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Chapter 140
Gryffindor called for a timeout. The team landed and gathered together while, in the distance, the Slytherin players hovered proudly in the air, laughing loudly among themselves.
"One hundred to zero. We're getting crushed." Wood turned to Fred with frustration. "Fred, where were you when we needed defense?"
"Someone put a vicious curse on that Bludger!" Fred snapped, struggling to contain his anger. "I had to stop it from breaking Harry's neck. That damned thing ignored everyone else—it only wanted Harry dead. Bloody Slytherin scum!"
"Bastards." Wood clenched his fists so tightly his knuckles cracked. "Slytherin's abusing their broom advantage and their size, completely ignoring sportsmanship and smashing through our defense. And now they're cheating with cursed balls."
"Listen," Harry said, glancing at his exhausted teammates. "Don't worry about me. Focus on defending the hoops. I'll deal with the Bludger myself—and I'll catch the Snitch as fast as I can."
He had already realized the enormous gap in score and equipment. There was no other choice.
"Don't be insane," Fred barked. "You'll break your neck out there. Do you think we'd just stand by and let that happen for the sake of winning?"
Wood looked from Harry to the others, hesitation flashing across his face.
"Oliver, absolutely not!" Angelina said angrily. "We can't let Harry take that risk. We should demand an investigation."
"The only way now is to catch the Golden Snitch and ask for an investigation afterward," Harry said unwillingly. "At this rate we'll only keep losing points. We can't lose just because of one cursed Bludger, and we can't lose to Slytherin's dirty tricks either. As long as we don't give up, we can beat them. Oliver—let me do this."
Fred grabbed Wood by the collar and growled, "You were the one who told him before the match that catching the Snitch mattered more than anything. What, did you mean he should die on the pitch if necessary? Have you lost your mind?"
"Then give me an all-or-nothing defense," Wood said grimly.
"The match resumes."
His expression hardened with determination. Victory or defeat—there was no turning back now. Not for Harry, and not for himself.
The rain poured even harder, mirroring the heavy mood hanging over the Gryffindor team.
At Madam Hooch's whistle, the players soared back into the stormy sky.
Harry ignored the crazed Bludger chasing him. He accelerated higher and higher, weaving through the air in endless turns and dives.
Like a roller coaster, he shot up and down, twisting left and right, diving, spinning, circling the pitch without pause while desperately searching for the Snitch.
Rain hammered against his head and splashed across his glasses. His vision shrank to almost nothing.
Even if I could use Eagle Eye now, I still wouldn't be able to see anything, he thought bitterly.
The Bludger shrieked behind him in pursuit.
If I ever find out who did this, I swear I'll kill them.
Harry gritted his teeth, rage burning inside him. The Nimbus 2001s had only made him angry and frustrated before.
But this—this cursed Bludger was genuinely trying to murder him.
For the first time, what filled Harry's heart wasn't simple anger, but real killing intent.
Perhaps it was that fury that sharpened his focus. Once again, he narrowly dodged the Bludger's attack.
The violent maneuver flipped him upside down, leaving him hanging beneath his broom like a dangling corpse.
Gasps erupted from the Gryffindor supporters, while the entire Slytherin side burst into mocking laughter.
Harry knew he probably looked ridiculous. Rain plastered his hair against his scalp and streamed into his eyes, but he ignored everything except the search for the Snitch.
His teammates couldn't hold out much longer.
Neither could he.
"Someone's trying to kill Harry!" Hermione shouted, pulling out her wand as she scanned the stands with sharp eyes. But the torrential rain obscured everything around her.
"What?" Ron cried. "That explains why the Bludger's gone mad! Someone must be controlling it—just like Quirrell did with Harry's broom!"
The two of them searched frantically through the stands, trying to find whoever was targeting Harry.
"It's not Snape… and I don't see anyone casting spells. Then who is it?" Hermione searched desperately, but found nothing unusual. "Damn it—why isn't George here at a time like this? He'd definitely find the culprit."
"It's too far away. I can't even interfere with the Bludger," she said angrily, stomping her foot.
She hated feeling powerless. The murderer was obviously using the Bludger to hunt Harry down, yet she couldn't find a single clue or stop the curse.
"Should we tell the teachers?" Hermione asked anxiously.
Ron bit his lip and thought for a moment before answering.
"Harry and the team already called a timeout. They know something's wrong. But they're already down by a hundred points. If the match gets stopped now, they lose for sure."
"So they're willing to risk dying just to keep playing?" Hermione demanded.
"It was Harry's choice," Ron said quietly. "Everyone agreed to it. Harry decided to face the Bludger alone. All we can do now is watch. If he gets hit, we'll rush onto the field immediately and protect him. But until then… I have to trust Harry's decision."
Ron hated seeing Harry in danger too. But the Gryffindor team had worked too hard for this, and Harry had willingly taken on the greatest risk himself. Stopping them now would hurt them more deeply than defeat.
"They're all insane," Hermione shouted furiously. "One side is trying to kill people just to win, and the other side's willing to die just to keep playing! I'll never understand Quidditch. I hate sports!"
But no one cared about their fear, anger, or panic.
Harry dodged another lethal strike from the Bludger.
"Potter, are you dancing ballet up there?" Malfoy shouted viciously, laughing harshly.
Watching Harry twist, spin, and tumble through the air like some circus acrobat, Malfoy had practically forgotten he was supposed to be playing Quidditch.
The cursed Bludger had completely disrupted his role in the match—but he didn't care.
After all, seeing Harry suffer like this was even more satisfying than defeating him normally.
And there was no way he was going to let this spectacle end early.
(To be continued.)