After November, the gray sky began to snow, and the weather turned bitterly cold.
Waking from his dream, Albert found the woods around the castle blanketed in white, and the Black Lake frozen solid beneath a sheet of ice.
Everyone said winter had come unusually early this year, but Albert didn't care much. He had already wrapped himself in a wool sweater and scarf before the temperature dropped, and had even sought out Professor Flitwick to learn the Drying Charm—so he was well prepared.
Compared to the cold, what truly captured everyone's attention was the start of the Hogwarts Quidditch season.
Every morning, Albert saw Hagrid, broom in hand, battling wind and snow to clear the path to the Quidditch Pitch.
Charlie, Gryffindor's Quidditch Captain, was equally energized, drilling his team on tactical coordination during every practice.
Fred and George narrowly escaped his strict regimen, since they weren't official players. They told Albert that Charlie, in his element, was as demanding as a demon.
Fortunately, unofficial players didn't have to attend the grueling sessions.
For the first match—Gryffindor versus Slytherin—Charlie announced the draw at the Great Hall table. The match was scheduled for the weekend.
All Gryffindors longed to defeat Slytherin in one decisive blow. Professor McGonagall even exempted them from pre-match homework, showing both her desire for victory and her love of Quidditch.
There was another reason for their determination: Gryffindor's House Cup points were at the bottom. A win would lift them past Hufflepuff into third place, closing in on Ravenclaw.
Even Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw students hoped Gryffindor would triumph, proof of how unpopular Slytherin was at Hogwarts.
On the weekend, sleet fell from the sky, and the cold was piercing.
Albert tried to stay in bed, but Fred and George yanked off his blanket, dragging him out.
"It's freezing! I don't want to watch the match in this weather!" Albert complained, quickly bundling himself in thick clothes and casting a Drying Charm to warm them.
"Don't be silly! This is a rare chance—let's cheer for Gryffindor!" Fred bounced in place to warm up.
"Stop jumping, you're making me dizzy." Albert poked him with his wand and cast the Drying Charm again.
Fred blinked in surprise. "What did you just do? It's not cold anymore!"
"Magic is power. Learn more spells—it's always useful," Albert said earnestly.
Lee Jordan and George quickly asked for the same charm.
The room was icy, barely eight degrees even with the fireplace. Outside, it was below zero. Albert thought about gifting his friends indoor thermometers for Christmas, remembering their astonished reactions when they first saw one.
Armed with umbrellas, binoculars, scarves, and a flask of hot water, Albert and his roommates headed to the Great Hall. The smell of roasted sausages filled the air, and students buzzed with excitement.
Tension simmered between Gryffindor and Slytherin tables. Verbal sparring was inevitable, though no fights broke out—everyone was saving their energy for the pitch.
"Good luck, Charlie," Albert and his friends said, offering encouragement.
"By the way, Charlie, have you found substitutes?" Mark asked.
"Substitutes?" Albert frowned. "Does that mean the match will last long?"
"There are always exceptions," Jack explained. "We've got an old grudge with Slytherin. Even though some players graduated, the rivalry is still fierce. Conflicts are inevitable, so substitutes are needed."
Albert thought this odd—substitutions weren't allowed in Quidditch.
"Found them," Charlie reassured. "Don't worry, Madam Pomfrey will be watching. Anyone injured will be healed quickly."
Albert's mouth twitched. Why did this sound more like preparing for battle than a game?
At eleven, teachers and students braved the sleet to reach the stands.
The audience included not only Hogwarts but also outside wizards, cloaked and clutching umbrellas, eager to watch. Tickets always sold well—Quidditch was one of the few entertainments in the wizarding world.
Fred and George chose seats near the Gryffindor changing room. Albert was puzzled—surely the top tier offered the best view?
"Perhaps we can be of use," they said cryptically. Albert suspected they meant substituting as Beaters, though he doubted it.
Despite the weather, the atmosphere was electric, like watching a match in a stadium compared to on a screen.
Cheers erupted as Gryffindor, clad in red, entered the field. Slytherin, in green, was met with boos.
"It seems Slytherin isn't very popular!" the Ravenclaw commentator joked, earning jeers from the Slytherin stands.
Albert thought chaos would break out if the houses weren't seated separately.
Madam Hooch, broom in hand, stood at the center. "Play fairly and honestly," she declared, her magically amplified voice echoing across the pitch.
Albert chuckled as Charlie and the Slytherin captain crushed each other's hands in a forceful handshake.
"Hagrid told me Charlie asked how to exert force during a handshake," Albert said, amused.
The whistle blew. Fifteen brooms shot into the sky.
The match began—and within minutes, Albert realized it was the dirtiest game he had ever seen.
Jack seized the quaffle and scored ten points for Gryffindor, but a Slytherin Beater deliberately collided with him, sending both brooms swerving.
"Foul! Foul!" the stands roared.
"Slytherin committed a deliberate collision foul!" the commentator shouted. "Their plot failed—Gryffindor scored ten points. Madam Hooch awards the quaffle to Gryffindor!"
Albert turned to Hagrid. "Is this normal?"
"Not at all," Hagrid said. "But Gryffindor versus Slytherin matches are always tense."
"Tense?" Albert thought it was more like explosive.
Gryffindor quickly scored again, taking a twenty-point lead.
Slytherin grew furious, resorting to dirty tricks. Mario's broom was kicked, forcing him to clutch it desperately while the quaffle was stolen.
Mark retaliated by punching Marcus Flint in the nose, leaving him bleeding. Both teams were awarded penalty shots.
Chaos reigned. Madam Hooch's whistle blew every few minutes, driving her nearly mad.
Albert joined the crowd in denouncing Slytherin after Montague struck Irene on the head with a bat, claiming he mistook her for a bludger.
Jack retaliated by slamming the quaffle into Montague's face, then feigned an insincere apology. Madam Hooch let it pass as a normal play.
Even Professor McGonagall was shaking her fist in fury.
Charlie nearly caught the Snitch, but Montague crashed into him, ruining the chance. Gryffindor gained ten points, but the supporters were enraged, throwing objects onto the field.
Wood retaliated by slapping Montague across the face, leaving him dizzy.
"Penalty!" Madam Hooch shouted furiously.
"Sorry, I got too excited," Wood said, feigning innocence.
Albert shook his head. This wasn't Quidditch—it was war.
The roughest match he had ever seen.
Was this what they called passionate Quidditch?