Lee Jordan's Live Commentary:
If there's one thing I've learned in three years of calling Quidditch matches so far, it's that the best games always start with a scandal.
And, Merlin's beard, today's lineup was practically made of it.
"Welcome, witches and wizards, to the first match of the season — Slytherin versus Draconis!"
I bellowed into the charmed megaphone, my voice booming across the pitch. "Or, as I like to call it — seven rich snakes and four maniacs with death wishes!"
McGonagall's sharp, "Mr. Jordan!" came instantly from the staff box behind me.
"Right, right, purely observational, Professor!" I grinned down at the teams circling like hawks below. The Slytherin squad gleamed with Nimbus Two-Thousand-and-Ones — Lucius Malfoy's money fluttering proudly in every polish.
On the other side, Draconis' four riders cut a stark picture in black and silver — no wasted motion, no nerves, just quiet intent.
Almost giving off a feeling that they were not a simple school house team but rather a national team with years of experience and skill.
You could feel it from the stands: Slytherin's swagger versus something colder, older, and much less forgiving.
"And they're off!"
Hooch's whistle cut the air like lightning.
The Quaffle soared — and immediately, Slytherin seized control.
"Montague with the Quaffle — passes to Pucey — nice formation there, folks, they're keeping it tight — oh! Brilliant feint! Slytherin drives for the goals—!"
Hermione Granger of all people dove across the posts, nearly colliding with the ring itself, and sent the Quaffle spinning back with a simple block of her arm.
"That's Draconis Keeper Hermione Granger with the block! Blimey, didn't know she could even stay on a broom that long—"
"MR. JORDAN!"
"—I mean, tremendous improvement, Professor!"
The Slytherins recovered quickly.
Draco Malfoy swooped in, hair gleaming, snatching the Quaffle like it belonged to him by birthright.
"Malfoy's got it — heading straight for the goals, moving fast on that brand-new Nimbus — look at that acceleration, ladies and gents! Those brooms are pure scandal in stick form—"
And then Cho Chang moved.
No one saw it coming.
One second Malfoy was smirking at the crowd; the next, Cho slipped in from above, twisted under his arm, and lifted the Quaffle clean out of his grip.
"—AND SHE'S GOT IT! SHE'S GOT IT! Cho Chang just picked Malfoy's pocket mid-air, that's a clean steal if I ever saw one—Draconis on the offensive!"
The crowd erupted — especially the Ravenclaws, who seemed personally vindicated that one of their former own was humiliating Slytherin's newest golden boy.
Cho shot forward, a black-and-silver blur slicing through green.
"Chang's going for it — she's closing in on the Slytherin hoops—Warrington tries to block, no good—SHE SHOOTS—!"
THUNK!
The Quaffle soared through the leftmost hoop with a perfect curve.
"AND SHE SCORES! Ten points to Draconis!"
Half the stadium exploded in cheers; the other half hissed like angry kettles.
Even McGonagall couldn't hide a small, proud smile, that move was simply textbook in its execution.
Meanwhile, Draco hovered mid-field, blinking like he'd just been mugged.
"Oh, and it looks like young Malfoy's still trying to process that theft of dignity—someone fetch him a tissue!"
"MR. JORDAN!"
"Yes, Professor, moving on!"
The match turned frenetic.
Draconis played like lightning — small, tight maneuvers that made the Slytherin formation look clumsy by comparison.
Daphne Greengrass swung her Beater's bat with unnerving precision, knocking Bludgers back so hard they cracked like thunder.
"Greengrass again with the deflection — Merlin, she nearly took Pucey's nose off! You could serve dinner on that aim—"
"LEE!"
"I'm praising her, Professor!"
But as Draconis' coordination began to shine, my eyes tracked upward — toward the two figures circling high above the chaos.
Harry Potter and Cassius Snape.
The Seekers.
Harry looked tense — watching the play below, jaw clenched.
Cassius, though... Cassius wasn't watching the game at all.
He was hovering perfectly still, head slightly tilted, eyes half-closed, like he was listening to something no one else could hear.
"Up top, both Seekers scanning for the Snitch—though Cassius looks more like he's meditating than searching—hope he doesn't fall asleep up there—"
The words had barely left my mouth before something strange happened.
One of the Bludgers — the left-hand one — suddenly twisted mid-flight and locked on to Harry.
It wasn't just chasing; it was hunting.
"—wait, what's this? Bludger gone rogue! It's after Potter—Blimey, it's not backing off! Look at that thing move!"
The crowd gasped as Harry swerved, the Bludger whistling past his ear.
He tried to loop away — it followed, faster.
Wood shouted from the stands, "Break off, Harry!" but the boy had no choice but to dive.
Meanwhile, Cassius barely flinched.
If anything, he seemed... amused.
"Cassius Snape still holding position—apparently content to let his fellow seeker get bludgeoned to death—oh, and there goes the Bludger again—close one!"
"MR. JORDAN!"
"I'm simply narrating, Professor! With empathy!"
Harry looped once, twice, the Bludger clipping his broom tail and splintering a piece clean off.
The crowd screamed.
Cassius finally moved — not toward Harry, but downward, fast, streaking like a bolt of silver fire.
"Snape diving—Merlin's ghost, he's plummeting! That's nearly vertical—!"
Every head tilted upward to track him.
He wasn't chasing the Quaffle — or the Bludger — or even Harry.
He was chasing something smaller, invisible to most eyes.
And then I saw it — a flicker of gold near the teachers' box.
"The Snitch! He's seen the Snitch! Cassius Snape in pursuit!"
The air roared as he cut through it, cloak streaming, Aeriusbolt humming like a beast unchained.
The Bludger slammed into Harry's arm — audible even from here — but Cassius didn't so much as glance over.
He twisted through the chaos below, almost dancing between Bludgers, ducking under Malfoy's Nimbus, nearly grazing the turf before shooting back up in a near-suicidal climb.
"He's going to crash—no, he's—MERLIN'S PANTS, HE'S LEVELING OUT—!"
The teachers in the box ducked as Cassius streaked past, hand snapping forward — fingers closing around the glint of gold just inches before impact.
He pulled up so sharply that his broom screamed and wind rippled the professors' robes.
"HE'S GOT THE SNITCH! HE'S GOT IT! DRACONIS WINS—one-hundred-and-ninety to forty!"
The roar was deafening.
Even Hagrid was on his feet, waving what looked suspiciously like a handkerchief the size of a tent.
Down below, Harry landed hard — or rather, crashed — clutching his arm, face white with pain.
Madam Hooch rushed to him, the cursed Bludger still slamming itself into the ground trying to finish the job it started.
But Cassius... Cassius just hovered there above it all, snitch gleaming in his palm, expression unreadable.
Victory, yes — but cold, clinical.
Like he'd planned every breath of it.
"Unbelievable finish! Cassius Snape ends the match with a catch fit for a dragon—Draconis remains undefeated, folks! Meanwhile, Potter appears to have a broken arm, but he's alive, so that's something—"
"MR. JORDAN!"
"I'm expressing relief, Professor!"
The stands were chaos — shouts, applause, even a few shocked sobs from the Slytherin section.
Down on the field, Daphne was grinning like a wolf, Cho hugged Hermione mid-air, and Astoria Greengrass sat frozen on the Slytherin bench, staring at her sister with wide eyes.
As the crowd chanted "Draconis! Draconis!" I lowered the megaphone and muttered, mostly to myself,"Bloody hell... what kind of house is that?"