Hogwarts: I Am Such a Model Wizard

Chapter 641: Three Against One Again

Cedric was right: Slytherin was likely the only team unhappy about the new broomsticks.

Their greatest advantage—the superior performance of their Nimbus 2001s—had been nullified, while Gryffindor seemed to grow stronger with each play. The match had barely begun, and Gryffindor was already twenty points ahead.

Desperate to turn the tide, Slytherinʼs captain, Graham Montague, instructed Crabbe to try knocking Angelina off her broom. If they could eliminate Gryffindorʼs most dangerous Chaser, their chances would improve.

However, Crabbeʼs intentions were far too obvious, and Angelina deftly avoided him, staying well out of reach. Adding to Slytherin’s woes, Madam Hooch immediately noticed the blatant foul attempt and awarded Gryffindor a penalty.

Angelina stepped up for the shot, her confidence unwavering. With a quick feint, she fooled the Slytherin Keeper into diving the wrong way, then raised her arm and sent the Quaffle sailing cleanly through the goalpost.

30:0.

The Gryffindor supporters erupted into cheers, their excitement reverberating through the stands.

”Gryffindorʼs going to win for sure,” Mikel said with a grin. ”Montagueʼs no match for Angelina, and his team of apes isnʼt doing him any favors. Now itʼs just a matter of time before Harry catches the Golden Snitch.”

Cedric nodded in agreement, then paused. ”Wait... is it just me, or does it sound like someoneʼs singing?”

”Itʼs not just you,” Kyle replied, frowning slightly.

The sound was unmistakable and growing louder. The singing was coming from the Slytherin stands, and soon it was clear that everyone else could hear it too.

”Weasley is our King,

Weasley is our King,

He always lets the Quaffle in,

Weasley is our King.

He cannot save a single thing,

He cannot block a single ring,

Thatʼs why Slytherins all sing:

Weasley is our King.”

...

It felt orchestrated. The singing was so uniform and penetrating that it was clear the Slytherins had planned this well in advance.

They knew the Gryffindor veterans—players with years of tournament experience—would not be rattled by crowd antics. So instead, they focused their taunts on Ron, the teamʼs rookie Keeper.

Ronʼs unease had been evident in the days leading up to the match, as was his inability to handle Slytherinʼs provocations. This strategy, cruel as it was, worked perfectly.

The mocking chant echoed in his ears, amplifying his nervousness. Ron’s movements grew stiff, panic clearly setting in.

Seizing the moment, Slytherinʼs Warrington gained possession of the Quaffle and made a rapid charge toward Gryffindorʼs goal. Ron barely reacted, his arms hesitatingly outstretched as the Quaffle sailed cleanly through the hoop.

30:10.

”That was despicable!” Mikel shouted from the stands, his frustration echoing those around him. ”They’re targeting him because it’s his first game. If this keeps up, Gryffindor’s Keeper is done for!”

It was true, and everyone knew it. Lee Jordan, from the commentatorʼs booth, passionately decried Slytherinʼs tactics, calling them underhanded and unsporting.

But there was nothing to be done—it wasn’t against the rules. Even Professor McGonagall, sitting tensely in the Gryffindor stands, couldn’t intervene. The fact that Ron was affected only proved he wasn’t mentally prepared for this level of pressure.

The game pressed on, with the Slytherin chant never ceasing, growing louder whenever their players controlled the Quaffle.

”Gryffindor needs a new plan,” Cedric said thoughtfully. ”They can’t rely on Ron to make any saves. The only way forward is to keep Slytherin on defense by attacking constantly and buying time for Harry to catch the Snitch.”

On the pitch, Angelina seemed to come to the same conclusion. She led the Chasers into a tight Hawkshead Attacking Formation, charging aggressively toward Slytherinʼs hoops.

Fred and George took up defensive roles, focusing their energy on targeting Slytherin with the Bludgers. Whenever Slytherin managed to regain possession of the Quaffle, the twins immediately launched a counterattack to disrupt their momentum.

But such a strategy wasn’t foolproof. Slytherin eventually capitalized on an opening. Pucey passed the Quaffle swiftly to Montague, and Goyle intercepted a Bludger aimed in his direction, clearing the way for Montague to make an unopposed drive toward Gryffindor’s goal.

30:20.

A groan of frustration rippled through the Gryffindor supporters, while the Slytherin stands erupted in triumph.

”That was so underhanded,” Cedric said grimly. ”Gryffindor only had one new player, but weʼve got three—one in every position. If Slytherin tries this on us, we’re in real trouble.”

Kyle frowned in agreement.

”We could bring some loudspeakers and drown out their obnoxious singing,” Kyle suggested.

”Or,” he added after a moment, ”we could talk to them. Maybe theyʼll realize this kind of behavior isn’t acceptable.”

Cedric raised an eyebrow. ”That’s about all we can do... Oh, look!” He pointed abruptly toward the field.

Harry and Malfoy were diving at breakneck speed, both locked on the same target.

”Thatʼs the Golden Snitch!” Cedric exclaimed.

”They’ve both seen it!”

The two Seekers hurtled toward the ground at a terrifying pace, but Harry’s Firebolt shot forward like an arrow, outstripping Malfoy’s Nimbus 2001. With barely five feet left before impact, Harry came to a sudden halt, arm outstretched. His fist clenched, and a golden glint flickered between his fingers.

Harry had caught the Golden Snitch.

Madam Hoochʼs whistle pierced the air, signaling the end of the match.

180:20. Gryffindor wins.

The Gryffindor stands erupted in wild cheers, laughter ringing out as they mocked the Slytherins who had spent the game taunting them.

On the pitch, the players dismounted, their feet crunching against the frosty grass. Ron, however, remained seated on his broom, lost in thought.

Madam Hooch, fuming, stormed toward Crabbe, loudly berating him for foul play. He had deliberately sent a Bludger at Harry even after the whistle had blown.

”See?” Cedric said with a smile, nudging Kyle. ”One way to handle interference: just catch the Snitch as quickly as possible.”

”But you canʼt always catch the Snitch right away,” Kyle countered. ”I still think talking to them is a better idea. After all, Montague and Malfoy don’t seem entirely unreasonable.”

Cedric gave him a skeptical look. ”Reasonable? Are we thinking about the same Montague and Malfoy?”

Kyle nodded confidently. ”Yes, and I’m actually quite good at reasoning with people. They usually listen.”

Cedric opened his mouth to reply, but before he could, commotion on the pitch interrupted him.

A fight had broken out.

Fred, George, and Harry had charged at Malfoy and were now pummeling him, fists and feet flying.

In an instant, the Quidditch pitch descended into chaos. Shouts and screams erupted from the crowd, mingling with the unmistakable sounds of fists meeting flesh.

”Malfoy’s big mouth has done it again,” Kyle thought, shaking his head.

He’d noticed Malfoy say something earlier, though it had been too far away to hear. Whatever it was, it had clearly sparked this outburst.

”Stop it, Fred, George!” Cedric yelled, leaning over the bleachers. ”The professor’s still there—stop!”

But the three Gryffindors were beyond reason, swinging their fists with a fury that left Malfoy curled up on the ground.

Then came a sharp voice: ”Impedimenta!”

A jolt of magic sent Fred, George, and Harry sprawling backward, breaking up the fight.

”What do you think you’re doing?” Madam Hooch roared, storming toward them. ”I have never seen behavior like this in my life. You three, to the Headmaster’s office—now!”

Without a word, Fred, George, and Harry got to their feet and strode toward the castle, their faces dark with anger.

Behind them, the Slytherins rushed to Malfoy’s side. He was crumpled on the ground, his mouth bloodied, shoe prints visible across his robes, and his face swollen to almost twice its usual size.

Pansy Parkinson reached him first, her shrill screams filling the air as she scolded anyone nearby. Crabbe stood behind her, snickering with Montague at the scene.

In the commentary stand, Lee Jordan had to be physically restrained, and Professor McGonagall—pale and furious—had already stormed off after the Gryffindor trio.

”Should we go and check this out?” Kanna asked, her voice uncertain.

Kyle nodded. ”Probably a good idea. This is going to cause a lot of trouble for Gryffindor.”

”I’ll head down and ask the Gryffindor players what happened,” Mikel volunteered.

”Good idea,” Kyle agreed. ”But let’s hurry—people will start flooding out soon.”

Splitting up, the group left the stands. Kyle, Cedric, and Kanna headed toward the castle while Mikel ran down to speak with the remaining Gryffindor players on the field.