Aerial Dogfight and the Golden Snitch (5)

Their faces bore a nearly fanatical, twisted excitement. Their mouths shouted "Slytherin," shouted "Malfoy," shouted slogans they had already cried countless times. But their arms moved in unison—raised diagonally upward, held straight, palms facing down.

In that instant, the entire Slytherin stand became a forest of arms.

The silver-green robes remained utterly still in the rain. Above their heads, the dome of white smoke churned, and those raised arms were like rows upon rows of swords pointed at the sky, radiating a cold, unsettling force beneath the gloomy heavens. That was not a spectator stand. It was a barracks. Those were not students cheering for their house. They were a collective bound together by a single will.

At the commentary box, Lee Jordan's voice vanished. Not because he had forgotten how to speak, but because his mouth hung open and no sound came out. He stared at that forest of arms, at those taut palms pointed toward the sky, and felt chills run down his back.

He had commentated on countless Quidditch matches and witnessed all kinds of celebrations, but he had never seen anything like this. It did not look like students cheering for their house. It looked like... he could not find the right word for it.

Professor McGonagall rose to her feet.

She moved so quickly that the chair behind her was knocked backward, toppling over with a piercing crash. She did not stop to right it. All her attention was fixed on the Slytherin stand. Her lips were pressed into a pale, straight line, and the fingers gripping her binoculars had gone white at the knuckles. Behind the lenses, her eyes narrowed slightly as her gaze swept from that forest of arms to the figure in the middle of the stands, wrapped in a dark green