"Alan, I never thought you, who usually doesn't curse, would be so vicious when you do," Vivian said, covering her mouth and giggling once they were out of earshot. "Did you see Travers's face? It was red with pure rage."
"I've caused you trouble," Charles said remorsefully to the two of them, returning to his shy state now that the adrenaline had faded. "Being Slytherins, this will only make your situation in your own house worse."
"You don't need to apologize. Retreating only invites further encroachment. Only by learning to fight back can you become stronger. Weakness is the original sin," Alan said, his voice calm and composed. "While I don't like trouble, I'm not afraid of it. Besides, as a Muggle-born sorted into Slytherin, I was already mentally prepared for this."
The posturing of pure-blood children wasn't enough to keep him awake at night. He turned to Vivian, adding, "As for you, Vivian, if they dare to trouble you, just tell me. I'll find a way to help."
Vivian nodded. "Don't worry too much. Senior Vanessa takes good care of the younger years, and I'm third in line for the Bulstrode family inheritance. They wouldn't dare to do anything permanent to me."
Alan looked at her with surprise. He hadn't expected the girl to be so high in the line of succession. It seemed the Bulstrode family was severely lacking in descendants if they placed such value on a daughter with Muggle-born parentage.
After chatting for a few more minutes, the three separated. Alan and Vivian ascended to the stands where Vanessa had saved them seats.
"I heard you had a confrontation with Travers at the entrance?" Vanessa said as they sat down, her brow furrowed. "In our house, we must learn to be united. Slytherin's current reputation isn't good, and the House Cup is already slipping away from us."
Alan curled his lip. He didn't want to break the unity, but he knew some people were never willing to play fair. In his opinion, Vanessa was too soft. What good was it to offer admonishments after the fact? Without strong measures, it was impossible to control a pit of unruly snakes.
The two humored Vanessa with vague nods. Vanessa let out a helpless sigh. As a Prefect, she was obsessed with the House Cup, but the undercurrents of the Wizarding War meant Slytherin was constantly restless. Since her first year, Slytherin had never won the prize. Almost every year, they would exhaust themselves fighting Gryffindor, only to watch Ravenclaw or Hufflepuff walk away with the trophy.
The gloomy weather seemed to mirror the mood of the stadium. After the players took the field, Madam Hooch blew her whistle, signaling the start of the first match of the year.
Alan decided he had never seen a more barbaric sport. As soon as the match began, the teams crashed into each other with audible thuds, Seekers included. When the Chasers caught the Quaffle, they didn't even look at the hoops; they threw the ball directly at their opponents' faces. It looked less like a sport and more like a brawl on brooms.
The Beaters were even more aggressive. When a Bludger flew past, they would smash it toward their rivals with lethal intent. If no Bludger was nearby, they simply swung their bats at each other. Tactics emerged: Gryffindor formed a circular formation to try and trap the Slytherins, while the Slytherin players formed a wedge to launch a mass charge.
Alan found himself watching with genuine interest. Unfortunately, Madam Hooch lost her patience and blew her whistle for a timeout. Ten minutes into the match, not a single goal had been scored, but half the players were already bruised and swollen.
Alan sighed in quiet regret. He was more interested in the fighting than the game itself, and the tactical movements were eye-opening.
During the brief timeout, Professor McGonagall and Madam Hooch both entered the field to lecture the captains. After that, the match finally stabilized. The Chasers began to actually aim for the goals, though the Beaters continued their private war.
The fouls were endless: double-teaming, elbowing, pulling, and kicking. Alan even saw one player spit at an opponent. It reminded him of a violent racing game from his previous life. Madam Hooch sounded like she was running out of breath from constant whistling. Fouls and penalties followed one after another in a bizarre cycle, while Professor McGonagall watched from the commentary box with a livid expression.
The match stretched for over an hour. One Slytherin player was sent off for a particularly nasty foul, and another left the field with an injury. The Gryffindor Seeker accidentally fell from his broom and broke his leg, ending his match.
Slytherin was down to five players, a clear numerical disadvantage. Gryffindor had six, but they had no Seeker. Since there were no substitutes in Quidditch, and the match could only end if the Snitch was caught or both captains agreed to stop, the game ground to a halt. Given the hatred between the two captains, friendly communication was impossible.
Gryffindor led 130 to 70. They moved two players to shadow the Slytherin Seeker, effectively preventing the match from ever ending. Another hour passed, and the score climbed to 280 to 110. With the extra player, Gryffindor found scoring easy. At this point, the Slytherin Seeker stopped even looking for the Snitch. If he caught it now, they would still lose the match due to the point gap.
The game turned into a surreal stalemate. The Slytherin Seeker hovered idly, refusing to end the game. Gryffindor, sensing the strategy, pulled back into a defensive shell to conserve energy. Slytherin tried to attack, but being down a player and forced to use their Seeker as a makeshift Chaser, they couldn't break through a six-man defense.