Chapter 44: The Mad Flying Broom and Bludgers

As the two massive gates beneath the stadium slowly swung open, figures in silver-green and scarlet-gold zoomed out on flying broomsticks. They circled the Quidditch pitch round after round, earning waves of cheers from the crowd. Edward spotted Marcus Flint, the Slytherin captain who looked like a troll and clearly wasn't the friendliest guy around—whether toward his own teammates or the Gryffindors. And then there was Harry Potter, visibly nervous in midair, constantly glancing around at the stands. "Today's match is Slytherin versus Gryffindor!" On the staff stand, a dark-skinned student with tiny braids sat next to Professor McGonagall, gripping a microphone and commentating with fiery enthusiasm. He was Lee Jordan, a second-year Gryffindor and the match's announcer. Lee wasn't seated in the staff stand because his role was so critical, but because McGonagall needed to keep a close eye on him at all times. After a burst of excited cheers, all the players finally hovered in the center of the pitch, forming a circle in the air. The referee, Madam Hooch, strode onto the field. "I expect both teams to play with skill and style! Fairly and honestly!" Her sharp gaze swept across the players' faces, lingering a bit longer on Flint. Then, with a light kick, she nudged the box beside her. Two restless Bludgers instantly burst free, smashing the lid open and rocketing into the air. Right behind them was the Golden Snitch, finally reveling in its freedom. As if taunting them, it zipped around both teams' Seekers in a quick loop. Slytherin's Seeker was Terence Higgs, a slightly arrogant second-year snake. "And now, the match begins!" With a wave of Madam Hooch's wand, the Quaffle shot straight into the air. The Quidditch match had officially begun! At Madam Hooch's signal, every player darted forward like arrows, chasing their targets. "The Quaffle's been nabbed by Gryffindor's Angelina Johnson—what a fantastic Chaser that girl is, and quite a looker too—" "Jordan!" "Sorry, Professor, just kidding~" Lee Jordan's commentary was lively and entertaining, though clearly biased toward Gryffindor, with every third sentence gushing about their female players. But after watching the game for a few minutes, Edward couldn't stand it anymore. At first, both teams seemed evenly matched. Slytherin had the edge in physicality, but Gryffindor outshone them in skill. Angelina scored the first goal for Gryffindor, and when Flint tried to even the score, Keeper Oliver Wood blocked the Quaffle. Then, Gryffindor's Chaser Katie Bell and Angelina used slick passing to breach Slytherin's goal again. But things started to go wrong. First, Marcus Flint snatched a Beater's bat and used a Bludger to knock Gryffindor's Keeper, Wood, off his broom. Though this blatant foul earned Gryffindor three penalty shots, their goal was now undefended, and Slytherin's Chasers ran rampant. Then, two Slytherin Chasers flanked Angelina in a blind spot, causing her to crash into a tower below the stands, knocking her out cold. As for sideswiping, elbowing, and disrupting broom balance—those were just the start. Short of blasting someone off their broom with a wand, Edward felt like Slytherin had broken every rule in the book. Gryffindor's roars of outrage and Slytherin's cheers echoed through the chilly air. Edward's face twitched, his hands clenched so tightly the veins bulged, nearly ready to smash the wooden railing in front of him. What the hell? How did the Slytherin team turn into this? Where was the sportsmanship? The ethics? Was this a Quidditch team or some hired martial arts squad? It was like watching the worst of the NBA teams from his past life—or a certain national team from that one country! What was the point of winning the Quidditch Cup like this? No wonder the other two Houses were all rooting for Gryffindor! Edward silently vowed that once he was eligible to join the Slytherin team in his second year, he'd whip their attitude into shape. Right now, he just wanted someone—anyone—to catch the Golden Snitch and end this disastrous match. Higgs was tirelessly circling the pitch, but Harry was just hovering high above, like a spectator with a VIP seat. Neither Seeker had spotted the Snitch, but Edward, from the stands, had caught a glimpse of it. Thanks to his keen senses, he'd seen the tiny golden thing zip past the Slytherin stands at lightning speed. It looped around the field, then flashed right in front of Harry's face—barely ten centimeters away. Finally, the Gryffindor Seeker sprang into action. He leaned forward, his Nimbus 2000 shooting like a bullet after the Snitch. Just as Edward felt a glimmer of hope that this match might finally end, something felt off. His instincts, honed by a charm of sincerity, picked up traces of magic on Harry's broom. The Quidditch pitch was massive, and Edward was at least fifty meters away from Harry, too far to discern the spell. But soon, he didn't need magic to see what was wrong. "Look at Potter! What's he doing? Showing off his fancy new broom? Spinning in circles to grab everyone's attention—what a genius!" Malfoy, who'd been fixated on Harry the whole time, was so mad he nearly chucked his expensive binoculars. "You idiot! Who'd choose to fling themselves off their broom?" Daphne snatched the binoculars from Malfoy and peered up. "Something's wrong with that broom." The broom was now jerking wildly, twitching and rolling in the air, as if Harry were riding a bucking bull instead of a flying broomstick. Soon, every stand noticed Harry's predicament. He was barely hanging on, gripping the broom with one hand, dangling in midair, at risk of falling any second. But that wasn't all. The two Bludgers, which had been zipping around chaotically, now seemed possessed, zeroing in on Harry with relentless focus. Fred and George Weasley rushed to his side, smacking the Bludgers away with all their might. But no matter how hard they hit, the Bludgers kept coming for Harry. Malfoy's face darkened. He hadn't forgotten the despair of falling from his own broom. And Harry was flying much higher than he had been that day—if he fell... Sure, Malfoy didn't want Gryffindor to win, especially not with Potter catching the Snitch, but he didn't want him to plummet to his death either. "Maybe we should tell a teacher—hey! Edward, where are you going?" Edward had already vanished from the Slytherin stands, sprinting down the spectator tunnel toward the staff section. A spell affecting both a broom and the Bludgers? No student could pull that off. It had to be a staff member. Connecting this to the troll incident from before, Edward suspected it might even be the same person. 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