Lucky day?
No.
This was the unluckiest day of all.
The moment that overwhelming presence drowned out the entire stadium, Gryffindor felt their limbs turn ice-cold.
From the locker-room tunnel, a single figure slowly emerged, his body seeming to tear its way out of the shadows themselves.
Black hair. Brown eyes.
That indifferent expression—one usually seen only on the highest of platforms.
The shadows finally loosened their grip. The green team uniform draped over him like a coronation mantle.
The Firebolt in his hand was a scepter of unquestioned authority.
Just his presence alone drove Slytherin's morale to its absolute peak.
All eyes focused on that one figure—so much so that even Harry Potter couldn't draw attention away.
John Wick!
"No—how could it be him?!" Ron, who had been saying just moments ago how lucky they were, completely lost his composure.
Yes.
How could it not be him?
O king upon the throne—why descend into the mire and stand among your subjects?
John would've preferred not to. Unfortunately, after Daphne nearly snapped Malfoy's neck with a Levicorpus, he had no choice but to take the field himself.
It could only be said that Daphne had finally realized Malfoy wasn't immune to Dark curses either.
So John stepped in as a temporary Seeker.
After all, the only people in Slytherin who could handle a Firebolt were John and Malfoy.
As for tactics?
Just push through with the Trident Formation.
As long as John was on the pitch, Slytherin's morale instantly jumped by +100, while the opponent's intimidation level skyrocketed to +10000.
One could only imagine Gryffindor's psychological trauma at that moment.
John walked up to Madam Hooch and looked across at Harry.
Behind him stretched a vast sea of green and silver, emerald serpents gliding through the air, tongues flicking.
The pressure shifted squarely onto Harry.
After giving his teammates a brief word of encouragement, he came forward.
Madam Hooch said, "Captains, shake hands."
John chuckled softly. "Didn't expect us to meet under circumstances like this."
He held out his hand. Harry shook it, though his palm was slightly damp.
Harry quickly steadied himself, reassuring himself, It's fine. This is Quidditch.
Yes.
Quidditch.
He was Gryffindor's captain.
Quidditch wasn't something just anyone could step into and dominate.
Telling himself that, his confidence returned.
He had never lost to Malfoy—so how could John, who never even played Quidditch, do better?
"Mount your brooms. On my whistle," Madam Hooch began the countdown. "Three… two… one…"
Harry focused. The whistle blew, and both teams kicked off simultaneously, shooting into the air.
John reached the sky first. The Firebolt's notoriously hard-to-control speed seemed as docile as a lamb in his hands.
His gaze swept the field, catching sight of Slytherin claiming possession first.
Up in the commentary box stood Ernie Macmillan.
That well-known Hufflepuff chatterbox had wasted no time—upon hearing that John would be playing, he'd practically kicked Zacharias Smith out of the commentary box.
"They're off! No one could've predicted that Slytherin would change captains at the last minute—much less that John himself would appear on this pitch!"
Ernie was still talking when he suddenly shouted, "Slytherin's Urquhart gets possession first—watch out, Bludger!"
A Bludger was smashed straight toward Ron's head by Goyle's bat.
The two towering Beaters grinned menacingly as they rode their brooms toward him.
Urquhart, an exceptionally skilled Chaser, triggered the Trident Formation at that moment.
Ginny quickly wheeled around to give chase. Urquhart flashed a grin and passed the Quaffle to Astoria.
"Block her!" McLaggen shouted directions at Ron as if he were the captain.
"Shut up!" Ron snapped back, steering his broom to try and intercept Astoria.
Astoria leaned into her broom, accelerating just enough to keep Ron's grasp perpetually a hair's breadth away.
"And it's in—goal! Slytherin scores first! Astoria Greengrass breaks through Gryffindor's defenses!"
Harry, who had been searching for the Golden Snitch, hurriedly glanced over at the call.
He saw McLaggen loudly blaming Ron for failing to hold her back.
Harry silently prayed Ron wouldn't lose his temper and quickly returned his focus to finding the Snitch.
The situation on the pitch was growing increasingly grim.
Though Ginny was an excellent Chaser and managed to claw back a bit of ground for Gryffindor, the Trident Formation proved endlessly effective.
Urquhart passed the Quaffle to the third Chaser, Vaisey. With Demelza in hot pursuit, Vaisey accelerated, pulled ahead, and sent the ball cleanly through McLaggen's legs.
"Another goal! The score is now 120 to 50! Have the Lions forgotten how to play!?" Ernie shouted excitedly, earning an irritated prod in the ribs from Professor McGonagall.
From the Slytherin stands came that familiar chant:
"We rise from the mud,
We hunger for power,
We are driven by ambition,
We are strong and composed,
We are elegant and restrained,
We never look back,
We are Slytherin."
The pressure on Harry multiplied. He knew that only he could turn things around.
Beater Peakes sent a Bludger hurtling toward Astoria with the Quaffle. Astoria quickly tilted her head to avoid it, her protective goggles grazing the ball as it passed.
Astoria failed to secure the ball, and Ginny snatched it away in one swift motion.
She immediately gave chase.
"And now Ginny Weasley has possession—oh, this lovely young lady, and not just Ginny, Astoria Greengrass is a beauty as well…"
"Even their pursuit is a pleasure to watch—what? Draco Malfoy says he's going to kill me?" Ernie was commentating with great enthusiasm when he suddenly received a death threat from Malfoy.
Ginny sunk the shot, leaving Astoria deeply dissatisfied.
Seeing this, Goyle and Crabbe let out vicious grins.
"Send her a Bludger!"
"Got it!"
Crabbe slammed aside Gryffindor Beater Coote, who had been about to strike, and swung his bat with all his might.
The Bludger hurtled straight toward Demelza's nose, nearly knocking her off her broom.
At the same time, Goyle swung as well. His Bludger cut through Ginny's hair and smashed into Ron's arm.
Ernie sucked in a sharp breath. "Oof, that one had to hurt. Ron's wobbling—he looks like he's about to go down."
Ron's arm was likely broken. Cold sweat poured down his face as he clenched his teeth.
Seeing the match below growing more intense, John finally abandoned his leisurely, almost strolling flight and began to accelerate gradually.
It was John's first time in an actual Quidditch match, and he found himself starting to enjoy it.
"Let's try that," John's eyes gleamed.
Woosh!
He suddenly accelerated, turning into a green arrow that shot forward.
Ernie caught the moment and shouted excitedly, "John's moving—has he spotted the Golden Snitch?"
Harry was startled at the announcement. Not daring to hesitate, he shot after John.
Against the clear blue sky, one green and one red streak raced ahead.
Both figures climbed higher and higher.
Sensing Harry closing in from the corner of his eye, John wore a relaxed, unhurried smile.
Having long since adapted to the speed of Meteor Boots, he found controlling the Firebolt effortless.
Just as Harry began to doubt whether John had really found the Snitch, John performed an exaggerated, sharp pull, forcing the Firebolt into a sweeping arc as he reversed course.
"I've been tricked!" Harry realized instantly.
He tried to turn as well, but flying so high, a sudden gust nearly sent him out of control.
By the time he recovered, John had already opened up a massive gap.
"Heh~" John plunged straight down, his speed never slowing.
"Did John lose control? No—no, that's the Golden Snitch!" Ernie's excited voice rang across the pitch.
Using his exceptional dynamic vision, Harry caught a glimpse of that flash of gold below.
Near Gryffindor's goalposts.
He sped up at once, chasing after it.
Being forced out of position cost him the best chance—now he could only make up the distance with raw speed.
All eyes locked onto the two of them, John's vertical dive making hearts pound.
Like a falling arrow, the air split cleanly to either side.
Woosh!
John shut his right eye and became a gust of wind, streaking past Gryffindor's goal area.
The roar of the crowd gradually fell silent. Just before hitting the ground, John reached out, the Golden Snitch slipping across his grasp, almost escaping—
His hand struck with the precision of a venomous snake, biting down on the Snitch.
Just as the Firebolt was about to hit the ground, he adjusted, leapt lightly, and kicked the broom ninety degrees, leveling it into horizontal flight as he landed back on it with perfect balance.
The maneuver was nearly unbelievable—executed fluidly, effortlessly—as he calmly opened the hand holding the Snitch.
The Golden Snitch fluttered up from his palm—
And was caught again.
Time itself seemed to freeze. Everyone stood stunned by what John had just done.
Standing atop the Firebolt, facing into the wind, John spread his arms and chuckled lightly. "Now, you may cheer."
The breathless tension that had held the stadium snapped all at once.
Woaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhh!!!!!!!!!
Even the stands trembled with excitement.
On the Slytherin side, their honor song rose—sometime, somehow, it had begun playing.
Green fireworks burst overhead as the crowd erupted in celebration.
Ernie finally snapped out of his daze and bellowed in shocked disbelief, "John's caught the Snitch—he's ended the match! Unbelievable, from that angle—and he's completely unscathed!"
"No clumsiness, no mud on him—elegant and composed to the very end, bearing the aura of a king! John Wick!"
The Firebolt gradually slowed. John stood upon it high in the air, arms spread wide, a sea of green and silver stretching out behind him.
Green fireworks and streamers danced through the sky, Luna's scarf hissed, and a thunderous roar shook the stands.
"Glory to Slytherin—!"
Harry slowed his flight and descended with the rest of the Gryffindor team.
From the ground, they looked up at the figure in the sky—like subjects gazing upon their king.
The score was set.
310 to 120.
Yes. Glory belonged to Slytherin.
John Wick had proven it through action.
He IS glory.
________
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