Chapter 90: 90: But the Savior Fell Off His Broom!

By the latter part of the match, Lee Jordan had practically given up on commentary. The Quidditch game was so one-sided that it almost felt unnecessary. Gryffindor was being thoroughly dominated. Even if the much-anticipated Harry Potter managed to catch the Golden Snitch, the match's outcome was already decided—Slytherin was going to win. "Eve Stock..." Jordan's voice wavered with disbelief. "She's riding a Cleansweep Seven and single-handedly crushing an entire team... Am I watching the European Cup or what?" The Slytherin stands were eerily quiet. The students exchanged awkward glances, unsure how to react. On one hand, Slytherin beating Gryffindor was a reason for celebration—it always was. But the star of today's match, the one responsible for this victory, was Eve Stock, a Muggle-born. This made things complicated. Should they feel proud of her? Or would that betray their usual disdain? Alicia, however, couldn't care less about the awkwardness. The usually quiet and dreamy girl was on the verge of tears. This was the first time Eve had truly shone, standing tall and commanding respect. "Well done, Eve!" Marcus Flint roared enthusiastically, clapping her on the back. "We just gave those Gryffindor fools the most humiliating defeat of their lives! They'll never lift their heads in the Quidditch pitch again!" He turned to yell at Terence Higgs, their Seeker. "Get the Snitch, Terence! Don't give Gryffindor even a sliver of hope!" To be fair, Slytherin's usual dirty play was somewhat absent today. Their Beaters were mostly focused on the Bludgers instead of targeting players. Even students from Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff—who typically couldn't stand Slytherin—were swept up by Eve's spectacular performance. "Eve Stock!" her name echoed across the stands, chanted by a chorus of young witches and wizards. To them, she was the queen of the pitch, the undeniable ruler of the game. Eve bit her lip, then raised a single finger high into the sky—a silent but powerful acknowledgment of their cheers. The Gryffindor players looked at her slender figure with dread. The psychological pressure was unbearable, threatening to crush their spirits. As the game resumed, Eve darted forward like an arrow released from a bow. The energy in the stadium reached fever pitch. The students roared, their voices blending into a chaotic symphony. It was as if they themselves were streaking across the sky, riding Eve's broom alongside her. "She's incredible..." Harry Potter murmured from his high vantage point, awestruck. So captivated was he by Eve's performance that he momentarily forgot his role—to find and catch the Golden Snitch. "Harry, the Snitch!" a voice suddenly shouted, snapping him out of his daze. It was Oliver Wood, yelling desperately while pointing toward the far end of the pitch. There, Harry spotted it—a faint golden glimmer flitting near the ground. Determined, he clenched his teeth and sped toward it. Catching the Snitch wouldn't change the outcome—Gryffindor would still lose. But at least they wouldn't lose by such an overwhelming margin. The Snitch came closer and closer. Harry stretched out his hand, fingers brushing the air. But just then, a massive force slammed into him. "Ha!" Marcus Flint's mocking laughter rang out as Harry struggled to regain control. The burly Slytherin had deliberately rammed him out of the way. "Don't even think about it, Savior. This match is ours to rule!" Angry shouts and groans erupted from the Gryffindor stands. Their final glimmer of hope had been cruelly extinguished by Marcus's ruthless play. The match continued, with Eve relentlessly racking up points for Slytherin. Oliver Wood and the rest of the Gryffindor team looked pale as ghosts. They weren't professionals; their mental fortitude was far from invincible. No one had anticipated that the addition of an exceptional Chaser would make Slytherin's team this overpowering. Eve Stock was unstoppable, and Gryffindor was crumbling under her relentless assault. Eve Stock remained impassive as she darted forward with the Quaffle, weaving through Gryffindor's defenses at breakneck speed. The Weasley twins, in a desperate attempt to slow her down, sent both Bludgers hurtling toward her. Yet her pace never faltered. With a nimble mid-air flip, she avoided the Bludgers effortlessly and followed up with another flawless goal. "Oh, I almost feel sorry for them..." Alicia Field commented with a proud smile that betrayed her supposed pity. It was clear she was anything but sympathetic. "If it were me, I'd be in despair too," muttered Miles Bletchley, still rattled by Eve's ferocious dominance on the pitch. "I think Gryffindor's team has gone completely numb from this beating. I mean, sure, we don't get along with them, but this is downright pitiful... Wait, what's going on with Potter?" Miles wasn't the only one who noticed. All around the pitch, people were pointing toward Harry Potter, whose broom was behaving oddly. The usually stable Nimbus 2000 was now shaking violently beneath him, tossing him about in the air as though trying to unseat him. "He can't control his broom?" Miles exclaimed, astonished. "That's a Nimbus 2000! It's supposed to be the most reliable broom out there! Maybe Gryffindor's so desperate for a hero they let this kid join the team just because of his name." Whispers and murmurs rippled through the crowd. Many were questioning why a first-year, who seemingly couldn't even manage his own broomstick, was playing for the Gryffindor team. Had they stooped to exploiting Harry Potter's fame? Nolan Von Draugr, silent since the match began, finally spoke up, his brow furrowed. "Someone's cursed his broom. Probably dark magic." "Dark wizards? Death Eaters? Who'd dare?" Miles asked, his voice tinged with fear. "That's irrelevant," Nolan replied with a dismissive shake of his head. "Whoever it is must be reckless to attempt this in front of Professor McGonagall and Professor Snape. Potter won't die—not with them watching." On the field, the Weasley twins tried to maneuver their brooms closer to Harry to pull him to safety. But every time they got near, Harry's broom leapt out of reach, jerking unpredictably. Hanging on for dear life, Harry finally lost his grip and was left dangling from his broom with only one hand. The situation grew dire. The stands erupted with shouts of alarm as every student jumped to their feet. No one wanted to see such a tragedy unfold during what was supposed to be a joyous day. Then it happened. Harry's broom gave one final violent jolt, and he screamed as his fingers slipped. He was falling. From high above, Eve Stock's sharp eyes narrowed. She had heard the panicked cries from the crowd. With a steadying breath, she tightened her grip on her broom and dove like a streak of silver lightning. Her speed was unmatched. In an instant, she shot past the Weasley twins, who were still attempting to reach Harry. Just as Harry was about to hit the ground, Eve's hand shot out and grabbed the back of his robes. With a sharp pull, she lifted him back into the air, her Cleansweep Seven climbing steadily as the crowd erupted into cheers. From below, Eve could hear Harry retching as the adrenaline took its toll. "I caught the Snitch!" The declaration, though faint and shaky, rang out. Harry's red robes hung limp as Eve carried him like a sack of potatoes beneath her broom. His glasses were gone, his hair was a wind-tousled mess, but in his hand was the unmistakable gleam of the Golden Snitch—still sticky from being in his mouth. The match was over. Harry Potter had caught the Snitch, but Gryffindor still lost to Slytherin by 300 points. If there was one question on everyone's mind after the game, it was this: who was the MVP of the match? And no matter who you asked—be it a devastated Gryffindor or a jubilant Malcolm Baddock—the answer was the same: "Eve Stock." That day, Eve etched her name into Hogwarts history as one of the greatest Chasers to ever grace the pitch. ~~~---------------------- Patreon Advance Chapters: patreon .com / HPdreame