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HP Chapter 13: Quidditch
🕑 Added 2025-08-01 17:19:12 +0000 UTCAnother week passed, and by Friday, the entire school was buzzing about Saturday’s Quidditch match.
This would be Harry’s first official game since joining the Gryffindor Quidditch team. And this match was against Slytherin. If Gryffindor won, they’d rise to second place on the scoreboard and would be one step closer to winning the Quidditch Cup.
Saturday arrived right on schedule, and, surprisingly, it was a rare sunny day, one of the few clear days since winter began. The match was set to start at 11 o'clock, but by 10:30, the stands were already packed with students.
When Anne finally arrived at 10:50 and found a seat next to Fanny, the stands were completely full.
The Quidditch pitch was about the size of two football fields and was surrounded by towering stands. At either end of the field stood three fifty-foot-tall golden poles topped with hoops. Two teams of seven players each took to the sky on flying broomsticks. The players included one Keeper, three Chasers, two Beaters, and one Seeker.
What made Quidditch so unique was that it involved not just one, but three different types of balls:
The Quaffle, a red ball about the size of a football, was passed between Chasers. The goal was to throw it through the opposing team’s hoops to score ten points. The Keeper’s job was to block these attempts.
Then there were two smaller, black, and highly aggressive balls called Bludgers. These rogue balls zoomed around on their own, trying to knock players off their brooms. The Beaters used bats to defend their teammates and redirect the Bludgers toward the other team.
Lastly, there was the Golden Snitch, a walnut-sized gold ball with silver wings. It was lightning-fast, and the Seeker’s only task was to catch it. Whichever Seeker caught the Snitch earned 150 points for their team and ended the match.
Anne glanced around the stands. Apart from the Slytherin section, the other three Houses were all waving Gryffindor flags and shouting cheers for them.
“Looks like Slytherin really is unpopular at Hogwarts,” Anne muttered under her breath.
Fanny sat beside her, perfectly upright but craning her neck forward, eyes fixed on the field.
Malfoy and the Slytherin first-years were squeezed into the front row, loudly shouting, “Slytherin! Slytherin!”
Right next to them was the Gryffindor section. At the front, a massive banner stretched across the stands, featuring a roaring red lion and bold, glittering letters that read Victory to Harry Potter! The paint shimmered with magic. Behind the banner were Hermione, Ron, Neville, and a whole bunch of excited Gryffindor first-years.
At precisely 11:00, the two teams flew onto the field to a roar of cheers. Madam Hooch served as the referee.
After a quick introduction, Madam Hooch blew her whistle, and the players soared into the air.
As the match began, Anne pulled out two pairs of Omnioculars from her bag and handed one to Fanny. “Here, take this.”
Fanny looked surprised. “I thought you weren’t interested in Quidditch. What’s this for?”
“I got them this morning. Aaron’s obsessed with Quidditch. He sent me a few pairs, along with a note saying that even if I break them while cheering, he has more. Since he already sent them, might as well use them.”
Once she could clearly see the action on the field, Anne finally understood why Slytherin was so disliked. They repeatedly and blatantly committed fouls to prevent Gryffindor from scoring, but Quidditch rules didn’t allow for players to be sent off, no matter how many fouls they committed.
Halfway through the game, the Golden Snitch still hadn’t been spotted. Anne had grown tired of tracking the players with her Omnioculars, so she decided to focus on the three hoops on Slytherin’s side. Most of the scoring opportunities happened near the goalposts anyway.
Suddenly, Fanny gasped and tugged on Anne’s sleeve. “Anne! Look at Harry, something’s wrong!”
“Where?” Anne followed her gaze, and sure enough, Harry was clutching his broom tightly as it shuddered and jerked erratically in the air.
The entire stadium began to notice. Harry’s broom was no longer just shaking, it was spinning in midair. Alarmed gasps rang out.
The Weasley twins from the Gryffindor team tried to fly over to rescue him, but every time they got close, Harry’s broom only shook more violently.
Anne’s eyes darted to the staff section of the stands. Professor Quirrell was staring intensely at Harry, lips moving silently.
The Dark Lord is starting to act, Anne thought grimly.
Just then, a new wave of panic swept through the crowd, Harry was thrown from his broom, dangling in midair by one hand.
Anne glanced back at the Gryffindor section. Hermione was no longer there.
She looked again at Professor Quirrell, just in time to see Hermione crashing into him, knocking him over.
Good, Anne thought. Crisis averted.
Back on the field, Harry had climbed back onto his broom, but now he was diving sharply toward the ground, one hand over his mouth. When he finally landed, hunched over and coughing, something gold fell into his palm.
“I caught the Snitch!” he shouted, standing up and holding it high above his head.
The match was over. Gryffindor had won, 170 to 60.
The entire crowd, except for the Slytherin section, rose to applaud. Even some Slytherins clapped, though each one received a vicious glare from Malfoy.
Fanny clapped too, but Malfoy didn’t dare glare at her.
Anne didn’t clap. Her eyes were on the staff stands, where Professor Snape was frantically trying to put out a fire on his robes. He looked furious.
So even Professor Snape can make faces like that, Anne mused.
Not long after the match, December arrived, bringing even colder weather, and with it, the countdown to Christmas. As the holiday approached, Anne found herself in better and better spirits, especially when she received a letter from Aaron five days before Christmas.
That letter left Anne in a fantastic mood all day. So when Hermione stopped her and Fanny on their way to dinner that evening, Anne didn’t immediately brush her off.
Instead, she followed Hermione behind a stone pillar.
“I have a question for you,” Hermione said directly. “It’s about a name.”
Anne blinked. She figured answering a single name probably wouldn’t cause too much trouble, but she still decided to hear her out first. “Go ahead.”
“Do you know anything about Nicolas Flamel?”
“Him? His name’s on the back of Dumbledore’s Chocolate Frog card. Other than that, I don’t know much.”
That should be fine, Anne reasoned. If it’s printed on candy cards, it’s probably not a big deal.
Still curious, she asked, “Why are you asking? Is it for a History of Magic assignment?”
Hermione’s eyes lit up slightly, but all she said was “Thanks!” before hurrying away.
When Anne returned to the table, Fanny was cutting into a black pepper steak. Seeing Anne sit down, she asked, “What did she want?”
“She asked about someone named Nicolas Flamel. I told her I saw the name on Dumbledore’s Chocolate Frog card.”
“Nicolas Flamel the alchemist? Why would she ask about him?”
“She left before I could ask. You know who he is?”
“Nicolas Flamel, the great alchemist! He’s the only wizard known to have created the Philosopher’s Stone. He’s kind of a legend. I heard he’s friends with Dumbledore.”
Anne’s fork slipped, dropping a roasted potato onto the table. “The Philosopher’s Stone?”
“Yeah, the legendary stone that grants immortality.”
“Oh…” Anne kept her expression neutral, but inside she was berating herself. How could I have let my guard down just because I was in a good mood?
Thankfully, she’d only revealed the name’s source.
