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Heavy is the Crown (Harry Potter) Chapter 86: Quidditch Season (End)
🕑 Added 2025-08-15 15:03:50 +0000 UTC[Third person POV]
“Woah… Arthur’s awesome,” Gwyneth breathed, her eyes wide with wonder as she watched him cut through the air with the grace of someone who had been born on a broom. Every turn, every loop seemed effortless, as though gravity simply chose not to bother him.
“Honestly, it’s starting to feel like there’s nothing he can’t do,” Ron muttered, folding his arms and watching Arthur zip between the other players. His tone was equal parts admiration and irritation. “Completely unfair if you ask me. First years aren’t supposed to be pulling moves like that.”
“I have to agree with you there,” Gwyneth said, shaking her head with a smile that was half admiration and half disbelief. “Merlin, you’ve known Arthur the longest—come on, tell me, is there anything he’s not good at? No one’s perfect, right?”
Merlin chuckled softly, her lips curling into a knowing smirk. “Oh, there’s plenty Arthur can’t do. But I’m not telling you. I’d rather let those little… shortcomings reveal themselves naturally. Much more entertaining that way.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Lance asked, tilting his head as though she’d just started speaking in a foreign language.
“Who knows?” Merlin said breezily, waving the question away. “Now hush and focus. We’re here to cheer him on, not dissect his character flaws like some old gossip circle. Why are you all so determined to drag him down to your level?”
“Ugh… you’re right,” Gwyneth admitted, throwing her hands up. She turned her gaze back to the pitch, feeling slightly guilty. “I’m supposed to be cheering, not nitpicking. It’s just… his flying style is so bizarre I get distracted.”
“I’m actually here to support Harry,” Ron said matter-of-factly, raising a hand like he was announcing something at a meeting.
Hermione arched a brow. “Aren’t your brothers also on the team? Shouldn’t you be supporting them too?”
Ron’s face twisted into a sour expression. “Those animals? Honestly, I’d pay good money to see a bludger smack each of them square in the head. But… since they’re part of Gryffindor, I suppose I technically have no choice but to want them to win.”
“They can’t be that bad, can they?” Lance asked curiously.
Ron turned to him with a haunted stare. “Are you an only child?”
“As far as I’m aware,” Lance replied, though the way he said it—like he wasn’t entirely sure—earned a collection of raised eyebrows.
Ron scoffed. “Then you wouldn’t understand… Wait—hang on! What are you doing here? You’re a Slytherin! Your house is all the way on the other side of the stadium cheering for their team.”
“Ah…” Lance looked around slowly, realizing for the first time that he was surrounded entirely by Gryffindor colors. “It appears I may have… wandered to the wrong side. And have been, in essence, cheering for my own house to lose.”
Gwyneth stifled a laugh before smirking at him. “Oh, this is rich. Every Slytherin in the stands is going to see you as a blood traitor now.”
“I have no idea what that is,” Lance replied flatly, “but it already sounds tiresome.”
“That’s because it is, mate,” Ron said grimly, speaking from painful experience. Malfoy’s voice and sneers echoed in his mind. “Trust me, I know.”
Gwyneth grinned. “Don’t worry, Lance. If any of them give you trouble, just call one of us. We’ll give ’em a proper one-two.” She raised her fist and brought it down as if she was smacking someone.
Lance’s lips twitched into a faint smile as he shook his head. “Sure thing, peep-squeak.”
“Oi! I’m trying to be nice here. Why am I getting insulted for it?” Gwyneth spluttered.
Merlin sighed, shaking her head as she turned her focus back to Arthur’s dazzling performance. “Children…” she muttered under her breath, though her smile betrayed her amusement.
Arthur shot forward like an arrow, the wind tearing at his hair as he reached out for the Quaffle—only to miss it by an inch. He growled under his breath, twisting in time to see Oliver dive for it as well, but their Keeper’s fingertips barely grazed the leather before it zipped past him. The crowd erupted into a mix of cheers and groans as the Slytherin Chaser scored.
The emerald-and-silver section of the stands went wild, their grins sharp and smug. Arthur clicked his tongue, narrowing his eyes at the Slytherin Chaser who had the audacity to wink at him on the way back to midfield.
“Haven’t you heard not to count your chicks before the eggs hatch?” Arthur called over the wind, his voice cutting through the noise. “That metaphor works for reptiles too, you know.” He smirked, then leaned forward and kicked off hard, his broom surging ahead.
From the commentator’s stand, Jordan’s voice rang out with growing excitement. “And the Quaffle’s back in Gryffindor possession, carried by none other than Katie Bell—fast as a comet! She passes to Angelina—beautiful handling there—but wait! Oh, come on! Stolen right out of her grip by Slytherin just as she lined up the shot!”
Arthur angled himself to give chase, but a sudden glint of gold flashed so close to his face that he had to pull back sharply. His eyes snapped to the tiny golden blur zipping erratically through the air. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of Harry and the Slytherin Seeker, both scanning the pitch for the Snitch like hawks.
He whistled—loud and sharp—cutting through the stadium noise. Both Seekers glanced over, and Arthur gave a small jerk of his head toward the right.
That was all it took. Harry and the Slytherin exploded into motion, streaking across the sky after the Snitch. Arthur followed in their wake, but instead of going for the prize, he pushed his broom into a tight arc and slammed into the Slytherin Seeker’s side, sending them spinning off-course.
“You stupid first year! Get out of my way!” the Seeker snarled, swinging a fist at Arthur’s head.
Arthur dipped his head effortlessly, letting the punch whistle past before planting a sharp kick to the tail of the other broom sending him back. “Sorry, mate,” he said with a smug grin, “but a King does whatever it takes to win—especially against a bunch of snakes.”
Before the Slytherin could recover, Lee Jordan’s voice boomed, “AND HARRY POTTER CATCHES THE SNITCH!” The words reverberated across the stands, and the Gryffindor supporters erupted into deafening cheers.
Moments later, the teams touched down on the pitch. George swept Harry up onto his shoulders, while Fred—laughing, hoisted Arthur up in kind.
Perched above the crowd, Harry and Arthur locked eyes and shared a wide grin. They slapped an airborne high-five, the sound ringing out over the din.
Arthur’s gaze flicked toward the scoreboard: Slytherin – 160 | Gryffindor – 360. Victory never looked so good.
Scanning the stands, he spotted Merlin, who was slow-clapping with an arched brow, her lips moving in a silent, “King does whatever it takes to win? Really?” Her smirk made his ears burn.
Arthur quickly looked away, only to catch sight of Gwyneth down by the railing, hugging Lance tightly and bouncing in pure, unrestrained joy. Lance, on the other hand, wore the expression of someone who had just been handed an overexcited pet and didn’t know what to do with it.
Arthur couldn’t help it—he laughed.
