole just shrugged innocently, shouting to Madam Hooch as she zoomed over.
"I misjudged! Thought her red hair was the Bludger!"
Before the words even settled, George Weasley shot past on his broom.
As he passed Bole, his elbow jerked up, catching Bole square in the jaw.
Bole's head snapped back, the whistle he'd been chewing on tumbling to the ground.
Tweet—tweet!
Madam Hooch's whistle blared like an alarm.
She flew between them, her silver-gray hair practically standing on end.
"Gryffindor and Slytherin, one penalty each! George Weasley! Bole! One more stunt like that, and you're both off the pitch! I mean it!"
Over by the Gryffindor goalposts, Wood eyed Slytherin's penalty shot.
He launched off his broom, snatching the Quaffle with one hand.
He crashed back onto his broom, nearly toppling off, but his legs hooked the handle just in time.
"Forty to ten! Gryffindor scores another ten!" Lee's voice soared. "Wood's save was unreal! He's practically guarding the hoops with his whole body!"
Slytherin's players looked rattled, their moves growing frantic.
"Katie Bell's got the Quaffle! She's charging—goal! Brilliant!"
Lee was so excited he nearly swallowed the megaphone.
"Fifty to ten! Gryffindor's up by forty! Katie's throw was hotter than a dragon's flame! I'm in love with her aim!"
Fred and George flanked Katie on their brooms, bats swinging like guardian gargoyles, clearly shielding her from any Slytherin retaliation.
Slytherin didn't dare touch Katie but turned their frustration on Wood.
Two Bludgers, as if guided by magic, slammed into his back and shoulder, one after the other.
Wood groaned, his body lurching forward, curling over his broom as he spun in the air. His face went paper-white, lips bleeding from how hard he bit them, clearly in agony.
Tweet!
Madam Hooch's whistle nearly shattered from the force. She swooped in front of the Slytherin team, her broom practically jabbing Derrick's face. "Slytherin, deliberate attack on the Keeper! Penalty to Gryffindor!"
Angelina clutched the Quaffle, her eyes blazing.
Her run-up kicked up grass clippings, and her throw was like a cannonball, grazing the Keeper's fingers as it rocketed into the goal.
"Sixty to ten!" Lee's voice was hoarse from shouting. "Angelina's shot was for Wood! Nailed it!"
Harry circled above, eyes locked on the air, hunting the Snitch.
Just then, Fred smashed a Bludger toward Warrington.
Warrington dodged in a panic, dropping the Quaffle.
Alicia, quick as a hawk, snatched it and hurled it into Slytherin's goal before they could react.
"Seventy to ten! Gryffindor scores again!" Lee's voice threatened to topple the stands. "That teamwork! Flawless!"
The Gryffindor stands exploded, screams and cheers like a tidal wave, nearly shaking the wooden boards apart.
Ron, at the front, leaned so far over the railing his face was beet-red, shouting until his voice gave out, waving his wizard hat like a flag.
Dylan felt a bit warm. He pulled a silver sweet wrapper from his pocket, tapped it with his wand, and turned it into a goblet.
Muttering "Aguamenti," he filled it with water, then added a splash of grape juice. A lid appeared to keep the aroma contained.
He took a sip, but Luna turned, her pale gold eyes fixed curiously on his goblet. "What's that?"
"Nothing much." Dylan shifted the goblet out of her view. "Not watching the match?"
"The match is great, but your goblet's more interesting."
Luna leaned closer, whispering, "When I was three, my dad accidentally put too much mead in a honey pie and let me try a sip."
She paused, wrinkling her nose. "He said it was a grown-up taste. I didn't like it—too sweet."
"Did you add grape juice to yours? I think plain wine's better."
Dylan's eye twitched. He discreetly waved his wand to check for trouble, then conjured another goblet, filled it with plain wine, and handed it to her.
"Thanks." Luna took it without hesitation, downing half the glass in one go.
Anyone else would've been dizzy, but her cheeks didn't even flush. Her eyes sparkled—she wasn't kidding about her tolerance.
"Gryffindor penalty!"
Madam Hooch's whistle pierced the air, laced with fury.
She hovered on her broom, chest heaving, clearly livid.
"I've never seen such—such disgraceful behavior!"
It happened moments ago.
Harry's Firebolt was inches from the Golden Snitch.
Its golden wings glinted on his glasses.
Malfoy, sweating buckets, chased desperately, the gap widening.
In a reckless move, he lunged forward, grabbing the Firebolt's tail, yanking Harry's broom downward.
Harry lurched, missing his chance to grab the Snitch.
Startled, the Snitch zipped into the clouds, vanishing.
"Shameless git!" Lee's roar blasted through the megaphone, buzzing everyone's ears. "That's low, even for him! Using tactics like that—"
His words turned colorful, a string of insults pelting down like hail. Even the players paused, stunned.
Normally, McGonagall would've shut him down.
But Dylan glanced at the staff section and saw her standing there, one fist clenched, the other gripping the scoreboard, muttering furiously under her breath.
Her glare at the Slytherin team was scarier than Lee's outburst.
When Alicia took the penalty, her hands shook with rage.
Her throw was powerful but wildly off, sailing past the goalposts and crashing into the stands, sparking laughter from the Slytherins.
The Gryffindor team was fuming, their movements frantic. Even Wood's commands at the goalposts were gruffer than usual.
Slytherin, meanwhile, looked smug.
Malfoy even taunted Harry with a chin-jut, whispering with his teammates, chuckling as their morale soared.
"This match is getting under my skin," Dylan muttered.
"Don't worry." Luna turned, her face calm but her eyes certain. "Gryffindor's going to win this one."
Dylan blinked, then chuckled softly. "Yeah, I know they will."
"I know you know I know."
Luna's gaze drifted, her voice airy with that dreamy quality of hers.
"After all, we're the same kind."
Dylan raised a brow, intrigued. "Oh? How so?"
"Have you ever seen a Wrackspurt?" Luna's eyes focused on him, serious.
Dylan paused, shaking his head. "No, what's that?"
"They're tiny, invisible creatures," Luna said, her fingers tracing their shape in the air. "They sneak into your ears and muddle your thoughts, make your mind a mess."
She paused, adding, "Most people have them around. Even Professor Dumbledore has a few sometimes, just not many."
She waved her hand as if shooing something invisible, then gestured toward Dylan and pulled back, saying earnestly, "But you don't have any. Not only that, they seem to avoid you. I just tried pushing one your way, and it zipped off."
Luna's eyes gleamed with curiosity and a touch of awe. "You're really something."
"Uh…" Dylan drawled, blinking.
He scanned the air where she'd waved.
Nothing but a few grass clippings floated by.
He thought to himself: Wrackspurts sound like they're just worries made tangible. I've got plenty of those, so why can't I see them? Are they really some mystical creature only certain people can spot? Guess I'm not gifted in that department.
"Thanks for the compliment?" His tone was uncertain.
Being praised for repelling invisible creatures felt… odd.
Luna just hummed softly, turning back to the pitch.
The moment her face shifted—
A deafening roar erupted from the crowd.
Harry was circling low on his Firebolt, eyes locked on a faint golden glimmer ahead.
The Snitch had just emerged from the clouds!
Acting on instinct, he leaned forward, arms outstretched, letting go of his broom entirely, diving toward the golden light!
Malfoy's face paled. He urged his broom forward, nearly lying flat, his hand stretching for the Snitch.
His fingers were inches from its wings, so close—
But Harry was faster!
He carved a daring arc through the air, his right hand snapping shut around the fluttering Snitch, fingers locking tight!