Competition first, competition second

With both teams introduced, it was time for the traditional exchange of trash talk.

Across from them, a Slytherin player looked at Wood and taunted, "What, has Gryffindor run out of players? You're actually putting two first years on the pitch?"

Their captain, Marcus Flint, bared his buckteeth in a grin, his gaze passing over Wood to settle on Hermione.

"The Library Witch?" He snorted. "I've heard of you. Full marks in Transfiguration, full marks in Charms, full marks in Potions. Apparently, even Professor Snape can't find fault with you."

"Unfortunately, this is the Quidditch Pitch."

"No pulling out your wand on the pitch, rookie. Without it, will all those perfect marks help you stop a Bludger?"

Another Slytherin player chimed in.

"Flint! Don't make Granger cry. She still has to go back and help Potter with his homework!"

A roar of laughter erupted from the green stands.

Wood refused to back down. Eyeing their green-and-white uniforms, he snorted. "I hope you can still say that after we win."

All seven opposing players burst out laughing.

"Win? When has Gryffindor ever beaten us Slytherins these past few years? Wood, are you still half asleep after getting knocked out last time? Is that why you're talking nonsense?" Flint jeered.

Ever since the days when the legendary Charlie Weasley had played Seeker, Gryffindor had never won the championship again.

Wood didn't answer. Instead, he turned to Hermione and the others and reassured them, "It's fine. Don't put yourselves under pressure. Just play your best. How does that saying go? Friendship first, competition second. Winning or losing doesn't really matter."

"Hah! Friendship first, competition second? That's just an excuse for people who can't win." The bucktoothed boy laughed. "If you aren't competing to win, what's the point?"

"It should be competition first, friendship second!"

Before Wood could respond, Hermione suddenly spoke.

"Exactly! You're absolutely right! If you aren't competing to win, there's no point at all. Why lose when you can win?"

That sounded a little too Slytherin... Harry silently watched her back.

"You think so too?" Flint sounded surprised.

It was the first time he'd ever heard anyone from Gryffindor agree with him.

"Of course. Except you got one thing wrong."

"What?"

"It's not competition first, friendship second." Hermione slowly raised her head, her smile growing colder. "It should be..."

"Competition first, competition second!"

Hermione enunciated every word.

While the opposing team was still staring blankly, a shrill whistle sounded, and several balls of different sizes shot into the sky.

The match had officially begun!

Stark Tower, New York.

"Tony, look! Little Hermione's on!"

Pepper pointed at the big screen and cried out in delight.

On the screen was the Quidditch match between Gryffindor and Slytherin.

Over the past few days, Hermione had tried all sorts of methods before finally succeeding in using alchemy to modify the crystal ball she'd obtained from S.H.I.E.L.D. Together with another crystal ball Tony had provided, she had turned them into a pair of curiosities. The two crystal balls shared a mystical connection: one carried an image-recording spell, while the other carried a projection spell.

Since they were classified as curiosities, they were connected to her Spellbook. And since her Spellbook was unaffected by crossing worlds, the two could use it as a medium to transmit images across different worlds onto the screen in Stark Tower.

The broadcast didn't use a signal, but magic.

Besides Tony and Pepper, another person watching the live Quidditch match was Black Egghead.

He would never pass up any opportunity to learn about the mystical side. To Tony, this match might merely be a novel sporting event, but to him, it was a crucial source of intelligence.

Watching the wizards flying through the sky and the spectators around them dressed much like Hermione usually was, Fury finally felt certain that the Wizarding World truly existed!

Countless details were flawless. This was no fabrication.

"The Library Witch?"

Listening to the commentator's introduction, they exchanged glances.

They'd never heard Hermione mention that nickname.

Was she really someone who loved reading and studying that much?

She certainly didn't look it.

She seemed less like a star student and more like an athlete.

A wild girl through and through, the utterly reckless sort.

They suddenly realized that, despite being on good terms with Hermione, they still knew far too little about her.

"Little Hermione's pretty popular, isn't she?" Hearing cheers of "Hermione!" and "Witch!" ringing throughout the stands, Pepper turned to Tony with a smile.

She'd been worried that Hermione kept leaving school because her classmates were ostracizing her. Now it seemed she'd worried for nothing.

As the whistle faded, all fourteen players instantly flew toward their respective targets.

For a moment, the two teams crisscrossed through the sky, hurtling along at hundreds of kilometers per hour.

A clash between the red-and-yellow side and the green-and-white side was about to erupt.

Slytherin's Bletchley and Gryffindor's Angelina, both playing Chaser, dodged and weaved through the crowd. At last, Angelina reached the Quaffle first and flew toward one of Slytherin's goal hoops.

Bletchley refused to give up, accelerating after her until he drew alongside her.

Seeing that she hadn't noticed him, Bletchley gave a sly grin and suddenly slammed sideways into Angelina!

She let out a grunt and nearly lost her seat, almost falling off her broomstick. The ball slipped from her hands.

Fortunately, Alicia arrived below her just in time, caught the ball in her arms, and took over the attack.

However, Marcus Flint, captain of the Slytherin Quidditch Team, had been lying in wait nearby. As soon as the ball landed in Alicia's hands, he darted out from the side and kicked her in the lower abdomen.

She spun several times through the air. Fortunately, she didn't fall, but the Quaffle slipped from her grasp again.

"Booo!!!"

Boos rose all around them, mostly protesting Slytherin's repeated dirty tricks.

They didn't quite count as fouls, but they certainly weren't sporting.

In the stands, Professor McGonagall clenched both fists, watching the action intently, her tension plain on her face.

Flint didn't care. In fact, he looked rather pleased with himself.

In his eyes, what did a little dirty play matter as long as it achieved his goal?

The good news was that someone else on the pitch wholeheartedly agreed with him.

The bad news was that she was on the other team, and her name was Hermione.

"All right, all right. So we're playing Violent Motorcycle, are we?" Seeing those two play dirty, Hermione didn't get angry. Instead, she smiled faintly. "You all saw that. They started it."

With that, she accelerated alongside a Slytherin player and leaped straight off her broomstick.

"Rider Kick!"

The Slytherin player hadn't expected Hermione to pull something like this. He could only stare as she launched a Rider Kick in midair, the sole of her shoe rapidly filling his vision.

Her flying kick struck him squarely on the bridge of his nose.

A kick to knock his head clean off.

This kick was far more vicious than Flint's. It sent both the player and his broomstick flying into the spectator stands, knocking him unconscious on the spot.

Hermione drew her foot back and descended, landing precisely on the broomstick below.

For a moment, everything fell silent.

The next second, Gryffindor erupted in laughter.

Slytherin roared in protest.

But the Gryffindors, who'd been stewing for quite a while, weren't about to indulge them. They immediately fired back.

So you lot could ram and kick people, but our Hermione couldn't use a Rider Kick?

Look at that! Even her kicking was more graceful than yours, with just the right force and spectacular results.

"Er... after Slytherin's underhanded shoulder bash and forward thrust kick, Gryffindor's witch has answered with a beautiful flying Rider Kick..."

The commentator stumbled over his words for a moment. He couldn't shake the feeling that he was commentating on a martial arts film rather than Quidditch.

"One down."

Glancing at the Slytherin player who was out for the count, Hermione didn't waste another second. She grabbed her broomstick and headed straight for the next one.

She certainly knew exactly what she was after.