The Tenth Weasley - CH - 60

The anticipation for the first Quidditch match of the season was unlike anything Hogwarts had seen in a long time. With the fear of the Chamber of Secrets hanging over everyone’s heads, the students were desperate for a distraction. And Quidditch, as always, had the power to bring excitement, rivalry, and a temporary escape from the troubles of the castle.

Gryffindor versus Slytherin was a classic match, one that set the tone for the entire season. This year, however, it carried even more weight.

The Slytherin team had a major advantage—thanks to Lucius Malfoy’s generous "donation," every single player was equipped with the newest, fastest broom on the market, the Nimbus 2001. It was the best broom a Hogwarts player could have, sleek, fast, and nearly effortless to control. With this, Slytherin had a clear upper hand.

But Gryffindor wasn’t to be underestimated either. Their new Seeker, Charlie Porter, had quickly proven himself in practice sessions. Unlike his predecessor, he was an aggressive flyer, one who had the instincts to track the Snitch even in the most chaotic situations. And to match Malfoy, he, too, was riding a Nimbus 2001.

The stadium was packed, students from all four houses filling the stands. Even the professors seemed more excited than usual, eager for the distraction the game provided.

Harry sat in the Slytherin stands, surrounded by his housemates, with Daphne and Blaise beside him. He had no real loyalty to Slytherin’s team, but given that Gryffindor’s team was stacked with his brothers and their friends, he wasn’t exactly eager to cheer for them either.

Across the field, he could see Ginny, Rose, and Astoria in the Gryffindor stands, waving their banners and shouting encouragement for their house team.

"You think Charlie will win against Malfoy?" Daphne asked, adjusting her scarf as the wind picked up.

Harry smirked. "He’s good. Better than Malfoy, for sure. But that doesn’t mean he’ll win."

Blaise raised an eyebrow. "Malfoy is an idiot, but the Slytherin team plays dirty. If they can’t win with skill, they’ll win by knocking the Gryffindor players out of the sky."

Harry nodded. He had seen the Slytherin tactics last year. They were brutal, aggressive, and always ready to push the boundaries of the rules.

On the field, the teams lined up.

The Gryffindor team, dressed in red and gold, looked focused, led by their captain, Oliver Wood. Charlie sat on his broom, his grip steady, his eyes already scanning the field for any sign of the Snitch.

The Slytherin team, in green and silver, looked confident—smug, even. Malfoy, as Seeker, was leaning casually on his Nimbus 2001, shooting arrogant glances at Charlie as if the game was already won.

Madam Hooch stepped forward, her sharp eyes scanning both teams.

"Now, I want a clean game," she said sternly, though she knew that was unlikely with these two teams. "Mount your brooms."

The players kicked off, soaring into the sky as the Quaffle was thrown into play, and the game officially began.

The moment Madam Hooch blew the whistle, the stadium erupted into cheers as both teams surged into action. The Gryffindor Chasers, Katie Bell, Angelina Johnson, and Alicia Spinnet, immediately went on the offensive, their broomsticks cutting sharply through the cold autumn air as they worked together in perfect synchrony.

Lee Jordan, perched beside Professor McGonagall in the announcer’s booth, had barely drawn breath before launching into his enthusiastic play-by-play.

"And they’re off! Slytherin’s got the new Nimbus 2001s, but let’s see if they’ve got the skills to back it up! Flint takes possession of the Quaffle—figures—and he’s speeding toward the Gryffindor goalposts. Wood’s ready—come on, Oliver!—Flint passes to Warrington—Warrington dodges Johnson—HE SHOOTS—AND WOOD SAVES IT!"

The Gryffindor supporters roared in approval as Oliver Wood, Gryffindor’s seasoned Keeper, caught the Quaffle mid-air and sent it soaring back into play.

Katie Bell intercepted it flawlessly, tucking it under her arm as she leaned forward on her broom, rocketing toward the opposite side of the pitch.

"AND BELL TAKES POSSESSION—LOOK AT HER GO! Slytherin's Beaters are closing in—YIKES—BLUDGER FROM Bole, BUT WEASLEY BLOCKS IT!"

Fred Weasley zoomed past Katie, his bat swinging in a controlled arc as he sent the Bludger hurtling straight at the Slytherin Chasers instead. Bole barely managed to swerve in time to avoid it, his eyes narrowing in frustration.

"Nice try, Weasel-bee!" Draco Malfoy sneered from above, lazily circling as he kept one eye on the Snitch and another on Charlie Potter.

Fred smirked. "Malfoy, shouldn't you be doing something other than running your mouth?"

Below them, the play continued, relentless and fast-paced.

Katie saw Angelina flying ahead and launched the Quaffle forward.

"PASS TO JOHNSON—SHE'S IN THE CLEAR!" Lee Jordan practically screamed as Angelina dodged Montague, then twisted mid-air to avoid an incoming Bludger sent by Derrick.

"AND JOHNSON SHOOTS—"

Flint was right behind her, reaching to intercept—

"—AND SHE SCORES!"

The Gryffindor stands erupted, jumping to their feet as Angelina fist-pumped in the air, her expression triumphant.

"10-0 to Gryffindor!" Lee Jordan shouted over the noise. "Take that, Flint!"

McGonagall gave him a stern look, but the hint of a smirk betrayed her amusement.

The game was far from over, though.

Slytherin wasn’t about to take a goal lying down.

Flint, looking furious, immediately took possession of the Quaffle after the reset. With a sharp burst of speed, he shot forward, passing to Pucey, who then tossed the Quaffle toward Warrington.

"OH, COME ON! They’re using their brooms' speed to their advantage—THAT’S NOT FAIR!"

"Jordan," McGonagall warned.

"I MEAN, IT’S PERFECTLY WITHIN THE RULES!" Lee corrected hastily.

Warrington grinned as he weaved through the air, using a shoulder feint to throw Katie off balance before hurling the Quaffle straight at the left goal hoop.

"AND SLYTHERIN SCORES! 10-10!"

The Slytherins in the stands cheered wildly, waving their green and silver banners high in the air.

"That was a good play," Blaise admitted, watching from the Slytherin stands. "We can’t deny it."

Harry, however, was more focused on analyzing the patterns. He noticed how the Slytherins were using their superior broomsticks to execute swift, calculated passes that put the Gryffindor Chasers at a disadvantage.

"Yeah, but Gryffindor has strategy," Harry murmured. "Watch how they adjust."

And adjust they did.

Alicia Spinnet took charge this time, catching a pass from Angelina before ducking under Pucey’s outstretched arm. She spotted an opening and hurled the Quaffle toward Katie, who was racing toward the goal.

"GRYFFINDOR BACK IN POSSESSION—BELL'S GOING FOR IT—"

The Slytherin Keeper, Miles Bletchley, braced himself, his eyes locked on the Quaffle as it sped toward him.

He lunged—

"AND SHE SCORES! 20-10, GRYFFINDOR!"

The Gryffindor stands exploded once more, and Katie gave a quick fist pump before darting back into formation.

Slytherin retaliated immediately, Flint taking possession again.

It was an aggressive back-and-forth.

Pucey broke through Gryffindor’s defenses and scored, tying the game again.

Then Angelina executed a perfect feint, sending Bletchley in the wrong direction before sinking another goal for Gryffindor.

Fred and George, meanwhile, were relentless, targeting Malfoy and the Slytherin Chasers with well-aimed Bludgers.

"AND THERE GOES GEORGE WEASLEY WITH A BEAUTIFUL HIT—SORRY, MONTAGUE, THAT'S GOTTA HURT!"

Montague, now sporting a likely bruise on his ribs, shot a glare at the Gryffindor Beater before flying off again.

The score climbed steadily.

30-20.

40-30.

50-50.

Neither team was willing to back down.

Charlie and Malfoy were still circling high above, their sharp eyes searching the field for any trace of the Snitch.

Harry watched intently, following the way the Gryffindor Chasers worked together. It was fascinating—the way they passed with near telepathic coordination, the way they adapted mid-play, adjusting seamlessly to the Slytherins' aggressive tactics.

Even Blaise, usually neutral about Quidditch, found himself drawn into the excitement. "They’re good," he admitted grudgingly.

Daphne nodded. "Better than I thought they’d be. They’re not letting the Slytherins push them around."

Then—

A shift in the air.

A glint of gold.

Malfoy spotted it first.

The Snitch.

And just like that, the entire stadium held its breath.

"THE SNITCH HAS BEEN SPOTTED!" Lee Jordan’s voice rang through the stadium, louder than ever. "HERE WE GO—POTTER AND MALFOY ARE IN A DEAD SPRINT—!"

The game wasn’t just about scoring now.

It was about winning.

And the real chase had begun.

"Come on, Charlie," Ron muttered from the Gryffindor stands, clutching his scarf tightly.

Malfoy wasn’t the best flyer, but he had one thing going for him—he was ruthless. He followed Charlie closely, ready to knock him off course the second the Snitch was spotted.

Harry watched closely. "Malfoy’s flying dirty," he muttered.

Blaise smirked. "And you’re surprised?"

Daphne, however, was watching Charlie. "He’s waiting," she noted. "He’s not wasting energy chasing nothing. He’s got patience."

That was when it happened again.

A flash of gold.

Charlie spotted it first.

With a sharp dive, he streaked across the pitch, the Snitch hovering just beyond the goalposts.

Malfoy was a split second behind him, his Nimbus 2001 allowing him to close the distance.

The crowd erupted in excitement.

Charlie leaned forward, gripping his broom tightly as the wind whipped past his face. He reached out, his fingers brushing against the Snitch—

WHAM!

A Bludger, sent by one of the Slytherin Beaters, smashed into Charlie’s shoulder.

He spun off course, barely managing to stay on his broom.

Malfoy grinned and surged forward.

Harry clenched his fists. "That was not an accident."

Daphne frowned. "But it’s still legal. Barely."

Charlie wasn’t done, though. Gritting his teeth against the pain, he pushed forward, ignoring the ache in his shoulder.

The Snitch veered left.

Malfoy followed.

Charlie followed.

It was a race to the finish.

The stadium held its breath.

Then, in the blink of an eye—

Charlie lunged.

His fingers closed around the Snitch.

The whistle blew.

Gryffindor had won.

The Gryffindor stands exploded into cheers, their players descending onto the field to tackle Charlie in celebration.

In the Slytherin stands, the mood was bitter. Malfoy was furious, shouting at his teammates, while Flint scowled, already planning revenge in the next match.

"Well, that was entertaining," Blaise muttered, standing up.

Harry smirked. "Told you Charlie was good."

Daphne sighed. "Let’s get out of here before Malfoy starts blaming us for his loss."

Charlie had won his first game.

The Quidditch stadium still buzzed with excitement as students chattered about the match, replaying moments of brilliance and blunders in equal measure. The Gryffindor victory had sent waves of celebration through the red-and-gold supporters, and even the Slytherins, despite their loss, carried themselves with dignity, already scheming for their next match.

Harry, alongside Blaise and Daphne, was making his way back toward the castle when a voice called out from behind him.

"Harry!"

His steps faltered.

There was something about that voice—warm, familiar, filled with an emotion he didn’t want to name. He turned slowly, already dreading what he might see.

Standing near the stadium entrance was James Potter, his hazel eyes alight with the thrill of the game, Sirius Black at his side, still grinning from ear to ear, and Lily Potter, who was already stepping forward, her face unreadable.

They had been here for Charlie. That much was obvious.

Rose Potter was with them, bouncing on her feet, still beaming with pride for her older brother.

But what caught everyone’s attention—the dozens of Hogwarts students walking past, the Gryffindor team basking in their glory, the Slytherins muttering about strategies—was what happened next.

Lily Potter, in front of everyone, rushed toward Harry and wrapped him in a fierce hug.

The world seemed to freeze.

Every head turned.

Every conversation died.

From the Gryffindor stands to the Slytherin crowd making their way back to the castle, every student who had spent the last few weeks whispering about Harry Weasley—the alleged Heir of Slytherin, the rumored dark wizard, the adopted son of the Weasley family—was now staring at the sight of Lily Potter, a woman known for her unwavering love and devotion to her children, embracing him like he was one of her own.

Harry’s body stiffened.

This wasn’t supposed to happen.

This was too public.

Too obvious.

Too dangerous.

His mind screamed at him to pull away, to step back, to make some sarcastic comment that would lighten the mood and get him out of this situation. But he couldn’t move. Not with Lily Potter’s arms tightening around him, her breath shaky against his shoulder, like she had been holding something in for far too long.

Blaise and Daphne stood frozen beside him, their expressions a mixture of confusion and quiet calculation.

They knew Harry was adopted.

James Potter had taken a step forward, his expression somewhere between hesitant and hopeful, while Sirius Black just looked stunned, his usual smirk wiped clean from his face.

Rose, eyes wide, darted forward next to her mother, looking up at Harry with something too raw, too unguarded.

Harry needed to say something.

Do something.

Anything.

His hands, previously curled into fists, slowly rose and pushed against Lily’s shoulders—gently but firmly.

"Lily," he said, his voice low but clear. "Let go."

She froze, just for a second, before stepping back, but her hands still lingered on his arms, like she was afraid he would disappear if she didn’t hold on.

"Harry," she whispered, but she didn’t know what else to say.

And neither did he.

The Hogwarts students watching were whispering now, the murmurs turning into a rising hum of speculation.

"Why is Lily Potter hugging Harry Weasley?"

"What does this mean?"

James cleared his throat, stepping forward like he wanted to defuse the situation. "Harry, we—"

But Harry had already turned away.

"Blaise, Daphne," he said smoothly, his voice perfectly neutral, "let’s go."

His friends didn’t hesitate.

Not here.

Not now.

They fell into step beside him, forming a silent, protective barrier as they walked toward the castle, their pace measured, unhurried, like they hadn’t just been at the center of a scene that would fuel the Hogwarts rumor mill for months.

But Harry could feel their eyes on him.

His friends.

The Potters.

The students.

And most of all, Dumbledore, who had been watching from a distance, his sharp blue eyes unreadable.

Harry clenched his jaw.

Things had just become much more complicated.