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Chapter 139
For a moment, Draco Malfoy couldn't decide what would be more satisfying:
Personally dominating the match and defeating Potter himself…
Or deliberately dragging Potter around while the rest of the Slytherin team crushed Gryffindor by several hundred points.
As for losing?
That possibility didn't even exist in his mind.
When the time came, the players headed toward the Quidditch pitch.
It was a hot, humid weekend, with distant thunder rumbling faintly across the sky.
The stadium erupted with deafening cheers—but not for Slytherin.
Slytherin House had always been hated by the rest of the school, and their brand-new Nimbus 2001 broomsticks had only intensified public resentment.
But every Slytherin player strode forward with broom in hand, proudly raising their arms and enthusiastically responding to the boos from the crowd.
To them, jeers and thrown paint were no different from applause.
Especially because they were waiting for the moment when they would completely crush their opponents.
That contrast would make victory even sweeter.
At Madam Hooch's signal, Flint shook hands with Gryffindor captain Oliver Wood.
Wood glared viciously at him and squeezed his hand with all his strength, but that only made Flint look forward even more to watching Gryffindor lose by several hundred points.
He truly couldn't wait.
"I want a clean game," Madam Hooch shouted. "Three… two… one!"
A thunderous roar exploded through the stadium as all fourteen players shot into the sky beneath the gloomy clouds.
Malfoy immediately rose high into the air after Harry Potter.
He watched Harry squinting around nervously, already searching for the Golden Snitch.
The match had only just begun, yet Potter already looked desperate to end it quickly.
Malfoy sneered maliciously.
"Hey, Scarhead," he called, "don't rush. Let's take our time. Maybe your teammates will lose by a few hundred points first."
Harry ignored him completely.
All he wanted was to catch the Snitch as quickly as possible, close the score gap, and defeat Slytherin.
At that moment, a heavy black Bludger suddenly hurtled toward him.
Harry barely dodged in time—he could even feel the ball brushing past his hair.
"Watch out, Harry!" Fred Weasley shouted as he charged forward with his bat.
He swung hard, smashing the Bludger away toward Adrian Pucey.
But the ball behaved strangely.
Like a stretched rubber band snapping back into place, it suddenly reversed direction midair and came flying straight back toward Harry.
Harry dived away in panic.
Fred slammed the Bludger toward Malfoy this time, but once again the cursed ball curved like a boomerang and shot directly back at Harry's head.
"Scarhead, congratulations," Malfoy laughed cruelly. "Looks like it really likes you."
Watching the scene unfold, Malfoy couldn't help feeling impressed.
His teammates had actually cursed the Bludger successfully.
No wonder they planned to win by several hundred points.
Harry had no time to pay attention to Malfoy.
He leaned low over his broom and accelerated desperately, the wind whistling loudly around him.
But he could still hear the Bludger chasing after him.
The thing seemed obsessed with him.
Was someone else trying to hurt him again?
The terrifying thought reminded Harry of Professor Quirrell cursing his broom the previous year.
Fred raced after Harry, trying to drive the rogue Bludger away.
Harry suddenly ducked, accidentally slamming into Fred's shoulder.
Fred used all his strength to smash the Bludger aside once more.
"Get lost!" Fred roared.
But it was useless.
The Bludger had locked onto Harry completely.
Again and again it pursued him, trying to smash him off his broom from above, forcing Harry to accelerate wildly and flee for his life.
Malfoy realized he barely needed to do anything at all.
Potter was already completely occupied.
He casually followed not far behind Harry, watching him flee in panic while the Bludger hunted him relentlessly.
The sight made Malfoy burst into shrill laughter.
Meanwhile, the Gryffindor team was in terrible shape.
They were being utterly suppressed by Slytherin.
Harry was constantly being chased by the rogue Bludger, forcing Fred to stay behind and protect him.
Not only was Gryffindor effectively down players, but the Slytherins were also targeting Gryffindor's female Chasers without restraint.
After taking possession of the Quaffle, Adrian Pucey charged straight toward the Gryffindor goalposts atop his sleek Nimbus 2001.
He completely ignored Angelina Johnson defending him.
Like a charging train, his massive body slammed forward mercilessly.
No matter how unwilling Angelina was to back down—no matter how determined or brave she might be—facing a charging beast like that at such speed left her no choice but to dodge at the last second.
Wood tried to intercept the attack, but Slytherin's Terence Higgs smashed into Alicia Spinnet the exact same way.
Instantly it became another two-against-one situation.
Slytherin scored again.
And again.
Using this shameless, reckless strategy—and relying heavily on the superior performance of the Nimbus 2001s—Slytherin completely crushed Gryffindor.
All of Gryffindor's effort.
All their training.
All their sweat.
It all seemed meaningless.
Wood was furious, but he couldn't blame his teammates.
They were already doing everything they could.
Slytherin was simply too shameless.
"You're disgusting!" Wood roared angrily. "You know you're bullying girls, and you still act proud of it, you bastards!"
Terence Higgs glanced at Wood, comparing their sizes before replying calmly:
"In Slytherin's eyes, there are no opponents. There is only victory."
Then he raised a finger mockingly.
"In the eyes of wizards, men and women are equal. Did you really think bringing girls onto your team would earn you special treatment from your opponents?"
Angelina and Alicia were furious.
Grinding their teeth, they leaned forward on their brooms and tried desperately to ram into Higgs.
But he merely accelerated slightly.
The superior speed of the Nimbus 2001 instantly left the Gryffindor players far behind.
Amid the chaos, Flint scored another goal.
Even Wood couldn't stop him head-on.
"One hundred points!" Flint howled with a wolfish grin. "Ready yet? How many points are you planning to lose by today?"
The Slytherin team burst into manic laughter.
They were like a pack of lunatics.
Relying on their physical advantages and faster brooms, they continuously smashed through Gryffindor's increasingly fragile defense.
Cold rain began falling onto the Gryffindor players.
And into their hearts.
This wasn't their first time flying in the rain.
Nor their first match played beneath storm clouds.
In truth, after more than two months of training, their uniforms had never truly dried.
Some were soaked with rainwater.
Others with sweat.
Yet never before had rain extinguished the fire in their hearts.
Never before had coldness weakened their fighting spirit.
But today's rain felt especially cold.
And today's atmosphere felt especially cruel.
The chill seeped not only into their bodies—
But into their hearts as well.
(To be continued.)