Compared to the boisterous atmosphere in the Gryffindor common room, Slytherin's was much calmer. eight ? one ? ?
In the common room, the fireplace in the corner faintly emitted a dark red glow, maintaining a comfortable temperature in the room.
"Steady now, everyone," Malfoy said, casually sitting at a long wooden table, glancing at the team members.
He had no expectations for the first match. If nothing unexpected happened, those Dementors would definitely interfere, meaning the Slytherin team would almost certainly win. The only condition was that the Savior didn't end the battle within a few minutes.
Moreover, Pansy had barely learned the Patronus Charm, so he didn't need to worry as much.
There was no need for a pre-battle pep talk either. Slytherin students were naturally resistant to that kind of encouragement. Their inner desire for glory was already the best catalyst. And they preferred practical things over vague and Vague things.
"If we win, I'll treat," Malfoy added finally, raising his teacup as a signal.
"Kill those pansy Gryffindors!" a large figure stood up and shouted loudly, and the other players immediately picked up their teacups, stood up, and drank them in one gulp. They had witnessed Malfoy's generosity, which made their desire for victory in Saturday's game even stronger.
Soon, the day of the match arrived.
The sky was frighteningly dark, with rumbling thunder in the air, the sound of wind hitting the castle walls, and the sound of trees breaking in the distant Forbidden Forest. Students in both common rooms were discussing the tactics and strategies to be used today.
After a while, it was time to enter.
The Gryffindor students put on their scarlet robes, and the wind was so strong that they staggered as they walked onto the field. In the rumbling thunder, they couldn't hear the cheers of the audience at all. They tried their best to appear spirited, but instead looked disheveled, as the rain blurred their vision and mud covered their trouser legs.
"This is really bad weather," another girl in the Gryffindor team complained. In this weather, she had to pin up her hair and put it in a bun under her hood, otherwise the rain would interfere with her performance at any time.
"The Slytherin players will have an even harder time adapting," Wood said, comforting his team's restless emotions.
But when they officially entered the field, they were surprised to find that:
The Slytherin players looked much more relaxed than they had imagined.
The captains of both sides stepped forward to shake hands. Marcus Flint, the captain of the Slytherin team, gave Wood a provocative smile: "Poor Gryffindor can't even afford decent waterproof Quidditch robes? If you don't mind, maybe our team can sponsor you a few next year. Right?" Flint said, looking back at his teammates as if he was really considering it.
"Oh, sorry," Marcus suddenly drawled, feigning apology, "I forgot, you should have graduated next year, so it seems there won't be a chance." As he spoke, the players behind him laughed along, and then Marcus poked Wood in the chest with his finger and said again: "I heard you haven't won the trophy for seven years? Then I'll tell you, this year will be the eighth."
A sharp and continuous whistle suddenly sounded. This was Madam Hooch blowing the whistle. She was unsmiling, her eyes fixed on the two of them. This symbolized a warning. The Slytherin team's provocation was too much. She didn't want to see a good game turn into a brawl.
"I hope your mouths are as good as you are on the field," Wood retorted, ignoring Madam Hooch's gaze. His anger had been building up these past few days and needed to be released. Logically and emotionally, this was a good target.
A slightly shorter whistle sounded again, symbolizing preparation. All the players gripped their brooms tightly. It seemed that Madam Hooch had also realized that the tension between the two sides was too thick to be resolved by mediation. It was better to let them compete in the match.
"Mount your brooms," everyone saw Madam Hooch's mouth form the words. At this time, the wind almost covered the entire stadium, and it was difficult for Madam Hooch's voice to reach here.
"Wheeeeeee…" The whistle symbolizing the start of the game finally sounded.
Streaks of afterimages began to appear in the sky above the Quidditch pitch. Of course, this wasn't because they were too fast, but because the rain had become heavier, interfering with people's vision. Even the commentator glossed over some situations vaguely, because he couldn't see clearly himself.
The terrible weather even made it difficult for the players to see their teammates. Two Slytherin players almost collided in mid-air, but eventually one player changed direction in time, preventing the accident from happening.
The Gryffindor players were not doing any better. They were staggering, as if they would be blown off their brooms by the wind at any moment. In addition to the Bludgers that appeared from time to time, the cold rain soaked everyone's jerseys, and they were all suffering unspeakably, but they gritted their teeth.
Right, Harry was still wearing glasses. In the rain, the burden of these cumbersome objects was magnified. Raindrops forming lines slid down his glasses frames, interfering with his movements. And there was also the Slytherin Seeker—Pansy—who was constantly interfering with him. She clung tightly to the tail of his broom, following him closely. Even if a golden flash passed through his eyes vaguely, when he acted, the girl would grit her teeth and chase after him desperately, leaving him no time to be distracted.
In this situation, even relying on the most conventional scoring methods was extremely difficult, let alone competing for the Golden Snitch.
A lightning bolt flashed across the sky, illuminating the entire stadium for a moment, before returning to darkness. After that, both teams returned to the ground. One of the teams must have called a timeout.
"I called a timeout!" Wood shouted to the team, "Come on, over there—"
They huddled under a large umbrella by the side of the pitch. Harry took off his glasses and hurriedly wiped them on his robe.
"What's the score?"
"Zero to zero." Wood gasped for breath. He was too exhausted, so he took the opportunity to recover some energy. "Those big guys don't seem to have thought about scoring! They've been harassing us, plus this damn weather, Merlin above, do we have to play until tonight?" Wood's tone was a bit frustrated, and then he turned his gaze to Harry: "You're our only hope, you just need to catch the Golden Snitch as soon as possible, and we'll win!"
"I can hardly see with my glasses on." Harry said frustratedly, waving his glasses. (To be continued.)
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