It was bad enough that he crushed her in the match, but now he was still provoking her off the Pitch.
Cho hoisted her broomstick and left the Pitch with a cold expression.
Harry was momentarily stunned, unable to understand why she was angry.
Charlie sat in the stands, his eyes sweeping back and forth between Harry and the firebolt several times.
Something isn't right.
What's wrong with old Snape? If he wasn't going to confiscate it forever, he should have at least kept it from Harry for the rest of the term. Why did he return it so quickly?
With the firebolt, Harry was not only fast at catching the golden snitch but could also help other players score.
The previous match was a perfect example; leading by seventy points in twenty minutes—that scoring speed was terrifying.
No, he had to put some pressure on them.
Whenever others tried hard to catch up, Charlie always chose to deliver a crushing blow, grinding them into the dirt.
The next morning, while everyone was still basking in the glow of Gryffindor's great victory, the schedule for the next match was posted on the notice board in the Hogwarts Great Hall.
Hufflepuff versus Slytherin.
The Gryffindor students gathered in front of the notice board, discussing excitedly.
"Hufflepuff and Slytherin both use the nimbus 2001; they definitely won't pull ahead by too much."
"Exactly, they don't have the firebolt!"
Ron slapped Harry on the shoulder and laughed loudly: "Harry, we're guaranteed to win!"
Harry also smiled, already imagining the scene of lifting the quidditch cup.
Just then, he suddenly thought of Charlie, and a bad feeling rose in his heart.
Harry shook his head, trying to calm himself down.
What could Charlie possibly do? Hufflepuff's brooms were already very good; besides his firebolt, the nimbus 2001 was the best in the school.
Could Charlie possibly replace all their brooms with firebolts?
As soon as the thought occurred, Harry laughed at himself. The firebolt was so expensive; no matter how rich Charlie was, he couldn't possibly be that extravagant.
On the day of the match, the Quidditch Pitch was packed and buzzing with noise.
The match between Hufflepuff and Slytherin was about to begin, and nearly all the students in the school were present.
In the Gryffindor stands, Harry, Ron, and Hermione sat together.
"I bet Hufflepuff wins," Ron said, munching on a pumpkin pasty.
"Cedric is much more reliable than Malfoy, but it would be best if their score remained neck-and-neck."
Harry didn't speak; he stared at the entrance to the Pitch, his palms slightly sweaty.
The Slytherin Team entered first.
Malfoy led the way, the entire team riding identical nimbus 2001s, their green robes gleaming in the sun. The Slytherin stands erupted in deafening cheers as Crabbe and Goyle waved gigantic banners.
Commentator Lee Jordan cleared his throat: "The Slytherin Team enters! They look extremely confident today, and Malfoy's expression tells us he already thinks he's won—"
The Slytherin Team circled once in the air and landed on one side of the Pitch.
Next, the Hufflepuff Team entered.
Cedric Diggory was the first to fly onto the Pitch.
Lee Jordan's voice suddenly caught.
As if someone had grabbed him by the throat.
The entire stadium fell into a deathly silence.
Then came a roar that shook the heavens!
"Merlin's beard!"
Lee Jordan's voice was distorted by extreme shock:
"What is that? That's a firebolt! Cedric Diggory is riding a firebolt!"
The crowd went wild.
Students leapt from their seats, craning their necks, desperately trying to see clearly.
"Another firebolt!"
"Hufflepuff, what are you doing! Are you trying to ruin the school's matches!"
Lee Jordan's voice grew higher and was nearing hysteria:
"Wait! There's a second one! A third one..."
"Oh my goodness! The entire Hufflepuff Team... they've all switched to firebolts!"
Seven firebolts cut through the air in perfect formation, the streamlined broom handles gleaming with a cold luster in the sunlight.
The Hufflepuff stands had gone insane; students were screaming, jumping, and hugging, and some were so excited they fell right off their seats.
The smile on Harry's face instantly froze. He stared in disbelief at the seven lightning-fast yellow figures on the Pitch.
His proud, unique advantage had become so cheap overnight.
The Gryffindor stands were dead silent. Wood's face was ashen, as if he vaguely saw the quidditch cup slipping away from him.
Hufflepuff Captain Cedric Diggory stopped in mid-air, his firebolt hovering steadily as if nailed in place. He turned toward a certain direction in the stands and gave a slight nod.
The gesture was extremely restrained, yet conveyed deep gratitude.
Countless eyes followed his line of sight.
Charlie was sitting at the top of the stands, resting his chin on one hand, a smile on his face.
The smile was faint, yet captivating.
Like a monarch, returning his general's salute with an approving smile.
[His Majesty spends lavishly, tyrant points + 500!]
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