Academy Conflict

December at Hogwarts was bitterly cold, the air like frozen blades, yet the stands beside the Quidditch pitch were hot enough to make people sweat.

Half an hour before the match began, Regulus sat in Slytherin's best viewing section, calculating how he could make up for the time being wasted.

Quidditch, the wizarding world's most popular sport, involved twelve people riding broomsticks and chasing several balls. A match could last for hours, even days.

Regulus knew the rules. He considered it inefficient entertainment, with too high a time cost, limited tactical depth, and no small amount of risk.

Broken necks were hardly rare in Quidditch history.

He had not wanted to come, but Avery had been nagging him since morning. "You have to go! It's house honor!"

Alex nodded beside him. Hermes said nothing, but clearly agreed that they should be there.

To fit in.

Regulus sighed inwardly. In Slytherin, there were indeed occasions one could not miss, so he sat there wrapped in a thick cloak.

"It's starting!" Avery suddenly shouted.

Regulus looked up. In the center of the pitch, Madam Hooch blew her whistle, and the Quaffle rose into the air.

Slytherin's captain was a fifth-year student named Eliot Rosier. He was a distant relative of Alex's family, though from the main branch.

Evan Rosier, who had taken the initiative to speak to him at the Halloween feast, came from the same family.

The guy was tall, with shoulders broad enough to block a doorway.

During the pre-match huddle, he said in front of the whole team, "Listen up. There's only one goal today: win the match!

"Victory comes before appearances. I want to see Slytherin's score higher than theirs on the board. I don't care how you make it happen."

His words were utterly blunt. Several Chasers grinned, while the Beaters weighed their bats in their hands.

Regulus looked toward the opposite stands, where Gryffindor was almost entirely red.

James Potter stood in the front row. He was the Seeker, dressed in a scarlet-and-gold team robe, his hair messy but his eyes bright.

Sirius shouted the loudest from the stands. "Gryffindor! Victory! James, tear those snakes apart!"

His voice could be heard across half the pitch. Several younger Slytherins glared at him and shouted back at the tops of their lungs, while the older students did not spare him a second glance.

Sirius was practically hanging over the railing, waving his arms as if he were about to fly off.

Peter Pettigrew huddled behind him and shouted along, though much more quietly.

Remus Lupin stood a little farther away, smiling but not shouting.

The professors sat on the central platform. Dumbledore sat in the middle, his eyes behind Half-moon Spectacles calmly watching the pitch.

Professor McGonagall sat close beside him, leaning forward with her fingers clasped on her knees. She had taught at Gryffindor for many years and watched every house match.

She was an old Quidditch fan.

Slughorn sat on the other side, saying something to Professor Flitwick while gesturing in the air with his plump fingers.

Professor Sprout had brought a bag of sweets and was handing them out to the younger students around her.

Professor Binns was absent. The ghost probably had no interest in Quidditch.

Regulus's gaze swept across the entire pitch. Slytherin's tactics were obvious: use fouls to slow the tempo and wait for Gryffindor to make mistakes.

That style could win, but it would also make enemies.

The whistle sounded again, and the match began.

The first twenty minutes were fairly normal. The Quaffle flew back and forth through the air, the Bludgers boomed as the Beaters struck them, Slytherin scored ten points first, and Gryffindor immediately tied it.

Then the dirty tricks began.

The first time, a Slytherin Chaser's elbow accidentally struck a Gryffindor Chaser in the ribs during a pass. The player grunted, and the Quaffle slipped from his hand.

Madam Hooch blew her whistle and gave a warning.

"Despicable!" someone shouted from the opposite stands.

Avery sneered. "The Rules never said you can't make contact."

The second time was even more subtle. As another Slytherin Chaser accelerated, the hem of his robe suddenly swung out and tangled around the tail of a Gryffindor player's broomstick.

It was only half a second, but enough for him to steal the ball.

Madam Hooch blew her whistle again and gave another warning.

Then came the third time, and the fourth.

James Potter made a sharp turn in the air, trying to chase the Golden Snitch flickering at the other end of the pitch.

But a Slytherin Beater happened to hit a Bludger directly into his path. James yanked his broomstick upward, and the Bludger streaked past the soles of his shoes.

"Foul!" Even Professor McGonagall rose to her feet.

Madam Hooch flew up to the Beater and said something sternly, but she did not send him off. She merely awarded Gryffindor a penalty shot.

The gap on the scoreboard slowly widened: forty points, then fifty.

Slytherin's little tricks continued, growing more concealed and vicious, until the scores reached one hundred and fifty points apart and the Golden Snitch appeared once more.

James Potter shot off almost instantly. He was riding the latest Nimbus 1001, and it was indeed fast, like a red bolt of lightning.

Slytherin's Seeker chased desperately, but was clearly half a beat slower.

Just then, the Quaffle reached a Slytherin Chaser. Gryffindor's Goal Hoop lay before him, but the Keeper had already anticipated the move and sealed off the angle.

Under normal circumstances, that shot would never have gone in. But the Slytherin Beater made a small move, hitting a Bludger toward the Gryffindor Keeper's broomstick handle.

The Keeper instinctively dodged, shifting his center of gravity for a fraction of a second.

In that instant, the Slytherin Chaser threw. The Quaffle traced a tricky arc and slipped beneath the Keeper's arm into the far-right Goal Ring.

The whistle blew. The score counted.

Almost at the same time, James Potter caught the Golden Snitch, its golden Wings fluttering between his Fingers.

But it was useless. Slytherin had just scored ten points, and with their earlier lead, their total was ten points higher.

The match ended. The pitch fell silent for a second, then erupted.

Without even landing, the Gryffindor players surrounded Madam Hooch on their broomsticks. James Potter charged to the front, still clutching the Golden Snitch.

"That was a foul! He hit my broomstick!" the Gryffindor Keeper roared.

Madam Hooch was explaining, but no one listened.

James stuffed the Snitch into a teammate's hands, turned his broomstick around, and dove for the ground. Before he had even landed, he jumped off the broomstick.

"Rosier!" He charged toward the Slytherin captain.

Eliot Rosier had just dismounted when he saw James approaching. He grinned. "What, can't stand losing?"

"You used dirty tricks!"

"The referee said it counted." Rosier shrugged. "If you've got a problem, take it up with Madam Hooch."

Those words were like pouring oil onto a fire.

Sirius rushed down from the stands, followed by Remus, Peter, and several other Gryffindor boys. They all surged down at once, looking less like they wanted to argue and more like they wanted a fight.

"This is going to go bad." Avery stood up.

Alex's face had gone pale. Hermes said nothing, but his hand had already slipped toward the inner pocket of his robe.

Regulus rose, sweeping his gaze across the scene. Over by the professors' seats, Dumbledore was still sitting, while Professor McGonagall had already started down and Slughorn rose as well.

But the professors needed time to get there, and the two groups in front of them could start fighting within thirty seconds.

"Move." Regulus called out simply.

He headed down, with Avery and the others close behind. The students in the Slytherin stands were also pouring downward like a green tide.

By the time they reached the Main Corridor outside the Locker Room, both sides had already clogged it shut.

Green filled the left side, red the right, with a narrow passage less than ten feet wide between them.

The older students stood at the front. On Slytherin's side, seventh-year Prefect Lucretius Black stood at the very center.

Narcissa stood slightly behind him at his side, elegant and calm, her Fingers already gripping her wand.

Farther back stood several sixth-year core members, all bearing influential surnames in pure-blood circles.

Gryffindor's leader was also a seventh-year, named Frank Longbottom. Regulus knew that name: the Gryffindor Sword Saint's father.

Beside him stood a tall red-haired boy, probably from the Pruitt or Weasley family.

James and Sirius were squeezed behind Frank, still shouting something. The situation was nearly completely out of control.

This was no longer a conflict between teams, but a confrontation between two houses.

Wands were drawn one after another, and someone had already begun the first half of a spell.

Regulus quickened his pace. He needed to pass through the Slytherin crowd.

The outermost ring was made up of younger students. Seeing him approach, they instinctively stepped aside. Farther in were the third- and fourth-years. Almost everyone knew him; some turned sideways to make room, while others frowned and watched him.

Avery, Hermes, and Alex followed behind him. When they reached the fourth-year group, Avery hesitated for a moment before stopping and taking his place there.

Hermes and Alex stopped as well, standing together.

Beyond them was the territory of the older students. Regulus could go, but they could not.

Regulus did not stop. He continued forward. A fifth-year reached out to block him, but after meeting his calm gaze, withdrew his hand.

In the sixth-years' inner circle, several students stared at him with unfriendly eyes.

Lucretius Black heard the movement behind him and glanced back. Seeing Regulus, he raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

Narcissa turned around as well. When she saw him, she shifted slightly aside, making room for Regulus.