HP and the Parseltongue Chronicles - Chapter - 33

The sun shone brightly over the Hogwarts Quidditch pitch, casting long shadows across the field. The sky was a perfect blue, without a single cloud in sight, making it an ideal day for the biggest match of the year—Gryffindor vs. Slytherin.

This was more than just a game. This was a battle of pride, strategy, and pure competitive spirit. The Quidditch Cup depended on it.

The stands buzzed with anticipation, filled with students, professors, and even a few visiting alumni, all eager to witness the match.

Professor McGonagall sat near the front, her lips pressed into a firm line, though her eyes gleamed with excitement. Snape sat stiffly beside her, his arms crossed, wearing his usual disapproving scowl—but Harry didn’t miss the way his eyes flicked to the Slytherin team with expectant pride.

"AND HERE THEY COME!" Lee Jordan’s voice boomed through the enchanted speakers. "WELCOME, LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, TO THE MOST HIGHLY ANTICIPATED MATCH OF THE SEASON—GRYFFINDOR VERSUS SLYTHERIN!"

The Gryffindor team soared onto the field, their red-and-gold robes billowing as they did a tight formation lap over the stands.

Fred and George Weasley executed a synchronized corkscrew maneuver, earning cheers and applause.

Harry, mounted on his brand-new Thunderclap Arrow, hovered just above the team, his green eyes scanning the field. He could already see Malfoy, his platinum blond hair glinting in the sunlight, sneering as he adjusted his grip on his Nimbus 2001.

The Slytherin team, dressed in sleek green robes, descended onto the pitch in formation, their faces full of smug confidence.

The entire Slytherin team had been gifted Nimbus 2001s by Lucius Malfoy, ensuring that they had top-of-the-line speed and maneuverability.

Madam Hooch stepped forward, her yellow hawk-like eyes sweeping across both teams.

"I want a clean game," she barked, fixing both captains with a stern look. "No fouls, no unnecessary roughness—Flint, I’m looking at you. Mount your brooms!"

Wood and Flint shook hands—though it was more of a painful squeeze—before stepping back.

The crowd held its breath as Madam Hooch released the balls.

The Bludgers shot into the air like cannonballs, the Snitch zipped out of sight, and with a sharp whistle—

"THE GAME BEGINS!"

"AND THEY’RE OFF!" Lee Jordan’s voice boomed over the field. "Flint gets possession first—because of course he does—AND HE’S RACING TOWARD THE GRYFFINDOR GOALPOSTS!"

Marcus Flint, Slytherin’s burly Chaser, tucked the Quaffle under his arm and barreled through the field like a raging bull, shoving Alicia Spinnet aside.

"Hey! That was a blatant foul!" Lee complained.

McGonagall cleared her throat. "Jordan—"

"Right, right—objective commentary. BUT LOOK AT THAT! WOOD DIVES—AND BLOCKS IT!"

Oliver Wood, Gryffindor’s indomitable Keeper, stretched out midair, his fingertips grazing the Quaffle, just enough to send it flying off-course.

Angelina Johnson snatched the rebound and tore across the pitch, weaving expertly between the Slytherin Beaters.

"Go, Angie, go!"

She dodged a Bludger, passed to Katie Bell—who faked a throw—then tossed the Quaffle back to Angelina.

"Johnson passes to Bell—BELL SHOOTS—AND—SHE SCORES!"

"TEN POINTS TO GRYFFINDOR!"

The Gryffindor stands exploded with cheers as Angelina and Katie high-fived mid-air.

The Slytherins countered quickly, with Adrian Pucey and Terence Higgs executing a swift double-pass, evading Alicia Spinnet’s block attempt.

"Pucey to Higgs—back to Pucey—OH! LOOK AT THAT!"

Fred Weasley sent a well-aimed Bludger straight at Pucey, forcing him to drop the Quaffle!

Alicia dove, intercepted, and rocketed toward the goalposts.

"AND GRYFFINDOR SCORES AGAIN! 20-0!"

Meanwhile, high above the action, Harry and Malfoy circled like hawks.

Harry knew Malfoy wasn’t as experienced as him, but he had one advantage—he was riding a Nimbus 2001.

Malfoy, clearly impatient, pulled up beside Harry, grinning smugly.

"Enjoying the view, Potter?" Malfoy sneered. "Too bad you won’t see the Snitch before I do."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Still talking, Malfoy? I thought you’d be more focused on not embarrassing yourself in front of your father."

Malfoy’s face turned red, but before he could respond—

Harry saw it.

A small glimmer of gold, just above the Slytherin goalposts.

He shot forward, his Thunderclap Arrow responding instantly, accelerating so fast that Malfoy was caught off guard.

"POTTER SEES THE SNITCH!"

Malfoy realized it too late and dove after him, his Nimbus 2001 straining to keep up.

The Snitch dipped suddenly, forcing both Seekers into a steep dive.

Harry felt the wind howl past his ears, his eyes locked on the tiny golden ball—

Malfoy, desperate, reached out and grabbed Harry’s robes, trying to pull him back—

But Harry, expecting dirty tricks, twisted out of Malfoy’s grip and leaned forward, his fingers brushing the Snitch—

"POTTER CATCHES THE SNITCH! GRYFFINDOR WINS!"

Final Score:
Gryffindor – 200
Slytherin – 60

As Harry landed, he was immediately swarmed by his teammates, who lifted him into the air.

"YOU BEAUTY, HARRY!" Fred shouted.

George grinned. "You just won us the Cup!"

Oliver Wood was crying openly, gripping Harry’s shoulders. "We did it! WE DID IT!"

Meanwhile, across the field, Draco Malfoy was seething.

Lucius Malfoy, who had been watching from the stands, turned away in disgust, clearly unimpressed by his son’s failure.

Draco, still panting, threw his broom to the ground, his face twisted with rage.

"You cheated, Potter!" he spat.

Harry, still grinning, raised the Snitch. "Really? Because last I checked, you were the one grabbing my robes."

Malfoy’s face darkened, but before he could retaliate, Madam Hooch strode past.

"No unsportsmanlike behavior, Malfoy," she said sharply. "You lost fairly. Now off to the showers before I deduct points."

Malfoy, humiliated, stomped away.

Harry, beaming, turned back to his team. "Alright, let’s go celebrate!"

And with that, Gryffindor left the field victorious, their Quidditch Cup dream secured.


With the end of the year rapidly approaching, Hogwarts buzzed with an intensity that only came with the looming exam season. The usual playful chatter in the Great Hall was replaced with frantic whispering, hushed incantations, and the occasional groan of frustration from students buried under stacks of parchment.

For the Stars Club members, it was no different.

While their club activities had been a major part of their year, they knew that now was the time to prioritize their studies—and, as always, they would do it together.

In the Stars Club Room, the members had turned the once lively meeting space into a well-organized study hall.

Tables were arranged in sections—one for Potions, one for Defense Against the Dark Arts, another for Transfiguration, and so on. Students worked in small groups, taking turns quizzing each other, demonstrating spells, or reviewing texts.

Fred and George, normally the kings of distraction, were unusually focused, working on spell theory for their Charms exam.

Terry was leading a small group of first-years, patiently explaining how to brew the more complicated potions that Snape had barely taught them.

Hermione, of course, had taken charge of History of Magic revision, while Theodore Nott and Daphne Greengrass covered topics from Care of Magical Creatures to Potions.

At the center of it all, Harry moved from table to table, making sure that everyone was keeping up.

“Alright, who needs help with their Patronus theory?” Harry asked, scanning the room.

A group of second-years raised their hands.

Harry smiled and motioned them over to the Defense Against the Dark Arts section. “Alright, let’s break it down…”

Even though they had decided not to publish a new edition of the Stars Magazine this month, it wasn’t as if they had simply stopped working—they had just shifted priorities.

By mid-May, the entire castle was drowning in stress.

Students were seen frantically flipping through books even as they walked to class, while others muttered spells under their breath, trying to get them perfect before practical exams.

Even the professors seemed more tense, their tempers shorter than usual.

Professor McGonagall shut down any disruptions immediately in her classes, while Snape had taken to deducting points from anyone who so much as sneezed while he was talking.

“If you cannot even control yourselves in a classroom,” he had sneered during one lesson, “then I have little hope that you will manage under actual pressure.”

Meanwhile, Lockhart had been utterly useless, spending most of his time bragging about his "brilliant techniques" for taking exams rather than actually teaching anything useful.

As exams drew even closer, some Stars Club members had started meeting after curfew, sneaking into the Room of Requirement for extra study time.

The room adjusted itself based on their needs, providing quiet reading nooks, practice dummies for dueling spells, and a massive enchanted chalkboard for Hermione’s complicated diagrams and notes.

One night, as the club gathered for a final Defense Against the Dark Arts revision session, Fred and George stumbled in, looking utterly exhausted.

“Alright,” Fred groaned as he collapsed onto a couch, “who’s ready to give up and open a joke shop instead?”

George threw an arm over his face. “If I have to read one more paragraph about defensive spell chains, I swear I’ll jinx myself just to get out of exams.”

Harry chuckled, shaking his head. “Come on, you two. Just a few more days, and then we’re free.”

“Until next year,” Neville pointed out dryly.

Hermione, who had been scribbling furiously on a parchment, finally looked up. “If you all focused instead of complaining, we’d already be done.”

Fred and George groaned in unison, but they did sit up and grab their books.

When exam week finally arrived, the entire castle held its breath.

First came the written exams, where students hunched over their long parchment scrolls, writing until their fingers cramped.

Then came the practical exams, which varied in intensity depending on the subject:

Transfiguration: McGonagall had students turning teacups into live dormice (and taking off points if their dormouse still had a handle).

Potions: Snape silently watched as students brewed a Mild Sleeping Draught, docking points if their potion wasn’t the perfect shade of lilac.

Charms: Flitwick had them performing Summoning Charms on small objects placed at the far end of the classroom.

Defense Against the Dark Arts: The practical exam was a total disaster because Lockhart was in charge.


"Alright, class!" Lockhart beamed as he strolled to the front of the room. "Your exam is simple. Tell me, what is the most dashing way to defend against a werewolf attack?"

Silence.

Hermione, twitching with barely suppressed frustration, finally raised her hand. "Professor, shouldn’t we be demonstrating defensive spells instead of talking about theatrics?"

Lockhart waved a dismissive hand. "Oh, my dear girl, written knowledge is just as important as practical knowledge!"

Theodore leaned over to Harry and muttered, "You realize he’s doing this because he doesn’t actually know how to test us properly, right?"

Harry sighed. "Of course I do."

In the end, the Defense Against the Dark Arts exam turned into a complete joke, and most students simply wrote down whatever Lockhart wanted to hear just to get it over with.

When the final exam ended, students stumbled out of classrooms, some cheering, others groaning in defeat.

The Stars Club gathered in their clubroom, exhausted but victorious.

"We survived!" Fred declared dramatically, throwing himself onto a couch.

George leaned against the table. "Barely."

Hermione was already flipping through her notes. "I just hope my Arithmancy calculations were correct."

Neville, still a bit dazed, muttered, "I’m just glad I didn’t blow up my potion this year."

Harry stretched, feeling the tension finally leaving his body. "No more exams. No more stress. Just a couple of weeks, and then we’re off for the summer."

Theodore smirked. "And back to scheming for next year."

Harry grinned. "Always."

As the Stars Club members laughed, the weight of the year slowly began to lift from their shoulders.

They had worked hard. They had accomplished so much.

And, most importantly, they had done it together.

That evening, as Harry sat on his bed, Hedwig arrived with a letter.

It was from Sirius.

Harry,

I heard exams are over. Hope you didn’t let your fame distract you from actual studying—though I’m sure you did fine.

Big news. I have something planned for the summer. Something important.

We’ll talk when you’re home.

Stay out of trouble until then.

- Sirius


Harry folded the letter, a small smile forming on his lips.

Something important?

Well.

That sounded promising.