Battle for Glory
After being rescued, Madam Rosmerta had no memory of the three men, and to avoid damaging the bar's reputation, the events that occurred in the underground cellar were not made public.
It was a Saturday in early November, and the sky over Hogwarts was low and cold.
A cold wind swirled gray-white clouds above the Quidditch Pitch, like a Grim sign. The stands were already packed, red and green scarves billowing in the wind, facing each other, the air thick with a palpable sense of impending hostility.
This was the first time Harry Potter stood on the Quidditch Pitch as captain.
Not as a "genius Seeker," but as a "captain" who is responsible for the success or failure of the entire team.
When he stepped onto the field with his broom, the Gryffindor stands erupted in a near-unleashed cheer—a cheer that carried both anticipation and unease.
In contrast, Slytherin appeared calm and sharp.
Draco Malfoy stood at the front of the team, his green jersey fluttering in the wind, a mocking smile on his face. He turned his head slightly and exchanged a glance with Pansy Parkinson beside him.
Pansy's eyes shone with an astonishing light.
That wasn't the excitement of an ordinary competition, but a kind of almost obsessive determination.
--This is Draco's battle for glory.
As the House of Malfoy's betrothed daughter-in-law, she also has the responsibility to uphold this honor!
The moment the whistle blew to signal the start of the game, fourteen brooms shot into the sky almost simultaneously.
Slytherin's formation unfolded extremely quickly, clearly having practiced it repeatedly. Pansy, positioned as the Chaser, made her first sprint, almost skimming the edge of the stands, forcefully compressing Gryffindor's defense.
"Is she crazy?" Zacharias Smith couldn't help but shout from the commentary booth.
Pansy abruptly changed direction mid-air, snatching the Quaffle from Demizar Binns' hands. His shoulder collided violently with Robbins's in mid-air, yet he didn't even utter a groan.
Her goal was very clear.
--Clear all obstacles for Draco.
Slytherin scored first.
A sharp cheer erupted from the green stands.
In contrast, Gryffindor's rhythm seemed somewhat chaotic.
Ron Weasley stood guard in front of the goal, his face paler than usual. Every time the opponent approached, he seemed to exert too much force, his movements stiff, as if afraid of making a mistake.
"Relax, Ron!" Ginny shouted from the air.
But the tension won't disappear with just one sentence.
In the second wave of attacks, a Quaffle speeding in from the flank. Ron misjudged the situation and rushed in too early, the ball grazing his fingertips as it flew over the goal.
Slytherin scores another ten points.
People in the stands had already started whispering among themselves.
Ron's ears turned bright red, he could barely sit on the broom, and his breathing became rapid.
Pansy's outstanding performance, coupled with Ron's nervous mistakes, allowed Slytherin to take a sixty-point lead in just half an hour. Had Ginny not performed equally well, the gap would likely have been even larger.
On his tenth defensive play, Ron completely lost focus, and an out-of-control swing deflected his teammate Demizar Binns's flight path.
"Bang--!"
Demizar lost his balance in mid-air and crashed heavily into the protective barrier, falling like a kite with a broken string.
The entire audience erupted in uproar.
The match was forced to pause.
Medical personnel quickly carried Demizar away. Fortunately, she was not in life-threatening danger, but she was pale and clearly unable to continue the match.
Harry hovered in mid-air, his heart sinking.
This is his team.
This is his responsibility.
He looked at Ron, but the other man avoided his gaze, almost not daring to meet his eyes.
When the game restarted, Gryffindor was already behind.
Harry himself has yet to find any trace of the Golden Snitch.
On the contrary, Draco nearly brushed past him several times, deliberately lowering his altitude as if trying to distract him.
"What's wrong, Potter?" Draco's voice drifted on the wind, carrying a clear hint of mockery. "How's it going being captain?"
Harry gritted his teeth and didn't respond.
Until--
A faint golden flash swept across the edge of his vision.
Golden Snitch.
High in the sky just south of the stadium, almost touching the clouds.
Harry swooped down without hesitation, the wind whistling past his ears, the world seeming to shrink to a single sliver of light. Catching the Golden Snitch would bring victory, silencing all the noise that mocked and denied him.
Draco followed closely behind, his Firebolt tracing a graceful arc through the snow. He was half a step behind Harry, his face pale yet tinged with a sickly excitement, his grey eyes fixed on the Golden Snitch and also on Harry's back.
In the stands, the shouts of Slytherin and Gryffindor were almost hoarse with despair.
"Grab it! Harry! Quick!"
"Draco! Kill him!"
Harry's hand was already outstretched, his fingertips almost touching the Golden Snitch's rapidly fluttering silver wings.
He could feel the tiny metallic vibrations and smell the unique, magical metallic scent emanating from the Golden Snitch. Victory was within reach—just one more meter forward and this nightmarish match would be over.
Just then, Draco's voice came from behind, sharp and biting, yet with a deadly precision, like a cold dagger piercing Harry's heart. "Potter, do you think catching the Golden Snitch proves you're not just a product of luck and reputation?"
Harry froze abruptly.
Draco's voice rang out clearly through the snowstorm, each word like a nail piercing Harry's eardrums. "You're nothing but a fraud, a charlatan using the name of the Savior."
Harry lost his grip on the Golden Snitch, the ball slipped from his fingers, and he flew right over it.
Draco seized on this weakness.
He suddenly lunged forward, his entire body and broom transforming into a green lightning bolt, darting past Harry. His long, slender fingers extended precisely, catching the Golden Snitch just as it was about to change direction!
The Golden Snitch's wings flapped wildly in Draco's palm, but it could no longer escape.
The whistle blared shrilly.
Zacharias Smith's voice trembled with disbelief as it resounded throughout the stadium amplified by magic. "Draco Malfoy has caught the Golden Snitch! Slytherin wins! Final score: Slytherin 280: Gryffindor 60!"
The Slytherin crowd in the stands erupted in a deafening roar, their green and silver flags waving wildly in the snow. The Gryffindor stands, however, fell into a deathly silence, with only a few uttering angry or frustrated curses.
Harry hovered in mid-air, his right hand still in the position of grabbing at empty air. The wind and snow lashed his face like countless needles piercing his skin. He looked down at Draco —the platinum-blonde-haired boy who was holding the Golden Snitch high in the air, his face a mixture of victorious elation and mockery.
Draco turned to Harry, a cold smile playing on his lips. He didn't speak, but slowly opened his palm, letting the Golden Snitch's wings flap weakly twice in the snowstorm, before clenching his fist, as if silently declaring, "I won, Potter."
Harry's apple bobbed, and a complex emotion flashed in his green eyes—anger, regret, self-blame, and a hint of... pain from being struck.
Harry landed slowly, and the moment his feet touched the grass, it felt like he had stepped into a bottomless swamp.
The team members landed one after another, and no one spoke.
He didn't need to turn around to feel those gazes—
His eyes were filled with disappointment, anger, and doubt.
Harry's captaincy debut ended in a near-humiliating defeat.
The Gryffindor dressing room door was pushed open forcefully and then slammed shut.
The place was in complete chaos.
"Damn it... damn Ron..." Ginny cursed her good-for-nothing brother mercilessly. Dean Thomas, meanwhile, whispered words of comfort to his girlfriend.
Demizar Binns, Jimmy Perks, and Richie Gutt were all newcomers, and although they didn't say anything, their expressions were grim.
Ron sat in the far corner of the bench, head down, shoulders heaving violently. He was still wearing his goalkeeper gloves, which were covered in snow and mud, and the bruise on his knee from the Bludger was clearly visible. His face was buried in his hands, and he looked as if his bones had been removed.
Ginny stood before him, hands on her hips, eyes red-rimmed, but she fought back tears. Her voice trembled with anger. "Ron, what are you thinking?! Those three balls... you could have saved them!"
Ron didn't look up, but his voice, muffled, escaped from between his fingers. "I... I don't know... my mind is blank..."
The entire dressing room fell silent the moment Harry pushed the door open and entered.
All eyes were on him—some with blame, some with disappointment, some with sympathy, and some with anger.
He didn't say anything, but walked up to Ron and squatted down.
Ron.
Ron jerked his head up, his eyes red and brimming with tears. His voice was hoarse and almost inaudible. "Harry... I'm sorry... it's my fault... I'm the one who ruined everyone..."
Harry's throat tightened. He wanted to say "It's okay," and "We'll win next time," but the words stuck in his throat and wouldn't come out.
He himself knew that if he hadn't made a mistake at the last moment, the outcome of the match would have been completely different.
Draco's words struck him hard.
By the time we returned to the Gryffindor Tower, it was completely dark.
The common room was brightly lit, yet eerily quiet. The fire in the fireplace burned brightly, but it couldn't warm anyone.
The students huddled together in twos and threes, whispering amongst themselves. Some looked away as soon as they saw Harry and his friends enter; others glared at them without any attempt to hide their reproach.
"The captain made a mistake, but the goalkeeper's error was even more outrageous..."
"Losing seventy points in a row... we've been slaughtered by Slytherin..."
"What happened with Harry's last move? The Golden Snitch was right in his hands!"
"What happened with Harry's last move? The Golden Snitch was right in his hands!"
Harry acted as if he hadn't heard, and went straight to the sofa by the fireplace and sat down. Hermione followed him, wanting to say something, but ultimately remained silent.
Ron was the last to come in. He had his head down, like a child who had done something wrong, and his steps were as heavy as if he were dragging chains. He walked to the sofa but didn't dare to sit down. He just stood there, his hands twisted together, his knuckles white.
Lavender Brown stepped out from the crowd. She was wearing a pink sweater today, and her eyes were red, clearly from crying. She didn't look at Harry, or anyone else, but walked up to Ron, her voice soft yet carrying an undeniable tenderness. "Ron..."
Ron looked up, saw her, and his eyes instantly reddened even more.
"I... I messed everything up..."
Lavender didn't say anything, but simply stepped forward and hugged him tightly. Then, under the watchful eyes of everyone in the Gryffindor Common Room, she cupped Ron's face and kissed him.
It wasn't a fleeting peck, but a deep, unreserved kiss, tinged with tears.
Ron froze for a second, then, like a drowning man grasping at a straw, he hugged her back with all his might, his response clumsy yet intense. Their tears mingled and dripped onto each other's collars.
A shattered heart finally found brief solace in this almost out-of-control passion.
The common room was deathly silent.
Some people gasped, some let out a suppressed gasp, and others awkwardly turned their heads away.
Harry sat on the sofa, his gaze fixed on the flames in the fireplace, as if nailed there.
Hermione stood beside him, a flash of disgust crossing her eyes. She knew very well how much Ron needed emotional comfort at that moment, but the intimate entanglement, mingled with tears, in front of everyone was still unbearable for her. She opened her mouth as if to say something, but in the end, she couldn't utter a single word.
Ginny stood at the top of the stairs, arms crossed, eyes red. She watched Ron and Lavender embracing tightly, then suddenly turned to Harry, her voice trembling, "Harry... are you alright?"
Harry did not answer.
He just stared at the flames, his voice so low it was almost inaudible. "I... I've let you down."
Hermione finally couldn't hold back any longer, knelt down, and took his hand. Her hand was icy cold, but she held it tightly. "It's not your fault, Harry."
Harry gave a wry smile, his voice hoarse. "It was me... Draco said... he was right. I did put all our hopes on me. But in the end... I didn't even catch the Golden Snitch."
Hermione's throat tightened, and tears finally streamed down her face. "No... we lost, but... we have another chance."
Ginny came over and knelt down, her voice choked with emotion. "Yes... next time... we'll win."
But no sooner had he finished speaking than someone in the lounge muttered under their breath, "Next time? This year's Quidditch Cup is already over! It's all Ron's fault... and the captain's fault too!"
This sentence was like lighting a fuse.
Several Gryffindor students stood up, their voices growing louder and louder.
"The goalkeeper made three mistakes! The captain was stunned in the final moments! We've been made a fool of by Slytherin!"
"Harry, aren't you the Savior? How come you can't even win a Quidditch?"
"Ron, you might as well quit guarding the gate! Go back and cry!"
Ron shoved Lavender aside, turned around and yelled, "Shut up! Do you think I don't want to win?! Do you think I want to make a mistake?"
Lavender grabbed him, tears streaming down her face. "Ron... don't say anymore..."
But the accusations came flooding in.
Harry stood up abruptly, his voice not loud, but carrying an undeniable air of authority. "Enough."
The lounge fell silent instantly.
He glanced around, his green eyes weary yet unwavering. "A loss is a loss. Blaming anyone is pointless. Ron made a mistake, and I failed to catch the Golden Snitch. We all share responsibility."
He paused, then lowered his voice. "But if all you do now is blame each other, then we're truly finished."
No one spoke.
No one spoke up to criticize anymore.
However, everyone already knows that Harry Potter, who once represented "miracles" and "Savior," was ultimately just a mortal.