The morning of the Gryffindor versus Slytherin match dawned cold and crisp, the sky a brilliant shade of blue. There wasn't a single cloud in sight—perfect flying weather.
Rose, however, looked like she'd barely slept. Dark circles framed her green eyes, and she pushed her breakfast around her plate without taking a bite.
"You should eat," I told her, nudging her with my elbow.
"I can't," she muttered. "I feel like I'm going to be sick."
Ron grinned. "That's normal. Fred and George say if you're not nervous before a match, you're doing something wrong."
Hermione pursed her lips. "You'll be fine, Rose. You've practiced loads, and you're a natural."
"I hope so," Rose mumbled, staring down at her toast like it had personally offended her.
I frowned. "At least have some pumpkin juice. You'll need the energy."
She reluctantly took a sip but made no move to eat more. The Great Hall buzzed with excitement, students from all houses discussing the match. A group of Gryffindor first-years were debating whether Rose would catch the Snitch faster than Charlie Weasley had in his best game. Across the room, the Slytherin table was equally lively, boasting about their team's brute strength.
At that moment, Oliver Wood strode up to the table, looking as intense as ever. "Right, team meeting in ten minutes. Don't be late."
Rose groaned but stood up, grabbing her broom. "Guess this is it."
"We'll be cheering for you," I assured her. "Just focus on the Snitch."
Ron gave her a thumbs up. "And remember, Malfoy isn't even on the team."
That got a small chuckle out of her, but the nerves didn't fade.
By the time we reached the Quidditch pitch, the stands were packed, a sea of red and gold clashing against green and silver. Banners waved wildly in the wind, enchanted ones flashing phrases like Go Gryffindor! or Slytherin Rules! The air thrummed with excitement, and the chatter of hundreds of students built into a roar.
"Welcome to the first Quidditch match of the season!" boomed Lee Jordan's voice over the magical loudspeaker. "Today's game: Gryffindor versus Slytherin! Can our newest Seeker, first-year Rose Potter, live up to the legendary Weasley name? Let's find out!"
Rose flushed at the attention as the Gryffindor team strode onto the field, brooms in hand. The Slytherin team followed, their players towering and broad-shouldered, their green robes gleaming in the sunlight.
Madam Hooch stood at the center of the pitch, her whistle in hand. "Mount your brooms," she commanded.
Rose swung her leg over her Nimbus 2000, gripping the handle tightly. I could see her taking deep breaths, steadying herself.
Madam Hooch raised her whistle. "On my mark… three… two… one!"
A shrill blast, and they were off.
Rose shot upward, the wind whipping through her hair as she ascended high above the action, her eyes scanning for the Snitch. Below, the match erupted into chaos.
"Johnson takes the Quaffle—she dodges Bole, swerves past Montague—Oh! A brutal attempt at a block from Pucey, but she's still going! And—SHE SCORES! Ten points to Gryffindor!"
The Gryffindor stands exploded in cheers.
But Slytherin wasn't about to be outdone. Flint snatched the Quaffle as soon as it was thrown back into play, streaking down the field like a bullet. Fred Weasley lunged in with his bat, smacking a Bludger straight at him, but Flint ducked just in time. He spun past Angelina Johnson, and with a sharp flick of his wrist, he sent the Quaffle soaring past Wood and straight into the hoop.
"Flint scores! That's ten points to Slytherin!" Lee announced grimly.
The match only grew fiercer. The Slytherin Chasers played dirty, elbowing and ramming into their opponents at every turn. The Beaters were relentless, sending Bludgers hurtling toward Gryffindor players like cannonballs. Fred and George retaliated with expert precision, protecting their teammates while sending the iron balls rocketing toward the Slytherins.
Up above, Rose circled the pitch, her emerald eyes scanning the sky for the Snitch.
And then, her broom jerked.
She gasped as it bucked wildly beneath her, twisting and shuddering unpredictably. Her hands tightened around the handle as she fought to stay on.
Down below, Ron was the first to notice. "What's happening to her broom?!"
Hermione, who had borrowed a pair of binoculars from a Ravenclaw student, gasped. "Look! Snape's muttering something… he's not even blinking!"
I turned sharply toward the staff stands. Sure enough, Snape stood at the edge, his eyes locked onto Rose, lips moving silently.
I knew better.
I had been waiting for this.
Before I could act, Hermione rushed off, pushing through students. A moment later, a small fire erupted on the hem of Snape's robes.
Snape yelped, jerking back and swatting at the flames. In her rush, Hermione bumped into Quirrell, who stumbled forward with a startled squeak.
And just like that, Rose's broom stopped shaking.
She gasped, her knuckles white as she steadied herself. Then, as if sensing an opportunity, she surged forward, her Nimbus 2000 responding instantly.
I exhaled sharply, my mind racing.
I had known this would happen. Quirrell was the culprit—I had read about it in my past life. He was already serving as Voldemort's vessel, already tainted by the Dark Lord's influence. This wasn't just a game; this was a deliberate attack.
I had been waiting for this moment, ready to act, ready to stop him before things got worse. But before I could do anything, Hermione had rushed off and unknowingly done it for me. Her well-meaning but accidental interference had broken Quirrell's focus, saving Rose before I had the chance.
I clenched my jaw. If Hermione hadn't acted, I would have. And I would have made sure Quirrell regretted it.
This was just the beginning. If Voldemort's pawn was already making moves, I needed to be ready. Next time, I wouldn't sit back and watch.
"Gryffindor scores!" Lee Jordan's voice boomed. "That's ten points to Gryffindor!"
The crowd erupted in cheers, but the match wasn't over yet.
Then, a blur of gold flashed near the Gryffindor goalposts.
Rose saw it.
Without hesitation, she flattened herself against her broomstick and dove. The Snitch zipped through the air, a tiny glimmer of gold against the blue sky. Slytherin's Seeker, a burly second-year named Higgs, noticed a second too late.
The crowd held its breath.
Down, down, down she went, her Nimbus cutting through the air like a knife. The Snitch twitched, veering left at the last second. Rose yanked her broom, matching its movement with breathtaking speed.
Higgs was inches behind her.
They streaked across the field, dodging players mid-air, forcing Flint to swerve violently out of their path. A Bludger shot past them, missing Rose's head by inches.
Closer. Closer.
The Snitch darted upward. Rose shot after it. Her fingers stretched out.
The metal wings brushed against her skin.
With a final push, she clenched her hand around it.
The stands erupted into chaos.
Madam Hooch's whistle shrieked. "Gryffindor wins!"
Ron and I leaped to our feet, shouting ourselves hoarse. Down on the field, Rose landed shakily, staring at the Snitch in her palm as if she couldn't quite believe it.
Then her teammates swarmed her, lifting her into the air.
As we ran down to join the celebration, I couldn't help but grin.
This was just the beginning.
And something told me things were only going to get more interesting from here.
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