Chapter 149. Quidditch
"Hope you like the Devil's Snare's present," Professor Wesson said to Luna. The Devil's Snare patted Luna's head with its other tendril.
It really did seem fond of Luna.
The tendril of Devil's Snare in Luna's hand was about a metre long. Though that might be only a few hundredths of a full-grown Devil's Snare, this was the first time it had ever chosen to split off an individual on its own.
"Thank you, Professor Wesson," Luna nodded politely, then turned to the Devil's Snare. "And you too, Mr Plant. I like it very much."
She gently stroked the tendril in her hand, as if soothing a small animal.
"Will it get hungry?" Luna suddenly looked up and asked. "Do I need to feed it anything?"
"Your magic is its nourishment," Wesson explained. "As long as you keep supplying it with magic, it can stay with you. Of course, that doesn't require you to do anything. Ah—right—you'll also need to give it a place to live."
"A place to live?" Luna's expression turned curious.
At that moment, the Devil's Snare in her hand began to move.
It slowly slid onto the back of Luna's hand and then, like water, seeped into her skin, vanishing without a trace.
This was the Devil's Snare's parasitic ability; evidently, this small offshoot had inherited it as well.
Luna looked at the back of her hand. A few seconds later, a faint pattern appeared there—like twining vines—its colour a pale, inky green.
"It tickles a bit," Luna said. "But I think I can control it."
The vine pattern on the back of her hand suddenly glimmered green.
In the next second, a tendril extended from her wrist. It stretched lightly, aiming for the cup of hot cocoa on Wesson's desk that was just about to go cold.
The tendril nimbly hooked the cup's handle; the movement was deft, yet the instant it lifted the cup, the tip of the tendril gave a little shiver, as if it hadn't quite judged the strength.
"Snap—splash!"
The cup fell onto the desk, and the cocoa inside splashed out with it.
"Ah, I'm sorry."
Startled, the Devil's Snare tendril shrank at once and darted back into Luna.
"Looks like you two still need some time to build up your tacit understanding," Wesson said, shaking his head.
He waved his wand; a cloth flew over from the corner, and he set about cleaning the mess on the desk.
Just then, Luna stared at the back of her hand and smiled.
After that, she glanced at the clock on the office wall.
The hour hand was edging towards eleven.
"It's about time, Professor," Luna said softly.
"What?" Wesson was slightly taken aback.
"Quidditch," Luna reminded him. "Gryffindor versus Slytherin. I've never watched a Quidditch match in person."
Wesson suddenly remembered—Harry had mentioned it a few days ago. He'd told Wesson that Malfoy had joined Slytherin's Quidditch team and had kitted the entire side out with new broomsticks.
Mm. Bought his way onto the team.
Even so, when Harry mentioned it, he was still full of confidence about winning.
He believed his flying could beat the opposition.
"We can still make it," Wesson said, putting away his wand and standing up. "Probably."
Wesson and Luna arrived at the Quidditch match.
The game was already underway. Luna slipped into the Ravenclaw crowd, while Wesson, as usual, sat in the professors' stand; his seat happened to be right beside Professor McGonagall.
"You're much too late, Professor Wesson," Professor McGonagall said, her face taut. "You've missed a splendid first half."
Wesson looked at the scoreboard, and no wonder Professor McGonagall wore such a look.
The numbers were fixed at seventy to ten.
Slytherin had a commanding lead; things did not look good for Gryffindor at the moment.
Of course, for a sport like Quidditch, such a gap wasn't much.
So long as there wasn't a difference of a hundred and fifty points or more, catching the Golden Snitch would let a side win outright.
Wesson had always thought this rule not very reasonable—
—but very exciting.
It created a chance for the Seeker to become a "hero."
His gaze went to the pitch.
Gryffindor had called a time-out; Harry was discussing tactics with his teammates.
"That Bludger's gone wrong," Fred said through gritted teeth to everyone. "It's been tampered with—that's for sure. George and I have been splitting our attention to help Harry deal with that ball and haven't had time for anything else."
That was precisely why they were so far behind Slytherin, and why Harry was being disrupted and couldn't focus on searching for the Golden Snitch.
Harry frowned deeply; he had, of course, noticed the abnormality as well.
Just now, during the match, one of the two Bludgers had kept chasing Harry relentlessly, as if it had singled him out, while the other behaved entirely normally.
Drawing on a year's worth of match experience, he could be sure: that Bludger had been enchanted.
It reminded him of last term's Quidditch match, when Quirrell had jinxed his broom.
Could someone be out to harm him again this time?
Harry's expression grew solemn at once, but a stubborn refusal to yield burned in his eyes.
It was only a rogue Bludger. Nothing to make a fuss about.
Just then, Oliver Wood looked rather anxious. This was the first match of the term, and the opponent was their long-standing nemesis, Slytherin.
Losing this match would deal a heavy blow to their morale.
"Damn it," he said, face dark. "That ball was perfectly fine when we finished practice last time…"
Now a problem stood before them: according to the rules of Quidditch, if they asked to stop the game, they would lose the match.
So—
"George, Weasley, stop worrying about the Bludger that's chasing me—let me handle it myself," Harry said to the twins. "I can manage."
"But…"
Fred wanted to say more, but the confidence on Harry's face reassured him.
Wood stared at Harry for two seconds, weighing it up.
In the end, he nodded and agreed to Harry's plan.
As Gryffindor's captain, he couldn't allow his Seeker to be injured, but he also didn't want to give up the match.
Thankfully, Harry looked very sure of himself.
The whistle signalling the end of the time-out sounded, and all the players mounted their broomsticks and took to the air once more. The match resumed.
After a brief adjustment, the Weasley twins abandoned the strategy of shielding Harry and left him to deal with that Bludger alone. The ball, as ever, kept on Harry's tail and could even swerve a dozen times in mid-air.
That simply wasn't a path a Bludger should be able to take.
But Harry didn't panic.
He focused completely, body pressed to his broom, dodging the ball while searching for the glint of the Golden Snitch.
By now, the special training he'd done over the summer was starting to show.
Harry could clearly feel his reactions were sharper.
Each time the Bludger roared past, nearly skimming his hair, he slipped away by the narrowest of margins.
If it had been last year, he would never have dodged so easily.
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