The sky was clear, with white clouds drifting lazily across it.
The Quidditch pitch, usually quiet and empty, was packed with people today. The stands of all four houses were filled with fluffy little heads.
When Vaughn and his teammates entered the field, the Slytherin section erupted in thunderous cheers. Several older students conjured a snake-shaped firework, which hissed and slithered through the sky.
Many Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw students also held banners embroidered with large golden letters: "Vaughn will win!"
From a distance, Vaughn spotted Cedric and a few familiar Ravenclaw girls. He smiled and waved, instantly drawing another wave of cheers.
"Hello everyone, this is Lee Jordan, and I'll be your commentator today! Our dear Professor McGonagall is supervising to keep things civil. Now entering the pitch—Slytherin! Look! Vaughn Weasley—this handsome fellow is driving the young witches wild—"
"Ahem."
"Sorry, Professor. And now, the Gryffindor team enters…"
As the teams took the field one by one, Madam Hooch, the referee, stepped forward with a broom in hand and addressed both sides.
"I expect a fair game—honest and competitive…" She gave the Slytherin team a long look. Flint bared his buck teeth in a dopey grin. Madam Hooch quickly looked away and began listing the rules.
Vaughn glanced at Harry across from him and gave a subtle blink. Harry responded with a rather aggressive smile.
Poor kid. He has no idea what's coming.
"…Alright, everyone, mount your brooms." With a sharp blast of Hooch's silver whistle, fifteen broomsticks soared into the air.
The game had begun!
The red Quaffle was thrown high, and both teams immediately sprang into action.
Lee Jordan's voice boomed across the pitch, amplified by the enchanted microphone:
"…And we're off! What an intense start! What's this—Harry isn't joining the attack. He's climbing higher—Wood must've designed tactics to give him a better vantage point…"
"Meanwhile, Vaughn Weasley is circling Fred and George—he's moving like a streak of lightning—Oh! Fred tried to pass the Bludger to Vaughn, but Vaughn lured him into Angelina Johnson's path—she's closest to the Quaffle! The Quaffle's been stolen by Slytherin! What a dirty—"
"Jordan!"
"Sorry, Professor—I meant brilliant tactic! Vaughn's really exploiting his speed advantage—And the shot's in! Slytherin takes the lead, 10–0!"
Wind lashed his face, his robes flapping wildly. Vaughn, wearing windproof goggles, spun around and pointed mockingly at the twins.
The twins looked thoroughly annoyed.
Harry, high above, looked down nervously. Falling behind early made him uneasy, but he still hadn't seen any sign of the Golden Snitch.
He wanted to descend and help—maybe join the offense or defense, like Vaughn.
But Wood's signal was clear: Stick to the plan. Harry was too light and small to risk direct confrontation.
Vaughn continued darting through the formation like a shadow.
Standing on his broom's footrests in a half-crouch, his cloak streaming behind him, he zipped past Angelina Johnson, Gryffindor's female Chaser.
A black Bludger locked onto him. As it lunged at him, Vaughn dodged effortlessly.
Angelina, following close behind, had to halt her attack to avoid the Bludger—otherwise, it might lock onto her instead.
She turned back and shouted at the twins: "What are you doing? Knock the damn Bludger away!"
"…Shameless—uh, I mean, sensational! Vaughn's tactic has disrupted the Gryffindor offense. Still no sign of the Snitch. Harry remains stationary. Gryffindor looks completely disoriented. Is Wood's plan falling apart?"
No one had the answer.
Vaughn was pushing the Nimbus 2000 to its limit. He toyed with the Bludgers like they were nothing, causing chaos for Gryffindor.
Soon, Slytherin led 90–20. Harry, hovering above, grew increasingly anxious. He'd seen glimpses of gold several times—but they vanished too quickly to track.
Finally, he saw the golden flash again—and dived.
His sudden movement didn't escape Vaughn, who had been watching him. Vaughn signaled Flint and Adrian Pucey from afar.
Lee Jordan was shouting:
"…Wait—Harry's diving! Did he spot the Snitch? No—Flint and Pucey are breaking formation—what are they—OH NO! They're accelerating straight at Harry—what a pair of dirty, no-good—"
"Jordan!"
"Sorry, Professor! Luckily, they missed—but they blocked Harry's dive!"
"Foul! That's a foul!" Dean Thomas yelled from the Gryffindor stands, waving at Madam Hooch. "Give them a red card! Send them off!"
"Dean, this isn't football. That's a legal Quidditch block," Seamus Finnigan sighed.
Still, the Gryffindor students were outraged. Flint, big as a troll, and Pucey, tall and burly, had boxed Harry in.
They hovered near him, repeatedly brushing his broom tail, feigning speed and accident, keeping him from accelerating.
"…Oh—poor Harry! He looks like a puppet in mid-air, battered by two gorillas! Referee, where are you?! Flint's broom smacked his face—did you not see that?"
Even Professor McGonagall didn't scold Lee Jordan this time. Clearly, Flint's escalating dirty play had pushed her patience.
Unfortunately, Madam Hooch hadn't seen it—her eyes were on the new Quaffle scramble.
Harry winced—his glasses were nearly torn off. He was furious but couldn't retaliate. Physically, the two sixth-years overwhelmed him.
Fred and George tried to assist, but Vaughn stopped them again. He skillfully baited the Bludgers, dodging each one with finesse, while the twins struggled with the chaos.
Ron watched the brutal 'dogfight' above, fists clenched tightly.
But to his dismay, he didn't even know who to cheer for. Hermione, not far from him, looked equally torn.
When Harry was nearly knocked off again—and Fred finally broke free to help—both of them let out a breath of relief.
"Vaughn is being a menace! Is he trying to kill Harry?!" Ron snapped.
Before Hermione could reply, a familiar booming voice said behind them: "Vaughn's not the captain. He's just following orders."
"Hagrid?! When did you get here?"
"Just arrived. Want to try one of my rock cakes?"
Both of them, remembering the time they nearly cracked a tooth on those, politely declined.