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Heavy is the Crown (Harry Potter) Chapter 84: Quidditch Season (1)
🕑 Added 2025-08-11 21:46:26 +0000 UTC[Third Person POV]
After Harry finished with his tale regarding Snape, there were some that didn't believe the entire story, mainly that Harry was probably misunderstanding the situation. That there wasn't any reason as to why Snape would want to steal or even dare to steal something from Dumbledore.
Although the ones that most felt the strongest about it were Hermione, Gwyneth, and Lance. Ron stood firmly by Harry’s side, his loyalty plain as day. He even accused Lance outright of defending Snape only because they were both Slytherins. The jab was met with a dismissive roll of Lance’s eyes, as though the accusation wasn’t even worth the energy to refute.
Arthur and Merlin, sensing that the discussion was about to spiral into an endless back-and-forth, wisely decided to keep out of it altogether. Instead, they listened from the sidelines, their expressions unreadable.
The conversation eventually reached a dead end. They simply couldn’t answer the questions Ron had thrown out: “I wouldn’t put anything past Snape. But what’s he after? What’s that dog guarding?” The mystery hung in the air and with no clear answers in sight, the group reluctantly let the topic drop—at least for the time being.
Still, Harry found it impossible to set the matter aside completely. Even as the day wore on the question gnawed at the back of his mind. He thought about it during dinner, while walking through the corridors, and even as he lay in bed that night, staring at the hangings of his four-poster.
By the next morning, there was no time to dwell on the mystery—Quidditch season had officially begun, and the entire castle was buzzing with excitement. The air in the Great Hall was electric with chatter about strategies, past victories, and hopeful predictions for the matches to come.
As Harry and Arthur made their way towards the locker rooms, Harry’s pale face and slightly trembling hands betrayed just how nervous he was.
“You okay?” Arthur asked with an amused glance, noticing how stiffly Harry was walking.
Harry quickly shook his head. “How are you so calm? Aren’t you nervous?”
“Not really,” Arthur replied with a small snicker, “but that’s mostly because I doubt I’m really going to play.”
Harry blinked, momentarily forgetting his anxiety. “Oh right… Sorry,” he said sheepishly.
Arthur chuckled and patted him on the back. “Relax, will you? Aren’t you a Gryffindor? If you can’t find courage in yourself, then find it in others—your team. After all, you’re not alone out there.” He flashed Harry a reassuring smile, the kind that seemed to carry an unspoken certainty everything would work out.
For reasons Harry couldn’t explain, those words settled something inside him. He felt lighter, calmer—as though Arthur’s confidence was contagious.
When they reached the locker room, the rest of the team was already pulling on their gear. Arthur joined in, though it was clear he was only doing so out of courtesy rather than necessity.
Wood cleared his throat for silence. “Okay, men—”
“And women,” Angelina Johnson cut in.
“And women,” Wood corrected without missing a beat. “This is it.”
“The big one,” Fred Weasley added.
“The one we’ve all been waiting for,” George finished.
“We know Oliver’s speech by heart,” Fred whispered to Harry with a grin. “We were on the team last year.”
“Shut up, you two,” Wood snapped, though there was no real bite to his tone. “This is the best team Gryffindor’s had in years. We’re going to win. I know it.” He swept his gaze over them all with a look that clearly meant, Or else.
“Right. It’s time. Good luck, all of you.”
The team filed out in a rush of scarlet and gold, but Arthur stayed behind, settling himself on the bench. Not wanting to waste the quiet moment, he pulled out his grimoire and began sketching out intricate magic circles with deliberate care.
From his seat, he could still hear the muffled roar of the crowd as the game began.
Meanwhile, high in the stands, Merlin sat with Lance and Gwyneth at her sides, Sylvia resting comfortably in her arms. Her eyes followed the movement of the players overhead with keen interest. Just behind them, Hermione and Ron leaned forward in anticipation.
The pitch was a whirlwind of color and motion—scarlet and green blurs darting after the quaffle, bludgers whistling dangerously close to heads, and the announcer’s excited voice booming across the field.
Hagrid eventually appeared, lumbering his way through the crowd until he reached their row.
“Hagrid!” Hermione called out in surprise.
Ron and Hermione quickly shuffled closer together, making enough space for the half-giant to squeeze in beside them.
“Bin watchin’ from me hut,” said Hagrid, patting the large pair of binoculars that hung heavily around his neck. “But it isn’t the same as bein’ in the crowd. No sign of the Snitch yet, eh?”
As he settled in beside them, Hagrid’s eyes drifted toward Merlin—and immediately caught sight of the small bundle in her arms. His expression softened instantly.
“Well, if it isn’t little Sylvie,” he said warmly, his deep voice almost a purr despite its gravelly tone. “How are you doin’, little lass?”
Merlin didn’t speak, but she extended her arms slightly, presenting Sylvia as though she were a treasured relic. The tiny dragonlet gave a curious blink before letting out a tiny, squeaky rawr. The sound drew a small chuckle from Hagrid, who reached out a massive finger to give her a gentle pat on the head.
The game raged on in front of them, blur streaking across the sky as the Quaffle zipped between Chasers. The crowd’s cheers rose and fell like waves with every near goal or blocked shot.
Then it happened.
Far above the pitch, Harry’s broom gave an abrupt lurch—so sudden that several people near Hagrid muttered in confusion. At first, no one seemed to realize anything was wrong. It could have been a maneuver, a feint, or just turbulence from a passing Bludger. But the broom didn’t straighten out. Instead, it carried Harry steadily higher, almost lazily at first, but with an unnatural jerkiness that made it look less like a rider’s choice and more like… something else was in control.
Hagrid frowned, squinting through his binoculars. “Dunno what Harry thinks he’s doin’,” he mumbled. “If I didn’ know better, I’d say he’s lost control of his broom… but he can’t have…” His voice dropped, uneasy.
Gradually, the murmurs around the stadium turned into outright gasps. Harry’s broom began to roll over and over, each spin forcing him to cling desperately to the handle. Then came the moment that made the crowd roar in alarm—his broom gave such a violent jerk that Harry slipped, dangling now by only one hand, his legs flailing wildly in open air.
“Did something happen to it when that Slytherin blocked him?” Seamus whispered, his voice edged with worry.
“Can’t have,” Hagrid replied, but his voice was shaking now. “Can’t nothing interfere with a broomstick except powerful Dark magic—no kid could do that to a Nimbus Two Thousand.”
At these words, Hermione suddenly lunged forward and snatched the binoculars from his hands. But she didn’t look up at Harry—instead, her eyes darted rapidly across the stands, scanning the crowd with frantic urgency.
“What are you doing?” moaned Ron, his face pale and drawn.
“I knew it,” Hermione gasped. “Snape—look.”
Ron grabbed the binoculars, following her pointing finger. Across the stadium, Snape stood motionless in the middle of a row, his black robes swaying slightly in the breeze. His gaze was locked unblinkingly on Harry, and his lips were moving in a continuous, silent chant.
“He’s doing something—jinxing the broom,” Hermione hissed.
“What should we do?” Ron asked, his voice tight.
Before either of them could move, Merlin’s expression shifted. The warmth that had lingered when she’d been holding Sylvia was gone—replaced by something cold, calculating, and disturbingly devoid of empathy. Her lips curved into a faint, chilling smile as her eyes locked not on Snape, but on Quirrell beside him.
Without a word, she extended her will, seizing the thread of magic he had been weaving. She twisted it—not breaking it, but bending it, reshaping its target with precision.
Far above, Alicia Spinnet—one of the Chasers—suddenly let out a startled cry as her broom veered sharply off course. She swerved helplessly, unable to dodge the iron blur of a Bludger hurtling toward her.
The impact was sickening. Alicia was thrown from her broom, her body tumbling through open air before hitting the ground with a dull thud.
Gasps erupted all around. Students rose to their feet, craning for a better view.
Up above, Harry’s broom steadied in midair thanks to Merlin, the violent jerks subsiding. He scrambled back into position, confusion and relief warring on his face. But when his eyes dropped to the pitch below, they widened in horror.
Alicia lay unmoving, her arm bent at an unnatural angle, blood trickling from the torn skin where bone had pierced through. The teachers were already rushing toward her, shouting orders, while Wood’s voice barked frantically for the team to land.
Merlin’s gaze, however, never left the scene. A faint smirk tugged at her lips as she murmured, “Would you look at that… Seems we’re going to see Arthur play after all.”
Both Lance and Gwyneth turned sharply toward her, their expressions a mix of disbelief and unease. The utter lack of sympathy in her voice was more shocking than the injury itself.
Down on the pitch, teachers and Quidditch players surrounded Alicia, kneeling beside her with worried urgency. The rest of the stadium buzzed with horrified whispers, but Merlin merely leaned back in her seat, Sylvia still nestled comfortably in her arms, as if nothing at all was wrong.
Comments
Rogue_Eagle99
It’s been near a year since I watched the movie so little touch on the scene, but I saw someone went down in Harry’s first match
Rogue_Eagle99
It’s been a minute was it the second one or the first one that I swore a female member from Gryffindor went down in the Quidditch match I swear it was the first movie so that someone would’ve already gone down by now
