The sound of the goalpost shattering echoed across the stunned stadium. The Slytherin team stared as if they had seen a ghost. They had played Quidditch for years; they knew how strong those goals were. They were built to withstand impacts, and though Bludgers had hit them countless times over the years, they had never seen one so much as dented. And yet, the Bludger from Char's bat had obliterated it.
What kind of monstrous power was this?
At the same time, their confidence in their shiny new armor plummeted. They had studied the tapes from Char's last match. The Bludgers he had hit then were powerful, but not this powerful. Why the sudden, terrifying increase?
A cold, horrifying realization dawned on the Slytherin players. They gritted their teeth, their knuckles white on their brooms.
"He wasn't even using his full strength last time."
"He lied to us!"
"That cunning, evil little Badger… he used a despicable conspiracy!"
Char, hovering in the center of his team's formation, paid no attention to their furious shouts. His eyes swept over his system panel, a look of deep satisfaction on his face as he saw the faint but steady glow of his legendary life and legendary power. The time spent training with the trolls had not been in vain. Just taking those few small steps on the road to the mythical level had granted him a significant improvement in strength and physical fitness. Otherwise, while he might still have been able to break the goal, it would never have been so quick, so effortless.
If I continue to grow like this, he thought, what will it be like when I finally reach the mythical level? The power of the Titans, who could tear apart the sky and crush the earth… any magic below that level would pale in comparison.
Just as his mind was filled with these ambitious thoughts, Madam Hooch's whistle blew, and the game resumed. The Hufflepuff Chasers immediately flew back into the sky.
Cedric hovered for a moment, then hooked a finger at Flint and the other Slytherins. "Come on, fly," he taunted. "You don't want to be the first Slytherin team in over a decade to not make the finals, do you?"
His words seemed to reignite their fighting spirit.
"That's right," they muttered to each other, their faces grim. "We can't let that happen. There's still a chance. As long as we get the Golden Snitch before they get too far ahead, we can still win! Without a goal, we don't even have to worry about the Quaffle. We can all search for the Snitch!"
It was a desperate plan, but it was a plan. A glimmer of hope returned. Seven of us against one Seeker. The advantage is ours.
The next moment, they all shot into the sky, ignoring the Quaffle completely, their eyes scanning frantically for a glint of gold.
Seeing this, Char and Cedric exchanged a knowing look. The Slytherins were good, there was no denying it. Their response was fast. But Char just looked on with an air of utter indifference. He suddenly gripped his bat, and another Bludger shot off in a screaming arc, like a cannonball.
"Did I give you permission to take off?" his voice echoed across the pitch.
The five Slytherin players felt the fierce gust of wind from the passing Bludger, and even through their enchanted armor, a cold tingling sensation crawled up their spines. Is that really a Bludger hit by a human? Even a giant isn't that cruel.
Flint, however, gritted his teeth and pointed at one of his Beaters. "You. Go hit that Bludger back."
The Beater's eyes widened in terror. "Me? You want me to hit that?"
"Isn't that what Beaters do?" Flint snarled. "What are you afraid of? You have the armor. It's fine. Go up and give it a try. If you can knock it away, even for a moment, you'll be the hero of the match!"
The promise of glory, however hollow, was enough. The Beater's heart pounded in his chest, but he steered his broom toward the oncoming projectile. He swung his bat with all his might, letting out a defiant roar. "Just try it—!"
The next second, the moment his bat made contact with the Bludger, it shattered into a thousand pieces. A colossal impact slammed into him. If not for the protective magic of the armor, his picture would be hanging in the Slytherin locker room tomorrow—the black and white kind. Even with the protection, the force was overwhelming. Cracks spiderwebbed across the Beater's armor, and a sharp, blinding pain shot through his shoulder. His vision went white, and he fell from the sky like a kite with a cut string, sent directly to the infirmary.
The remaining Slytherins watched in horror. The Beater had tried, just as Flint had said. And he had died for it, metaphorically speaking. What now?
Flint's eyes fell on the second Beater. "You—"
Before he could finish, the second Beater's face turned red with fury. "Why don't you go?" he snarled. "You're always showing off how strong you are. You're the captain! Now's your chance to be a hero. Go on!"
"I'm a Chaser!" Flint said angrily.
The Beater sneered and threw his bat at him. "What's the use of a Chaser when there's no goal? You're the captain, you take responsibility. We're switching. You're the Beater now. I'm the Chaser. You go ahead. I'm not doing it. I'm not stupid enough to risk my life for a game we can't win."
Flint clutched the bat, shaking with rage. "You?!" He gritted his teeth, grabbed the bat, and flew upward. At that moment, Char hit another Bludger. Flint roared in frustration, but the moment he felt the oncoming air wave, he immediately dropped his altitude again.
He tried again. And again. But every time, he was met with a Bludger whose strength never seemed to weaken. He tried to have his team disperse and take off from different directions, but even if one of them managed to get into the air, they were forced back down by a precisely aimed Bludger within seconds. Those who were too slow to dodge ended up joining their teammate in the infirmary.
Soon, the remaining Slytherin players had to admit a desperate, hopeless fact. Under Char's relentless assault, they couldn't even stay in the air. It was as if a wall of despair separated them from the sky.
Meanwhile, the Hufflepuff Chasers, completely unopposed, were bombarding the now-defenseless Slytherin goal. The scoreboard refreshed again and again. The Slytherins could only watch, helpless, as the score gap widened. By the time it reached one hundred and fifty to zero, everyone in the stadium understood. The winner had been decided. Even if Slytherin caught the Snitch now, they could never make up the difference. And catching the Snitch was impossible. They couldn't even fly.
All eyes turned to Cedric, the Hufflepuff Seeker. As soon as he caught the Snitch, the game would be over. But to everyone's surprise, Cedric seemed to be in no hurry at all. He was leisurely controlling his broom, performing a series of handsome, acrobatic moves, but making no effort to find the Snitch.
A horrifying thought began to dawn on the audience. Hufflepuff didn't want to end this massacre. They were going to keep scoring. They were going for the record.
Lee Jordan's voice, when he finally spoke, was trembling. "The largest score difference in Hogwarts Quidditch history was one hundred and twenty-seven years ago, between Slytherin and Hufflepuff. Three Hufflepuff players were sick, and they lost 570 to 30. A difference of 540 points. No match has come close in a century. But at this rate… Hufflepuff is not only about to break its century-long record of shame, but they might even set a new one. The biggest score difference, and a clean sheet… no team has achieved that in a thousand years!"
His words sent a wave of electric energy through the stands. Hufflepuffs had never been known for their Quidditch prowess. They were always the stepping stone for Gryffindor and Slytherin. But this year, they had Char. This year, they were making history.
With every Quaffle that flew through the Slytherin goal, the Hufflepuff supporters began to count, their voices rising together in a thunderous chant that shook the stadium.
"Two hundred and twenty!"
"Two hundred and thirty!"
The Slytherin stands were silent. Draco Malfoy, who had been so smug just an hour ago, was pale as a ghost. Many of the Slytherin students couldn't bear it any longer and began to leave, the stands slowly emptying until only their discarded green and silver banners were left, piled on the ground like garbage.
The faces of the school board members and the jury were masks of utter misery. They were almost all Slytherin supporters. They had come expecting an easy victory, a resounding triumph. Instead, they were witnessing a complete and utter massacre. And the worst part was, Dumbledore and the other professors were watching the game with rapt attention. They couldn't leave. They were trapped, forced to sit there and endure the humiliation.
The only sound was the rising chant of the Hufflepuffs.
"Five hundred and twenty!"
"Five hundred and thirty!"
When the Quaffle sailed through the goal one last time, bringing the score difference to 540 to 0, the roar from the Hufflepuff stands seemed to shake the very foundations of the castle. At that exact moment, Cedric Diggory shot off like a rocket. Less than three seconds later, he had the Golden Snitch, whose location he had clearly known all along, clutched in his hand.
Lee Jordan's trembling voice rang out one last time. "The Snitch has been caught! The game is over! The final score—six hundred and ninety to zero! The biggest margin of victory in a thousand years of Hogwarts Quidditch! And the only shutout in the history of the record! Hufflepuff has set a record that may never be broken!"
As the game ended, the remaining Slytherin players sagged on their brooms, a wave of profound relief washing over them. The Hufflepuffs didn't even look at them. They lined up behind Char, circled the pitch three times, and perfectly repeated his now-famous celebration. Cedric was practically beside himself with joy, shouting hysterically, "We're making history!"
In the stands, the angry, tense expression on Professor Sprout's face had been replaced by one of pure, unadulterated pride. She turned to the now-bald Porgy Charmain and sneered.
"What was that you said before? You could beat Hufflepuff with a stomachache? Say that again now. My Char… my Char would beat the droppings out of you."