Hogwarts had seen heavy snowfall, but the Quidditch Pitch was still lush and green.
This was Harry's first Quidditch match.
He had not even stayed up late the night before, and had lent his Magic Mobile Phone to Seamus to repay him for the Beast Ball.
At lunch on Friday, Harry was discussing the Wizard Legend update with Hermione and Ron.
"I didn't think we'd be able to pull Dark wizards too. Is this game really that open?"
"History of Magic says Emeric subjected southern England to a reign of terror for a time. He was once the master of the Elder Wand, too," Hermione explained.
Ron put down his chicken leg. "Is that the Elder Wand I'm thinking of?"
Hermione spread her hands, indicating that she was not sure.
"If even Dark wizards can get into the gacha pool, could we pull Voldemort one day?"
Without even swallowing his food, Ron hurriedly warned him, "Harry, we can't say that name."
"So what?" Harry said nonchalantly.
He was not underestimating Voldemort, but he felt that if Voldemort really could return, he would not spare Harry just because Harry had never said his name.
Besides, not underestimating him did not mean being afraid. Harry was not so timid that he dared not even say Voldemort's name.
Perhaps because he had never been steeped in the Wizarding World's deeply secretive attitude toward the subject, Harry looked like a true Gryffindor at that moment.
As they talked, Hedwig flew in carrying a package several times larger than his body in her beak.
The package landed precisely in front of Harry.
Harry really wanted to remark on how pointless the wrapping was. One glance at its shape told him it was a broomstick.
"Open it," Ron urged.
Harry invited the two of them to tear open the wrapping with him. Soon, an exquisite, stylish broom appeared before them, with "Nimbus 2000" engraved at its end.
"It's a broom," Harry said delightedly.
"Not just any broom, Harry." Ron was even happier than Harry himself. "This is the latest Nimbus 2000."
"But who sent it?"
Harry wondered, his eyes involuntarily drifting toward the staff table.
Hedwig had now landed on Professor McGonagall's shoulder and was enjoying a massage from her fingers.
Professor McGonagall winked at him.
Harry remembered how excitedly Professor McGonagall had taken him to find Wood, an older student, on the day of Flying Class. She was clearly a longtime Quidditch fan.
Harry mouthed his thanks.
He would repay Professor McGonagall properly on the pitch.
The area behind the entrance to the Quidditch Pitch was made entirely of wood: wooden floors, wooden stairs, wooden seats. Harry was genuinely concerned about fire safety here.
"Nervous, Harry?" his wooden upperclassman, Wood, asked with concern.
"A little."
"Don't be nervous. I was just like you the first time I played," Wood reassured him. "Then I was knocked unconscious by a Bludger two minutes into the game and spent two weeks in hospital."
Harry grew even more nervous.
George, one of the twins, teased Harry too. "Harry, why does your broom look like it's covered in hair gel?"
"It's so new. Hope you don't slide off it," Fred added.
Harry grew even more nervous still.
The curtain before them slowly opened, and sunlight that was not too dazzling fell over them all. Beyond the cramped passage lay the lush green Quidditch Pitch and the boundless sky.
The crowd's cheers were deafening.
Harry could not make anything out. Watching his teammates mount their brooms and fly out one by one, he hurried to follow.
From up high, everything below looked small.
Looking down at the crowd from the air, Harry suddenly felt his heart open up too. He spotted Hermione, Ron, Neville, Seamus, Dean, and the others holding up a tattered bedsheet bearing the words "Potter will win." Dean had also drawn a lion's head on it.
"Hello, everyone, and welcome to today's Quidditch match! Today's two sides are the Gryffindor Quidditch Team and the Slytherin Quidditch Team."
The commentator was Lee Jordan, a young wizard of Asian and African descent. Everyone praised his wit and humor, and his commentary could make a match wonderfully entertaining.
"Watch out for Marcus, the one who looks like he's got Troll blood," Wood cautioned them.
"The match has begun! Gryffindor's Angelina has seized the Quaffle. She's a Chaser and one of the three witches playing today, and she's very pretty too..."
"Jordan!" Professor McGonagall warned.
"Er... Angelina is racing through the air, her figure like a powerful eagle-a female eagle, I mean. Now she's passed the ball to another female eagle, Alicia-oh no, Slytherin captain Marcus has stolen the Quaffle! He's charging straight through as if no one's there. He's going to shoot, he's going to score-"
"No! Gryffindor captain Wood is holding the last line of defense, Gryffindor's Wall of Sighs! He'll protect everything Gryffindor holds dear!"
"Gryffindor has possession now. I can't tell whether that's George or Fred. He's nimbly dodged three Slytherin players, and he's about to shoot. Will it go in? It's in! Gryffindor scores first! Like a demon lord descending from the heavens, a mighty god walking the earth-one of the twins has truly lived up to his name!"
"..."
Harry occupied the best seat in the house out on the pitch.
Until he spotted the Golden Snitch, he was simply a spectator who could run onto the pitch to watch.
Jordan's commentary rang in his ears, accompanied by a loud buzzing from the microphone that made his ears hurt.
No, that was not the microphone.
Harry turned his head and saw the little golden ball flapping its wings, drifting beside him as if in provocation.
"Harry, the youngest Chaser in history, is on the move! Has he spotted the Golden Snitch? Yes, it's the Golden Snitch! Slytherin's Chaser is right behind Harry, but he can't match Harry's speed at all. Could this be... oh no! Marcus has crashed head-on into Harry! A foul, a malicious foul! Referee, blow the whistle! Give him a penalty!"
"Jordan!" Professor McGonagall warned him again.
The collision left Harry reeling. He finally managed to regain his balance in the air, but the Golden Snitch had long since vanished from sight.
Just as he was searching for it, the broom beneath him suddenly began shaking uncontrollably.
"Gryffindor scores! Justice will prevail! Let's... wait, why is Harry's broom dancing? His broom is out of control, but Slytherin hasn't stopped attacking..."
Ron was frantic. "We've got to do something. Should we get a mattress to catch Harry?"
Holding her binoculars, Hermione saw Snape's lips moving, though she did not know what he was saying.
"Snape's jinxing Harry's broom." Hermione thrust the binoculars into Ron's hands. "Watch me."
Lorne had also noticed Harry tumbling back and forth in the air.
He knew Quirrell was casting the jinx and Snape was casting a counter-jinx. In a few minutes, Hermione would come over and hit Snape's robes with Incendio.
He sensibly moved farther away from them.
But Harry really did look to be in danger. Watching it in person was different from watching it on television.
Lorne tested his Improved Levitation Charm and only relaxed once he found that it could reach Harry. If Harry really did lose his grip, he could save him in time.