Chapter 133: A Perfect Victory
"The rules are simple," Flint announced. "You two will strike the Bludger at each other. If either of you is knocked off your broom—or concedes—the match ends. Otherwise, it continues."
"Any objections?"
A malicious smile curled across Flint's coarse features. He deliberately shot Russell a sideways glance, clearly hoping to provoke him.
Russell did not oblige.
Instead of alarm, he returned the look with a faint, almost amused smile.
Flint's expression darkened.
"Very well. Since there are no objections—begin!"
At the sharp whistle, Wednesday and Rosier kicked off simultaneously, soaring into the air.
Flint reached into the crate and seized a violently struggling Bludger. With a powerful throw, he hurled it straight at Wednesday. It tore through the air with a vicious gust.
Wednesday had long prepared for this moment.
Her bat was entirely black—crafted from beechwood, lacquered in matte dark polish, with a dragon-hide grip wrapped around the handle. It was no ordinary school bat. Over the summer, she had commissioned a professional craftsman—one who built bats for professional Quidditch players—to tailor it precisely to her preferences.
It fit her perfectly.
As the Bludger rocketed toward her, she showed no trace of panic. Instead, her eyes gleamed with excitement.
She swung.
Bang.
Bat met iron with a dull, resonant crack.
Flint's heart lurched.
As a seasoned Quidditch player, he could judge strength from sound alone.
Damn it. I underestimated her.
He had assumed that even if Wednesday managed to block the Bludger, she would do so with visible strain. Instead, she had deflected it with unsettling ease.
Now all he could do was rely on Rosier.
---
At first, Rosier had shared Flint's confidence.
But when the Bludger came screaming toward him, the grin slid clean off his face.
Bang.
He struck it back one-handed, looking outwardly composed.
But a closer look revealed the subtle tremor in his grip.
How can someone so small hit that hard?
The answer was simple.
The physique-enhancing potion Russell had taken earlier in the year—Wednesday had taken it as well. And as an Addams, its effects on her had proven even stronger.
Wednesday's smile widened.
Quidditch was delightful.
She tilted her broom sharply and shot higher into the sky. The Bludger pursued her relentlessly.
"Almost," she murmured.
She halted abruptly, bracing her bat before her.
Rosier didn't understand what she was doing. He glanced at Flint. Seeing his captain's displeasure, he clenched his teeth and rose higher to match her altitude.
The next instant, the Bludger slammed into Wednesday.
She was driven backward through the air—but something about it felt wrong.
The harder the Bludger pressed, the more uneasy Rosier felt.
Below, Russell's eyes narrowed thoughtfully.
He had understood her plan.
She wasn't simply resisting the Bludger—she was bleeding off its force gradually, reducing its momentum. Then she would apply an equal and opposite strike, minimizing energy loss.
Elegant.
When she sensed the Bludger's power had diminished sufficiently, Wednesday lifted both hands high—
—and brought the bat crashing down.
Straight at Cyrian Rosier.
He didn't even attempt to block it. Instinct told him he couldn't. Gritting his teeth, he twisted his body sharply and barely dodged aside.
"That's your Beater?" Russell laughed lightly. "Not very impressive."
"Just wait and see, Fythorne! Rosier was only—only—" one of the Slytherin players stammered.
"Executing a tactical retreat, perhaps?" Russell supplied helpfully.
"Yes! Exactly—a tactical retreat! Thank—"
The boy froze.
He had meant to see which teammate had rescued him—but instead found the rest of the team wearing expressions of pure horror.
His heart plummeted.
Slowly, mechanically, he turned his head toward Russell.
"No need to thank me," Russell said pleasantly.
The boy's face burned crimson.
---
Below, Russell was winning effortlessly.
Above, the real battle had grown intense.
Rosier quickly realized he couldn't overpower Wednesday. So he resorted to something else.
Before the match, Flint had pulled him aside and made one thing clear:
Win—or you're out of the team.
Then Flint had slipped him a small vial.
Rosier knew exactly what it was.
Invigoration Potion.
In simple terms, the wizarding equivalent of a stimulant—far more potent than anything Muggles used. It boosted physical strength across the board. The downside? Once it wore off, the user would suffer a period of severe weakness.
Some wizards even used it as… bedroom enhancement. The effect rarely lasted long enough to reach the weakness phase. Because of that, it wasn't cheap.
While the Bludger briefly blocked Wednesday's line of sight, Rosier downed the potion.
Heat streaked down his throat into his stomach. Warmth flooded his limbs. Power surged through his body.
When he struck the Bludger again, it felt significantly easier.
Back and forth they went, trading blows in midair. Neither gaining clear advantage.
But Rosier grew anxious.
The potion wouldn't last forever.
If he couldn't win within the rules—
He would win outside them.
A vicious glint flashed in his eyes.
Gripping his bat tightly, he charged straight at Wednesday.
Before the Bludger returned, he would close the distance and strike her directly. After all, nothing in the rules prohibited it.
A classic Slytherin maneuver.
If she wanted to join the team, she could taste what real competition felt like.
---
Wednesday saw through him instantly.
She did not retreat.
Instead, she flew directly toward him.
As Rosier's bat swung viciously at her head, she dipped low, avoiding the strike by inches.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the Bludger hurtling back toward them.
Rosier's first strike missed. He prepared to follow through—
But suddenly Wednesday disengaged, veering sharply aside.
Rosier smirked.
Afraid already?
He opened his mouth to taunt—
Too late.
The Bludger was already there.
Still frozen mid-swing, old momentum spent, new motion not yet begun, he had no time to dodge.
The Bludger slammed directly into his face.
"—AAAGH!"
He screamed as his body was ripped from his broom, plummeting like a severed kite string.
Flint's face changed instantly. He conjured a cushioning pad beneath Rosier just in time to prevent him from being smashed to pieces.
Even so, falling from that height left him in terrible shape. Cushion or not, broken bones were almost guaranteed.
He lay motionless, eyes shut—apparently unconscious.
"I win."
Wednesday's voice was emotionless.
She struck the Bludger cleanly back into its crate.
The lid slammed shut with a heavy bang.
She turned to Flint.
Flint's face was thunderous. He had half a mind to invent an excuse.
Then he saw Russell's faint, knowing smile.
He abandoned the idea immediately.
"Fine," Flint said stiffly. "From today onward, you are Slytherin's Beater."
He turned away without another word and went to assess Rosier's injuries.
---
"Still blocking the way, gentlemen?" Russell asked mildly, glancing at the Slytherins surrounding him.
They exchanged uneasy looks.
Reluctantly, they lowered their wands and stepped aside.
As Russell and Wednesday walked away, Rosier cracked one eye open, teeth grinding audibly.
He had only pretended to faint out of humiliation—losing to a first-year girl was unbearable.
Now, though, pain coursed through every inch of him.
At least no one had discovered the potion.
If word spread that he had doped—and still lost to a first-year—he might as well transfer schools.
"Two of you—get him to the hospital wing," Flint ordered grimly.
Though his scheme had failed today, an official Quidditch match was another matter entirely.
This had been child's play.
A first-year girl wouldn't shine so brightly under real match conditions.
And as luck would have it, their next match was against Gryffindor.
If Wednesday underperformed, Flint would have a perfectly legitimate excuse to bench her—or remove her altogether.
No one could complain.
Still, aside from Flint and Rosier, the rest of the team had no objection to Wednesday's promotion.
After all—
Her strength had clearly surpassed Rosier's.
---
"Congratulations, Wednesday," Cedric said warmly after hearing the news. "Looks like we'll be opponents soon."
Cho nodded, smiling. "Well done."
"Thank you," Wednesday replied.
She even smiled slightly.
Cedric and Cho exchanged startled looks.
She almost never smiled.
Apparently, she was genuinely pleased today. There was more warmth in her presence—more life.
"I have a proposal," Russell announced grandly. "To celebrate Wednesday officially joining the team—how about a party?"
"I'm in," Cho said immediately, raising her hand.
Cedric did the same.
Russell sighed dramatically.
"Ah… husband following the wife's lead."
Cho punched him sharply in the arm.