Harry Potter and the HQL - Chapter - 32

It felt as though the entire school had been waiting for this day.

From dawn, the Hogwarts grounds were buzzing with excitement. Students in scarves of every house color streamed down the lawns, chattering and arguing over who would win. The final match of the first-ever Hogwarts Quidditch League was about to begin—Leviathans versus Chimeras.

Harry stood near the front rows of the stands, checking over the list of prizes one last time. Beside him, Sirius Black leaned on the railing, looking out over the Quidditch pitch with a wide, mischievous grin.

“I’m telling you, Harry,” Sirius said, “you’ve started something here. The whole Wizarding world will be copying this league in a year or two.”

Harry gave a crooked smile. “That’s the plan. Let them. As long as Hogwarts did it first.”

Behind them, Remus Lupin arrived with a wooden crate marked with the Star Broomsticks seal. He tapped the lid with his wand, and it swung open, revealing ten gleaming Starlord broomsticks, polished until they gleamed like dark gold in the winter light.

“Ten of these beauties,” Remus said, running his hand reverently over one of the handles. “You know, Harry, you’re going to have half the Quidditch teams in Europe after you for the next model.”

Harry’s stomach did a nervous flip. “I know. That’s why I’m not thinking about it today.”

A roar from the stands drew their attention.

The two teams were walking out onto the pitch, brooms over their shoulders, captains in front.

Cedric Diggory, captain of the Leviathans, looked calm and determined in his deep blue and silver kit. Ginny Weasley walked beside him, her expression fiercely focused, her red hair tied back in a sleek tail.

On the opposite side strode Marcus Flint, whose team—the Chimeras—wore dark green trimmed with bronze. Flint’s jaw was set, his eyes hard with resolve. He looked like he was prepared to fly through a brick wall to win.

Fred and George Weasley came up behind Harry, carrying a huge banner they’d charmed to flash the Leviathans crest on one side and the Chimera’s on the other.

“Alright, bets,” George said. “I say Cedric’s lot by two hundred points.”

“You’re mad,” Fred countered. “Flint’s been drilling those Beaters for weeks. I’m saying Chimeras by a hair.”

“You’re both wrong,” said Neville, coming up beside them, a Leviathans scarf draped around his neck. “Leviathans will win, but it’ll be close.”

Harry didn’t say anything. He just watched as Madam Hooch blew her silver whistle, and the teams kicked off.


From the moment the Quaffle was released, it was clear this would be a match to remember.

The Chimeras played like a pack of wolves—fast, aggressive, and relentless. Their Beaters sent Bludgers screaming toward the Leviathans every other minute. But Cedric had trained his team well. They wove around the attacks, answering with graceful plays that had the crowd leaping to their feet.

Ginny Weasley soared high overhead, her eyes locked on every flicker of gold. Across from her, the Chimera Seeker—a wiry sixth-year named Derrick—matched her every feint.

“Watch Ginny,” Harry murmured, leaning forward. “She’s not following the Snitch—she’s herding it.”

“Smart girl,” Sirius said, impressed.

Below, the Leviathans Chasers pulled off a spectacular play—two dummies and a no-look pass—scoring to make it 290 to 280.

The crowd erupted.

“Ten points in it!” Remus called over the noise.

It was then that the Snitch shot up from the goalposts like a spark from a firework.

Ginny’s broom angled hard, and she dove, wind screaming past her face, her fingers outstretched. Derrick was right behind her. The two Seekers streaked toward the grass, neck and neck—

—then Ginny pulled up at the last instant, and Derrick shot past, overbalanced. Ginny’s hand snapped shut.

Madam Hooch’s whistle shrilled.

“Leviathans win!” she shouted. “Three hundred and sixty-five to two hundred and eighty!”

The pitch exploded in cheers.

Students leapt from their seats. Leviathans supporters screamed themselves hoarse. Even professors in the stands were clapping and laughing, and banners flashed Leviathans colors over the stadium.


It took ten minutes for the noise to calm enough for Harry and Sirius to carry the crate out to the center of the field.

Cedric’s team gathered around, flushed and grinning. Ginny was still clutching the Snitch, her eyes bright with triumph.

Harry raised his hands.

“I don’t think I have to say much,” he began, voice ringing out over the cheering. “Everyone in Hogwarts will remember this match for years. You’ve all proved exactly why we started this league—to bring together players from every house and show what you can do when you work as a team.”

He nodded to Cedric.

“Cedric Diggory, your team is the first-ever Hogwarts Quidditch League Champion.”

Cedric’s smile was enormous.

“And as promised—”

Harry opened the crate.

“—ten Starlord broomsticks for the winners.”

Gasps rose around them as the Leviathans gathered closer.

Harry picked up the first broom and handed it to Cedric, who took it with something like reverence.

“Congratulations,” Harry said quietly.

“Thank you,” Cedric breathed, eyes shining. “This…this means everything.”

Ginny was next, her hands trembling when she accepted her broom.

“I don’t even have words,” she said, hugging Harry fiercely.

One by one, the rest of the team—three Chasers, two Beaters, a Keeper, and the three reserves—collected their brooms, each of them nearly overwhelmed.

When the last broom was given, the entire stadium broke into applause again, students stamping their feet and clapping.

Sirius clapped Harry on the shoulder, beaming.

“You’ve done something brilliant here,” he said.

Harry smiled, feeling more satisfied than he ever had before.

“Yeah,” he murmured. “I think we really have.”

As the Leviathans hoisted their new brooms over their heads, the sun breaking through the clouds in golden shafts of light, Harry knew this was just the beginning.

Next year, the league would be even bigger.

And Hogwarts Quidditch would never be the same.



The morning after the Leviathans’ stunning victory, the Great Hall was even louder than usual at breakfast. Owls swooped overhead by the dozens, dropping papers onto tables where eager hands grabbed for them.

A large barn owl flapped down onto Neville’s plate, nearly knocking over his pumpkin juice, and dropped a copy of the Daily Prophet into his lap.

“Here it is!” Neville said, excitement brightening his face as he spread the paper out in front of Harry, Fred, George, and Hermione.

On the front page, in bold black letters, the headline read:

HOGWARTS MAKES HISTORY WITH FIRST QUIDDITCH LEAGUE

Below it, a moving photograph of Cedric Diggory holding the Snitch aloft while Ginny Weasley, broom in hand, stood beaming. Around them, the Leviathans team clapped each other on the back as the stands erupted in cheers.

George let out a low whistle. “That’s a front page you can frame.”

Hermione glanced over the top of her Transfiguration textbook. “Well, you did start something rather revolutionary,” she said, trying to hide her smile. “I’m sure every Quidditch-obsessed parent in Britain is already asking why this wasn’t done sooner.”

Fred grinned and leaned over to slap Harry’s shoulder. “Look at you. The Boy Who Lived—and the Boy Who Started a Quidditch League. You’re going to need a longer title.”

Harry flushed a little, but couldn’t help feeling a rush of pride as he read the article:

Hogwarts Castle erupted in cheers yesterday as the Leviathans claimed victory in the first Hogwarts Quidditch League, an inter-house tournament conceived and organized by third-year student Harry Potter and his fellow Stars Club members. The event, which drew praise from faculty and students alike, culminated in a thrilling match that saw Seeker Ginny Weasley secure the Snitch, sealing a 365-280 win over Marcus Flint’s Chimeras.


The champions were awarded brand new Starlord broomsticks, designed by Potter himself and already hailed as some of the most advanced brooms on the market. Headmaster Albus Dumbledore expressed his delight at the tournament’s success, stating, “I have rarely seen such an uplifting and unifying event in all my years at Hogwarts.”


Hermione gave him a look that was half exasperated, half fond. “You realize you’ve just made yourself busier than ever. Everyone will expect this to happen every year now.”

“That’s the plan,” Harry admitted, folding the paper carefully. “I don’t think I’d be able to stop it if I wanted to.”


A flurry of owls came in as more Daily Prophets arrived for other tables. The Great Hall filled with the rustle of unfolding pages, shouts, and applause. All around them, students pointed excitedly at the moving photographs. Some were already calling out to Cedric Diggory, who was seated at the Hufflepuff table looking both proud and slightly embarrassed by all the attention.

Fred and George began discussing ideas for their own Quidditch League merchandise.

“Limited edition badges for each team—”

“—and collectible cards of all the players—”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “You two will monetize literally anything.”

“And proud of it,” Fred declared.

When breakfast ended, students filed out in clusters, still clutching the paper. Harry caught sight of Professor McGonagall in deep conversation with Madam Hooch, gesturing at the front page with a look of genuine satisfaction.

It struck Harry then how much this had mattered to everyone. Not just to the students who’d played, but to the whole castle. For once, it wasn’t just Gryffindor versus Slytherin. It was Hogwarts—everyone in it.


By lunchtime, copies of the Daily Prophet were pinned to noticeboards, and the Flint's team—though disappointed—were plotting their strategies for next year’s matches. Ginny was practically floating, half the younger students running up to ask for her autograph.

That evening in the common room, Harry sat near the fire with Hermione, Neville, and the twins. The paper lay on the low table between them, Cedric’s smile frozen in mid-motion.

Hermione tapped the picture. “This—this is what I’ll remember about this year,” she said. “Not the Dementors. Not Bellatrix. This.”

Harry looked at the headline one more time and felt something shift inside his chest—a certainty that this was only the beginning of what he could build, if he kept going.

“We’ll make next year even bigger,” he said softly.

George gave a mock groan. “Bigger? Merlin, Potter. You’ll run us ragged.”

But there was no mistaking the excitement in his grin.



Exams were closing in like a thundercloud over Hogwarts, and even Fred and George had taken to studying in the evenings—though they swore it was only so McGonagall wouldn’t hunt them down herself.

The Stars Club had more or less put its projects on pause so everyone could revise. Each evening, Harry sat in the common room, surrounded by tall stacks of textbooks: Standard Book of Spells, Grade Three, Intermediate Transfiguration, and a volume on Runic Principles that was twice as thick as anything else.

Hermione flipped through her Arithmancy notes with her usual air of grim purpose. “You know,” she began one evening, “if you lot had done all the reading as we went, this wouldn’t feel like impending doom.”

Neville groaned, forehead against the table. “Hermione. This is not the time.”

Even Harry was too tired to joke, scribbling notes on defensive hexes with one hand while rubbing his temple with the other.

But as if the pressure of exams weren’t enough, the week before the first practical assessments, an unexpected message arrived at breakfast.

A tall Ministry owl swooped down to the Gryffindor table and dropped a thick parchment envelope in front of Harry.

Hermione peered over. “What is it?”

Harry slit the seal open with his butter knife. “It’s…an official summons,” he said slowly, reading aloud. “‘Mr. Potter and representatives of the Stars Club are requested to meet with the Department of Magical Games and Sports in the Headmaster’s office at noon today.’”

Fred’s eyebrows shot up. “Sounds serious.”

George elbowed him. “Or lucrative.”

Hermione frowned. “I don’t like the sound of it.”

“Only one way to find out,” Harry sighed, folding the letter. “I’ll see you there.”


By noon, he and the club’s founding members—Neville, Fred, George, and Hermione—were assembled outside Dumbledore’s office.

The gargoyle stepped aside as they approached, revealing the spiral staircase.

“I hope this isn’t about us selling badges,” Fred whispered as they climbed. “Because technically, they were—”

“Fred,” Hermione hissed, “be quiet.”

The door swung open as they reached the top.

Inside, Dumbledore sat behind his polished desk, looking placidly amused as always. But opposite him were three Ministry wizards in matching navy robes and a round, ruddy-faced man who grinned at them like a child about to tell a secret.

“Ah, Harry!” Dumbledore said kindly. “Come in, come in. I believe you know Mr. Ludo Bagman?”

Harry nodded slowly. He’d seen Bagman’s photograph in the Daily Prophet, usually whenever Quidditch was involved.

“Mr. Potter!” Bagman boomed, bounding forward to shake his hand. “Delighted. Absolutely delighted. And you must be the Weasley twins—terrific Beaters—and Longbottom, yes? And Miss Granger.”

Hermione inclined her head politely, though she looked suspicious.

Bagman gestured to the two unsmiling Ministry officials behind him. “My colleagues and I have come with a proposition. We’ve been following your Hogwarts Quidditch League very closely—smashing success, absolutely smashing—and we think it’s time to…expand.”

Neville frowned. “Expand how?”

Bagman clasped his hands together. “The Ministry wants to take over running the League.”

A stunned silence fell.

Fred was the first to find his voice. “You mean…take over, as in, take it?”

Bagman cleared his throat. “Well, yes—but not in a negative sense! We’d oversee it officially, attract professional scouts, perhaps even host international student tournaments down the line. Sponsorships, attendance from the press, you name it.”

Harry exchanged a wary glance with George. He could see it clear as day: this was about profit, not just sport.

“So,” Harry said slowly, “you want to run it instead of us.”

Bagman nodded eagerly. “Exactly. With Ministry resources, it could grow much faster. You’d still be recognized as the founders, of course.”

Hermione lifted her chin. “And what happens to the rules? The house-mixing requirement, the reduced Snitch value—”

Bagman’s smile wavered. “Well…some adjustments might be—”

“No,” Harry said, surprising even himself. “Those rules are the reason this worked. They keep it from being just another House Cup extension.”

Neville spoke up, voice steady. “If you want to take over, you keep the same rules.”

Bagman looked between them, then sighed and glanced at Dumbledore, who was studying Harry over the rim of his spectacles.

Dumbledore spoke at last, quiet but firm. “Mr. Potter and his friends have earned the right to set terms.”

After a tense moment, Bagman gave a theatrical sigh. “Very well. If that’s what it takes. Snitch value remains at seventy-five points, teams must be inter-house, and your club may appoint…what did you say? Five representatives?”

“Five,” Harry confirmed. “To be on the organizing committee.”

Hermione added briskly, “And the club continues to get recognition in any publications or announcements.”

Bagman looked pained but inclined his head. “Agreed.”

Harry took a breath. He knew full well the Ministry would take credit eventually—but if it meant the league could survive, expand, and remain fair, it was worth it.

“All right,” he said. “We’ll do it.”

Bagman clapped his hands. “Splendid! Simply splendid.”

Neville looked at Harry as they turned to go. “Sure about this?”

Harry nodded, though a part of him still felt uneasy. “Better to work with them than against them. And this way, no one can change what we built.”

Fred grinned. “Besides, it means our names are in the record books.”

George added, “And the league is safe for next year.”

Hermione patted Harry’s shoulder. “You did the right thing.”

And as they stepped out of the office, Harry decided she was right.

It might no longer be just theirs—but it would always be his idea. And it would live on.