By the fortieth minute of the match, the score was tied at 150–150.
Gryffindor was launching organized counterattacks, while Slytherin was beginning to fall apart.
The four players at the front seemed rattled by the string of lost points. They grew increasingly anxious, and their coordination deteriorated to the point where they could barely execute a decent interception.
After another goal was scored against them, Flint finally exploded.
"Graham, what the hell are you doing? I told you to cover the southeast! Can't you read my signals? Idiot!"
"Wasn't Terence supposed to cover the southeast?" Graham protested, hovering awkwardly to the east.
The Slytherin players became more and more agitated. Their teamwork crumbled, and mistakes began piling up.
"Damn it! Can't you even make a pass?" Flint shouted at Cassius.
Cassius stared at his right hand in shame.
The move should have been simple—a quick hook pass to send the Quaffle slicing through the air. But Fred and George had been pressing him hard. In a moment of panic, he overthrew the ball.
Flint failed to catch it, and George intercepted.
Sean shook his head.
Slytherin was going to lose.
Flint, that reckless brute, was completely unsuited to lead a team. When they fell behind, all he did was blame his teammates instead of adjusting tactics or rebuilding morale.
"Looks like Slytherin's done for," Cedric said.
Far above the pitch, Harry and Draco were racing neck and neck after the Golden Snitch, their broomsticks angled nearly ninety degrees upward.
The Snitch was only the size of a walnut. Its translucent wings beat at a dizzying speed, making it maddeningly difficult to catch.
Suddenly, it stopped in midair, then shot straight downward.
Neither Harry nor Draco had enough time to brake before overshooting.
But Harry had a year of match experience, and his flying skills were better than Draco's.
With a sharp motion of his arms and legs, he halted his broom, spun around, and dove after the Snitch.
Draco lost precious seconds trying to recover from the abrupt stop.
The gap between them widened to several meters.
"See? Draco still lacks experience," Cedric said, tilting his head back to watch.
Two minutes later, the match ended when Harry seized the Golden Snitch.
The score before the catch stood at 180–210 in Gryffindor's favor.
With the additional 150 points, Gryffindor's final score became 360.
Slytherin finished with 180.
The Slytherin players returned to the ground, shoulders slumped. Flint immediately rounded on them, shouting at everyone—except Draco.
"He's coming," Chris murmured, flicking her eyes toward Cassius.
Cassius approached with his Nimbus 2001 in hand, his face full of dejection.
He looked like a completely different person from the one who had swaggered onto the pitch earlier.
Even the brand-new broom could no longer excite him.
Sean patted him on the shoulder.
"Don't blame yourself. This loss wasn't on you. The problem was the team's tactics and coordination."
"Right, Cedric?" Sean said, glancing at him for support.
"That's true," Cedric said objectively. "Your formation was flawed, and Flint never adjusted. One support player alone was never going to be enough."
Chris nodded. "We all saw that you did your best."
Cassius lowered his head.
"I know. After getting the Nimbus 2001s, we all got way too confident."
Sean patted him once more.
The important thing was that Cassius recognized the problem. That alone meant he had learned something.
In truth, the Slytherin team was strong. Before Harry enrolled, Slytherin had won the Hogwarts Quidditch Cup four years in a row.
But after that, they suffered repeated losses—not only to Gryffindor, but to Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw as well.
Sean believed the problem was Flint.
With a more capable captain, the team would never have collapsed like this.
Saturday evening at seven o'clock was the Ouroboros Club's regular meeting time in the prefects' bathroom on the sixth floor.
This was Astoria's second week attending.
"Draco, how's your Corpse Eater's Kiss coming along?" Sean asked.
When Draco first joined last year, Theo had taught him that spell. It was also the first Dark Magic Sean had learned when he joined in first year.
Corpse Eater's Kiss consisted of only four magical frameworks.
Within Ouroboros, it was considered entry-level Dark Magic, and almost every president taught it to new members as their first spell.
"Of course I've mastered it," Draco said confidently.
Dark Magic required greater caution than ordinary spells, so despite its simplicity, Draco had spent over two months learning it under Theo's supervision.
"Good," Sean said. "Then you can teach Astoria."
He then assigned tasks to the others.
"Kane, take Keith and Paul and review the spells from last year. Chris and Bernard, come with me."
Draco didn't think much of it. Following Sean's instructions, he paired up with Astoria, demonstrated Corpse Eater's Kiss once, and then began explaining the theory.
The prefects' bathroom was spacious and luxurious, allowing the three groups to spread out into separate corners.
Sean led Chris and Bernard to the window.
"I'm going to teach you some offensive magic that Hogwarts doesn't cover," Sean said.
Bernard blinked. "Isn't that what Dark Magic is?"
"It's different from Dark Magic," Sean said. "This is proper magic."
Chris looked intrigued. "What spell is it?"
"It's called Shooting Fire Like Falling Stars. Ten magical frameworks. Once cast, it launches blazing fireballs."
Sean had learned the spell in second year by secretly observing the Greek wizard Mick.
Mick could produce eight fireballs with it.
When Sean first learned it, he could only conjure three. After two months of practice, he discovered the spell's maximum output was eight.
"Ten frameworks?" Bernard said nervously. "Isn't that too difficult?"
He was only in third year. Most third-year spells consisted of five or six frameworks.
Spells with ten or more frameworks generally weren't taught until sixth year.
Defense Against the Dark Arts was the exception. That class depended entirely on the professor's skill.
When Professor Morissette taught, Sean had even learned the Patronus Charm—though he had yet to find a chance to use it.
"Bernard, have confidence in yourself," Sean said. "Learn a few more powerful spells, and you'll be able to protect yourself in the future."
Bernard nodded enthusiastically.
"You're right."
When it came to Sean's words, Bernard accepted them without question.
Sean's reasoning was simple.
If he started teaching them stronger spells now, then when trouble inevitably struck Hogwarts, they would be capable of helping.
As for Draco and Astoria, they were still young.
Sean had plenty of time to observe them.
Even if Voldemort attacked Hogwarts in seventh year, there were still five years left until then.
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