Though Gryffindor had prepared cheering banners too, they looked rather pitiful in comparison. Seamus, their resident pyrotechnic genius, had contributed an old bedsheet transformed into a large banner reading "Potter for the Win", complete with a small lion drawing. Hermione had then enchanted it to make the letters flash in different colours.
Other years had merely conjured fleeting letters with magical fireworks – nothing like Slytherin's lavish display, where ornate banners spelt out each player's name, their signature serpent writhing with lifelike majesty.
Everything suffers by comparison. At least in terms of cheering support, Gryffindor had been thoroughly outmatched this time.
"Hermione, what's money got to do with it?" Ron asked, perplexed.
Hermione pursed her lips and reluctantly revealed the truth: "Those were all sold to Slytherin by Wayne."
"What?!" Ron's voice rose in shock. "Why? Why would Wayne help Slytherin? If it were Ravenclaw, I'd understand – Cho's on their team – but Slytherin?"
Hermione clenched her fists.
Since the Troll incident, she and Ron had become friends of sorts. Yet no matter the situation, Ron's thoughtless mouth never failed to break through her defences. It was like Garen building a Whisper – silencing and critting all at once.
Many nearby had overheard their conversation, immediately displaying angry expressions.
Hermione quickly explained, "Slytherin bought these from Celia Store for hundreds of Galleons. It wasn't free assistance. If you had the money, you could buy them too. Wayne doesn't discriminate – he'll take anyone's Galleons."
The thought of having to pay a few symbolic Sickles for Wayne's tutoring made Hermione's chest tighten.
Hearing the exorbitant price, the young lions fell silent. Hundreds of Galleons... With that kind of money, even they would have sold to Slytherin if they could produce such displays.
Hermione observed everything coldly. She suddenly recalled Wayne's assessment of Gryffindor and found it painfully accurate – blindly following, radical, too easily misled and provoked. With proper leadership, they could become the most fervent supporters, yet simple discord could spark internal conflicts.
The young witch sighed. If not for Professor McGonagall being their Head of House and Dumbledore having been a Gryffindor, she might have regretted her choice.
Across the pitch, the Slytherin stands had become a sea of jubilation. Malfoy grinned like a gleeful ferret – he'd contributed a significant portion of those hundreds of Galleons. Those poor lions could never afford such luxuries. Malfoy grew even more excited as he looked at the spherical object in his hand. Once the match began, he had an even bigger surprise in store for Potter.
The time had come.
Players from both teams emerged from the changing rooms, filing through the tunnel into the roaring stadium. Wayne found his pulse quickening in response.
This was the magic of sporting events – it was impossible not to be swept up in the electric atmosphere when present in person.
Madam Hooch, serving as referee, had even donned a pair of windproof goggles.
Standing at the centre of the pitch, she issued her warning: "I expect a fair match from everyone. Mind your fouls."
Marcus Flint responded with an indifferent smirk.
TWEET!
The shrill silver whistle sounded, and players from both teams soared into the air as the cheering intensified.
BANG!
Another cloud of smoke exploded across the stands, drawing raucous laughter from the crowd. Harry instinctively turned to look – above the Slytherin stands, the words "POTTER STINKS" writhed before morphing into a crude depiction of Harry's face streaming with tears.
Beneath the display, Malfoy grinned triumphantly. Noticing Harry's gaze, his smile widened grotesquely as he drew a finger across his throat in a slashing motion.
Over at the Hufflepuff stands, Cedric nudged Wayne with his elbow. "I thought you and Potter got along well enough?"
Wayne nodded. "We do. So he won't mind me making a few Sickles off him, right? Might even cut him in for a share."
"How much did Malfoy pay you?"
"Twenty Galleons."
Cedric could only shake his head in resigned admiration.
Fortunately, Gryffindor weren't entirely defenceless – they still had their secret eighth player on the sidelines.
Commentator Lee Jordan couldn't resist a jab: "We're seeing just how terrified Slytherins are of Potter, resorting to these underhanded tactics—"
"Jordan!" Professor McGonagall's sharp reprimand cut through the commentary box.
"Right you are, Professor. Though with such an impeccably fair Head of House monitoring me... Let's return to the match proper."
"Alicia Spinnet in possession – another gem discovered by Wood's keen eye. And might I say, what stunning blonde—"
"Jordan!" McGonagall's voice turned dangerous. "This is a Quidditch match, not a beauty pageant! Discuss the game, not the players!"
As Hogwarts' most devoted Quidditch enthusiast, the professor particularly despised irrelevant chatter during matches.
After two warnings, Lee Jordan settled into more professional commentary, though his Gryffindor bias still showed through.
Wayne now noticed that all three of Gryffindor's Chasers were remarkably athletic young women.
Meanwhile, Slytherin's Beaters proved themselves true champions of gender equality, showing absolutely no mercy as they swung their clubs.
The Bludger they sent Katie Bell's way carried enough force to rival a newborn's desperate suckling.
"Absolute brutes with those bats," Wayne muttered.
"Angelina! SHE SCORES! Gryffindor take the lead!"
Cheers from the Gryffindor supporters echoed through the crisp air, several young wizards celebrating with wand-fired fireworks.
Marcus Flint flew over to confer with his teammates, his expression thunderous.
What followed descended into outright brutality.
Leveraging their physical advantage, Slytherin seemed more focused on hitting opponents than the Quaffle, quickly turning the score to 30–10.
"Disgusting play," Wayne remarked.
Cedric could only nod in grim agreement. "It all depends on Potter now. If he can catch the Golden Snitch before the others are knocked out, Gryffindor can still win."
Harry on the pitch was acutely aware of this, too. He kept gaining altitude, trying to widen his field of vision to spot the Golden Snitch.
Just as he dodged a Bludger, something unexpected happened—his flying broomstick gave a terrifying jerk, nearly throwing him off. What followed was a series of dangerous manoeuvres, as though the broom was determined to shake him loose.
Gasps rose from the stands as spectators saw Harry tumbling uncontrollably, clinging to his broom for dear life like a sloth.
"What's happening?!" Ron cried anxiously.
Hermione snatched Hagrid's binoculars, but instead of watching Harry, she scanned the opposite stands.
"What are you looking at?" Ron asked.
"It's Snape—he's jinxing it," Hermione said, thrusting the binoculars at Ron, who immediately trained them on the Defence Against the Dark Arts professor.
Sure enough, Snape stood in the opposite stands, his eyes fixed unblinkingly on Harry, lips moving in a silent incantation.
"What do we do?" Ron panicked.
"Leave it to me."
With that, Hermione vanished, pushing through the dense crowd as fast as she could toward the other side.
"Hermione!" Wayne spotted the young witch and pulled her free from the throng.
"Wayne," she gasped urgently. "Help me—Snape's cursing Harry's broom!"
Habit had made her instinctively turn to Wayne, a testament to how much she trusted him.
Wayne glanced across the pitch—not at Snape, but at Quirrell. "Don't panic yet."
He tried to reassure her, but the situation was dire. To keep Harry from falling to his death, the Weasley twins attempted to fly close, only to be thrown off each time they neared.
With their defences down, the Slytherin players grew bolder. Wood was already battered and bruised.
Wayne's eyes darted to the stands—Hufflepuff's section bordered Slytherin's, and he was seated near the edge, just a few people away from the Slytherins and the teachers' box.
Suddenly, he slapped his thigh in outrage.
"Filthy! Absolutely filthy! Is this Quidditch or a brawl for Slytherin?"
"Lawrence, what are you on about?" a Slytherin student snapped.
"Can't call out dirty play?" Wayne taunted. "Your troll of a captain's practically shoving his Beater's bat down Wood's throat!"
Several badgers nodded in agreement. No one enjoyed playing against Slytherin—they would stoop to anything for victory.
"This is Gryffindor's match—none of your business!"
"Idiot, the House Cup isn't decided by a single match. Every point counts—so yes, it is my business!"
The Hufflepuffs kept nodding.
Another Slytherin snarled, "You filthy Mudblood—"
"PARKINSON, WATCH YOUR MOUTH!" Cedric sprang to his feet, storming toward Parkinson.
"Wayne is my friend!"
Robert Parkinson, Slytherin's fifth-year Prefect and Pansy Parkinson's cousin, sneered.
"Marcus will deal with you during our match, Diggory." Shoving aside Cedric, who was glaring at him, he tried to say something more, but a massive fist had already smashed into his face.
"Bullying Harry on the pitch and now daring to lay hands on Cedric off it? Do you think we badgers have no one left?"
Parkinson's nose was gushing blood, the bridge twisted at an alarming angle—clearly broken by the punch.
"Wayne..." Cedric opened his mouth, wanting to say he'd only been shoved, not hit.
But Wayne had already struck. There was no way he'd speak up for Parkinson now.
"You filthy Mudblood! How dare you hit me! Do you know who my father is?!" Parkinson clutched his face, tears of pain streaming down.
"If you don't even know who your father is, go ask your mother!" Wayne retorted before delivering a vicious kick between the legs.
That was the final straw. Other Slytherin snakes rushed to Parkinson's aid, but Cedric and the rest of the badgers weren't about to let them gang up on one person. They charged in without hesitation.
A full-blown brawl erupted without warning.
Hermione gaped in shock. Weren't they supposed to be saving Harry? How had this turned into a fight?!
Thwack!
Wayne broke another student's nose with a brutal punch. Lee Jordan quickly caught wind of the commotion, his voice booming.
"What's happening?!"
"The noble Hufflepuffs have suddenly clashed with the foul Slytherins!"
"Oh! What a beautiful left hook!"
"Lawrence takes down another! He's a god! A god of war!"
"No one can stop him! Fight, fight, fight!"
Lee was practically leaping with excitement, cheering loudly for Hufflepuff, while Professor McGonagall looked ready to faint from fury.
"Stop this at once! What on earth are you doing?!"
No one listened—they were all too caught up in the frenzy.
Screams echoed from the stands of both houses. Even the Quidditch players on the pitch froze mid-air, stunned into stillness.
They'd forgotten they were still in the middle of a match.
Hufflepuff had the upper hand, simply because they outnumbered the Slytherins! The Slytherin students were less than two-thirds the size of Hufflepuff, and nearly every boy had to face being ganged up on by two Hufflepuff lads.
Add Wayne into the mix—he truly lived up to Lee's description, fighting like a god of war.
From one end of the pitch to the other, he specialised in smashing noses before delivering a swift kick to the groin, ensuring his opponents were out of commission.
Soon, he had plunged deep into enemy territory, closing in on the teachers' stands.
Thud!
Wayne had lost all restraint. Crabbe stood in his path.
Before he could even process what was happening, Wayne had knocked him out cold with a brick transformed from his wand.
Malfoy's legs trembled at the sight of such brutality. "Y-you've already hit Crabbe, so you can't hit me now! L-Lawrence, I didn't insult you!"
"Of course, Malfoy. You're my friend." Wayne grinned brightly, his teeth gleaming in the sunlight. "Just borrowing your lackey for a moment."
Without waiting for Malfoy's consent, he hoisted the unconscious Crabbe and hurled him straight at the stands.
"Oof!"
Quirrell, who had been intently muttering spells, took the full impact, his turban nearly slipping off. He hastily stopped his incantation to readjust it.
Harry, who had been wrestling with his broomstick, finally regained control—and spotted the Golden Snitch!
Snape exhaled in relief before frowning and turning towards the commotion.
'What on earth is all this noise?'
"STOP! EVERYONE, STOP!"
"Petrificus Totalus!"
"Petrificus Totalus!"
A panting McGonagall finally arrived at the scene. After shouting several times to no avail, she resorted to magic.
Snape, his expression dark, joined in. The boys from his house had all been beaten to a pulp!
"Potter! He's diving!"
"Wayne! He's swinging a brick—oh, and Snape's right in front of him! Shame, why didn't he smash it?!"
Lee Jordan commented frantically, his eyes darting back and forth, unwilling to miss a single moment.
Harry tumbled onto the ground as if retching, something falling from his mouth—the Golden Snitch.
Wayne knocked out Parkinson with a brick, leaving him bloodied, then raised his hands triumphantly with a grin.
Click!
A Ravenclaw with a camera captured this iconic moment.
The entire pitch fell silent.