The staff stand wasn't far from the Slytherin spectator seats, so Edward reached the area below it in no time. What he didn't expect was to see another figure hurrying from the opposite side of the spectator corridor—Hermione.
"Edward, what are you doing here?" Hermione hadn't expected to run into anyone either. She already had her wand drawn, clearly up to something.
"Quiet, give me a second!" Edward raised a hand to hush her, focusing all his energy on using his Level 1 Compassion Charm to pick up any suspicious activity from the staff stand.
But Lee Jordan's commentary, the raucous cheers from the Quidditch pitch, and the low murmur of the staff's conversations were all drowning out his senses. With only Level 1 Compassion and even the added focus from his Level 3 Humility Charm, he couldn't pinpoint who was casting a spell from the staff stand. The staff were just beyond the range of his charms, and he was at his limit.
His knuckles whitened as he clenched his fist. Saving someone came first. If he couldn't figure out who it was, he'd just have to flip the table—literally.
He reached for his wand, ready to fire a spell and cause chaos in the staff stand, but Hermione beat him to it. "Incendio!" A jet of flame shot from her wand, licking at the hem of Snape's black robes.
Edward froze. He hadn't expected Hermione to peg Snape as the one trying to kill Harry. No way! That's impossible!
But since Hermione had already made her move, Edward decided to lean into it and make things even louder. "Ventus!" A surge of invisible wind gathered at the tip of his wand, so strong it nearly blinded Hermione with swirling dust. It was a spell he'd learned from the Knight's Manual, meant to deflect enemy arrows in a pinch.
The wind caught Hermione's flames, sending them roaring upward through the gaps in the staff stand. To the Gryffindor and Ravenclaw stands across the pitch, it looked like the staff stand was hosting some bizarre celebration.
"It's on fire! Fire!" Even the Hogwarts staff were startled by the sudden flames. Professor Quirrell, seated at the top, had the most dramatic reaction, tumbling backward off the stand in a panic. His oversized purple turban, unfortunately, caught fire, making him shriek as he frantically cast Aguamenti to douse his head.
Snape noticed his robe's hem had caught fire too, but the flames flared briefly and then vanished, leaving everyone baffled. The staff exchanged confused glances, while Lee Jordan, face smudged even darker (he was already pretty dark), kept up his passionate commentary.
"Harry Potter's regained control of his broom! He's climbing back on and diving—looks like he's spotted the Golden Snitch! But those two Bludgers are still hot on his tail. The Weasley twins are trying to cover him, but their Comet 260s can't keep up with his Nimbus 2000!"
Hermione, who hadn't made it back to the stands, overheard Lee's commentary and panicked. "Bludgers? Did I get it wrong? Is someone else besides Snape controlling those things?"
Edward didn't freeze like Hermione. He sprang into action, charging toward the base of the stand. Cursing a broom required constant focus on the target since brooms, as reliable magical products, had built-in anti-jinx mechanisms for flight stability. Bludgers, on the other hand, were essentially enchanted iron balls designed to attack players. Tweaking them to target a specific player wasn't too hard and didn't require sustained casting.
The solution? Blow them up.
That's exactly what Edward was about to do. On the pitch, Harry was aware of the two Bludgers tailing him but kept his eyes locked on the Golden Snitch. He pulled a stunt, standing on his broom and stretching forward, fingers grazing the Snitch. Then, with a sudden lurch, he dove, rolling across the grass in a heap.
The crowd shot to their feet, gasping, too caught up to notice whether Harry had caught the Snitch. The two Bludgers were closing in from both sides. Harry, kneeling and clutching his stomach in pain, looked like he was about to be sick. There was no way he could dodge the Bludgers aiming for his head.
"Immobulus!" A loud shout rang out, and the Bludgers froze reluctantly, just ten inches from Harry's skull. A streak of yellow lightning flashed past Harry's cheek, leaving it tingling.
Edward charged forward, his enchanted sword crackling with energy. With a few swift slashes, he hacked the Bludgers into eight pieces, which clattered to the ground, lifeless. After advancing to the second tier of his Breathing Technique, he could now imbue his weapon with basic enchantments.
Harry coughed, spitting something out. A golden object landed in his palm, its wings fluttering weakly, exhausted from its escape.
"170 to 70—Gryffindor wins!" Madam Hooch's whistle blasted, signaling the end of the match. A tidal wave of Gryffindor cheers drowned out everything, including the Slytherins' grumbling.
The match ended in chaos. Dumbledore hadn't attended, and McGonagall had been ready to halt the game when the staff stand caught fire. She wanted Gryffindor to win Quidditch, but Harry's life was more important. Before she could act, Harry caught the Snitch.
The staff and Gryffindors swarmed Harry, some inspecting his broom, others examining the Bludger fragments.
"Mr. Potter! That was a spectacular catch! Are you hurt?" McGonagall asked.
"I'm fine, Professor. Look—" Harry began.
"Harry, oh my gosh! I thought you were—" Hermione cried.
"Don't worry, Hermione. Edward chopped those Bludgers to bits," Harry reassured her.
"Where's Edward, anyway?"
Harry scanned the crowd for Edward, but the growing throng swept him toward the hospital wing, claiming he was in shock. Edward, meanwhile, had slipped away from the chaos, rejoining the Slytherin team.
Glory didn't always mean basking in applause. Sometimes, it was about walking away, leaving your deeds to speak for themselves. Besides, the whole school had seen him charge in and destroy the rogue Bludgers, and McGonagall had publicly awarded him five points for it.
That was enough.