---
CHAPTER 23 —
Christmas was over, and the school returned to its usual rhythm.
Malfoy continued living his seemingly peaceful routine: cafeteria, library, dormitory, classroom—the same four points, day after day, with only rare exceptions.
Harry, however, was miserable. Their Quidditch captain, Wood, had become stricter than ever. Neither heavy snow nor pouring rain could cool his obsession with training. The Weasley twins kept grumbling, but they still showed up. As for Harry, needless to say, he had no choice.
If they won this match, Gryffindor might finally end Slytherin's seven-year winning streak in the House Cup.
When a goal feels impossible, most people give up. When it's finally within reach, people grit their teeth and push forward. That was Gryffindor's team in a nutshell.
During practice, the twins resumed their usual routine: dive-bombing each other and pretending to fall off their brooms—until Wood shouted at them. After the scolding came even worse news:
"Snape will be refereeing this match."
In an instant, every teammate's face turned dark. A goal that had seemed so close suddenly felt hopeless.
Morale plummeted. Their enthusiasm evaporated. It was a huge blow.
After practice, the team lingered, whispering nervously, guessing how Snape would sabotage them this time. But Harry didn't stay to listen. He headed straight for the Gryffindor common room. He needed Ron and Hermione. He was sure Snape was planning something again.
"Don't play," Hermione said immediately.
"Say you're sick," Ron added.
"Pretend you broke your leg," Hermione suggested.
"Actually break your leg," said Ron.
Harry pressed his fingers to his forehead. "I'm the only Seeker. If I'm absent, the team can't compete."
Ron and Hermione fell silent. They knew Harry—he would never drag the whole team down because of his own safety.
This also highlighted how unreasonable the whole system was… and how poor Gryffindor's talent training really was. How could such an important team not have a substitute Seeker?
---
"Damn it." Malfoy bit into a piece of buttered bread, looking sleep-deprived.
"My lady, it's not even our House's match. Why are you so invested? Do you know what time I slept last night?" Malfoy wailed dramatically.
"I must see Gryffindor lose." Pansy clenched her fists, still bitter over Slytherin's previous defeat.
"I hate female football fans," Malfoy muttered. "But today should end quickly. After that, I'm going straight to bed." With that thought, he finally felt a little better.
"Gryffindor will definitely be at a disadvantage this time," Pansy said softly—but Malfoy could hear the excitement in her voice.
He held his forehead. "Is it really okay to be this happy about an unfair referee…?"
Soon, they arrived at the stadium. The crowd's enthusiasm was overwhelming. Cheers echoed long before the match began. Gryffindor's supporters were especially excited—this match was crucial for them. But the moment they saw Snape, the stands exploded with boos.
"Ron, look—Professor Dumbledore is here!" Hermione tugged Ron's sleeve.
Dumbledore walked slowly onto the field, robe sweeping behind him.
"Thank God," Ron breathed. "Now we're safe. Snape won't dare cheat with him watching."
"That's not entirely true…" Hermione frowned. "Dumbledore was in the stands last time too."
"Then why didn't he help Harry last time?"
"I don't know." She gripped her wand more tightly. "We still can't let our guard down."
"Relax—don't forget, it's Death by Paralysis," Hermione reminded him.
"I know, I know." Ron waved impatiently. "I still don't think he'll try anything in front of everyone."
Hermione remembered how slow she'd been to react last time, so she'd prepared a new spell today—something faster, something she could fire immediately if needed.
On the field, both teams gathered at the center. As usual, Madam Hooch said a few words about fair play, and the match began.
"Hufflepuff's free shot!" Snape barked.
The match had barely begun, and he'd already awarded a penalty—claiming George had thrown a Bludger at him and interfered with the referee.
Harry soared above, circling like an eagle. If he could find the Snitch quickly, Snape would have less time to sabotage Gryffindor.
"Hufflepuff's free shot!" Snape declared again—this time without giving a reason.
The Gryffindor section erupted in outrage. Even the usually loyal Hufflepuffs looked uncomfortable. They weren't the type to enjoy winning through foul play.
"Well done!" Pansy cheered, raising both hands.
"Why aren't you cheering? Our House scored again!" she nudged Malfoy.
"Oh—yeah!" Malfoy waved stiffly. "Well done…"
As soon as he spoke, thunderous applause shook the stadium—everywhere except Slytherin's section, which stayed awkwardly silent. Pansy had missed the moment; the atmosphere told her the match was already slipping away.
Then, the commentator's voice rose, breathless:
"Oh my—what did I just witness?! Many spectators probably missed it entirely—I almost missed it! Harry Potter has just made a breathtaking dive! He was going so fast I thought he'd crash straight into the ground—and so did the referee!"
The commentator took a dramatic breath.
"Professor Snape was already mounting his broom to 'save' him—but Harry didn't fall! Inches above the ground, he snatched the Golden Snitch from under Snape's nose! He's holding it high—Gryffindor wins!! Ladies and gentlemen, we have just witnessed the FASTEST victory in Quidditch history!"
The stadium exploded. The cheering was deafening.
Ron muttered, "He was just waiting to knock Harry off the broom…"
He'd completely flipped his stance now, after seeing Snape mount his broom.
"Yeah," Hermione said. "But Harry didn't give him the chance." She smiled brightly.
"Well done," a gentle voice said behind Harry. He turned to see Dumbledore smiling. "I'm glad to see you aren't staring at that mirror all day. Living a full life suits you."
Then Harry looked past him and saw Snape spitting on the ground.
This was the happiest moment of his life. He'd finally done something he could be proud of—something no one could dismiss as "fame only." The night air had never smelled so sweet. He walked across the damp grass replaying the last hour: Gryffindor students lifting him onto their shoulders, Ron and Hermione shouting from afar—Ron cheering even with a bloody nose.
Harry reached the broom shed and leaned against the wooden door, looking up at Hogwarts glowing red in the sunset.
He'd done it. Gryffindor had taken the lead.
Some rejoiced. Some despaired.
A sharp pain hit someone's foot—Malfoy's. He'd been stepped on. He turned and saw Pansy, face flushed, trembling, eyes red.
"I told you not to come—now look at you," Malfoy thought, but didn't dare say aloud. The last thing he wanted was to fuel the flames. But for a moment, he couldn't think of a single comforting line.
Then inspiration struck.
"Who am I? I'm a rich second-generation heir!"
He straightened and said seriously, "Gryffindor had an unfair advantage. Harry Potter's broom is the newest Nimbus 2000. Professor McGonagall looks fair, but she's clearly biased toward them."
Pansy nodded vigorously—this explanation made perfect sense to her.
"But this won't continue next year," Malfoy continued. "I'll ask my father to sponsor Slytherin's team. Nimbus 2001 will definitely outperform theirs."
"Really? That must cost a lot…" Pansy asked doubtfully.
"For the honor of our House, gold means nothing," Malfoy said solemnly.
Pansy stared at him—then burst out laughing.
"Please. You're the least honorable person in our House. I had to drag you to both matches."
"Uh…"
"But I know you did it for me," she said softly, cheeks pink—not from anger this time, but from shyness.
"Thank you."
She leaned in, kissed his cheek lightly like a dragonfly skimming water, and ran off.
"Evil capitalism," Malfoy muttered, touching the spot she'd kissed.
"…But I like it," he added silently.
---