Chapter 198: Since Harry Was Born, Why Was Duncan Born!
Time rushed by like a high-hanging waterfall, roaring as it sped along.
After returning to school, Neville quickly threw himself into developing new gadgets, working from dawn till dusk with tireless diligence.
Meanwhile, Fred, George, and Duncan were all tied up with another matter, so busy their heads were spinning, with hardly any time to spare.
Hufflepuff had their second Quidditch match coming up. They would face Gryffindor on a weekend morning.
Zacharias had been tense lately. His face was taut at every moment, and the mere mention of Quidditch made him grow feverish. He looked practically obsessed with Quidditch, muttering "Quaffle" and "Golden Snitch" even as he walked and ate.
He brought that feverish mood straight into Quidditch training. No matter how foul the weather, if the pitch was booked for them, he would drive them onto the field to train, come wind or rain.
During this stretch of time, the line Duncan heard most was, "Lads, we're still not familiar enough with this tactic. Let's run it once more!"
That was despite the fact they had drilled that set play dozens of times and the tactics board was nearly falling apart from being flipped so much. Duncan had even memorised every tiny bit of movement in it, but Zacharias still wasn't at ease, worrying himself sick every day.
When matchday arrived, the stands around the Quidditch pitch were nearly filled by Hufflepuff and Gryffindor students. The remaining scattered seats held small clusters of Ravenclaw and Slytherin students. They wore relaxed expressions, appraising both sides' strength on the pitch as if watching a play.
A few Slytherins quietly held up "Go Hufflepuff" placards, cheering alongside the Hufflepuff crowd. Slytherin had lost to their arch-rivals Gryffindor in the last match, and they had been stewing about it for a long time. If Gryffindor won again this time, having to watch those smug faces, the Slytherins would probably be fit to burst.
And with no threat from Professor Quirrell, Professor Snape hadn't applied to referee this match, so it was still officiated by Madam Hooch. When she put the whistle to her lips and blew hard, she tossed the Quaffle from her hand and it drifted downwards.
The Hufflepuff and Gryffindor Chasers streaked away like bolts of lightning, charging the Quaffle from six directions. It was Duncan who, relying on his broom's superior speed, reached the Quaffle first. He dipped nimbly and scooped it into his arms.
But before it had warmed in his grip, he caught, out of the corner of his eye, Fred and George striking hard as a Bludger came hurtling for him.
"Merlin's beard!" Duncan quickly hurled the Quaffle back to a Hufflepuff teammate and swung his broom in a circle, dodging the hit.
Just as Zacharias had predicted, Gryffindor's defensive focus this match was Duncan, and that intent was obvious from the first whistle. Any time Duncan so much as looked like he might get near the Quaffle, Fred and George would scramble like madmen to seize control of a Bludger.
Then they would smash it at him, wreck his attacking intent, drive him to the edges of the field, and even give the impression they meant to knock him off his broom.
"Those two really are ruthless—no quarter given—and they know me a little too well, don't they?"
Duncan flew high on his broom, muttering under his breath. The moment he tried to drop his broom, a Bludger screamed past in front of him. Ever since he'd learnt to play Quidditch, he had often fooled around with the Weasley twins, and they were often either on the same side or facing each other.
So the twins were very familiar with his flying habits. They could always anticipate his flight path and react ahead of time. Of course, Duncan was just as familiar with them. The instant Fred and George raised their arms, he knew which way that Bludger would fly.
So the two sides were locked in a stalemate for a time, neither able to get the better of the other. But for Gryffindor, that already seemed enough, since Duncan was Hufflepuff's attacking ace and their tactical initiator. As long as Duncan didn't join the fray, the situation favoured Gryffindor, and the scales of victory seemed to be tipping their way.
Duncan, however, felt no anxiety at all. He climbed little by little around the edge of the pitch, feinting as if to attack. Fred, George, and the rest of Gryffindor had no choice but to keep one eye on Duncan, wary of a sudden strike from him.
The remaining Hufflepuff players seized on the space Duncan pulled open and attacked hard, rapidly widening the gap in the score. Gryffindor's players realised they'd taken the bait. Duncan wasn't Hufflepuff's true offensive focus in this match at all.
Duncan was like a deliberately cast, tempting morsel of bait, and they were like foolish lake fish that had obligingly snapped it up. The Gryffindors cottoned on and, watching the widening deficit, traded quick words mid-flight. Then they decided to shift part of their defensive attention away from Duncan and onto Hufflepuff's other players.
"Looks like our captain's sharper than Wood, and quicker-witted too—our moves were all exactly as he predicted!"
The pressure Duncan faced dropped sharply. He smiled with relief, then looked down over the pitch, searching for a chance to attack. Since Zacharias had foreseen that Gryffindor would mark Duncan tightly, of course he had prepared for it.
He had designed five or six sets of tactics for exactly when Duncan was shackled, so they could still capitalise and score. As long as they threw Gryffindor's defensive shape into disarray and forced them to spread thinner to guard the rest, it would only get easier.
"Duncan, catch!" A sharp cry floated up from below. Duncan dropped his broom tip, shot forward, and surged upward some distance.
Fred realised in a flash that something was wrong. He bellowed, "Block him—don't let him receive it!"
Too late. According to the drawn-up play, Duncan arrived perfectly in front of the Quaffle, caught it with ease, and, before Gryffindor's defensive line could collapse back, he burst for the scoring end and, with a deft motion, sent the Quaffle through a goal hoop for his first points of the match.
The Hufflepuff stand erupted in thunderous noise, a tidal wave of sound crashing down, as if Duncan had killed the game right there.
The Gryffindor players looked at each other. They sensed they were being steamrolled by Hufflepuff at the level of tactics. If they concentrated most of their strength on marking Duncan, Hufflepuff's remaining players could still score. If they spread their defence, they couldn't stop Duncan at all.
What can you say? An overpowered player affects a Quidditch match too much. Oliver Wood could only grit his teeth with envy.
Gryffindor had finally got a brilliant Seeker—yet the other side had an even more brilliant Chaser, with brains and technique both maxed out. Feeling this year's Quidditch Cup slipping away, Wood could only throw his head back and lament, "The heavens begrudge Gryffindor! Since Harry was born, why was Duncan born!"
Once Gryffindor's defence had been thoroughly scrambled, the match tore headlong towards a blowout. The whole thing nearly turned into a scoring showcase for Duncan and Hufflepuff's two other Chasers.
Duncan even copied a classic football finish—twisting into an overhead kick in mid-air for a score—drawing waves of frenzied cheers from the stands. Fred and George, seeing this, ground their teeth in fury, itching to grab Duncan right then and there and rough him up.
The game ran on until the sun hung at the zenith. In his chase with Cedric, Harry, half a body-length ahead, caught the Golden Snitch.
But no one paid it any mind, because the gap between Hufflepuff and Gryffindor had already grown to more than one hundred and fifty points.
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